“WHAT IS THE MATTER WITH US?”
Chambersburg is a much larger town than Gettysburg, and to Elizabeth,
who had bought her supplies there when she and Herbert had arrived in
the early spring, it seemed now to promise more patrons. She would
still be interested in Gettysburg and wished to learn all she could
about the battle, but her relations with the town would henceforth be
those of a tourist.
When morning dawned, she began to wonder whether Gettysburg’s rudeness
was not a product of her own imagination.
“No town is going to hang out banners because Elizabeth Scott has
arrived to sell onions!” said she to herself.
Of the paper found upon the floor she said nothing to Herbert. The
whole incident seemed fantastic. It was silly to have been disturbed
for an instant. The sign of the skull and cross-bones as an impelling
threat had no longer any power, at least it should have none over
Elizabeth Scott. It was doubtless the man with the gun who had thus
favored her. Besides, she declined to be frightened by any man who
spelled apples, “apels.”
The distance to Chambersburg is longer than the distance to Gettysburg
and the hills are steep. But the morning sunlight slanted through the
trees, the birds sang, laurel bloomed everywhere, and there was a
succession of sweet odors, many of which Elizabeth could not identify.
The woods were for the most part still virgin and into their depths an
occasional road or path invited.
In an open place they passed a park with pavilions and swings, where
a queer old ruin which seemed the work of a fire stood against a
hillside. It was not the ruin of a house or barn; it was difficult to
tell what it was.
“I’m going to find out,” said Elizabeth. “I’m going to learn all
about this mountain. Perhaps this place was burned when Chambersburg
was burned. That was a year after the battle of Gettysburg--that is,
I think it was. It’s hard to realize that there was fighting here or
anything else but peace and happiness. As I remember, people had to
flee from the fire for their lives. I suppose it’s hard to forgive
things like that.”
She drove through the eastern part of the town and into the busy
square, then she turned to the right. After she had driven several
blocks, she began to offer her wares. As at Gettysburg, the beginning
was propitious. The first purchaser asked whether they were newcomers,
and Elizabeth told happily their history.
“We lived in the West, but after our mother died, we decided to come
back to our grandfather’s place and raise apples. My brother and I are
alone.”
“Where is your grandfather’s place?” asked the lady kindly.
“On the road to Gettysburg.”
“What was your grandfather’s name? I know many families on that road.”
“His name was John Baring. The house which he built in 1860 is still
standing and in good condition and we live there. We--”
The stranger seemed to be indifferent to what Elizabeth had to say
further.
“What name did you say?” she asked sharply.
“John Baring.”
The lady’s lips parted and a brilliant red appeared upon her cheeks.
“You would much better have stayed in the West!” said she sharply. “You
made a great mistake to come back.”
Elizabeth stared. She had brought the woman’s order in from the wagon
in a basket. Now, without taking out the articles, she lifted the
basket and started toward the street.
“I didn’t mean that I wouldn’t buy your things this time, especially as
I have ordered them!” came a loud protest.
Elizabeth made no answer. She went out of the gate and closed it
carefully behind her.
“Let us drive on quickly, Herbert!”
“What is the matter?”
“There is a crazy woman in there.”
“What did she say?”
Elizabeth’s hot anger gave place to a keener feeling of alarm.
“Nothing worth repeating.”
“Shall we stop at other places?”
“Certainly.”
Elizabeth now treated her customers with peremptory shortness and the
method seemed to pay.
“If you buy, buy quickly, but it really doesn’t make any difference to
me whether you buy or not.” Thus said Elizabeth’s bright blue eyes. It
seemed that a new Elizabeth had come out from the rude woman’s gate.
But Herbert could not long be kept in ignorance. They turned and
drove back, offering the remainder of their wares on the other side
of the street. When they reached the house opposite that of the first
purchaser, Elizabeth had approached the porch steps before she saw
that the woman had crossed the street and sat with her neighbor. The
neighbor rose as Elizabeth drew near.
“You ought not to come here,” she declared. “If people knew who you
were no one would buy from you.” The voice was not angry; it was
earnest and kindly. “Don’t you understand that?”
“Do you need any vegetables?” asked Elizabeth with burning cheeks.
Whatever this strange mystery was, she was determined not to have it
explained on the public street.
“No, I don’t need any vegetables.”
Elizabeth turned and went out. Herbert looked shrunken.
“Did the woman across the street speak to you like that?”
“Something like that.”
“What do they mean?”
“I have no idea.”
“Is it our name that angers them?”
“I don’t know, Herbert.”
“Can you account for it in any way?”
“No.”
“Did mother ever say that anything dreadful had happened in our family?”
“Never.”
“She was a sad sort of woman. Could anything have worried her?”
“I never suspected anything.” When the words were out, Elizabeth
remembered long periods of depression.
“She never warned us not to come here?”
