THE PINERIES.
Annis ran and threw her arms around her mother's neck and kissed her
fervently.
"Are you glad to come here and do you like them all?" she asked when
she found her breath. "And it is so queer, with all the black people
and the great house and--and everything!"
"It is a little strange. You will like it better by and by," glancing
tenderly down in her child's eyes.
"And you--must you be mother to _all_ the children? Am I never to have
you any more?"
"You have me now. Yes, you will always have me. Don't you remember you
used to wish for a sister like Sallie Reed? Her mother loved all the
children."
"But she had them when they were cunning little babies," was the
decisive reply.
"Dear,"--her mother knelt down and put her arms around the child,--"it
is this way. We have come to this lovely home which is to be ours, and
all the pleasant things a good friend can give--a kindly, generous
friend. I used to feel anxious and worried about your future. There
was no good school. The life was very narrow. And if I had been taken
away----"
"But they never would let the Indians take you. Oh, mother dear!" with
a fervent embrace. She had not meant that, but she would not give the
other explanation.
"And all these children are going to share their father's love with
you. He will give you this beautiful home, clothe you, educate you, and
he puts me in the place of their dear mother who is dead. He is going
to care for me and keep me from toil and sorrows and perplexities. When
you are older you will understand better. I hope you will try to love
them all, and this good dear friend who will be a father to you."
"But I shall love you the best."
"Yes, dear," with a proud certainty.
"And you will love me better than anyone else?" and Annis clasped her
mother with a child's unreasoning exclusiveness.
"Yes, dear."
A merry voice went lilting through the hall. Jaqueline paused a moment
at the door. She was in her pretty green riding habit, and her straw
hat had a bunch of iridescent cock's-plumes. She held her riding whip
in one gloved hand, and she really was a picture good to look at.
"Oh, are you ready?" Mrs. Mason asked.
"Yes, and the carriage has come, but father is still down at the
stables. Rene doesn't want to go, from some queer freak, and Patty
does. I don't believe father would mind--would you?"
"Why, of course not," in a cordial tone.
"Rene is queer sometimes." Jaqueline studied Annis, and smiled in an
odd fashion, for Varina had just declared she "wouldn't go anywhere
with that new girl, and that she did not mean to like her, for after
all she was not a real sister, and they had done very well without any
mother, and she just wished father had not brought her home."
"It's the big carriage," said Patty, "and I could go if Rene did not
want to. I hate to stay home all alone."
Jaqueline understood that this would be the easiest way of settling the
matter, for Varina had a streak of obstinacy that was conquered soonest
by "giving her her head," as Phillis said.
"Never mind about the box," as one of the men had come in with hatchet
and hammer. "I won't unpack it this morning," began Mrs. Mason.
"Is Patricia getting ready?" She tied Annis' hat in a big bow under
her chin, and then putting on her own they walked downstairs while
Jaqueline went for Patty. Varina was nowhere to be seen.
Mrs. Mason had hardly noted her new home in the dusk of the evening,
except to be aware that it was very large. The broad veranda was like
a hall. Four fluted columns ran up to the second-story windows, with
vines trained on trelliswork in between. The house had but two stories,
and an extensive observatory on the top that really was a delightful
room during the spring and autumn. A lawn filled with clumps of
shrubbery and well-grown trees stretched down to the road, the drive
winding around in a half-curve. From the front there was nothing to mar
the handsome outlook where the ground lay in a line of curves to the
Potomac. The stables, the workshops, and the negro quarters were cut
off by a tall, thick hedge.
Mr. Mason came around the corner of the house. Jaqueline was feeding
Hero lumps of sugar, to the amazement of Annis. Patty flew across the
veranda in a whirl, and her father merely nodded to her explanations
as they were put on the back seat. Jaqueline waved her hand, and Hero
started off at a sharp canter.
