RED WING
A rude dwelling, built by whom or when,
None of the ancient mountain people knew.
SCOTT.
Red Wing was a misnomer, since it was not really a wing, but a separate
building, on the northeast corner of the manor-house and much older than
the old hall.
Tradition said that it had been erected by the Elphines immediately
after their arrival at the Wilderness, and had been their dwelling for
some years before the more imposing edifice had been raised.
Subsequently it had been used as kitchen, scullery, laundry, and
servants’ hall and lodging.
But since the self-expatriation of the last of the Elphines the Red
Wing, like the Old Hall, had been shut up and deserted.
Now it was to be opened to accommodate the new overseer and his family.
All this was explained to John Palmer by old ’Sias, as he led the way to
the house, followed by the whole party.
They left the hall by the back door, and passing through the back yard
turned to the left, where, nearly hidden by high trees, and immediately
under the shadow of the rocky precipice, stood the old Red Wing.
’Sias, going before, opened the door, entered and threw open all the
windows to the light and air, and great need there was to do this, for
the old Red Wing was pervaded by a heavier fixed air and a deeper
dampness and a stronger smell of mould than had hung about the closed
manor-house.
This building was of two stories, with cellar and attic. There were four
rooms on each floor, with a passage running from front to back between
them.
The rooms were large, with low ceilings, broad, low windows and very
wide fireplaces. They were filled up with the oldest fashioned
furniture, much of it rickety and worm-eaten—all of it covered with dust
and mould.
John, old ’Sias and the boys bestirred themselves briskly, brought pine
cones, dried brush and other combustibles and quickly built fires in all
the chimneys.
“Now, Marse John,” said old ’Sias, “as I’ve ’stalled you inter yer new
house I’ll be going. It’s mos’ Sereny’s tea time, and I couldn’t stand
another scalping.”
“Very well, old man, go. You have done quite work enough to-day for one
of your age,” said John kindly.
“_We’ve_ got work enough for a week to come, cleaning up the old place,”
exclaimed Susan Palmer when ’Sias had disappeared.
“Never mind, mother. There are ten of us to do it, and we shall soon get
through; and oh, think what a lovely, roomy old house this is; and how
beautiful outside. The trees overshadow the roof, and from the back
windows you can almost stretch out your hand and touch the rocky
precipice,” said Em., brightly.
“Let’s see, now,” said John, looking around himself. “There are four
rooms on this floor. This one we are in is the kitchen, in course; and
well supplied it is with cupboards and dressers. The room next to this
must be your bedroom, Susan, my dear, because it will be convenient to
the kitchen, and, besides, it will save your back, running up and down
stairs. Across the passage is two rooms—the front one, opposite your
bedroom, must be for the parlor, and the back one, opposite this
kitchen, for our family room. How rich we are in space, Susan. Plenty of
space and air for all the family. What a blessing! Well, and now the
four rooms upstairs. Em., you shall take your choice there, and have a
room all to yourself.”
“Oh, father, if I might choose, and mother pleases, I would like to have
the attic. It is all one great room, running from front to back, you
know, and I don’t mind climbing.”
“Very well, then your mother must sort the four chambers upstairs among
the children and the two old women as she sees fit. Now, who in the
world is this?” exclaimed John, as a little, old colored woman, who
looked like ’Sias in petticoats, entered the kitchen.
“Ebenin’, mist’ess; ebenin’, marster; ebenin’, young uns. Hopes you’ll
’scuse me. I jus’ come to look in on y’ all, to see how you’re gettin’
’long.”
“You are quite welcome. Take a seat,” said John.
“Who are you, and what is your name?” inquired Susan.
“I’m yer Uncle ’Sias’ onliest sister, Aunt Sally, yer know, honey. Yes,
honey, Aunt Sally; that’s my name. I only come to see yer all outen good
will, honey. I don’t mean no harm, honey; I never does mean no harm. I
never does nothin’ to nobody,” meekly explained the little old woman as
she sank into an old-fashioned stuffed easy-chair that Em. placed for
her.
