_Friend or Enemy_
When she awoke the next morning and saw her familiar surroundings, for
a moment Marianne forgot that she had been from home all these weeks;
but gradually the events of the night before came back clearly, and
she sprang out of bed, remembering that Jerusha would need her help.
She found this maid of all work had already a good fire started, and
was stirring around, making breakfast ready. "What can I do, Jerusha?"
Marianne asked.
"You can go and see if the men folks are getting up; and if they are,
you might ask that little whiffet of a pedler how the wounded boy is,
and if he can eat any breakfast. I ain't had time to see to him this
morning, and I don't know as I need to. They was all quiet when I got
up. I listened at the door, and I didn't hear nothin' but a snore."
"Where is father?"
"Land! he was up and off before daybreak! He ain't going to let grass
grow under his feet when it comes to getting back to camp. He said last
night that he wouldn't be back to breakfast."
Leaving Jerusha vigorously stirring up a johnny-cake, Marianne went to
the door of the room where the three men were, and timidly knocked. The
door was opened by Asa, who was keeping cheerful watch over the two
prisoners. On the bed lay Jack, laughing, actually laughing, at some
of Asa's witticisms. Marianne stood still in the doorway, surprised at
this levity on the part of the wounded prisoner.
"Come in," called Jack, cheerfully. "Isn't this a huge joke? Peaslee
has been telling me about it."
"I don't see the joke," said Royal, looking grum.
"Roy has no sense of humor," Jack went on. "For my part, I think it is
the funniest thing I've heard for many a long day. You must have been
surprised when you got here and saw who your prisoners were."
"It was owing to the dark that we didn't know sooner," Marianne
replied. "I don't see now why we didn't recognize Royal; but he had no
chance to speak, and I was so scared, and altogether we didn't seem
to have our wits about us. Are you much hurt?" She felt a little more
kindly disposed toward this young man, now he was helpless.
"No, not so much," Jack made reply. "I was stunned by the bullet, and I
got a rough tumbling rolling down hill; but, beyond a few bruises and a
sprained ankle, I'm not so badly off. Asa says your father has gone to
see if we can be set free on parole."
"Oh, then will you stay here?" She turned to Royal.
"Not necessarily," he replied. "I, for one, am not willing to promise
not to take up arms again."
"Nonsense!" broke in Jack. "I am willing enough to do it; and,
moreover, I don't object to staying where I am. I should think you'd be
glad enough of your luck, Roy, when here's your home, and you've a good
excuse for not fighting against your people. You've shown your colors,
and that's all that is necessary for you to do. So far as that goes, if
it hadn't been for grandfather's being so set upon my joining the army,
I don't believe I should have done it; at least, not till things were
a little more lively. I suppose you think I would have been perfectly
right if I had remained a neutral, Miss Marianne."
"I don't like half-hearted people," she replied coldly. Then she added:
"I came up to see if you could eat any breakfast."
"I? Oh, yes. Can't I?" He turned to Asa.
"I'd be a little keerful," returned the pedler. "A bit of porridge,
maybe, with a little milk."
"Porridge!" Jack made a wry face. "I'm not a baby."
"You've a bit of fever," Asa warned him.
"Jerusha will fix you up something, if there's anything to be had,"
Marianne promised him. She felt her responsibility with a sick man in
the house. So she bustled about, and hunted here and there till she
was able to provide a couple of poached eggs for Jack; and Jerusha had
made ready quite an abundant meal for the others, for Mark had started
out early, and had brought in some game to supply the larder. It was
well he did, and that Jerusha was capable of exhibiting her merits as a
cook, for Mr. Reyburn came in just before the meal was ready, and with
him was no less a person than the colonel of his regiment. He was quite
a young man, but tall and distinguished looking, and he met the little
frontier maid with all the courtesy in the world. "So this," he said,
"is the young lady of whom you were telling me, and to whom the success
of your escape is due."
[Illustration: "'_This ... is the young lady of whom you were telling
me._'"]
"Oh, no," returned the blushing Marianne, "not to me, for it was Asa
Peaslee and his Indian friends who carried out the plan."
