“Now, Tom,” said Betty, with a bustling little air of excitement as she
rose from the breakfast table that first morning at Belle Plain, “I am
ready if you are. I want you to show me everything!”
“I reckon you'll notice some changes,” remarked Tom.
He went from the room and down the hall a step or two in advance of her.
On the wide porch Betty paused, breathing deep. The house stood on an
eminence; directly before it at the bottom of the slight descent was a
small bayou, beyond this the forest stretched away in one unbroken mass
to the Mississippi. Here and there, gleaming in the brilliant morning
light, some great bend of the river was visible through the trees, while
the Arkansas coast, blue and distant, piled up against the far horizon.
“What is it you want to see, anyhow, Betty?” Tom demanded, turning on
her.
“Everything--the place, Tom--Belle Plain! Oh, isn't it beautiful! I had
no idea how lovely it was!” cried Betty, as with her eyes still fixed on
the distant panorama of woods and water she went down the steps, Tom
at her heels--he bet she'd get sick of it all soon enough, that was one
comfort!
“Why, Tom! Why does the lawn look like this?”
“Like what?” inquired Tom.
“Why, this--all weeds and briers, and the paths overgrown?” and as Betty
surveyed the unkempt waste that had once been a lawn, a little frown
fixed itself on her smooth brow.
Mr. Ware rubbed his chin reflectively with the back of his hand.
“That sort of thing looked all right, Bet,” he said, “but it kept five
or six of the best hands out of the fields right at the busiest time of
the year.”
“Haven't I slaves enough?” she asked.
The dull color crept into Ware's cheeks. He hated her for that “I!” So
she was going to come that on him, was she? And he'd worked himself like
a horse to bring in more land. Why, he'd doubled the acreage in cotton
and corn in the last four years! He smothered his sense of hurt and
indignation.
“Don't you want to see the crops, Bet? Let me order a team and show you
about, you couldn't walk over the place in a week!” he urged.
The girl shook her head and moved swiftly down the path that led from
terrace to terrace to the margin of the bayou. At the first terrace she
paused. All below was a wilderness of tangled vines and brush. She faced
Tom rather piteously. What had been lost was more than he could possibly
understand. Her father had planned these grounds which he was allowing a
riotous second growth to swallow up.
“It's positively squalid!” cried Betty, with a little stamp of her foot.
Ware glanced about with dull eyes. The air of neglect and decay which
was everywhere visible, and which was such a shock to Betty, had not
been reached in a season, he was really convinced that the place looked
pretty much as it had always looked.
“I'll tell you, Betty, I'm busy this morning; you poke about and see
what you want done and we'll do it,” he said, and made a hasty retreat
to his office, a little brick building at the other side of the house.
Betty returned to the porch and seating herself on the top step with her
elbows on her knees and her chin sunk in the palms of her hands, gazed
about her miserably enough. She was still seated there when half an hour
later Charley Norton galloped up the drive from the highroad. Catching
sight of her on the porch he sprang from the saddle, and, throwing his
reins to a black boy, hurried to her side.
“Inspecting your domain, Betty?” he asked, as he took his place near her
on the step.
“Why didn't you tell me, Charley--or at least prepare me for this?” she
asked, almost tearfully.
“How was I to know, Betty? I haven't been here since you went away,
dear--what was there to bring me? Old Tom would make a cow pasture out
of the Garden of Eden, wouldn't he--a beautiful, practical, sordid soul
he is!”
“What am I going to do, Charley?”
“Keep after him until you get what you want, it's the only way to manage
Tom that I know of.”
“It's horrid to have to assert one's self!”
“You'll have to with Tom--you must, Betty--he won't understand anything
else.” Then he added: “Let's look around and see what's needed, a season
or two of care will remedy the most of this neglect. Just make Tom put a
lot of hands in here with brush-hooks and axes and soon you'll not know
the place!”
Norton spent the day at Belle Plain; and though he was there on his good
behavior as the result of an agreement they had reached on board The
Naiad, he proposed twice.
“My intentions are all right, Betty,” he assured her in extenuation.