Patty could not keep still very long, and began to question Annis as to
what the Kentucky home was like, and if she was glad or sorry to leave
it. There had been only Seth Bowers, who worked the farm, and an Indian
woman to help about the house, but just across a little yard space the
Browns had lived, and beyond were the stockade and the blockhouse. Then
the log houses were ranged around.
"But were you not afraid?" asked Patty. "Suppose the Indians had come?"
"All the Indians about were friendly. We were not afraid of them."
"But what did you spend your time at--if you didn't go to school?"
"Mother taught me. Sally Brown came in when she wasn't too busy, and we
studied. Mrs. Brown spun and knit, and Adam Dodge had a loom where he
wove cloth. Oh, there were a great many things!"
"A hard life it was for you," and Mr. Mason glanced at his wife's
countenance, which had fallen into thoughtful lines.
"There have been many pioneers," she returned with a half-smile.
"Virginia is full of their graves. And the northern coasts. Our people
were wiser. They chose a less rigorous clime."
"True. The story North and South is full of romance. But, then, what
country is not? The old Romans colonized, sometimes very cruelly,
tearing people from their homes. We came of our free will, except such
as were redemptioners."
"And slaves," in a low tone.
"That is a serious question," and the squire's rugged brows knit.
"That they are better off is beyond cavil. In their own land they
fight and destroy each other, make slaves, and many tribes are no doubt
cannibals. The President has always considered it bad for the country.
But we have needed labor. And in Bible times men were permitted to
enslave other nations. The dominant race gets the upper hand, and it
is right that knowledge and improvement should have a chance against
ignorance and degeneracy. But this is a somber talk for such a fair
day. Look! Over yonder is the Capital."
She saw the gleam of the white buildings, and here and there an
imposing mansion. It was in truth a magnificent day; the balmy breath
of forests and the coolness of the river tempering the heat. In and
out by dainty edges fringed with grasses, some standing sentinel-like,
some dallying coquettishly with the breeze, flowed the broad river.
There were innumerable little islets of rank greenness looking as
if they were set asail on its bosom, and here and there a spike of
blossom. All this great marsh the hand of man and the wit of his brain
were to transform into one of the great cities of the world before
the century ended. Long, straight barren places were to be beautiful
streets, but now they were gray and dreary in the sunshine. She liked
the woods better, the winding road that now was in a dense shade from
the overarching trees, and now came out to broad spaces of sunshine.
Squirrels chattered and ran about, whisking their feathery tails like
a fan; bird notes, clear and sweet, dying to most exquisite softness,
made melody in the air; bees hummed and crooned, secure of their
hidden sweets. Patricia Mason drank it all in with a great feeling of
gladness. It was so unlike the primeval solitudes where the few clung
together, when the darkness fell, with a nameless terror, or listened
to the great shivering woods, wondering if an enemy lay in ambush.
God had watched over her and her child and raised up kindly friends,
and had now given her home and rest--and, yes, love. How could she
do otherwise than love this large-hearted, generous man! And she must
train Annis to pay him something more than mere respect.
The pretty young rider put her horse through his various paces. Now and
then she was lost to sight by some turn in the road, then she waited
with a laughing face and paced demurely alongside of the carriage,
chatting gayly with her father or Patricia. She was not quite at home
yet with her new mother.
The day grew warmer. They drew up in a densely shaded place.
"Let us get out and rest," said the squire. "There are some fruit and
a little luncheon, for we shall be late at the Pineries. It is too warm
to drive fast. But it will be delightful coming back after sundown."
Jaqueline slipped off her horse. Patricia sprang out with the litheness
of a kitten. But the squire took Annis in his arms and as he stood her
down, kissed her, which brought a quick blush to her cheek.
They found a fallen tree and a great flat rock that looked as if Nature
had set her table for travelers coming by. They spread out their
lunch. The girls had the ready hunger of youth. Annis went round by
her mother. It was all so new and strange. She could not feel afraid of
this second father, and yet she did grudge his claim upon her mother a
little, the mother who was now in a rather gay conversation with the
two young girls. Jaqueline _was_ amusing in her descriptions of the
Pineries, and though her father checked her rattling tongue now and
then, she did not greatly heed it. Aunt Catharine had been rather free
in her strictures on people and events, and the family at the Pineries
had not escaped.