“She never thought of our coming.”
“What shall we do now, Elizabeth?”
“I am considering that.”
It was not until they had left Chambersburg far behind and had reached
again the little park, that Elizabeth spoke. She lifted her head
suddenly.
“Elizabeth, have you a plan?” It was a question often asked by her
brother.
“Yes, I have a plan. To-morrow I am going to Gettysburg and I am going
to call upon the old gentleman and ask him what is the matter with us.”
“The old gentleman with the book?”
“Yes.”
“Why are you going to ask him?”
“Because he is old and kind and because he probably knows all about
the neighborhood. We seem to have some kind of a bar sinister on our
escutcheon.”
Herbert looked sidewise at Elizabeth. Thank fortune she could still
joke!
“If we committed murder or theft or any other base crime, I want to
know it.”
“Elizabeth!” protested Herbert. Then he asked a little faintly, “Don’t
you want me to go with you?”
Elizabeth’s eyes hardened. She had thought, of course, that Herbert
would go with her.
“No; it isn’t necessary. There is a great deal to be done at home and
Joe will travel better with a light load.”
Rising early, she called Herbert. The sun was up; it gilded the boles
of the trees and turned the spider’s webs to silver. If the old house
had been a beautiful belle, one might have said that the morning was
her hour. The sunlight fell upon the fine, severe old façade, showing
all its sturdy strength of design and workmanship and making glitter
each tiny point of quartz in the stone.
But Elizabeth did not think of its beauty. She prepared Herbert’s
breakfast and also his lunch, then she climbed once more into the wagon.
She did not remember until she reached the old gentleman’s house that
she did not know his name. Fortunately he was on the porch and rose to
greet her. He was, as his daughter had said, always finding interesting
persons, and he was also frequently disappointed in them. Few young
people, he mourned, were willing to put their minds upon anything for
any length of time, even upon the history of their own country and
neighborhood.
“Good-morning,” he said, recalling at once the blue eyes which he had
admired. “Well, did you sell all your wares?”
“Yes,” answered Elizabeth. She proceeded at once to the business
in hand. “My name is Elizabeth Scott. I have come to live in this
neighborhood and I wished to ask some questions about its history.”
The old gentleman beamed.
“Sit down, sit down! My name is Thomas, and I am a crank about the
history of this neighborhood.”
“I heard some one speak on the street about Colonel Thomas--is that
you?”
The old gentleman nodded.
“Pennsylvania is the most interesting State in the Union and this is
its most interesting county. You will probably be sorry that you ever
made my acquaintance, because, once started, I never stop.”
Elizabeth smiled wistfully.
“Oh, no!”
But Colonel Thomas, upon whose lips volumes of information trembled,
did not get far into the history of the county. He saw suddenly tears
in Elizabeth’s blue eyes.
“What is the matter?” he asked.
“My brother and I have come here to earn our living. We were born in
Illinois and there father died when we were children. Our mother lived
until a year ago, then she died suddenly. I had expected to teach
school, but my brother’s health failed and the doctors thought that
an entire change of climate might cure him. Mother still owned her
father’s property in this county, so we came here, expecting to plant
an orchard. My brother is much better, even in these few months. We
have a fine garden and we have tried to sell our things, but wherever
I have gone people have insulted me and advised me to leave. I thought
that perhaps you could tell me what is the matter with us.”
The old colonel raised both his hands.
“On my life, young lady! I never heard of such a state of affairs. This
is a pleasant, hospitable neighborhood. I was born here and have lived
here all my life and I know it. What did you say your name is?”
“My name is Elizabeth Scott. But it isn’t my name that excites them
apparently; it’s the name of my grandfather.”
“What was his name?”
It seemed to Elizabeth before she answered that the expression of the
kindly countenance had changed. A disturbing suspicion seemed to have
entered Colonel Thomas’s mind.
“John Baring,” said she.
“John Baring!” repeated Colonel Thomas. “Oh, my dear young lady! John
Baring!”
“What did he do?” asked Elizabeth steadily.
“You’ve never heard anything about him?”
“Nothing. My mother was a quiet woman who spoke little about anything,
but I am sure that she respected him and loved him. What did he do?”
“Oh, young lady, you have asked me a hard question. I have a friendly
feeling for you, I--”
“That is the reason I came to you,” explained Elizabeth. “You looked at
me in a friendly way.”
“You seem like a young person of excellent common sense and composure.
Do you wish me to tell you the whole truth?”
“By all means!”
“Will you come into the house? We might be interrupted here.”
“Yes,” consented Elizabeth.
Colonel Thomas led the way to a library whose walls were lined to the
ceiling with books. If she had been less worried, Elizabeth would have
exclaimed with delight. As it was, she gave a long sigh.
