Cousin Ann at Buck Hill
"Here comes Cousin Ann!" It was a wail from the depth of Mildred
Bucknor's heart.
"Surely not!" cried her mother. "There are lots of other places for
her to visit before our turn comes again. There's Uncle Tom's and
Cousin Betty's and Sister Sue's, and Big Josh and Little Josh haven't
had her for at least a year. Are you sure, Mildred?"
"It looks like the old rockaway and Uncle Billy's top hat," said
Mildred. "It is too much to bear just when we are going to have a
house party! Mother, please tell her it isn't convenient this June and
have her go on to Big Josh's."
"Oh, my dear, you know Father wouldn't hear of my doing that. Maybe it
isn't she after all. Nan, climb up on the railing and see if that
could be Cousin Ann Peyton's carriage coming along the pike and
turning into the avenue."
"Well, all I have to say is if it is her--"
"She," corrected her mother.
"Her carriage. Wait until I finish my sentence, Mother, before you
correct me," and the girl climbed on the railing of the front porch
where the ladies of the Bucknor family were wont to spend the summer
mornings. Clinging to one of the great fluted columns she tiptoed,
trying to peer through the cloud of limestone dust that enveloped the
approaching vehicle.
"It's her all right and I don't care what kind of grammar I use to
express my disgust," and Nan jumped from the railing. "I don't see
why--"
"Well, my dear, it can't be helped. You know how your father feels
about his kin. Better run and tell Aunt Em'ly to send Kizzie up to get
the guest chamber in order."
"Oh, Mother, you know it is in order. Nan and I have been busy up
there all morning getting it ready for the girls. We've even got
flowers all fixed and clean bureau scarves and everything," said
Mildred, trying not to weep.
"Yes, and linen sheets. We thought you wouldn't mind, Mother, because
you see Jean Roland is used to such fine doings, and this is her first
visit to Kentucky. We know you have only three pairs of linen sheets
but this seemed the psychological time to use them. I've a great mind
to go yank them off the bed."
"But, Mother," pleaded Mildred, "couldn't we put old Cousin Ann Peyton
in the little hall room? I can't see why she always has to have the
guest chamber. She's no better than anybody else."
"But your father--"
"What difference will it make to Father? He needn't even know where we
put Cousin Ann."
"What do you think about it, Aunt Em'ly?" Mrs. Bucknor asked the lean
old colored woman who appeared in the doorway. "Here comes Miss Ann
Peyton, and the young ladies want to put her in the little hall
bedroom because they have planned to put their company in the guest
chamber?"
"Think! I think I'm a plum fool not ter have wrang the neck er that
ol' dominick rooster yestiddy when he spent the whole day a crowin'
fer comp'ny. I pretty nigh knowed we were in fer some kind er
visitation."
"Maybe he was crowing for our house party," suggested Nan.
"No, honey, that there rooster don't never crow for 'vited comp'ny.
Now if I had er wrang his neck he'd 'a' been in the pot, comp'ny or
no, an' it 'ud cure him of any mo' reckless crowin'."
"But, Aunt Em'ly, what do you think about putting Miss Ann in the hall
room?"
"Think! I think she'll git her back up an' that ol' Billy'll be
shootin' off his mouf, but we-all done entertained Miss Ann an' ol'
Billy an' them ca'ige hosses goin' onter three months already this
year an' it's high time some er the res' of the fambly step up. What's
the matter with Marse Big Josh? An' if he air onable what's the matter
with Marse Lil Josh? Yassum, put her in the hall room an' 'fo' Gawd
I'll make that ol' Billy keep his feet out'n the oven, if not this
summer, nex' winter. He's the orneris' nigger fer wantin' ter sit with
his feet in the oven."
"Then, Mother, may we keep the guest chamber for the girls? Please say
yes!" begged Nan. "Aunt Em'ly thinks it is all right and you know you
have always been telling us to mind Aunt Em'ly because she has such
good judgment."
