"SURE SOME DISASTER HAS BEFELL"
"The sun grew weary of guilding the palaces of Morad; the
clouds of sorrow gathered around his head, and the tempest of
hatred roared about his dwelling."
With March, spring descended abruptly in Kentucky. Before the end of the
second week, the rows of interwoven canes with the suggestion of green
at their feet, in the gardens of the Silver Run neighborhood, that told
that peas were up, were not the only signs of spring.
The great rolling bluegrass fields had exchanged their nunlike drab
carpeting for one of a delicate green: the willows that fringed the
creek were lightly touched with emerald: in the maples alternating with
the willows, bees worked joyously: every red-bud tree on the wooded
cliffs wore a drapery of delicate pink, like a tinted bridal veil, and
on one side the little James farm, the rye in the last year's tobacco
field of Vaughn Castle, spread out like a lake with waters newly dyed
green. Even the all-winter bare back yard of the Ephriam Doggetts had
made an attempt at redeeming its appearance: the mallow and the dock had
begun to lift their heads, and next the fence, some sprigs of purple
henbit showed themselves.
Mr. Lindsay had resumed his work of tobacco stripping in late
February--helping the belated tobacco-men, and afterward setting up hemp
for the weather belated hemp growers, staying from Saturday evening
until Sunday morning at the house of the always-open-door, and
turn-nobody-away Doggetts.
One Sunday morning, he came into the house, a half dozen yellow jonquils
that bloomed under the ragged Althea bush, in a corner of the front
yard, in his hand.
"Well, Marshall," he suggested, "suppose'n you git out the razors, and
let's me and you shave each other, and git ready to go to see our girls
this evenin'."
Wisdom had whispered in the ears of Mr. Lindsay, and, following her
advice (though with reluctance) he had made no week day calls on the
James family since his departure. On both the Sundays that had passed,
however, he had called. The old man and Miss Nancy (her suspicions as to
his intentions allayed by his absence, and Miss Lucy's demeanor) had
treated him with cordiality: he had managed unobserved by them to
exchange delightfully satisfactory whispers with his betrothed, and
today he looked forward to a similar happy afternoon.
The sunshine was no brighter than Mr. Lindsay's low cut shoes, when,
after Mrs. Doggett's early dinner, he and Marshall lifted the gate that
had no hinges: the dead autumn leaves in the ditch no browner than his
tidy mustache, and a faint odor of "white rose" trailed on the air
behind him.
"How do we look, Ma?" invited Marshall pausing correctly to adjust the
bit of white in his breast pocket.
"Mighty well--mighty well!" encouraged Mrs. Doggett: "are you both a
goin' the McLean road?"
"Aw hush, Ann," interposed Mr. Doggett, "don't you know him and
Marshall's tracks wouldn't nary one fit t'other's? Ef McLean is a gray
lookin' house jest over the hill, Mr. Lindsay's a goin' to McLean!"
Exactly three-quarters of an hour from the time of their vainglorious
departure, Mr. Lindsay walked into the Doggett kitchen and sat quietly
behind the stove, afflicted of mien and crestfallen to a degree.
"What _is_ the matter with Mr. Lindsay?" thought Mrs. Doggett: but she
made no comment on his hasty return. "He won't do no talkin' 'tel he
gits good and ready," she argued. At four o'clock Joe came home from his
brother Lem's.
"I want to git a horse, Joe, to fetch my trunk, and my valises, and my
enlarged picture away from old man Jameses," Mr. Lindsay said to him,
"and ef you know anybody's got one to spare, I wisht you'd tell me. I
tried to git one at Jim's and Willises, but Jim and Henrietty wuz gone,
and old man Willis wuz in town with his buggy mare."
"What you wanter breng your trunk away on Sunday fer, Mr. Lindsay?"
wondered Joe.
"I'll tell you, Joey, ef you'll git me a horse!"
