here, and indeed it is like it in many ways. For they have to be taught
to wash and iron and cook, just as they were taught music when little
things; and not knowing how, their hands are skinned by the washboard
and burned by hot irons until they are a sight to see."
"That's too bad."
"Yes; but they are getting on better now, though they manage in one way
and another to put most of the work on poor Betty."
"How does Miss Betty like that?" I asked, glad of the reference because
of my fondness for her.
"She says she doesn't care, and that in time she will be the best cook
in the state."
"There's always one worker in every family, they say," I answered.
"Oh, the others like to work, though not to cook; but it is said, you
know, that the acorn that doesn't sprout the pigs eat, and so what one
of the dear things lacks, the others make up for," she answered, with a
good deal of pride.
"That's true, I'm sure; but haven't you any wish to go back to
Mississippi?" I asked, to encourage her to talk.
"No, not if we could. The girls like it here too, I am sure, if their
thoughts were known, the air and the freedom are so fine. They all send
their love, and will come and see you when the doctor and Constance will
permit," she answered, kissing the sweet girl by her side.
"I'm sure I shall be glad to see them," I answered, remembering their
pleasant ways and many kindnesses to me.
"Here is something Betty sends you, and it is her own make," Mrs.
Singleton replied, removing the cover from a dish of jelly that looked
like amber in the morning sunlight.
"Tell Miss Betty I'm much obliged to her," I answered, asking for a
spoon that I might try it at once. For I was now hungry all the time,
and my thoughts dwelt more on delicacies like this than anything else.
"That will please her, the dear child, for she is never so happy as when
doing things of this kind."
"It's good of her to remember me and she may send me more another day,
if she has a mind," I answered, as if in banter and yet meaning it, for
such things were hard to get in Appletop.
"That she will, my dear, and bring it herself, if she may," Mrs.
Singleton answered, turning to Constance.
"I hope she will, for it will do Gilbert good to see his friends now,"
Constance spoke up, pleased with the kindness shown me; for Mrs.
Singleton and her daughters were loved by every one in Appletop, because
of their kind hearts and unaffected ways.
When the dear lady had taken her departure, I said to Constance,
remembering why the Singletons left Mississippi:
"Have the girls any beaus?"
"Yes, and Miss Betty more especially."
"She is the worker, too."
"It's not on that account, though perhaps it is a recommendation; but
her being a worker doesn't prevent your Uncle Job going there very
often."
"Uncle Job, is he paying her attention?" I asked, not much surprised,
remembering what I had seen at the steamboat landing.
"Yes, he is desperately in love with her; and she is worthy of it, too,"
Constance answered.
"I'm sure she is; and does she care for him?" I asked.
"I think so, but she is so full of her pretty ways and love of everybody
that I can't tell. Sometimes I think she favors him very much, and then
I don't know."
"Is there any one else who pays her attention?" I asked, interested at
once in Uncle Job's suit.
"Yes, his partner, Mr. Rathe, is madly in love with her, they say,
though she doesn't give him any encouragement," she answered.
"I didn't know Uncle Job had a partner," I responded, surprised, I know
not why, but more that there should be rivalry between them in such a
matter; "what has he got a partner for, anyway?"
"Papa asked him that, and he said because his business called him away
so much."
"Who is Rathe?" I inquired, feeling somehow a growing enmity toward him.
"I don't know--no one does, I think; but that is nothing here where most
people are strangers to each other, except as they are thrown together
and so get acquainted," she answered, simply.
"What do you think of him?" I asked, feeling that if she liked him he
must be all right. For every true woman has that strange knowledge of
men that cannot go wrong, and so makes them a safe guide in such
matters. Constance not answering, I added: "Or maybe you don't know him
very well?"
"I have hardly seen him, and so ought not to judge," she answered, as if
evading my inquiry.
Thinking of what she said, I braced myself to ask a question that had
been on my lips since she told me I was in Appletop, but somehow, when I
would have spoken, the words stuck in my throat, as medicine sometimes
will. Now, because of Uncle Job's troubles, I determined to speak out,
and so asked:
"Has Moth been here?"
"Yes; they had scarcely led your horse to the stable when he rode up to
make inquiries; but papa, pretending to fly into a rage, cried out that
if he ever spoke to him again or crossed his door he would have him
ducked in the river for harassing you so"; and her face lighted at the
recollection as if the remembrance pleased her greatly.