“You are ’Sias’ sister?” inquired Susan.
“Yes, honey, Uncle ’Sias’ sister, honey; Aunt Sally. But you needn’t be
feared of me, honey. I never does nothin’ to nobody.”
“You don’t look so old as ’Sias,” said John, scrutinizing the little,
old woman.
“Yes, marster, you’re right, honey. ’Sias do look old since he married
that young gal, Sereny. But he don’t mean no harm, honey. He never does
nothin’ to nobody.”
“’Sias says he’s a hundred and fifty years old, ‘more or less,’” laughed
Em.
“I know ’Sias do say that. I don’t know what make him say that. ’Sias
ain’t no more’n eighty-five. That’s my age, and we is twins.”
“You and ’Sias twins?” exclaimed Susan.
“Yes, honey; that’s what makes us bofe so little, I reckon; but we don’t
mean no harm by it. We nebber does nothin’ to nobody; me and ’Sias
don’t.”
“I’m sure you don’t. Be satisfied. We are not disposed to think evil of
you,” said John.
“I do thank you for that ’pinion, marster; an’ it a true one; ’cause we
nebber does nothin’ to nobody. An’ now I’ll go. Ebenin’, sar; ebenin’,
ma’am; ebenin’, young people. I’s gwine now.”
And with these last words the queer little old woman took leave and went
away.
The strong, industrious and hard-working Palmers, toiling together, soon
got their pleasant house in perfect order. And then they began to
realize how, without actually possessing wealth, they had come into all
the practical enjoyment of it.
John’s duty was very light—it was only to look after the plantation; but
not to take any part in the hard labor. Susan’s office was still
lighter—to look after the women servants and see that the manor-house
was kept clean and well aired, and that all the work in their department
was well done.
In compensation the Palmers had the free use of the comfortable house,
six hundred dollars a year, and all the family provisions from the
plantation that the household might require; and lastly, the privilege
of “exercising” the horses in the stable, either under the saddle or
before one of the rather dilapidated old carriages.
The granaries supplied them with abundance of bread-stuffs; the dairies
with milk, cream and butter; the barnyard with poultry; the droves of
cattle and flocks of sheep with meat; the river below them with fish;
the garden with vegetables; the orchard with fruit, and the bee-hives
with honey; for, although the manor-house had been utterly neglected,
the farms and stock had been tolerably well kept up by the negroes,
under the occasional supervision of the agent.
Besides all this, John and Susan had the privilege of selecting two
servants, a man and a woman, from the plantation for their own family
service—a privilege which they had not as yet availed themselves of,
having help enough within their own household.
There were so many hands, indeed, that all their work was quietly and
easily done, leaving them much leisure for rest and recreation.
John Palmer took the women and children in the capacious old carry-all
for long drives along the banks of the river or through the forest.
Em. and the two boys learned to ride so well that they could always
attend the carry-all on horseback.
Em. usually rode a little, silver-gray horse, which was her favorite
because it united the rare qualities of swiftness, gentleness, and
spirit, and which she named Pearl. She liked, on a fine summer
afternoon, to ride beside the carriage in going through the forest or
along the river banks and to listen or reply to the happy chatter of the
delighted children; but she liked even more than that to mount her
little horse and go for a solitary ride on the mountain, to explore
narrow, hidden, and forgotten paths, to startle the deer from its leafy
couch, or the eagle, screaming, from its dizzy perch; to find new Edens
of light and beauty, and even new Hades of gloom and grandeur.
Em. enjoyed this life in the Wilderness more than any other member of
the family did, though they were all happier than they had ever been
before.
There was, indeed, but one cloud on the sunshine of their lives—they
missed the pleasure of attending divine service on Sundays.
There was no church within thirty miles of the manor-house.