"Thar hain't nary bit o' use a huntin' up a hoss when you can jest kerry
them thengs down here, Mr. Lindsay," protested Mrs. Doggett: "They
hain't heavy and 'tain't fur. Eph, he'll be in d'rectly--he jest stepped
acrost the creek in Dock's boat, to look at Mr. Archie Evans' new
terbaccer barn--and he can holp you kerry one end o' the trunk, and one
valise, and Joey can kerry your ma's enlarged picture, and t'other
valise."
When, an hour after, a baggage-laden procession came in at Mrs.
Doggett's front door, her curiosity had reached its utmost tension.
"Set the thengs right down, Eph--you all," she cried: "you can take 'em
upstairs after supper. Mr. Lindsay looks plumb worried!"
Mr. Lindsay looked at her dejectedly. "I am worried, Mrs. Doggett--I've
been treated bad--never wuz treated worse in my life, and onexpectedly
too, and by people I never done nothin' to in my life! Ever sence I left
the James, the old man has been a sendin' me word to come to see 'em--"
"Yes, sir, he has," broke in Mr. Doggett: "hit's been 'tell Lindsay to
come up and set a while some night,' 'tell Lindsay to come,' ever' time
he sees me er the boys."
"I went too, two Sundays, as you all know," went on Mr. Lindsay, "and
they treated me nice, and I thought I'd git the same treatment today,
but--"
"You don't mean to say, Mr. Lindsay, they didn't treat you well, after
all that sendin' word fer you to come?" shrilled Mrs. Doggett.
"I'll tell you how the old man done me," said Mr. Lindsay, bitterly. "I
seed him a standin' at the gate, and I thenks 'the pore old creeter's a
sunnin' his rheumatiz.' When I got up clost I says, 'Good evenin', Mr.
James,' but he never let on he heerd my 'good evenin'--jest begun on me.
'Sir,' he says, 'your trunk's here in my house, and I want you to take
hit away! I sent word to you as fur back as Friday to come and git hit,
and hit's here yit!' I says: 'Why, Mr. James, I hain't heerd nothin' of
hit!' 'Well you hear hit now,' he says: 'I want hit tuck away, and don't
you never come on my place ag'in, ner never speak another word to any o'
my family!'"
Mrs. Doggett's heart beat with a throb of ecstasy. Surely old July's
words were coming true! Mr. Brock's rival was set aside: Mr. James had
"turned on him!" Mrs. Doggett was diplomatic; her face assumed a look of
indignant horror.
"O mercy goodness, Mr. Lindsay!" she cried, "you know Mr. Jeemes never
said that!"
"Yes, he did," went on Mr. Lindsay, "and when I told him I'd try to git
the thengs away Monday, he said like somethin' crazy: 'That trunk's got
to be tuck out before the sun sets, er I'll know the reason why!' I says
then: 'What have I done, Mr. James, that you're a talkin' to me this
away?' And he says: 'I din't need to smut my tongue with pertic'lers,
but you hain't no nice person--no fit person to be in no nice house with
nice people!'
"I left him then, seein' he wuz jest bent on insultin' me. I tell you,
Uncle Eph, it made me feel bad to thenk I'd never done the old man a bit
o' harm in my life--never nothin' but kindness--and yit he'd talk to me
that away!"
Mr. Lindsay, honest and as upright as one of the boulders that stand on
the granite-clad hills of his Scotch ancestors, and conscious of his
rectitude, flushed deeply as he spoke of the indignity that had been put
upon him.
"I wouldn't 'a' thought hit o' him, no sir, I wouldn't!" murmured Mr.
Doggett, in amazement.
"Hain't hit outdacious," execrated Mrs. Doggett, "him been here ever'
sence the flood might' night', and a talkin' that away?"
"When I wuz up thar a Friday a helpin' him fix the yard fence whar Mr.
