“Rhoda,” called Mrs. Ware from the veranda steps, “will you come here,
please?”
Rhoda was standing between the rows of lilac that hedged the walk to
the front gate, inspecting the swelling buds and saying to herself
with pleasure that they looked as if they would bloom early that year.
The lilac was her best-loved flower and these two lines of bushes had
been planted because of her pleading, ten years before. Every season
she watched anxiously for the buds to show sign of returning life, and
Charlotte declared that after they began to swell she measured them
with a tape line every day to mark their growth. When they bloomed she
kept bowls of the flowers all over the house and was rarely without a
spray in her hair or her dress.
Mrs. Ware noted that her daughter’s step was not as brisk as usual and
saw that the glow was gone from her face, while into her eyes had come
a look of wistfulness. Believing she knew the cause, she longed to take
the girl in her arms and say, “Don’t worry, dear. He’ll be here soon,
I’m sure, for I wrote to him to come.” But she thought it best to keep
her own secrets and so what she said was:
“Mrs. Winston has just sent word that little Harriet is worse and she
wants your father to come at once. He’s not likely to be back here
before noon. So I want you to drive me over to their house and then
take the message to your father--I know where he is--so he can stop
there before he comes home. Get ready at once, honey. I’ve told Jim to
harness up, and I’ve only to put on my bonnet.”
Charlotte watched them as they drove down the hill, thinking
discontentedly, “Mother doesn’t care half as much about me as she does
about Rhoda. She’d just give her eyes to have Rhoda marry Jeff, and she
never shows the least interest that way in me. I don’t believe she’d
care if I was to be an old maid. An old maid! Oh, la! Well, I’m not
going to, and I’ll not marry anybody in Hillside, either.”
Looking rather pleased with herself at this ultimatum she sauntered
into the house and the notes of the “Battle of Prague” were soon
resounding through the silent rooms. But the clanging of the knocker at
the front door presently crashed them into discord. A moment later she
crossed the hall into the parlor, whither Lizzie had shown Jefferson
Delavan, thinking:
“What good luck there’s nobody at home but me! I wish Rhoda had refused
him again first. Well, I’ll tell him she’s going to.”
A twinkle of amusement came now and then into Delavan’s eyes as he
watched the airs and graces, the sidelong glances, and all the dainty
feminine tricks of movement and gesture and poise with which Charlotte
accompanied her conversation. It was not her physical habit ever to
remain quietly seated, or even in the same position for more than a
few minutes. Her restless spirits, her active body and her native
vivacity of manner combined to keep her in motion almost as incessant
and quite as unconscious as that of a bird flitting about in a tree.
Although she did not know it this habit was one of her most charming
characteristics. She had a certain dignity of carriage, like her
mother’s, which made itself manifest, notwithstanding her absurdly
large hoopskirt, and this, with her grace of action and of posture,
made her movements always pleasing to look at, while her bird-like
flights gave an elusiveness to her manner that enhanced her charm.
She saw the admiration in Delavan’s face as his eyes followed her, and
tilted her skirts in a way that would have scandalized her mother,
although she observed that her companion seemed not at all dismayed by
the glimpses of slender foot and ankle that she made possible. That
occasional twinkle of amusement she took as a tribute to her gaiety and
laughed and chattered all the more.
“Has your true heart been pining, Miss Charlotte?” he presently asked
in a quizzical tone, as he leaned upon the back of her chair, looking
down smilingly into her pretty, upturned face.
She flushed a little, but made wide eyes at him and said, “What do you
mean?”
“Oh, I was given to understand that some hearts in Hillside are in a
rather bad way. Is yours true and does it pine?”
She made a graceful little gesture and turned upon him with a merry
face and a look distinctly provocative: “Suppose it was, either or
both, what would it matter to you?”
She looked up at him, smiling, with saucy lips and inviting eyes, and
before she knew what he was doing he had slipped an arm around her
waist and lifted her to her feet. She struggled to free herself, but
he held her against his breast, pushed back her head and kissed her
squarely upon the lips, once, twice, and thrice. With her hands against
his chest she tried to push him away and struggled to turn her face
from his. But she was helpless in his grasp until he released her.
“You brute!” she exclaimed, dashing the angry tears from her eyes. “How
dare you!”
He leaned against the back of the chair, hand in pocket, and laughed
indulgently. “Didn’t you want me to? It looked that way.”
“Of course I didn’t,” she stormed. “You’re a horrid thing, and I hate
you!”
“Well, I’m glad to know you didn’t. It’s much better that you were only
pretending.”
