MATTERS IN KENTUCKY.
Backward now with our reader we turn, and take up the broken thread of
our story at the point where we left Adah Hastings, sleeping, in that
best chamber at Spring Bank; while around the timeworn building the
winter wind howled dismally, and drove the sleet in gusts against the
windows. There were piles of snow next morning upon the steps, huge
drifts against the doors, and banks against the fences, while the
bent-up negroes shivered and drew back from the cutting blast, so
foreign to their temperaments.
It was a bitter morning in which to face the fierce north wind, and plow
one’s way to the Derby cornfield, where in a small, dilapidated
building, Aunt Eunice Reynolds, widowed sister of John Stanley, had
lived for many years, first as a pensioner upon her brothers bounty, and
next as Hugh’s incumbent. At the time of her brother’s death Aunt Eunice
had intended removing to Spring Bank, but when Hugh’s mother wrote,
asking for a home, she abandoned the plan, and for two seasons more
lived alone, watching from her lonely door the tasselled corn ripening
in the August sun. It was strange that a house should have been built
there in the center of that cornfield, with woods enclosing it on every
side save one, and stranger still, that Aunt Eunice should care to stay
there, year after year, as she did. But she preferred it, she said “to
having a paltry, lazy nigger under foot,” and so her brother suffered
her to have her way, while the neighbors marvelled at and admired the
untiring energy and careful neatness which made the cottage in the corn
field so cozy-like and cheerful. Hugh was Aunt Eunice’s idol, the object
which kept her old heart warm and young with human love. For him she
would endure any want or encounter any difficulty, and in his dilemma
regarding Adah Hastings, he intuitively turned to her, as the one who
would lend a helping hand. He had not been to see her in two days, and
when the grey December morning broke and he looked out upon the deep,
untrodden snow, he frowned impatiently, as he thought how bad the path
must be between Spring Bank and the cornfield, whither he intended
going, as he would be the first to tell what had occurred. ’Lina’s
fierce opposition to, and his mother’s apparent shrinking from Adah, had
convinced him how hopeless was the idea that she could stay at Spring
Bank with any degree of comfort to herself or quiet to him. Aunt
Eunice’s house was the only refuge for Adah, and there she would be
comparatively safe from censorious remarks.
“Inasmuch as ye did it to the least of these ye did it unto me,” kept
ringing in Hugh’s ears, as he hastily dressed himself, striking his
benumbed fingers together, and trying hard to keep his teeth from
chattering, for Hugh was beginning his work of economy, and when at
daylight Claib came as usual to build his master’s fire, he had sent him
back, saying he did not need one, and bidding him go, instead, to Mrs.
Hastings’ chamber.
It took more than a shake or two that morning ere Hugh’s toilet was
completed, for the stiff, heavy boots refused at first to go on, but
with a kick and a jerk, and what would have been an oath if he had not
thought of Golden Hair in time to prevent its utterance, Hugh prevailed
at last and the refractory boots came to their proper place. Bounding
down the stairs he hurried out to the kitchen, where only a few of his
negroes were stirring.
“Ho, Claib!” he called, “saddle Rocket quick and bring him to the door.
I’m going to the corn field.”
“Lor’ bless you, mas’r, it’s done snow higher than Rocket’s head. He’ll
never stand it nohow.”
“Do as I bid you,” was Hugh’s reply, and indolent Claib went shivering
to the stable where Hugh’s best horses were kept.
A whinnying sound of welcome greeted him as he entered, but was soon
succeeded by a spirited snort as he attempted to lead out a most
beautiful dapple gray, Hugh’s favorite steed, his pet of pets, and the
horse most admired and coveted in all the country.
“None of yer _ars_,” Claib said coaxingly, as the animal threw up his
neck defiantly, “You’ve got to get along ’case Mas’r Hugh say so. You
know Mas’r Hugh.”
As if he really knew and understood, the proud head came down at once,
and Rocket suffered himself to be led from the stall, but when the keen
north wind struck full upon his face, the gleaming eyes flashed with
stubborn fire, and planting his feet firmly in the snow, Rocket resisted
all Claib’s efforts to get him any further. Scolding did no good, coax
him he could not, strike him he dared not, and alternately changing the
halter from hand to hand poor Claib blew his stiffened fingers and
called lustily for help.
“What is it?” Hugh asked, coming out upon the stoop, and comprehending
the trouble at a glance. “Rocket Rocket,” he cried, “Easy, my boy,” and
in an instant Rocket’s defiant attitude changed to one of perfect
obedience.
He knew and loved the voice calling so cheerily to him, and with a
sudden plunge, which wrenched his halter from Claib’s grasp and sent the
poor negro headlong into the snow, he bounded to his master’s side.