"But it was your plan, to begin with," insisted the colonel. "Now about
these prisoners of yours, Miss Reyburn; since they are young, and don't
know any better, I think we shall have to release them on parole. I
have consulted the general, and that is his opinion. Will that suit
you?"
"Indeed, yes."
"You are specially interested in them, of course."
"In my brother, of course, sir; and as the other is the brother of some
very good friends of mine, I should like to see him receive the same
generous treatment."
"Only because he is the brother of your friends?" said the colonel,
quizzically.
Marianne drew herself up to the full extent of her height. "That is the
only reason. Do you suppose I could have any other with regard to one
who is my country's enemy?"
The colonel laughed, and asked to see this terrible foe. Jack, with his
boyish face and his bandaged head, did not seem very formidable; and he
was so ready to give his word not to take arms within the time proposed
by the colonel, that there was no trouble at all in settling his case.
Royal was more stubborn; yet there was something in the dignified
courtesy of the colonel, something in the half sarcastic way in which
he referred to the lad's birthplace, to his ancestry, and his father's
loyalty to his country, that finally broke down the boy's obduracy,
and he confessed that it was not so much a matter of principle as of
bravado which had caused him to take the other side, and he gave his
parole with Jack.
"Then you are safe not to fight against your country for a year," said
the colonel. "At the end of that time you may see more clearly that it
would not show a lack of manhood to fight for her."
Royal made no reply, but accepted with a good grace the colonel's
advice to stay at home quietly. It is doubtful if he had been quite so
ready to accept the situation, if his father had been present at the
interview; but he with good judgment stayed away, and, indeed, Royal
did not see him again till the matter was half-forgotten.
He rode back to camp with the colonel, but not before he had had a talk
with Marianne. "I think it is best for all concerned that I remain at
camp," he told her. "I shall, perhaps, be able some day to tell my son
that I am not ungrateful to him for having saved my life, but now does
not seem the best time for it."
"He wasn't in a very good humor this morning," Marianne confessed. "I
suppose he thinks you had something to do with his capture."
"Well, you can tell him I didn't. It's best that we should not meet for
a time, and I can leave, feeling secure in your safety. I hope we can
get your mother home before long."
"And I, too. Jerusha is very capable, but one does want one's own
mother."
"Yes, I can well imagine that. I want her, too. Jerusha will attend to
our wounded man; you will not have anything to do there."
"He isn't very badly hurt. I thought he must be, at first. I should
like to get word to his family."
"Asa tells me that he sent them a message by Fire-Eyes."
"That was thoughtful of him. He is such a funny, queer old fellow, that
Asa; but I think he has a very good heart."
Mr. Reyburn smiled. "Yes, he is a queer Dick, but he is all right. Now
I must be off, daughter. I see the colonel coming. Do the best you can,
and if I don't see you soon, I will let you hear from me." He rode off,
and Marianne returned to the house feeling rather disappointed that her
father was not to be on hand to consult, and to direct affairs.
She found her days passed busily enough. There was more or less
excitement at this time, for there was the constant expectation of
an attack upon the British from the Americans, and, indeed, several
abortive attempts to advance upon Canada were made. There were days
when the thunder of guns from the batteries on one side or the other
of the river, struck terror to those living near by; but little was
accomplished beyond the destruction of some stores at Black Rock
and the injuries to General Porter's house, in which he made his
headquarters, being then in command of a body of New York militia.
Had she willed it otherwise, Marianne at that time had few moments for
Jack, a fact of which he complained, but only laughed good-naturedly
when she remarked severely that he was treated a thousand times better
than he deserved, and that a prisoner, even on parole, could not expect
more than toleration from his enemies. "Are you really my enemy?" Jack
would ask, and Marianne with dignity would tell him that she most
decidedly was.
The noise of the cannonading brought war almost to their very door,
and gave Marianne a big scare, but Royal and Jack laughed at her
fears, and Jerusha tried to comfort her by saying that death must
come to all, and those that took the sword must expect to die by the
sword; consequently, she had no reason to expect death from a cannon
ball. Rather peculiar logic, but it had a certain effect. Jerusha, be
it said, was a real comfort. She had been with the family for some
fifteen years, having first appeared at Madame Desvouges's, where she
applied for work, and later she was taken into the Reyburn family.