“How do you think Rhoda will take it, when I tell her? And I shall!”
“Oh, tell her if you like. But how do _you_ think she will take your
trying to persuade a kiss from her lover?”
Her eyes blazed angrily and she stamped her foot, but said nothing.
“Never mind, little sister,” he went on, patting her shoulder. “I was
only giving you a lesson, and it’s much better to keep such things in
the family. Remember after this that if you ask a man so plainly to
kiss you he’s very likely to do it.”
“Don’t call me ‘sister,’ you horrid thing! I’m not!” she exclaimed,
turning away.
“I hope you will be some day.”
“I won’t! Rhoda isn’t going to marry you!”
“So she’s told me a number of times!” and he laughed again, an easy,
happy, self-satisfied laugh.
She faced about, curiosity in her heart. Had something happened without
her knowledge? Would he seem so sure, would he wear openly that look
of confident love if Rhoda had not accepted him? The imp of mischief
stirred once more in her breast. She moved a step nearer.
“Say, do you know, Jeff, that’s the first time a man ever kissed me!”
“You’ve had better luck than you deserve, little sister.”
“If you’re so much in love with Rhoda what did you want to do it for?”
“Why did you look as if you wanted me to if you didn’t?”
“I didn’t look that way!”
“Oh, didn’t you? Then my previous observations have been at fault.
Perhaps I thought I’d like to find out why you sent me that anonymous
letter. At first I thought you meant it as a hint for Rhoda’s sake. But
after you’d been five minutes in this room it seemed to me that you
were taking very queer means for advancing her interests. If you had
unfortunately fallen in love with me yourself it wouldn’t have been
quite so bad. But you haven’t, little sister, you haven’t. You’d have
wanted me to kiss you again if you had.”
“You’re a horrid brute, that’s what you are, and I hate you!”
“I’m sorry to hear it, for I’ve always liked you, and you’re Rhoda’s
sister. But I hope you’ll remember that treachery isn’t a nice thing,
in either love or war.”
She moved uncertainly toward the door and, glancing through the
window, saw her sister drive past the front gate. “There’s Rhoda!” she
exclaimed, casting back at him a fiery glance. “I shall tell her just
the sort of man you are!” But she did not forget to give her hoopskirt
an extra tilt as she dashed out. Delavan, noting it, smiled as he
followed her to the door and cast a glance after her figure, hurriedly
retreating up the stairs.
Rhoda did not know that Jeff was there until she came into the
hall through the office and saw him standing in the parlor door.
“Sweetheart!” he called in low tones, and moved toward her, with
outstretched hand. A glad light came into her face at sight of him, but
she stood still and did not speak, until he was at her side.
“Don’t, Jeff! When I have told you so many times it can’t be!” she
pleaded, and drew away from him as he would take her in his arms.
“I know, dearest! But it’s different now, when I know what you really
want!”
She turned so that he could not see her face and asked with a sort of
gasp, “What do you mean?”
If he could have seen her countenance as she stood with face averted,
finger on lip, listening breathlessly for his reply, nothing would have
prevented him from seizing her in his arms and doing as she had begged
in the letter she had not meant him to see. For it glowed with love and
trembled upon surrender and shone with gladness that he knew her inmost
heart.
“Ah, Rhoda Ware, I know your secret now!” He was bending near her, his
hands hovering over her, but still he would not touch her while she
seemed unwilling. “I know, now, how much you love me, and how ready at
last you are to give up to your heart. Come then, dear one, or I shall
surely do as you bade me in your letter!”
A sudden stiffening and shrinking in her attitude made him fall back
a step and look at her anxiously. Slowly, very slowly, she turned,
lifting her head, until she faced him. And slowly the love-light and
the trembling nearness to surrender faded out of her countenance and
left it drawn with the effort by which she had forced herself once more
to the point of denial, with lips compressed and gray eyes steely with
resolution.
“Jeff,” she began, and her voice was unsteady, “it’s not fair to either
of us that you saw what I wrote. I didn’t mean to put that into my
letter--I wrote it out only because my heart ached so and it seemed
some relief. But I thought I’d burned it. I’m sorry it got mixed in
with the other sheets. But it was a mistake, and you’ll forgive me,
won’t you, dear Jeff, and you won’t feel that it was a promise?”
Her voice fell away into pleading tones and she stood hesitating,
poised, as if wishing him to stand aside and let her pass. With
instinctive deference he stepped aside and she moved quickly to the
foot of the stairs. But he sprang after her and seized her hand,
exclaiming, as he drew her into the parlor, “No, Rhoda! I shall not let
you ruin both our lives and break both our hearts, after that glimpse
you gave me of yours!”