"What did Moth do then?"
"Oh, he took it in good part, saying he did not expect help, and that
what he wanted was for your good, however others might view it. After
lingering about the town for a few days he went away, believing, we
think, that you had not come to Appletop; for no one except those we
trust know you are here."
"That's good, and I hope it is the end of him," I answered, feeling much
relieved.
"We think it is, for unless he has left some one to spy about, how will
he ever find out you are here?" she added, as if to clinch the matter.
This mention filled me with new apprehension, for I thought it just like
Moth's cunning to leave a spy behind. I said nothing to Constance,
however, for it would do no good, and rather than disturb her I would
have faced a hundred Moths, such was the tenderness I felt for her. One
day not long afterward, when we sat looking across into the park, she
suddenly turned to me, saying:
"You have never asked about your friend Fox, Gilbert?"
"Fox!" I answered, startled out of myself; for how could she know
anything about that strange man, half robber, half priest. "Who told
you about him?"
"He came here to ask about you."
"About me?'
"Yes; late one night a man rode up to the door and called for your Uncle
Job, and when he went out, Fox was there. He told how you and he escaped
from the jail, adding that he had greatly blamed himself for letting you
go off alone that night."
"That was kind of him," I answered, glad to have been remembered, though
Fox was an outlaw and cast-off, and thought to be altogether bad.
"Yes; and when your uncle told him of your illness, he was greatly
distressed, and afterward kept coming to make inquiries till the doctor
said you were out of danger. At last, when he went away, he asked your
uncle to tell you that though he had taken Moth's horse, he had returned
it to the owner, adding, as if to make light of what he had done, that
the horse was a poor thing, anyway, and not worth keeping."
"That was fine of him, and to send word, too. He is no more a robber,
though, than I am, only he has got into a loose way of living and there
is no chance for him to quit, I am afraid. I only wish he lived in
Appletop," I added.
"Why?"
"Oh, he'd be a good friend, and one who would help find out who is
plotting against Uncle Job, if what Burke said was true," I answered.
At this, and strangely enough, I thought of Rathe, but why I do not
know, unless because of his efforts to gain the favor of Miss Betty, and
so was an enemy of Uncle Job's. "I don't suppose Uncle Job and Rathe
are very good friends, since they have become rivals?" I asked,
determined to learn all I could.
"I have never heard your uncle say anything unkind of him. He would be
too proud, though, to do that; but Setti says Rathe's face is anything
but friendly when your uncle's name is mentioned."
"Does Rathe live at the Dragon?"
"He did until the last few days; but he is away most of the time;
indeed, your uncle and he are hardly ever in town together."
"Does he know I am here?"
"I don't know; we have never told him."
"I hope he doesn't," I answered, feeling somehow as if it would be
better if he did not, and with that the subject was dropped.
In this way, and little by little, I regained my strength, and not at
the last with any pleasure. For with it I should be parted from
Constance, whom I grew every day more to love, not feeling then any more
than in after years that such a thing was beyond me and not likely to
lead to anything I could wish. For those who are mature in thought and
pure of heart ever thus love, years being as naught to them. She was
mine and I was hers, and alone in our lives we loved and were in
everything as one.
*CHAPTER XXXIII*
*THE RED ROSE OF CUVIER RIVER*
When I was able to be abroad some part of the day, Constance and I
loitered at first about the garden beside the house, the plants of which
were beginning to turn with the early frost. In the park across the
way, where all the roads meet, the hickory and ash were already bare and
staring, the limbs of the elm showing black and cold through the scant
foliage that yet clung to their extended branches. The oak and willow
still held their leaves, but discolored and of bilious hue, as if sick
unto death. In pleasing contrast to these, and in rebuke, it seemed,
the maples welcomed the frost with pink and red and paling yellow, as if
they thought the coming winter a thing to look forward to with delight
and not with dread.
The first day we ventured into the street we ran across Blott, grooming
a horse near the stable door.
"Howdy do," he exclaimed, taking off his cap on seeing Constance; "I'm
glad to see you out an' not lookin' so pale. It's a fine day for
inv'lids, miss, an' purty for washin' an' dryin' things," he added,
looking across the road at the sheets and pillow-cases flapping in the
warm air.