“But I've the worst memory imaginable. Oh, yes, the lower terrace is
badly gullied, but it's no great matter, it can be fixed with a little
work.”
It was soon plain to Betty that Tom's ideals, if he possessed any,
had not led him in the direction of what he termed display. His social
impulse had suffered atrophy. The house was utterly disorganized; there
was a dearth of suitable servants. Those she had known were gone--sold,
she learned. Tom explained that there had been no need for them since
he had lived pretty much in his office, what had been the use in keeping
darkies standing about doing nothing? He had got rid of those show
niggers and put their price in husky field hands, who could be made to
do a day's work and not feel they were abused.
But Tom was mistaken in his supposition that Betty would soon tire of
Belle Plain. She demanded men, and teams, and began on the lawns. This
interested and fascinated her. She was out at sun-up to direct her
laborers. She had the advantage of Charley Norton's presence and advice
for the greater part of each day in the week, and Sundays he came to
look over what had been accomplished, and, as Tom firmly believed, to
put that little fool up to fresh nonsense. He could have booted him!
As the grounds took shape before her delighted eyes, Betty found leisure
to institute a thorough reformation indoors. A number of house servants
were rescued from the quarters and she began to instruct them in their
new duties.
Tom was sick at heart. The little fool would cripple the place. It gave
him acute nausea to see the gangs at work about the lawns; it made him
sicker to pass through the house. There were five or six women in the
kitchen now--he was damned if he could see what they found to do--there
was a butler and a page. Betty had levied on the stables for one of the
best teams to draw the family carriage, which had not been in use since
her mother's death; there was a coachman for that, and another little
monkey to ride on the rumble and hop down and open gates. This came of
sending girls away to school--they only learned foolishness.
And those niggers about the house had to be dressed for their new
work; the butler, a cracking plow-hand he was, wore better clothes than
he--Tom--did. No wonder he was sick;--and waste! Tom knew all about that
when the bills began to come in from Memphis. Why, that pink-faced chit,
he always referred to her in his own mind now as a pink-faced chit, was
evolving a scheme of life that would cost eight or ten thousand dollars
a year to maintain, and she was talking of decorators for the house,
either from New Orleans or Philadelphia, and new furniture from top to
bottom.
Tom felt that he was being robbed. Then he realized with a sense of
shock that here was a fortune of over half a million in lands and slaves
which he had managed and manipulated all these years, but which was not
his. It was true that under the terms of his stepmother's will he would
inherit it in the event of Betty's death--well, she looked like dying,
a whole lot--she was as strong as a mule, those soft rounded curves
covered plenty of vigorous muscle; Tom hated the very sight of her. A
pink-faced chit bubbling over with life and useless energy, a perfect
curse she was, with all sorts of extravagant tastes and he was powerless
to check her, for, although he was still her guardian, there were
certain provisions of the will--he consulted the copy he kept locked up
in his desk in the office--that permitted her to do pretty much as
she pleased with her income. It was a hell of a will! She could spend
fifteen or twenty thousand dollars a year if she wanted to and he
couldn't prevent it. It was an iniquitous document!
Well, the place could go straight off to the devil, he wouldn't wear out
his life economizing for her to waste--he didn't get a thank-you--and he
knew that nobody took off the land bigger crops than he did, while bale
for bale his cotton outsold all other cotton raised in the county--that
was the kind of a manager he was. He wagged his head in self-approval.
And what did he get out of it? A lump sum each year with a further
lump sum of twenty thousand dollars when she came of age--soon now--or
married. Tom's eyes bulged from their sockets--she'd be doing that next,
to spite him!
Betty's sphere of influence rapidly extended itself. She soon began to
have her doubts concerning the treatment accorded the slaves, and was
not long in discovering that Hicks, the overseer, ran things with a
heavy hand. Matters reached a crisis one day when, happening to ride
through the quarters, she found him disciplining a refractory black.