She steadied herself for the struggle she knew must come, and suddenly
felt her nerves grow firm and her brain clear, as they always did when
she faced great need. She was calmer than he and more mistress of
herself as she said:
“I can’t say anything different to what I’ve always said, and said in
that letter, that I feel to the bottom of my heart that slavery is such
a wrong, such a curse, such a horrible thing that I can’t marry you
because you believe in it and are a part of it.”
[Illustration: “‘Don’t, Jeff, please don’t!’ she pleaded.”]
He gazed at her silently a moment, and the love in his face, that had
but just now been more of the body than of the soul, was transfused
with admiration of her spirit. “And you can still say that to me,” he
marveled in hushed accents, “after your heart has ached as it must have
when you wrote those lines?”
She dropped her eyes lest he see the sudden start of tears. It was a
subtle undermining of her defenses, had he known it, thus to cease
demanding and reveal such understanding and sympathy. Of such sort was
her ideal love, and it hurt more than ever to put it from her. One hand
was pressed against her heart, as if she could thus lessen the physical
pain, and she said piteously, “It’s aching now, Jeff!”
He looked at her irresolutely. Her drooping figure, her averted face,
her trembling voice--they were all such a plea of weakness to strength,
of feminine trust to masculine power to help, that even if he had not
loved her the impulse to take her in his arms and comfort her would
have been well-nigh overpowering. But he knew not what unexpected
visage her spirit might next reveal and he had already learned that,
although the primitive woman in her might call loudly one moment, in
the next the civilized woman would thrust her into her cave and in
dignity and strength stand guard at the door. For a moment he wavered,
then with clenched hands turned on his heel and walked across the room,
exclaiming:
“And you won’t let me stop it, you won’t let me comfort you!” Then he
faced about and as his eyes fell again upon her, he cried, “By heaven,
I will!” And he sprang toward her.
But already she had gathered up her resolution once more and it was the
civilized woman, not to be won save with her own consent, who moved
aside and eluded the embrace with which he would have swept her to his
breast. He dropped on his knees at her feet and buried his face in her
dress. A moment she stood with both hands clenched against her heart.
Then she bent over him and laid them as softly upon his head as a
compassionate mother might have done.
“Don’t Jeff, please don’t!” she pleaded. “It’s so hard already--don’t
make it harder, for both of us. We’ll have to just recognize what is,
and accept it.”
He rose again, seizing one of her hands as it fell from his head. “But
what is, Rhoda, except that we love each other with such strength that
God who made us must have meant us to be husband and wife? What else is
there that matters, beside that?”
“I’ve told you so often, dear, what it is that matters!”
“What do you want me to do, dear heart? I’ll free my slaves, if you
wish, and pay them wages.”
Her face lighted and she smiled wistfully at him, but shook her head.
“It’s deeper than that, Jeff, deeper than just the ownership of a few
slaves. I knew you would do that, for my sake. I told myself so--” she
broke off, smiled fondly upon him, then laid her free hand upon the two
already clasped.
“Listen, Jeff, let me tell you--I didn’t intend to, but perhaps it’s
best. After I sent you that last letter, I had a sudden fear that I had
put in the sheet I didn’t mean you to see. It was only a second, and
then I felt sure I had burned it. But for a little while I--I almost
wished I had, and in my heart I said I would give up and that I would
write you to come. It seemed as if you would know anyway, and as if you
were coming, without my telling you. And for three or four days I sat
at my window and watched for you and dreamed about our love, and about
our life together at beautiful Fairmount--” she hesitated an instant
and blushed faintly, but the true woman in her sent her on--“with
our children growing up around us, and we so happy and growing old
together-- Oh, Jeff, it was such a beautiful dream!”
“Not half so beautiful or happy as the reality would be, sweetheart!
Oh, Rhoda, won’t you make it true!”
“We’d be happy for a while, dear, but we’d wake up, sooner or later,
just as I did, and then we’d find out that there was no true marriage
between us, and our happiness would end.”
Denial was in his face and voice as he quickly answered: “Never, Rhoda!
I can’t believe it! Why should we waken? Why did you?”
“It was the Dred Scott decision.”
He smiled incredulously. “I suppose I would have anyway, after a
little,” she went on, “if you hadn’t got here first--” and she smiled
up at him ingenuously.