"How are you, Blott, and the dapple-gray?" I cried, going to her. For
it was Uncle Job's mare, and the one I had ridden to Appletop that
morning.
"Hello, Gilbert! is that you? Well, I'd never know'd you," he
exclaimed. "I'm glad to see you out agin, though, for 'ceptin' for you
I'd not be curryin' horses now."
"Not this mare, anyway," I answered, stroking her fine face and looking
into her mild responsive eyes.
"No; an' she's a good one if I'm a judge, an' fit to ride for one's
life."
"So is every horse, Blott," I answered, rubbing my face against hers.
"They'll all do the best they can."
"All horses is good, Gilbert, if not broken by fools or the like," Blott
answered, striking his currycomb against a post, and making the dust
fly; "an' I never hired an old, broken-down livery plug in my life that
I didn't want to buy it afterward, if 'twas gentle an' tried to please,
which they mostly does."
"That's so; but how are you getting on? As good as new and better, if
your looks show," I answered, remarking his fine color and clear eyes.
"Yes; the bullet went through me as clean as a whistle, an' if the ashes
of the old cabin was scraped away you'd find it there sure. Then I'm
livin' a decent kind of life, too. The malary's a thing you don't want,
though, Gilbert. It's like the bots, an' if you ever git it be careful
of the medicine, for it's worse'n the disease. It makes one
careless-like; kindy as if you was coastin' on a big bob. I used to see
lots of signs as I shot down the hill, that said as plain as words,
'Hell's at the bottom, Blott'; but I kept on, not carin'. When I'd
reached the bottom, Burke's shot tipped me over, an' though I rolled
within a foot of the openin' I didn't go in, an' ever since I've bin
tryin' to crawl back agin to the top. It's slow work, though, both my
tendons bein' bowed an' my wind not much to speak of. I'm not such a
fool after all, though, as I look," he went on in his droll way. "For
it's a wise chicken that knows enough to stay near the barn, but after
the hawks git most of their feathers they learn better'n to wander too
far."
"Well, the hawks haven't picked your bones," I answered, scanning his
great frame.
"No; an' I can't think how it all happened, for I wasn't wild when a
boy. I was tied up too tight, I guess. You've got to leave some slack
in a boy's galluses, Gilbert, if you want to keep the buttons on his
pants. Don't forget that when you're grown, if you don't want to raise
a lot of wrecks."
"Yes; but good by. Take good care of the mare," I answered, stroking
her nose as we walked away.
"You bet your last plunk, an' for what she's done for me, if nothin'
else."
As I grew stronger, Constance and I extended our walks into the town,
standing by to watch the coming and going of the traders and farmers.
The little village as yet made no open pretense of grandeur, nor hinted
at the hope of many that it would one day become a city. Such things
were talked about, however, quietly, by the more aspiring, and if the
authorities still permitted the edge of the sidewalk to be used as a
rack for horses, and the cows to wander at will, it was in the interest
of trade and neighborly accommodation, and for the present only. For,
like a young maiden who dreams of taking her hair out of braid, some
there were in the town who were beginning to discuss the need of
improvements and things that cities require and older places have, led
on by wily politicians and expectant contractors; though nothing came of
it, or ever would.
After a while, like young birds gaining strength, we wandered as far as
the ferry, a mile or more away. Here we spent our time watching the
river and gathering the crimson leaves and flowers that still blossomed
along its borders. These visits were made much of by Mrs. Hayward, the
young wife of the ferryman, who both of us came to know and love. If it
happened that she could get away from her household duties, she would
often go with us, and at other times, if it was convenient, would
entertain us at the little cabin where she and Mr. Hayward lived. In
this manner Constance and she soon became great friends, and because of
it the lady in time took me into her liking as well. Later, when the
nuts were right for gathering, we sometimes extended our visits a great
way into the country. Thus it came about one day, when we were far from
Appletop, that a storm coming on, we sought shelter in a house some
distance from the road, as if in a place by itself, so secluded were its
surroundings. The mistress made us welcome, and her husband coming in
while we sat, Constance cried out at seeing him that it was Blake, the
carpenter who had fixed up the treasure-room at the Dragon. Like most
people who came into the new country, the Blakes had pre-empted a piece
of land and, building a house thereon, made it their home; but he, being
a carpenter and builder, sought employment where he could find it, and
oftentimes a great way off, as in our case.