"Well, my jedgment air that Miss Ann oughter been occupewin' the hall
room for some fifty year or mo', ever sence she an' that ol' Billy
took ter comin' so reg'lar," said Aunt Em'ly. "If I had it ter do over
I'd never 'a' let him git so free with his feet in the oven. The truf
er the matter is, Miss Milly, that you an' Marse Bob Bucknor an' all
yo' chilluns as well, long with all the res' of the fambly includin'
of Marse Big Josh an' Marse Lil Josh, done accepted of Miss Ann Peyton
an' ol' Billy an' the ca'ige hosses like they wa' the will of the
Almighty. Well, now le's see if Miss Ann Peyton can't accept the hall
room like it wa' the will er the Almighty an' if ol' Billy can't come
ter some 'clusion that Gawd air aginst his dryin' out his ol' feet in
my oven."
While this discussion was going on, the cloud of limestone dust had
disappeared and from it had emerged a quaint old coach, lumbering and
shabby, drawn by a pair of sleek sorrel horses, whose teeth would have
given evidence of advanced age had a possible purchaser submitted them
to the indignity of examining them. Their progress was slow and
sedate, although the driver handled the reins as though it were with
difficulty that he restrained them from prancing and cavorting as they
neared the mansion.
Old Billy's every line, from his dented top hat to his well-nigh
soleless boots, expressed dignity and superiority. He was quite sure
that being coachman to Miss Ann Peyton gave him the right to wipe
those worn boots on the rest of mankind.
"Look at that ol' fool nigger!" exclaimed Aunt Em'ly in disgust.
"Settin' up there lookin' mo' like a monkey than a man in that
long-tail blue coat with brass buttons an' his ha'r like cotton wool
an' whiskers so long he haster wrop 'em. The onlies wuck that nigger
ever does is jes' growin' whiskers."
"Oh, come now, Aunt Em'ly," remonstrated a young man who stepped from
the study window on the porch as the old coach lumbered up the
driveway, "Uncle Billy keeps his horses in better condition than any
on our farm are kept. Poor old Uncle Billy!"
"Poor old Uncle Billy, indeed!" snapped Mildred. "I reckon, Brother
Jeff, you'd say poor old Cousin Ann, too."
"Of course I would. I can't think of any person in the world I feel
much sorrier for."
"Well, I can. I feel lots sorrier for Nan and me with our house party
on hand and Cousin Ann turning up for the second time since Christmas.
It's all well enough for you and Father to be so high and mighty about
honoring the aged, and blood being thicker than water and so on. You
don't have to sleep with Cousin Ann, the way Nan and I do sometimes."
"We-ell, no!" laughed Jeff.
"Hush, Mildred. Remember how Father feels about the comings of Cousin
Ann. You and Nan must be polite." Mrs. Bucknor sighed, realizing she
was demanding of her daughters something that was difficult for her to
perform herself. Being polite to Cousin Ann had been the most arduous
task imposed upon that wife and mother during twenty-five years of
married life.
At the yard gate Uncle Billy drew in his steeds with a great show of
their being unwilling to stop. He turned as though to command the
footman to alight and open the door of the coach. With feigned
astonishment at there being no footman, he climbed down from the box
with so much dignity that even Aunt Em'ly was impressed, though
unwilling to acknowledge it.
"That ol' nigger certainly do walk low for anybody who sets so high,"
she whispered to Mildred. The bowing of Uncle Billy's legs in truth
took many inches from his height. But the old man, in spite of crooked
legs, worn-out boots, shabby livery and battered high hat, carried
himself with the air of a prime minister. Miss Ann Peyton was his
queen.
There was an expression of infinite pathos on the countenance of the
old darkey as he opened the door of the ancient coach. Bowing low, as
though to royalty, he said, "Miss Ann, we air done arrive."
Jeff Bucknor took his mother's arm and gently led her down the walk.
Involuntarily she stiffened under his affectionate grasp and held
back. It was all very well for the men of the family to take the stand
they did concerning Cousin Ann Peyton and her oft-repeated visits. Men
had none of the bother of company. Of course she would be courteous to
her and always treat her with the consideration due an aged kinswoman,
but she could not see the use of pretending she was glad to see her
and rushing down the walk to meet her as though she were an honored
guest.
"It is hard on Mildred and Nan," she murmured to her stalwart son, as
he escorted her towards the battered coach.
"Yes, Mother, but kin is kin--and the poor old lady hasn't any real
home."
"Well then she might--There are plenty of them--very good comfortable
ones--"
"You mean homes for old ladies? Oh, Mother, you know Father would
never consent to that. Neither would Uncle Tom nor Big Josh. She would
hate it and then there's Uncle Billy and the horses--Cupid and
Puck--to say nothing of the chariot."