“O, how I wish I had! If it hadn’t been for that storm--”
“It’s better to wake up too soon than too late,” she broke in. “As
soon as I knew about that decision and all that the chief justice
had said, and understood how delighted the South is over it, and how
it has saddened and discouraged all of us up here at the North who
hate slavery, then I saw once more that I couldn’t compromise with my
conscience, not the least little bit.”
“But, Rhoda, you won’t have to, if I free my slaves. And I will!”
“I’ve thought that all out, and it wouldn’t help us any--though I’d be
glad for the slaves. Don’t you see, Jeff, that if you should free them,
still believing in slavery as you do, and still being devoted to the
South and wanting with all your soul to further her interests, which
you think are bound up in slavery--don’t you see that after a while you
would begin to feel that for my sake you had done something wrong, had
been false to your own ideals? And I would know it and it would make me
unhappy. I don’t think, Jeff, that I’d want you to free your negroes,
except as you might be convinced that it’s wrong to keep them enslaved.”
She stopped and looked up at him with her flashing smile. “I’ll run
every one of them off to freedom that I can get a chance to, but--”
He smiled back at her indulgently, and then they both laughed a little,
glad of the relief from the high tension which had held them.
“Rhoda, you are such a dear girl!” he murmured fondly. Her hands were
imprisoned, one in each of his, but he did not attempt to lessen the
distance between them. The earthly side of their love was fading out of
their mutual consciousness, for the moment, as their thoughts mounted
to the things of the spirit.
“It’s such a wide gulf between us, although we are so near,” she went
on. “Your letters have shown me that. To the bottom of your heart you
believe that all that the South is struggling for is right and good and
is her just right and will be for the good of the world.”
He threw back his head and his eyes shone. “I do, Rhoda,” he exclaimed
with emphasis. “I love the South, and her ideals are mine and her
ambitions are mine! They are just and right and the more widely they
are spread the better it will be for civilization and the whole world!”
She nodded. “Yes, I understand how you feel, though I didn’t at first.
And I believe to the bottom of my heart that the enslavement of man by
man”--her face was glowing now with the inner fires of conviction and
her low voice thrilled with the intensity of her feeling--“is wrong and
degrades both of them and is the cause of no end of horrible things.
And I don’t believe that anything good can ever come out of it.”
“But you don’t know, Rhoda--you never have seen--” he began earnestly.
“Ah, but I have seen, Jeff,” she broke in sadly. “I’ve seen the poor
negroes that my father and I have helped on their way to Canada taking
such desperate risks and enduring such awful sufferings in the hope
of winning their freedom that I don’t need to see anything else.
Divided like that, dear, on a matter that goes so deep with both of
us, there could be no real understanding and sympathy between us, no
true marriage. I think your convictions and your ideals are wrong--they
are hateful to me--but I honor you for being true to them. I honor
you more and love you more than I would if you gave them up, while you
still believed in them, for love of me.”
“You are right, dear heart,” he said, the pain of baffled and hopeless
love sounding in his voice. “I could not be false to my convictions and
my principles, even for you, my sweet, any more than you could be false
to yours. You make me understand, as I haven’t before, what this means
to you.”
“No, Jeff, I can’t see that there’s any hope for us, for our happiness,
on this earth, as long as this thing lasts that lies between us.
Perhaps, in heaven--”
Their eyes met, and her voice trembled and ceased. They stood with
hands clasped, looking through open windows into each other’s souls,
gazing deep into the warm and lovely depths of love, which they were
putting behind them, and turning their vision upward along the heights
where material aims crumbled away and hope and aspiration became only
the essence of the soul’s ideals. And as they gazed it seemed to them
that somewhere up in that dim region of eternal truth their spirits met
and were joined.
A faint sigh fluttered from Rhoda’s lips. With a start Delavan dropped
her hands and sank upon the sofa beside them. His head bowed on his
breast and a deep, shuddering breath, that was almost a sob, shook his
body.
“I think I’ll go now,” said Rhoda tremulously.
“No, don’t go. I want you beside me a little while. Sit down here. No,
don’t be afraid--give me your hand.”
For a little space they sat in silence, like two children venturing
into some unknown region and gaining courage by clasp of hands. At last
he rose.
“I will leave you now, dear heart. But it’s not good-by, even yet. I
still believe that sometime I shall call you wife. I’m proud to have
won your love, Rhoda, prouder than of anything else I shall ever do.”
He pressed her hand to his lips, bowed ceremoniously, and a moment
later she was listening to the sound of his footsteps as he walked down
the path to the gate.