She had little to tell of herself. She was originally from Maine, and
had married a Canadian, whom the Reyburns supposed to have been a
worthless sort of fellow. Jerusha, however, seldom made references to
her past life, but she had a fine scorn of men in general. She was
brusque of manner, plain of speech, energetic, capable and trustworthy
to a degree, and quite content and grateful for the home offered
her. She was specially fond of Marianne, whom she always called Mary
Anne, to the girl's discontent. Whether Jerusha preferred the name,
or whether she used it from a grim sense of humor and a desire not
to cater to small vanities, no one ever knew. She was in her element
with the responsibility of the housekeeping and a sick man to look
after; for the greater call upon her, the better she liked it. Though
usually a taciturn and rather melancholy person, her spirits rose in
an emergency; and the more depressed were those around her, the more
cheerful she became, accentuating her speech with trite maxims and
quotations from Scripture.
It was one day when Marianne felt particularly despondent that
Jerusha's prophecies came really true. All the morning Marianne had
complained of loneliness, seemed possessed of forebodings, and longed
for her mother, and Jerusha had answered her with, "It's always darkest
before day" and "Every cloud has a silver lining," concluding with
"Many are the afflictions of the righteous, but the Lord will deliver
him out of them all."
"I'm afraid I'm not very righteous, then," said Marianne, petulantly.
"Now, Mary Anne, don't you go speaking lightly of Scripture," Jerusha
chided her by saying. "I guess we all fall short, if it comes to that.
I ain't a saint, but the Lord has delivered me from the hand of the
ungodly. This is a vale of tears, to be sure, but sometimes them very
tears waters joy and gladness. I rather guess your ma's more anxious to
see you 'n you are to see her."
"If she were, she'd try and come home."
"Now, that's what I call right down undutiful," returned Jerusha.
"You'll forget your fifth commandment next. There's your brother
removed from the device of the enemy, and your father freed from the
pit digged for him, and you're safe and sound. What's the use of
complaining? Count your mercies, child; count 'em over."
Marianne leaned her head against the woman's shoulder. "But I am
homesick for mother."
"I guess you ain't the only one's been homesick in her life," returned
Jerusha, giving a vicious dig to the pumpkin she was paring. "There's
some that never expects to git a sight of their home ag'in, and they
live and move and have their bein' just the same. Your mother'll come
when you ain't looking for her."
And sure enough, about dusk the very next evening, who should appear
but Mrs. Reyburn, laughing, crying, chattering half in French, half
in English: "Nomme de Grace! but I am glad to embrace you again, my
daughter. Ciel! but I have a mind not to love you at all. Oui, ma
chère, vous êtes mechante to steal away from your poor mother in such
fashion. Grand'mère, how she was mystified, and how she was outraged
that you did not confide in her! As for me, I wept tears, such tears
that my pillow was damp from them. But they send love, all. And Victor,
he goes about as a sick owl. Royal we have not seen at all. I know
not where he is. We are afraid he has been made responsible for your
father's escape. I am anxious, yet I make my first opportunity to come
over, and here I am."
"Oh, mother, mother, but I am glad to see you," Marianne murmured,
patting her face. "And yes, I forgot, you did not know; Royal is here."
"Mon Dieu!" screamed Mrs. Reyburn, raising her hands. "My son is here?"
"Yes." Marianne told her the story, concluding with: "Mother dear, it
is well you have come home, for you see we need you, and besides, you
are forgetting your English which you spoke so well."
"Naughty child, I do not forget."
"But you are speaking French half the time, and the other half it is
with the accent of my grandmother."
Mrs. Reyburn laughed. "It is because I am excited. I will soon become
accustomed to my English, now I am at home." But the hands went up
again. "Tiens! I have forgot. Our guest, where is she?"
"She? Who is she? You mean, I think, the wounded Jack Silverthorn."