Rubbing his head against Hugh’s shoulder, he suffered himself to be
caressed for a moment, and then, playful as a kitten, gambolled around
him in circles, sometimes making a feint of coming near to him, and
again leaping backward with the peculiarly graceful motion for which he
was so famous. How Hugh loved that noble animal, and how Rocket loved
him, licking his hands whenever he entered the stable, and crying
piteously after him when he left. Five hundred dollars had been offered
him for that horse, but though wanting money sadly, he had promptly
refused the offer, determined that Rocket should know no master save
himself.
“There, my beauty,” he said, as the animal continued to prance around
him. “There, you’ve showed off enough. Come, now, I’ve work for you to
do.”
Docile as a lamb when Hugh commanded, he stood quietly while Claib
equipped him for his morning’s task.
“Tell mother I shan’t be back to breakfast,” Hugh said, as he sprang
into the saddle, and giving loose rein to Rocket went galloping through
the snow.
Under ordinary circumstances that early ride would have been vastly
exhilarating to Hugh, who enjoyed the bracing air, but there was too
much now upon his mind to admit of his enjoying any thing. Thoughts of
Adah, and the increased expense her presence would necessarily bring,
flitted across his mind, while Harney’s bill, put over once, and due
again ere long, sat like a nightmare on him, for he saw no way in which
to meet it. No way save one, and Rocket surely must have felt the
throbbing of Hugh’s heart as that one way flashed upon him, for he gave
a kind of coaxing whine, and dashed on over the billowy drifts faster
than before.
“No, Rocket, no,” and Hugh patted his neck. He’d never part with Rocket,
He’d sell Spring Bank first with all its incumbrances.
The cornfield was reached by this time, and with a single bound Rocket
cleared the gate at the entrance. A six-rail fence was nothing for him
to leap, and like a deer he sped across the field, and ere long stood
before Aunt Eunice’s door. It was now three days since Hugh had
gladdened Aunt Eunice’s cottage with the sunshine of his presence, and
when she awoke that morning, and saw how high the snow was piled around
her door, she said to herself, “The boy’ll be here directly to know if
I’m alive,” and this accounted for the round deal table drawn before the
blazing fire, and looking so inviting with its two plates and cups, one
a fanciful china affair, sacredly kept for Hugh, whose coffee always
tasted better when sipped from its gilded side. The lightest of egg
bread was steaming on the hearth, the tenderest of steak was broiling on
the griddle, while the odor of the coffee boiling on the coals came
tantalizingly to Hugh’s olfactories as Aunt Eunice opened the door,
saying pleasantly,
“I told ’em so. I felt it in my bones, and the breakfast is all but
ready. Put Rocket up directly, and come in to the fire.”
Fastening Rocket in his accustomed place in the outer shed, Hugh stamped
the snow from his heavy boots, and then went in to Aunt Eunice’s
kitchen-parlor, as she called it, where the tempting breakfast stood
upon the table. Nimble as a girl Aunt Eunice brought his chair, and
placing it in the warmest part of the room, the one next to the wall and
farthest from the door where the wind and snow crept in. But Hugh was
not selfish enough to keep it, and he made Aunt Eunice change, for he
knew the blood moved more slowly through her veins than his.
“No coffee! What new freak is that?” and Aunt Eunice gazed at him in
astonishment as he declined the cup she had prepared with so much care,
dropping in the whitest lumps of sugar, and stirring in the thickest
cream.
It cost Hugh a terrible struggle to refuse that cup of coffee, but if he
would retrench, he must begin at once and determining to meet it
unflinchingly he replied that “he had concluded to drink water for a
while, and see what that would do; much was said nowadays about coffee’s
being injurious, and he presumed it was.”
In great distress the good old lady asked if “his dyspeptic was out of
order,” still insisting that he should take the cup, whose delicious
odor well nigh overcame resolution. But Hugh was firm as a granite rock
when once his mind was settled, and assuring Aunt Eunice that his
“dyspeptic” was right, he betook himself to the gourd, standing in the
pail of water within his reach. Poor Aunt Eunice did not half enjoy her
breakfast, and she would not have enjoyed it at all had she known that
Hugh was abstaining from what he loved so much only that she and others
might be fed and warmed.
“There’s something on your mind,” she said, observing his abstraction.
“Have you had another dunning letter, or what?”
Aunt Eunice had made a commencement, and in his usual impulsive way Hugh
told the story of Adah and then asked if she would take her.
“But, Hugh,” and Aunt Eunice spoke earnestly, “you cannot afford the
expense. Think twice before you commit yourself.”