Castle's jinnies busted hit," Joey volunteered, "he said to me: 'Joey,
you take them old overhalls o' Lindsay's a hangin' thar in the shed, and
throw 'em in the creek! And tell him to send after the balance of his
old duds--I don't want him to come after 'em hisse'f, but send somebody
after 'em!'"
"Why didn't you tell me, Joey, afore now?" Mr. Lindsay's voice was
mildly reproving.
"I wuz a thenkin' about hit," answered Joey, "but I jest thought hit wuz
too mean to tell anybody, and ef he wanted to tell you, he might as well
do hit hisse'f."
"What did the old man say when you went to fetch the trunk and thengs?"
asked Mrs. Doggett.
"I couldn't git Uncle Eph ner Joey to go to the door," Mr. Lindsay said
aggrievedly, "and when Miss Lucy met me and I told her I'd come after my
trunk she looked surprised and said hit wuzn't in the way, and whyn't I
let hit stay? And ef I must take hit away, whyn't I wait 'tel a week
day? I told her her pa'd ordered hit to be tuck away before dark. 'Pa,'
she said, and hit wuz the first time I ever heerd her speak sharp to
him, 'what made you do that?' He never made her no answer--never invited
me to set down ner nothin'."
"Wher' wuz Miss Nancy at?" queried Mrs. Doggett.
"I never seen her, but when me and Joey wuz a packin' out the trunk and
thengs, poor Miss Lucy jest stood a lookin' at us, the tears a streamin'
down her face." The husky note in Mr. Lindsay's voice warned him to
silence. He reached out and taking the picture frame off the trunk, laid
it on his knees, and gazed soberly at the gentle face that looked out of
the frame.
"I never fell out with nobody in my life," he went on presently, "and I
wuz plumb thunderstruck at the old man's conduct."
"Maybe Miss Nancy er some person that wanted to git you in disfaver with
him, had somethin' to do with hit," suggested Mr. Doggett.
"Aw hush, Eph," interrupted Mrs. Doggett, "you know they didn't!"
Mr. Lindsay cogitated a moment. "I never knowed what kind o' people they
wuz ontel I went there and staid a while," he said, presently: "and I'll
jest tell you the truth, Uncle Eph, I found out two of 'em wuzn't the
kind o' people you can live with. I've been a holdin' back all the
meanness of old man James, but now hit's out and his daughter's too!
I've been around among a heap o' different people, but I've never seen a
woman as mean as Miss Nancy, and as fer him, he jest sets and studies up
meanness! I knowed he wuz fractious, old and childish, and I didn't want
to go there, but they kept at me ontel I went and done the work fer ten
weeks, and never charged 'em a cent--jest got my board and washin' fer
pay.
"I allus thought Miss Nancy and Miss Lucy wuz one as good as t'other,
and when I first went there to stay, Miss Nancy couldn't 'a' been no
nicer to me, but jest in a little while--and I couldn't tell you the
reason to save my soul--she turned on me and treated me worse than a dog
all the time I stayed."
"Miss Lucy is more pleasin' somehow'n Miss Nancy," observed Mr. Doggett.
"Yes, they say she takes after her ma, a good woman. Miss Nancy is
strange ever' way," continued Mr. Lindsay, "she don't keer what she says
to a person to hurt his feelin's. She fusses at Miss Lucy all the time,
and Miss Lucy jest knuckles down to her, and sets under their abuse as
dumb as an oyster. She tried to keep hit hid from me how they done her,
but 'twuzn't no use.
"And I couldn't do nothin' to _suit_ Miss Nancy neither. Ef I made a
fire in the stove, the sticks wouldn't be laid to suit her, and she'd
take 'em out and lay 'em in the fireplace, and make the fire over! Most
of the time she wuz so savin' o' wood, she wouldn't let Miss Lucy kindle
a fire in the fireplace in the kitchen at all, and the poor theng would
churn in that cold kitchen without a fire, all that cold weather!