She turned sick at the sight. Here was a slave actually being whipped
by another slave while Hicks stood looking on with his hands in his
pockets, and with a brutal satisfied air. When he caught sight of the
girl, he sang out,
“That'll do; he's had enough, I reckon, to learn him!” He added sullenly
to Betty, “Sorry you seen this, Miss!”
“How dare you order such a punishment without authority!” cried Betty
furiously.
Hicks gave her a black scowl.
“I don't need no authority to whip a shirker,” he said insolently, as he
turned away.
“Stop!” commanded Betty, her eyes blazing. She strove to keep her voice
steady. “You shall not remain at Belle Plain another hour.”
Hicks said nothing. He knew it would take more than her saying so to
get him off the place. Betty turned her horse and galloped back to the
house. She felt that she was in no condition to see Tom just at that
moment, and dismounting at the door ran up-stairs to her room.
Meantime the overseer sought out Ware in his office. His manner
of stating his grievance was singular. He began by swearing at his
employer. He had been insulted before all the quarter--his rage fairly
choked him, he could not speak.
Tom seized the opportunity to swear back. He wanted to know if he
hadn't troubles enough without the overseer's help? If he'd got himself
insulted it was his own affair and he could lump it, generally speaking,
and get out of that office! But Tom's fury quickly spent itself. He
wanted to know what the matter was.
“Sent you off the place, did she; well, you'll have to eat crow. I'll do
all I can. I don't know what girls were ever made for anyhow, damned if
I do!” he added plaintively, as a realization of a stupendous mistake on
the part of nature overwhelmed him.
Hicks consented to eat crow only after Mr. Ware had cursed and cajoled
him into a better and more forgiving frame of mind. Then Tom hurried off
to find Betty and put matters right; a more difficult task than he had
reckoned on, for Betty was obdurate and her indignation flared up at
mention of the incident; all his powers of argument and persuasion were
called into requisition before she would consent to Hicks remaining, and
then only on that most uncertain tenure, his good behavior.
“Now you come up to the house,” said Tom, when he had won his point and
gone back to Hicks, “and get done with it. I reckon you talked when you
should have kept your blame familiar mouth shut! Come on, and get it
over with, and say you're sorry.”
Later, after Hicks had made his apology, the two men smoked a friendly
pipe and discussed the situation. Tom pointed out that opposition was
useless, a losing game, you could get your way by less direct means. She
wouldn't stay long at Belle Plain, but while she did remain they must
avoid any more crises of the sort through which they had just passed,
and presently; she'd be sick of the place. Tom wagged his head. She was
sick of it already only she hadn't the sense to know it. It wasn't good
enough. Nothing suited-the house--the grounds--nothing!
In the midst of her activities Betty occasionally found time to think
of Bruce Carrington. She was sure she did not wish to see him again! But
when three weeks had passed she began to feel incensed that he had not
appeared. She thought of him with hot cheeks and a quickening beat of
the heart. It was anger. Naturally she was very indignant, as she had
every right to be! He was the first man who had dared--!
Then one day when she had decided for ever to banish all memory of
him from her mind, and never, under any circumstances, to think of him
again, he presented himself at Belle Plain.
She was in her room just putting the finishing touches to an especially
satisfying toilet when her maid tapped on the door and told her there
was a gentleman in the parlor who wished to see her.
“Is it Mr. Norton?” asked Betty.
“No, Miss--he didn't give no name, Miss.”
When Betty entered the parlor a moment later she saw her caller standing
with his back turned toward her as he gazed from one of the windows, but
she instantly recognized those broad shoulders, and the fine poise of
the shapely head that surmounted them.
“Oh, Mr. Carrington--” and Betty stopped short, while her face grew
rather pale and then crimsoned. Then she advanced quite boldly and held
out a frigid hand, which he took carefully. “I didn't know--so you are
alive--you disappeared so suddenly that night--”
“Yes, I'm alive,” he said, and then with a smile. “But I fear before you
get through with me we'll both wish I were not, Betty.”
“Don't call me Betty.”
“Who was that man who met you at New Madrid? He can't have you, whoever
he is!” His eyes dwelt on her tenderly, and the remembered spell of her
fresh youthful beauty deepened itself for him.