The good people did all they could to make us prolong our stay, and this
we were only too glad to do, because of their kindness and desire to be
hospitable. Mr. Blake was a stout little man, slow of speech, with eyes
of a reddish color, and having sharp eyebrows that stuck out like
bayonets. Mr. and Mrs. Blake had a way when they talked, which pleased
us very much, of resting their hands on each other's shoulders and
prefixing what they said to each other by some endearing phrase, as
people sometimes will who are much alone or greatly attached to each
other. As soon as she learned who we were, Mrs. Blake, without further
waiting or any pretense of formality, at once assumed toward us, and
naturally, the air of a mother, so that we were in a little while
talking and laughing as if we had known her always. When it came time
to leave, Mr. Blake took hold of my hand and held it as if meditating
some form of speech. Then, calling to his wife and looking to her as if
for help, he said:
"I have heard all about your life, my son, and if you would care to
leave Appletop and come and live with us, you having no regular home, we
should be glad to have you, and would make it pleasant if we could, and
treat you like our own"; saying which, and unable to go on, he put my
hand in that of his wife's, folding his arms in a homely way, as if he
found them a great bother when not in use.
"Indeed, we should be glad to have you come and make your home with us,
for you would take the place of our boy," Mrs. Blake responded, tears
starting in her eyes at the reference. "Please come, as Mr. Blake says,
and we will try and make your life happier than it has been since you,
too, have been alone."
This offer, so full of love and gentle kindness, moved me more than I
could find words to tell, and promising that if I went to any one I
would come to them, we drove off, Mr. and Mrs. Blake standing with their
hands on each other's shoulders, watching until the forest hid us from
view.
Some days after this we set apart an afternoon for a visit to the
Singletons. As if to do us honor they gave us tea, and besides did and
said many pleasant things to show their kindness; but most of all, I sat
watching Miss Betty, as if I might thus in some way come to know how she
regarded Uncle Job. On our way home, too, this formed the subject of
conversation, but without our being the wiser for anything we had seen
or heard. On reaching the Dragon, however, all such thoughts were
driven from our minds by seeing Moth making his way across the street in
the direction of the Dragon. Hurrying into the house, he followed us to
the door, demanding to see Mr. Seymour, but the latter would by no means
go out nor let the other come in. While Moth stood thus expostulating
with the servant, Uncle Job came up, and seeing him, stopped and bowed
politely, but without saying a word.
"I am sorry, Mr. Throckmorton," Moth began, without preface of any kind,
"to thwart you in regard to your nephew, your intention being worthy, no
doubt. This I am compelled to do, however, and I come now with the
decree of the court, due and legal summons having been given, to claim
his person, and I demand that you give him up peaceably and without show
of resistance." Saying which, he took a document from his pocket and
held it out for Uncle Job to examine, adding, "Here is my authority,
sir!"
Uncle Job, neither taking the paper nor making any motion to do so,
answered directly:
"I have also the decree of our court, due summons having in like manner
been given, awarding the lad to my care, Mr. Moth, and so I shall not be
able to comply with your request."
At this Moth started back, but presently regaining himself, answered:
"My decree, Mr. Throckmorton, will be found to antedate yours, and
therefore holds priority."
"I think not," Uncle Job replied, shortly.
"I know it does," Moth answered, in a heat. "I went before the court
the day of its opening after the summer vacation, and my decree is as of
that date, and nothing you have, therefore, can antedate it."
"I did the like here, Mr. Moth, and so the order I hold must bear the
same date as yours," and Uncle Job took the paper from his pocket and
held it for the other to examine. At this I thought Moth would have
toppled over, so great was his surprise and rage. "So you see you are
forestalled, Mr. Moth, and Gilbert being here our judge will, of course,
exercise his prerogative; and now, as there is nothing more to be said
about the matter, I will bid you good day"; and Uncle Job, bowing
politely, turned on his heel and walked away.