“I have thought twice, the last time just as I did the first. Adah shall
stay. You need some one these winter nights. There’s the room you call
mine. Give her that. Will you, Aunt Eunice?” and Hugh wound his arm
around Aunt Eunice’s ample waist, while he pleaded for Adah Hastings.
Aunt Eunice was soon won over as Hugh knew she would be, and it was
settled that she should come that very day if possible.
“Look, the sky is clearing,” and he pointed to the sunshine streaming
through the window.
“We’ll have her room fixed before I go,” and with his own hands Hugh
split and prepared the wood which was to kindle Adah’s fire, then with
Aunt Eunice’s help sundry changes were made in the arrangement of the
rather meagre furniture, which never seemed so meagre to Hugh as when he
looked at it with Adah’s eyes and wondered how she’d like it.
“Oh, I wish I were rich,” he sighed mentally, and taking out his well
worn purse he carefully counted its contents.
Twenty-five dollars. That was all, and this he had been so long in
saving for the new coat he meant to buy. Hugh would like to dress better
if he could, and was even anticipating his sister’s surprise when he
should appear before her some day habited in a coat of the latest style.
To do this Adah’s room must go unfurnished yet awhile and with another
sigh the purse was returned to his pocket, just as Aunt Eunice, who had
stepped out for a moment, reappeared, bringing a counterpane and towel,
one of which was spread upon the bed, while the other covered the old
pine stand, marred and stained with ink and tallow, the result of Hugh’s
own carelessness.
“What a heap of difference that table cloth and pocket-handkerchief do
make,” was Hugh’s man-like remark, his face brightening with the
improved appearance of things and his big heart growing warm with the
thought that he might keep his twenty-five dollars and Adah be
comfortable still.
With a merry laugh Aunt Eunice explained that the _table cloth_ was a
_bed-spread_, and the _handkerchief_ a _towel_. It was all the same to
Hugh so long as they improved the room, and glancing at his watch, he
said it was time to be gone.
“_Ad_ may pick Adah’s eyes out before I get home,” was his laughing
remark as he vaulted into his saddle and dashed off across the fields,
where, beneath the warm Kentucky sun, the snow was already beginning to
soften.
Breakfast had been late at Spring Bank that morning, for the strangers
had required some care, and Miss ’Lina was sipping her coffee rather
ill-naturedly when a note was handed her, and instantly her mood was
changed.
“Splendid, mother!” she exclaimed, glancing at the tiny, three-cornered
thing; “an invitation to Ellen Tiffton’s party. I was afraid she would
leave me out after Hugh’s refusal to attend the Ladies’ fair, or buy a
ticket for her lottery. It was only ten dollars either, and Mr. Harney
spent all of forty, I’m sure, in the course of the evening.”
“Hugh had no ten dollars to spare,” Mrs. Worthington said,
apologetically, “though, of course, he might have been more civil than
to tell Ellen it was a regular swindle, and the getters-up ought to be
indicted. I almost wonder at her inviting him, as she said she’d never
speak to him again.”
“Invited him! Who said she had? It’s only one card for me,” and with a
most satisfied expression ’Lina presented the note to her mother, whose
face flushed at the insult offered her son—an insult which even ’Lina
felt, but would not acknowledge, lest it should interfere with her
going. “There may be some mistake,” she suggested. “Lulu may have
dropped his,” and ringing the bell she summoned to their presence a
bright, handsome mulatto girl, who answered frankly that
“Only one invite was given her, and, and that for Miss ’Lina. I asked
Jake,” she said, “where was Master Hugh’s, and he said, ‘Oh. Miss
Ellen’s ravin’ at him; called him no gentleman; and wouldn’t invite him
any way.’ I think it’s right mean in her, for Master Hugh is enough
sight better gentleman than Bob Harney, that she’s after. I told Jake to
tell her so,” and having thus vindicated her master’s cause, Lulu
tripped back to the kitchen, leaving her mistress and ’Lina to finish
their party discussion.
“You won’t go, of course,” Mrs. Worthington said, quietly. “You’ll
resent her slighting Hugh.”
“Indeed I shan’t,” the young lady retorted. “I hardly think it fair in
Ellen, but I shall accept, and I must go to town to-day to see about
having my pink silk fixed. I think I’ll have some black lace festooned
round the skirt. How I wish I could have a new one. Do you suppose Hugh
has any money?”
“None for new dresses or lace flounces either,” Mrs. Worthington
replied. “I fancy he begins to look old and worn with this perpetual
call for money from us. We must economize.”
“Never mind, when I get Bob Harney I’ll pay off old scores,” ’Lina said,
laughingly, as she arose from the table and went to look over her
wardrobe, having first investigated the weather, and ascertained, from a
consultation with Cæsar, that the roads would undoubtedly be passable by
noon.