"When I first went there I kep' a wonderin' what made the old man
quarrel so much about hit a takin' so much feed fer 'that black cow and
calf,' and I come to find out they wuz Miss Lucy's! When he's able, he
walks around the pasture and never lets them two old mares o' his git
out o' his sight, and he feeds 'em twelve years o' corn at a time, and
never allows 'em to be drove out o' a walk, but he begrudges ever' bite
o' hay and corn that goes into the black cow and calf, and stints 'em
scandalous. I fed 'em a plentiful, when I wuz there. Miss Lucy wuz
mighty pleased how well they done.
"And grudgin' feed hain't all: That old man hain't got an honest bone in
his body. Miss Lucy told me one day, in the last ten years, (sence her
ma died) that old man had tuck three of her hiefers and sold 'em and put
the money in his pocket! Miss Lucy she takes what money she makes
different ways, and buys ever'theng they need and use. Nancy puts the
money she makes in the bank fer herse'f.
"Miss Lucy'd been a sewin' all fall fer niggers, and ef you'll believe
me, she tuck ever' cent o' that money to make the last payment on her
ma's tombstone! And at Christmas, she had three dollars left she wanted
to git Christmas presents with, and she laid hit on the mantel while she
wuz a gittin' ready to go to town, and that old man slyly put hit in his
pocket!"
"Mr. Lindsay, you know he never done the pore creetur that away!" burst
out Mrs. Doggett. "Well, hain't the world a comin' on? I don't see how
hit can stand much longer! Hit's might' night' as wicked as 'twuz before
the flood! I don't see how you kep' quiet, a seein' sech doin's!" she
went on in a warm excess of pretended sympathy. Mr. Lindsay's eyes
flashed.
"I couldn't hardly," he avowed, "after I seen that! And many a time
after that when I've heerd the old man a bemeanin' her--innocent
theng--my hands have jest itched, and I've jest set still sometimes a
clinchin' my finger nails into the palms o' my hands 'tel they bled, a
makin' myse'f remember he wuz a feeble old man, ef he wuz onjest and
cruel to _her_.
"I done my best to sorter make up to Miss Lucy, while I wuz there fer
the way they wuz a doin' her, and Miss Nancy ketched on to hit. Then
ever' time me and Miss Lucy'd be a talkin' pleasant, she'd make signs to
the old man, like 'jest look at Lucy tryin' to court, won't you, Pa!'
"One evenin' jest about dusk I went out in the hall, a startin' up
stairs to git my milkin' coat, and I accidentally met Miss Lucy in the
hall. Miss Nancy wuz on the porch, and she snarled out to the old man,
so loud I heerd her: 'How does that look, her in the hall with him, and
hit _dark_?'
"When I come down stairs ag'in I says, 'Miss Nancy, you needn't 'a' been
skeered about Miss Lucy,--you don't thenk I'd eat her ef I happened to
ketch her by herse'f, do you?'"
"Now, Mr. Lindsay," put in Mr. Doggett, "maybe 'tain't so much meanness
in the old man as you thenk. He hain't the worst man in the world when
all's said: I thenk he's got some mighty clever streaks."
"I fail to see 'em," said Mrs. Doggett.
"Well, yes, old lady, but' he's suffered a heap, and maybe his mind
hain't exactly all thar!"
"Naw you needn't tell me that old creeter's anytheng but mean!" Mrs.
Doggett's voice was a snort of apparent jeering disbelief. "Old age and
disease hain't got nothin' to do with hit. That old man's inbred mean!"
"I wonder what's the matter with Miss Nancy?" Dock ventured, raising his
tousled head off the bed.
"I jest tell you, Mr. Lindsay," Mr. Doggett observed in a whisper to Mr.
Lindsay, "hit's jest as plain as the nose on a man's face, when all's
considered: Miss Nancy wuz a hankerin' to be Mrs. Lindsay--she wanted
you herse'f!"