Colonel Thomas took from a shelf a thick book. Elizabeth could see on
its back the title “Recollections of a Confederate General.” Her heart
stood still. Was their disgrace printed? What kind of disgrace could it
be?
“Sit down.”
Elizabeth obeyed.
“I should decline to tell you if it weren’t inevitable that you should
know.” Even yet Colonel Thomas hesitated.
“I’d rather know it quickly, sir.”
Colonel Thomas began to speak as rapidly as Elizabeth could wish.
“There was a certain fact long gossiped about in this county. It was
said that John Baring had given the Confederates valuable aid when they
came here and that he had even guided them a part of the way. Before
that his neighbors had never dreamed that he was anything but loyal.”
“Was it just neighborhood gossip?” asked Elizabeth. Her cheeks were
pale, but her eyes held the old gentleman’s bravely. “Was it confirmed
in any way?”
Colonel Thomas opened his large book.
“Unfortunately a few months ago this book was published, ‘The
Recollections and Letters of General Adams,’ a reliable witness.
He describes the approach of Lee’s troops to Gettysburg and says
this”--Colonel Thomas found the place and read--“‘From John Baring we
secured information about roads leading to Gettysburg.’”
“May I see it?” asked Elizabeth.
Colonel Thomas laid the book on Elizabeth’s knee. She read in silence,
with bent head.
“You see how the neighbors felt about him. He could not have done much
harm, of course, because there were few roads and these were easy to
find, and they could have got the information in other ways. He went
away with the Confederate army and never came back. He was never seen
here again, but it is not impossible that he lived for many years.”
Elizabeth sat motionless.
“I remember now that his wife died after some years and his daughter
married a stranger and went away.”
Still Elizabeth did not move.
“It seemed kinder to tell you and prepare you to protect yourself
against rudeness. Unfortunately, some local editor read this book and
copied this letter and it has revived an old story which had better
been forgotten. I fought against the Confederates, but I am willing to
forgive. Perhaps there is some other place where you could make a home.”
“Thank you,” said Elizabeth. “You have done me a very great favor.” She
rose and handed Colonel Thomas his book.
Colonel Thomas grew more and more disturbed.
“Won’t you partake of some refreshment?” he offered in his
old-fashioned way. “I will call my daughter.”
“No, I thank you. I have a long journey and I must start.” She looked
up at the old gentleman for a single brave instant; then her eyes
dropped.
“We can’t be blamed for the sins and mistakes of our ancestors,” said
he unhappily.
“No,” agreed Elizabeth. “That is true.” But she could not fail to see
that, consciously or unconsciously, he glanced toward two old swords
crossed above his mantelpiece. “Good-bye,” said she.
But her farewell was not final. She had driven only a short distance
when she turned old Joe round, facing him the way he had come. Her
cheeks burned. Now she looked upon the marauders on her land in a new
light.
“They probably think they can do as they please because we are
despised!”
Colonel Thomas welcomed her.
“I’ll always be glad to see you.”
“I’ve come back to ask another question, which has to do with the
present instead of the past. We have a good deal of woodland back of
the house and men prowl about there constantly with guns and dogs.”
“I know them!” said Colonel Thomas excitedly. “They have a settlement
up in the woods.”
“I spoke to one of them and told him that we had come to stay, and the
next evening I found a scrawled note directing us to leave. It was even
decorated with skull and cross-bones!”
“There’s only one of ’em can write and he learned in the penitentiary,
that’s Sheldon, a tall man with a drooping mustache. Was it he?”
“He’s the one I talked to.”
“They’re a set of miserable rascals!” Colonel Thomas rose and began to
walk up and down. “They’ve an interesting origin, but that’s all about
’em that is interesting. They’re descendants of the first squatters.
The Colonial Government had a great deal of trouble with them, and
since then they’ve been against everything, against the Government,
against education, against religion, against law. During the war they
were against the North, and the draft couldn’t reach into the mountains
far enough to catch ’em. There’s this Sheldon who served a term for
arson--I sent him up myself when I was judge--and a heavy, short,
black-bearded man named Black Smith--don’t think it’s ‘blacksmith’;
there’s nothing so industrious about ’em! They all have pleasant
descriptive titles, like ‘Black’ and ‘Bud’ and ‘Bully.’ But there’s one
institution they fear and that’s the constabulary.”
“Who are they?”
“They are the State police. If you are annoyed, let me know and
there’ll be a settlement. The law will stand behind you there.”
Elizabeth rose once more.
“Thank you.”
Colonel Thomas assured her again vehemently that he and the law and the
constabulary would stand by her. “You wouldn’t hesitate to ask me?”
It was evidently a relief to the old gentleman to be able to offer to
do something for her.
“No,” promised Elizabeth, “I shouldn’t hesitate.”
Colonel Thomas watched her until she turned at the top of the hill.
“Now she has a row to hoe!” said he aloud.