"The judge at his home will take precedence of all others," Moth yelled
after him; "and if necessary I will appeal to the higher courts. I'll
not take denial and will have the child whether or no." To this Uncle
Job made no response, and Moth, after a while, finding no attention paid
to his threats, turned and went the way he came.
When he was gone I looked at Constance, and with such dismay in my face
that she cried out:
"He can't do anything, Gilbert, I am sure he can't. Your Uncle Job said
so, and I would believe him before I would that mean little lawyer."
To this I made no response, for to tell the truth, since Moth had
overcome Fox and shown such courage and cunning, my fear of him had
increased beyond all bounds. Indeed, I thought him capable of any
desperate thing that might come into his head; and so, going back into
the room I sat down, at a loss what to do or say.
"You haven't anything to fear, Gilbert, indeed you haven't," Constance
kept on repeating, hovering about me like a gentle dove, and as if
dreading some foolish resolve I might make.
"You don't know what he is capable of, and the only thing left for me is
to go away. I have made Uncle Job enough trouble already, and it's no
use, for Moth will never give me any peace."
"You're not going away, Gilbert; you can't, and there is no need.
Besides, where would you go?" she persisted, resting her face against
mine.
"I don't know, but I am going, and to-night. I'm tired of being chased
about the country by that little devil. I would like to kill him!" I
answered, feeling very sore.
"Oh, don't say that, Gilbert, please don't!" she answered, putting her
arms about me as if she would in this way shield and restrain me.
"I didn't mean it, Constance, you know; but Moth'll not stop at anything
nor wait for the courts, and once he gets me, there will be no help for
it. It would be just like him to put me in jail--but where I am to go I
don't know."
"Don't go at all, Gilbert, please don't, there's no need," she pleaded.
To this I made no response, and for a time we sat without speaking,
clasping each other's hands. At last, seeing I was determined, she
looked up timidly and as if she had found a way out of our trouble.
"If you will leave, Gilbert, why not go to the Blakes? They are such
gentle people, too, and Moth would never be able to find you there."
"It's the very thing," I cried, jumping up, "and not like going away,
either, for I shall be near you all the time; you are always my good
angel, Constance," I added, kissing the sweet creature.
"Then you will go there?"
"Yes; but no one must be told, so that if Uncle Job is asked, he can say
he doesn't know."
"No one but Blott, for he must go with you. He will not betray us, I'm
sure," she answered.
On Blott's being sent for, she went to him, and taking his great hand
said, in a hesitating, timid way, "We want you to do something for us,
and we know you will never speak of it to any one."
"A tenpenny nail in an oak plank, miss, can't hold it better'n I can a
secret if it concerns you or Gilbert there," he answered, with more
resolution than was usual with him.
"It isn't much, but we think it a good deal," she answered, still
hesitating.
"If you think that, it's mount'ins to me," he answered.
"Thank you; and it is good of you to say so. Gilbert has to go away
to-night, Blott," she hurried on, "and without any one knowing it, or
where he is, and I want you to go with him."
"All right, miss, I'll do anything you say; but what's the matter, if
there ain't no harm in askin'?"
"Moth's here," I answered, "and he is determined to make trouble, and so
I am going away."
"Is that woodtick after you agin? Well, if that's all you're goin' for,
I can fix him quicker'n a butterfly can flap his wings," Blott
responded, straightening up. "See that fist? If it was to hit him, he
wouldn't light this side of Rock River's foamin' waters. I hain't had a
scrap since the cold winter of '32, an' I'm just dyin' for one."
"No, Blott; it wouldn't help me, and only get you into trouble," I
answered.
"Well, just as you say; but if you'd let me give the little burr a
thrashin'--nothin' to hurt, you know--he'd never bother you agin."
"No, that wouldn't do. The more he is opposed, the worse he is. The
only thing for me to do is to go away until things can be fixed up by
Uncle Job."
"All right, if you'll have it that way; but what am I to do?"
"Saddle two horses, and wait for Gilbert outside the town, where he will
join you after dark," Constance interposed, and as if ordering a
squadron of cavalry.
"How far are we goin'?"
"Not far, and you can be back by midnight."
"All right, miss; I'll wait for him behind the grove of mulberry-trees,
if he knows where they is."
"Yes," I answered; "and take the mare, if she is in the stable"; and
with that he hurried off to get things in readiness for our departure.