"No, no; I did not tell you in my joy to embrace you again. It is the
sister of your wounded prisoner, your Silverthorn. She came with me. It
was she who procured the passes through the lines, that she might come
and see her brother."
"Kate, or Sue, is it?"
"The one called Kate. I left her with her brother, whom we found on the
porch outside, too late in the evening for a man who has been ill, I
thought. I sent them inside, and there they must be now."
"Then I must go to her at once. I am very glad to have dear Kate. Ah,
but I am happy now, with my mother and my good friend of whom I am so
fond. Dearest mother, if you but knew how mother-sick I have been."
Her mother gathered her again in her arms, and they stood in a silent
embrace for a moment. Then Marianne withdrew herself and said, "I must
go and give Kate a welcome, but I shall not stay long, for I want to
hear all you have to tell me."
She found Kate in animated conversation with Jack. "Am I not an
impertinent piece?" Kate cried. "I invite myself here without so much
as a 'by your leave.' But the message alarmed us so! The Indian brought
it, you know, and we felt sure that Jack must be much worse than he
said; but see him, as lively as a cricket! Sue at first insisted that
she would come, but she gave in when grandfather said that she was
halfway an American already, and we might count upon never seeing her
again if she once escaped to this side. Behind his back she told me
that she thought after all that I might as well come and learn her way
of thinking, which speech, if grandfather had heard, he would have
scolded her well for."
"You would both have been welcome," Marianne assured her, "and now
we have one of you here, we will try to keep you till you do become
Americanized. Your brother does not need much nursing. His sprained
ankle seems now to be the worst of his troubles, and it is but a
question of time when that will be well. Royal and Jerusha and Asa
Peaslee have been his nurses, so he has not lacked for attention, I can
assure you."
"Royal?" The color flamed up into Kate's cheeks, and she stooped over
to caress a purring cat which had followed Marianne into the room.
"Yes, Royal. You didn't know he was here?"
"No, I hadn't heard," Kate returned, in a low voice. "We had not seen
him, but that was not strange, seeing that Jack was away from home;
and, besides, a soldier's duties make him rather an uncertain visitor."
She was a little confused, but quickly regained her composure, and then
Marianne bore her off to her own little room in a corner of the sloping
roof, and there they chattered as girls will, till Marianne, jumping
up, declared that she was neglecting her duties, and would Kate come
with her to the kitchen.
A big cheerful room it was, with white-washed walls, great open
fireplace, and well-scrubbed floor. Mrs. Reyburn was already bustling
about, exclaiming at this and that thing, and excusing all deficiencies
upon the ground of her absence. "Not that you and Jerusha have not done
famously," she said to Marianne, "but I see many things to be made
ready for winter. My faith! but I am glad to be at home again, with my
husband safe and both my children beside me."
"And other people's children as well," put in Kate. "You are very good
to take us in, but I really see no reason why we should remain long to
burden your hospitality, for Jack is comparatively well now, though the
hypocrite pretends he is not." She looked up lovingly at her brother,
who had followed the girls into the kitchen, using a crutch to assist
him.
"Comparatively well," he repeated. "If you had been knocked over by
a bullet, and sent rolling down a cliff, banging your head and arms
and legs against every tree in your way, I don't believe you'd call
yourself comparatively well for a year."
"A year! Am I given to suppose that you mean to stay here a year?" Kate
asked.
"I'll stay here as long as they'll keep me," returned Jack, with a
laugh. "There's no use in going home when I can't fight; besides, I am
told our troops are half starved and half clothed. Do you imagine I
could think of going with that ragout of Mrs. Reyburn's in my nostrils?"
They all laughed, and Marianne declared that since it was all a matter
of loaves and fishes, and though the Bible said, that if our enemy
hungered, we should feed him, yet she thought that Master Silverthorn
might have found a better excuse for staying. Whereupon Jack told
her that he had excuse enough, which he had more than once sought to
reveal to her, but that she would not hear it. Marianne tossed her
head impatiently at this and announced that it was her intention to go
immediately to the dairy, and would Kate go with her. As for Jack, he
would best remain where he was and tell her mother his fibs; perhaps
she could be made to believe them, but as for Marianne herself, she
knew better.