Then they resumed their journey, and the road grew wilder. Washington
and Georgetown were left behind, the houses were less frequent, but the
river still ran along by their sides, and now and then a boat of some
kind passed them. Then they came to a clearing and a great stretch of
tobacco plantations, a winding drive through giant pines that rustled
like a river hurrying over a rocky bed. In the midst of a woods, it
seemed, so close were the trees, with a fine open space in the front,
stood the mansion.
On the wide porch sat an elderly man with flowing silvery hair,
inclined to curl at the ends, but not fastened in the fashion of the
day. His frame was large, but one could see there had been a gradual
shrinking of the flesh, for his face and his long thin hands were much
wrinkled. Still, there was a tint of pink in his cheeks, and his eyes
were very blue, rather piercing.
"Randolph Mason!" he exclaimed, standing his big volume down on the
porch floor and taking the flight of steps deliberately. "This is
indeed a surprise! You have been a great truant, and I hope your quest
was satisfactory. When did you return? We have heard nothing for at
least a fortnight. Your mother was wondering----"
"Last night. I spent a few days in Baltimore. And I have brought home
a new wife, so we came at once to pay our respects to my mother."
"Jack, summon Madam and Marian. Allow me to give you congratulation,"
and he held out his hand to Mrs. Mason with impressive dignity.
"You will have a good husband, madam, though we have for some time
considered him proof against woman's charms. But we all succumb
sooner or later. I was quite a bachelor when Mrs. Mason conquered me.
Jaqueline, how do you do? And, Patricia? Why----"
He stared at Annis.
"This is my new little daughter Annis Bouvier. We have not had time to
change her name yet. I found Mrs. Bouvier without much difficulty, and
persuaded her to return to her relatives at Baltimore, and to the small
fortune awaiting her. There I suddenly was seized with a new mind and
persuaded her to marry me."
Squire Mason laughed with a kind of boyish gayety. Mr. Floyd looked
scrutinizingly at the two girls, as if wondering how they had
taken this unexpected new mother. But the brilliant faces showed no
disapprobation.
They had reached the porch, and the master rang his bell loudly for
some servants and began to berate them all for a lazy, worthless lot,
pushing chairs hither and thither and inviting the guests to be seated,
and in the midst of the confusion a dignified woman crossed the room
and came out to them.
Even now Madam Floyd, halfway between sixty and seventy, was a fine,
imposing woman, stately and rather stout. Her petticoat of embroidered
satin was displayed by the skirt of her gown being drawn aside and
edged with lace that made cascades of the creamy stuff as she walked.
Her sleeves came to the elbows and her round arms were white and plump,
and the bit of neck left by the stomacher of lace showed scarcely any
sign of age. On her head was a large turban-like cap of fine sheer
muslin much affected by the elderly woman of that time.
She was of course surprised at her son's marriage, and said rather
sharply that "it might have been done with less haste," but to the
new wife--"You will find men have not over-much consideration. And I
suppose it was a matter of satisfaction to leave that wild land behind
you and return to the home of your childhood? But you found many
changes, doubtless. You were of the Moore branch, I believe, kin to my
son's first wife?"
Jaqueline and Patty had gone to hunt up Marian. Dolly had gone off in
the mountains visiting. So Madam had the guest to herself, and between
them they picked out all the descent of the family from the coming of
Lord de la Ware down to the present time. Even the Huguenot Bouvier was
not wanting in good birth, so that matter was satisfactorily settled.
Then Madam bethought herself that the travelers must have gone without
dinner, and ordered a table set out on the porch, with cold chicken,
tempting slices of fresh bread, and wine, and gave charges for a high
tea at an early hour, since the guests had not come to stay.