“Perhaps he doesn't want me--”
“Yes, he does. That was plain as day.”
Betty surveyed him from under her lashes. What could she do with this
man? Nothing affected him. He seemed to have crossed some intangible
barrier and to stand closer to her than any other man had ever stood.
“Do you still hate me, Betty--Miss Malroy--is there anything I can say
or do that will make you forgive me?” He looked at her penitently.
But Betty hardened her heart against him and prepared to keep him in
place. Remembering that he was still holding her hand, she recovered it.
“Will you sit down?” she indicated a chair. He seated himself and Betty
put a safe distance between them. “Are you staying in the neighborhood,
Mr. Carrington?” she asked, rather unkindly. How did he dare come here
when she had forgotten him and her annoyance? And now the sight of him
brought back memories of that disagreeable night on that horrid boat--he
had deceived her about that boat, too--she would never forgive him for
that--she had trusted him and he had clearly shown that he was not to be
trusted; and Betty closed her pretty mouth until it was a thin red line
and looked away that she might not see his hateful face.
“No, I'm not staying in the neighborhood. When I left you, I made up my
mind I'd wait at New Madrid until I could come on down here and say I
was sorry.”
“And it's taken you all this time?”
Carrington regarded her seriously.
“I reckon I must have come for more time, Betty--Miss Malroy.” In spite
of herself, Betty glowed under the caressing humor of his tone.
“Really--you must have chosen poorly then when you selected New Madrid.
It couldn't have been a good place for your purpose.”
“I think if I could have made up my mind to stay there long enough, it
would have answered,” said Carrington. “But when a down-river boat tied
up 'there yesterday it was more than I could stand. You 'see there's
danger in a town like New Madrid of getting too sorry. I thought we'd
better discuss this point--”
“Mayn't I show you Belle Plain?” asked Betty quickly.
But Carrington shook his head.
“I don't care anything about that,” he said. “I didn't come here to see
Belle Plain.”
“You certainly are candid,” said Betty.
“I intend to be honest with you always.”
“Dear me--but I don't know that I shall particularly like it. Do
you think it was quite fair to select the boat you did, or was your
resolution to be always honest formed later?” demanded Betty severely.
He looked at her with great sweetness of expression.
“I didn't advise that boat for speed, only for safety. Betty, doesn't
it mean anything to you that I love you? I admit that I wish it had been
twice as slow!” he added reflectively, as an afterthought. He looked at
her steadily, and Betty's dark lashes drooped as the color mounted to
her face.
“I don't,” she said quickly. She rose from her chair, and Carrington
followed her example with a lithe movement that bespoke muscles in good
training. She led the way through the wide hall and out to the porch.
“Now I am going to show you all over the place,” she announced
resolutely. She stood on the top step, looking off into the flaming
west where the sun rode low in the heavens. “Isn't it lovely, Mr.
Carrington, isn't it beautiful?”
“Very beautiful!” Carrington's glance was fixed on her face.
“If you don't care to see Belle Plain,” began Betty, rather indignantly.
“No, I don't, Betty. This is enough for me. I'll come for that some
other time if you'll be good enough to let me?”
“Then you expect to remain in the neighborhood?”
“I've given up the river, and I'm going to get hold of some land--”
“Land?” said Betty, with a rising inflection.
“Yes, land.”
“I thought you were a river-man?”
“I'm a river-man no longer. I am going to be a planter now. But I'll
tell you why, and all about it some other day.” Then he held out his
hand. “Goodby,” he added.
“Are you going--good-by, Mr. Carrington,” and Betty's fingers tingled
with his masterful clasp long after he had gone.
Carrington sauntered slowly down the path to the highroad.
“She didn't ask me to come back--an oversight,” he told himself
cheerfully.
Just beyond the gates he met that same young fellow he had seen at
New Madrid. Norton nodded good-naturedly as he passed, and Carrington,
glancing back, saw that he turned in at Belle Plain. He shrugged his
shoulders, and went on his way not rejoicing.