Meantime Hugh had returned, meeting in the kitchen with Lulu, who
worshipping her young master with a species of adoration, resented any
insults offered him far more keenly than his own sister did.
“Well, Lu, what is it? What’s happened?” Hugh asked, as he saw she was
full of some important matter.
In an instant the impetuous Lulu told him of the party to which he was
not invited, together with the reason why, and the word she had sent
back.
“I’ll give ’em a piece of my mind!” she said, as she saw Hugh change
color. “She may have old Harney. He’s jes good enough for her! The
hateful! His man John, told Claib how his master said he meant to get me
and Rocket, too, some day; me for her waiting-maid, I reckon. You won’t
sell me, Master Hugh, will you?” and Lulu’s eyes looked pleadingly up to
Hugh.
“Never!” and Hugh’s riding whip came down upon the table with a force
which made Lulu start.
Satisfied that she was safe from Ellen Tiffton’s whims, Lulu darted
away, while Hugh entered the sitting-room, where ’Lina sat, surrounded
by her party finery, and prepared to do the amiable to the utmost.
“That really is a handsome little boy upstairs,” she said, as if she
supposed it were her mother who came in; then an affected start she
added, “Oh, it’s you! I thought ’twas mother. Don’t you think, Ellen has
not invited you. Mean, isn’t it?”
“Ellen can do as she likes,” Hugh replied, adding, as he guessed the
meaning of all that finery, “You surely are not going?”
“Why not?” and ’Lina’s black eyes flashed full upon him.
“I thought perhaps you would decline for my sake,” he replied.
An angry retort trembled on ’Lina’s lip, but she had an object to
attain, so she restrained herself and answered that “she had thought of
it, but such a course would do no good, and she wanted to go so much,
the Tifftons were so exclusive and aristocratic.”
Hugh whistled contemptuously, but ’Lina kept her temper, and continued,
coaxingly,
“Everybody is to be there, and you’d like to have your sister look
decent, I know; and really, Hugh, I can’t unless you give me a little
money. Do, Hugh, be good for once.”
“Ad, I can’t,” and Hugh spoke sorrowfully, for a kind word from ’Lina
always touched his weaker side. “I would if I could, but honestly I’ve
only twenty-five dollars in the world, and I’ve thought of a new coat. I
don’t like to look so shabby. It hurts me worse than it does you,” and
Hugh’s voice trembled as he spoke.
Any but a heart of stone would have yielded, but, ’Lina was too
supremely selfish. Hugh had twenty-five dollars. He might give her half,
or even ten. She’d be satisfied with ten. He could soon make that up.
The negro hire came due ere long. He must have forgotten that.
No, he had not; but with the negro hire came debts, thoughts of which
gave him the old worn look his mother had observed. Only ten dollars! It
did seem hard to refuse, and if ’Lina went, Hugh wished her to look
well, for underneath his apparent harshness lurked a kind of pride in
his sister, whose beauty was of the bold, dashing style.
“Take them,” he said at last counting out the ten with regretful sigh.
“Make them go as far as you can, and Ad, remember don’t get into debt.”
“I won’t,” and with a civil “Thank you,” ’Lina rolled up her bills,
while Hugh repaired to Adah’s room telling her of Aunt Eunice, and his
plan of taking her there.
With a burst of tears, Adah listened to him, and then insisted upon
going away, as she had done the previous night. She had no claim on him,
and she could not be a burden.
“You, madam, think it best, I’m sure,” she said, appealing to Mrs.
Worthington, who was present and who answered promptly,
“I do not. I am willing you should remain until your friends are found.”
Adah offered no further remonstrance, but turning to Hugh, said
hesitatingly,
“I may hear from my advertisement. Do you take the _Herald_?”
“Yes, though I can’t say I think much of it,” Hugh replied, and Adah
continued,
“Then if you ever find anything for me, you’ll tell me, and I can go
away,” I said, “Direct to Adah Hastings. Somebody will be sure to see
it. Maybe _George_, and then he’ll know of Willie.”
With a muttered invective against the “villain,” Hugh left the room to
see that the carriage was ready, while his mother, following him into
the hall, offered to go herself with Adah if he liked. Glad to be
relieved, as he had business that afternoon in Versailles, and was
anxious to set off as soon as possible, Hugh accepted at once, and half
an hour later, the Spring Bank carriage, containing Mrs. Worthington,
Adah and Willie, drove slowly from the door, ’Lina calling after her
mother to send Cæsar back immediately, as she was going to Frankfort
after dinner, and wanted the carriage herself.