Mr. Floyd and his stepson were already deep in politics and growing
quite heated. The country was all astir, as in the autumn there would
be a Presidential election.
"There will be no chance for the Federals," said the elder man sharply.
"The President will have things all his own way and put in his man,
who, if he shilly-shallies, as they have been doing, will give England
another chance. She beats us out of everything, you may as well admit.
And this embargo hasn't hurt her, and it will not. There will be no
French to call upon this time for help. And you mark my words, we
shall go back like whipped hounds! I knew the Colonies never could hang
together. The East wants one thing, the middle States another; and they
demand the freedom of coming in and regulating our affairs. No, there
will never be a settled peace until England has really conquered us and
put us back in our proper place."
Squire Mason laughed. "That will never be. We have had too long a
taste of freedom, of ruling ourselves. And if we could not be conquered
before, it would be the wildest folly to attempt it now. Besides, she
has her hands full."
"She and the other nations will join to finish that upstart Napoleon.
And the country will be foolish enough to just throw itself at her,
and she won't take that! Two kings can't govern a country, and we have
a dozen different kings, with their panaceas, and they have brought
the country to the verge of ruin. Washington had some wisdom, I will
admit, and Adams some sense, but since then, with this half-infidel
who believes in every man having his own religion, and no state church
to rally about, and considers that one man has just as much rights as
another, and that drivel that all men are born free and equal! They are
not, I tell you. And I believe in a state church and the power to make
it respected."
"Don't get so excited, father," admonished his wife. "Come, Randolph,
have a bite of something and a glass of wine. You must be half
famished, Mrs. Patricia--the name come in very handy, you see. And the
little girl. Annis is quite out of the family lines. I don't remember
hearing it. It has a Puritan sound. I think myself it is a shame the
world should be so mixed up on religion. There is but one Bible, and
there should be but one way, and the scoffers and unbelievers be set by
themselves."
"Where are the girls?" asked their father.
"They have looked up Marian, I dare say; and she has Sukey Martin
and two of the maids taking apart gowns and fashioning them over in
modern style. A friend sent Jane some patterns from Philadelphia, and
she passed them on. Did you see much that was new in Baltimore, Madam
Patricia? Though this flightiness of dressing is much to be deprecated,
and fills the minds of young people with vanity. But Jane has insisted
that Marian shall come and make her a long visit this winter. They are
to get in their new house in September. I do hope son Jettson is not
going on too fast."
"He may as well make the money as anyone," subjoined grandfather.
"The quicker they build up the quagmire the better it will be for the
permanency of the Capital. And if some time those canting Puritans
want a separate government of their own, they can take New York or
Philadelphia for their center."
"They are improving rapidly," said the squire. "It will be a fine city.
Daniel Carroll's mansion is an ornament, and the Van Ness house is
planned for much gayety and large companies. And there are many others
in process of erection."
Annis sat beside her mother and thought of the talk with which the day
began. If she had to take sides it would be that of her new father, who
was smiling and good-humored and did not bring his fist down on the
table or the edge of the chair with such a thump that it frightened
you. She did not like the grandfather, she decided. Yet he was a
handsome old man, with his ruffled shirt front, his flowered waistcoat,
his velvet smallclothes, with silver buckles in a bow just below his
knee and others set with brilliants on his shoes.
The ladies discussed the bringing up and the education of girls. They
were to be good housewives, trained in all useful arts, and their chief
business in life was to make good marriages. And Madam Floyd admitted
that she had sent Dolly away because there was an undesirable in the
neighborhood, a young Mr. Sears who had been abroad and who played
high and drank more than was seemly--a degenerate son of a good family.
Dolly was very light and trifling.
"Catharine was a very good, steady girl, but her lover, a most worthy
young man, died, and she lost all heart for gayety. And when I married
Mr. Floyd"--she bent her head over and spoke in a lower tone--"I
thought he had some feeling--men are given to jealousy, you know, and
as Catharine was fond of staying with her brother, and the new family
increased so rapidly that somehow we were weaned away. I was almost
struck dumb when she came and told me about her marriage--a settled
old maid such as she was! However, I hope it is for the best, and that
really made it necessary for Randolph to marry."