Further discussion was impossible. Mother and son reached the yard
gate as Uncle Billy opened the coach door and announced the fact that
Miss Ann had arrived at her destination. Then began the unpacking of
the visitor. It was a roomy carriage, and well that it was so. When
Miss Peyton traveled she traveled. Having no home, everything she
possessed must be carried with her. Trunks were strapped on the back
of the coach and inside with the mistress were boxes and baskets and
bundles, suitcases and two of those abominations known as telescopes,
from which articles of clothing were bursting forth.
It was plain to see from the untidy packing that Miss Ann and Uncle
Billy had left their last abode in a hurry. Even Miss Peyton's
features might have been called untidy, if such a term could be used
in connection with a countenance whose every line was aristocratic. As
a rule that lady was able so to control her emotions that the
uninitiated were ignorant of the fact that she had emotions. She gave
one the impression on that morning in June of having packed her
emotions hurriedly, as she had her clothes, and they were darting from
her flashing eyes as were garments from the telescopes.
Gently, almost as though he were performing a religious rite, Uncle
Billy lifted the shabby baggage from the coach.
"Let me help you, Uncle Billy. Good morning, Cousin Ann. I am very
glad to see you," said Jeff, although it was impossible to see Cousin
Ann until some of the luggage was removed.
"Thank you, cousin." Miss Ann spoke from the depths of the coach. Her
voice trembled a little.
At last, every box, bag and bundle was removed and piled by Uncle
Billy upon each side of the yard gate like a triumphal arch through
which his beloved mistress might pass.
Old Billy unfolded the steps of the coach. These steps were supposed
to drop at the opening of the door but the spring had long ago lost
its power and the steps must be lowered by hand.
"Mind whar you tread, Miss Ann," he whispered. Nobody must hear him
suggest that the steps were not safe. Nobody must ever know that he
and Miss Ann and the coach and horses were getting old and played
out.
Miss Ann had dignity enough to carry off broken steps, shabby baggage,
rickety carriage--anything. She emerged from the coach with the air of
being visiting royalty conferring a favor on her lowly subjects by
stopping with them. Her dignity even overtopped the fact that her
auburn wig was on crooked and a long lock of snow-white hair had
straggled from its moorings and crept from the confines of the purple
quilted-satin poke bonnet. The beauty which had been hers in her youth
was still hers although everybody could not see it. Uncle Billy could
see it and Jeff Bucknor glimpsed it, as his old cousin stepped from
her dingy coach. He had never realized before that Cousin Ann Peyton
had lines and proportions that must always be beautiful--a set of the
head, a slope of shoulder, a length of limb, a curve of wrist and a
turn of ankle. The old purple poke bonnet might have been a diadem, so
high did she carry her head; and she floated along in the midst of her
voluminous skirts like a belle of the sixties--which she had been and
still was in the eyes of her devoted old servant.
Miss Peyton wore hoop skirts. Where she got them was often
conjectured. Surely she could not be wearing the same ones she had
worn in the sixties and everybody knew that the articles were no
longer manufactured. Big Josh had declared on one occasion when some
of the relatives had waxed jocose on the subject of Cousin Ann and her
style of dress, that she had bought a gross of hoop skirts cheap at
the time when they were going out of style and had them stored in his
attic--but then everybody knew that Big Josh would say anything that
popped into his head and then swear to it and Little Josh would back
him up.
"By heck, there's no room in the attic for trunks," he had insisted.
"Hoop skirts everywhere! Boxes of 'em! Barrels of 'em! Hanging from
the rafters like Japanese lanterns! Standing up in the corners like
ghosts scaring a fellow to death! I can't keep servants at all because
of Cousin Ann Peyton's buying that gross of hoop skirts. Little Josh
will bear me out in this."
And Little Josh would, although the truth of the matter was that
Cousin Ann had only one hoop skirt, and it was the same she had worn
in the sixties. Inch by inch its body had been renewed to reclaim it
from the ravages of time until not one iota of the original garment
was left. Here a tape and there a wire had been carefully changed, but
always the hoop kept its original form. The spirit of the sixties
still breathed from it and it enveloped Miss Ann as in olden days.