The men had gone at politics again.
"Marian and Dolly were too young to go and look after such a family,
even if their father would have spared them. And I think my son has
made a wise choice, though I can't tell you how surprised I was, with
no notice beforehand."
"It was very sudden. I could not have done it with--with a stranger,"
and Patricia colored. "I had been very fond of my cousin. And Mr. Mason
was so kind, so thoughtful----"
"He and Catharine hardly seem like my children," and their mother gave
a faint smile. "I have been Mr. Floyd's wife twenty-five years."
Mrs. Floyd summoned a servant presently and said she would show her
new daughter the house, so they left the men to their pipes and their
disputes. The old house had been built long ago and had many rare
belongings, for one ancestor had been a seafaring man and brought home
no end of curiosities. The wide hall went straight through the middle,
but the kitchens were not detached. There were a great storeroom
and linen press and bedding chests crowded to the brim. Drawers were
sweet with napery laid in lavender and rose leaves. The very air was
delicious with old-time fragrance.
"In the new countries one has little time to lay up stores," Madam
said, "and I suppose there are no instructed maids. It is the story
of Jamestown and the eastern Colonies over again. But we have been
civilized this many a year, and kept in touch with the mother country
as well, though I am not so sure that we would be better off under
her government. My forebears made a brave struggle, and I would not
have it go for nothing. But one finds it idle work contradicting one's
husband," and she smiled faintly. "There are ways to get along more
peaceably. Though it seems as if we may all go to pieces yet."
She opened the next door, where three slaves were spinning piles of
carded wool for winter wear, and the hum of the wheels had the rush of
water over gentle descents. Then they went up another broad staircase
to the sleeping chambers.
"My daughters will have a good outfit," she said proudly. "Jane is a
notable housekeeper and the others are being trained. A woman needs to
know all suitable things."
The sound of girls' voices and merry laughs reached them, and Madam
Floyd frowned sharply. They inspected the sleeping chambers, where most
of the furniture was massive and dark with age, in vivid contrast to
white hangings and blue-and-white spreads.
When they went down to the drawing room Madam Floyd sent a servant
rather sharply for her daughter. A young girl of nineteen or so entered
with a somewhat demure aspect.
"You seem to have forgotten your duty to your brother's wife, Marian! I
am ashamed of you, since you knew she was here! Your head is so filled
up with finery there is no room for manners," the mother exclaimed
shortly.
"I am sorry. I thought you and my father would want them both a
while." She held out her hand to Patricia and gave her a welcome and
good-wishes.
"And now order the tea at once. Randolph thinks he cannot remain all
night, and it is a long ride home. But it will be much pleasanter than
the journey hither."
When they went out on the porch--where most of the time was spent in
the warm weather--they found the men had gone to inspect the crops and
the stock.
"You will find Randolph rather easy-going," Madam Floyd said to her new
daughter. "And the children have grown quite lawless this year, though
I cannot say Catharine kept them with a firm hand. Those two have their
father's ways in a great measure. I hope you will not find it too hard,
Mistress Patricia, and in any perplexity I will try to give you good
counsel. I hope we shall be the best of friends."
"I am thankful for your kindliness toward me," returned the
daughter-in-law. "I feel quite alone in the world. So many of the
Baltimore cousins are dead. And I lost my own mother when I was so
young."
"The little girl seems a nice quiet child," the elder said presently.
"Girls are more manageable when they are small, but troublesome enough
when the time of lovers begins."
Annis sat on the step watching the great peacock strutting about and
the meek peahens seemingly lost in admiration of their lord's grandeur.
Then there was a bountiful supper and a fine ride home in the moonlight
and the deliciously fragrant air. Annis leaned down on her new sister's
shoulder and fell asleep.