Certainly, by getting up at four o’clock on Sunday mornings and
harnessing two of the strongest draught horses to the largest carry-all,
John might have taken his family to Greyrock Chapel in time for the
morning service, at eleven o’clock, but that he had conscientious
scruples on the subject. He was a simple and literal interpreter of the
commandment, and he held that beasts of burden had as much right to
their Sabbath rest as mankind, and that to make them work by dragging
Christians to church was the inconsistency of worshiping the Lord by
disobeying him, and keeping the Sabbath holy by breaking it. We think
John was level-headed on that subject, as well as on some others.
Em. begged him to go to the island and hear the blind preacher. But John
was strongly attached to the church in which he had been brought up, and
the forms with which he had been familiar from childhood. Besides, he
did not like worshiping in the open air—“the temple not made with
hands.” So John assembled his household in his own parlor every Sabbath
day and read the services. And he made himself contented until communion
Sunday drew near.
Then, on the Saturday immediately preceding it, he said:
“Susan, my dear, we are famishing for the bread of life. We must go to
church to-morrow, whether or no. Not that I intend to travel on that
day! No; but I tell you what we’ll do, my dear. We’ll go this afternoon,
and we’ll take vittals and horse feed enough to last us until Monday
morning, and we’ll camp out, like we did when we were on our journey.
It’s lovely weather for out-doors, Susan. What do you think of it
yourself?”
“I think that will be very enjoyable, John.”
“The young uns would like it.”
“’Mazingly, John.”
“Very well; you get the eating and sleeping conveniences all ready and
I’ll harness up the old wagon we traveled in, and I reckon we’ll leave
here about five o’clock and we’ll get to Greyrock by eleven to-night.”
This plan was carried out then and continued, once a month, all the
summer and all the autumn, as long as the weather permitted.
Em. always went with the family when they traveled so far to church; but
on other Sundays she went to the gate-house, propitiated Sereny by the
gift of a little bit of bright ribbon, or a string of glass beads, and
so borrowed old ’Sias from his lawful proprietor to take her down the
river to hear the blind preacher of the island.
One day as they floated down the stream before a gentle breeze, old
’Sias said to her:
“Miss Em., why don’t yer larn to manage de boat yourse’f? It is one ob
de easiest things to larn and one ob de ’lightfullest things to know. It
would be a great divarsion to yerse’f in the weeky days, when yer can’t
hab me to wait on yer.”
“Oh, I should like that so much! Would it be a great deal of trouble to
you to teach me?” exclaimed the girl.
“Why, laws, no, honey! none.”
So, then and there, ’Sias gave Em. her first lesson in handling the
tiller and steering the boat.
When they landed he showed her how to lower the sail.
After the preaching, when they were about to return home, he showed her
how to hoist the sail, and as they ran up the river he taught her how to
trim it.
“And sometimes, Miss Em., when dere’s too much wind, or no wind at all,
yer can ship de little mast and furl de sail and take de oars. I mus’
teach you some day how to row.”
“Oh, do!” said Em. “I should like that ever so much!”
The old man kept his word, and soon Em. became quite an expert in the
use of the oars as well as in the management of the sail-boat.
Every Sunday, attended by old ’Sias, she went to the island preaching,
and sometimes during the week, when she could get away, she went alone
down to the boat, hoisted the little sail and steered for the island or
for some point on the shore.
It gave her a new and delightful sense of freedom to feel that she had
the power to move over the surface of the water and go from place to
place at her pleasure.
“I am a bird when I fly through the forest or over the mountains on
horseback, and I am a fish when I speed through the waters in my boat!”
she gleefully exclaimed to herself one morning in August as she steered
for the island.
She had never yet landed at the island on any week day or on any other
occasion than to attend the preaching of the blind minister. She had at
such times kept a bright lookout for the mysterious beauty known to
popular superstition as the White Spirit; but she had seen no sign of
such a being. She had heard it rumored, indeed, that the lady would not
come to the island this season.
Now, therefore, on this cool August morning an impulse suddenly moved
Em. to steer directly for the island, to land there, go up to the palace
and try to get permission from the housekeeper to view the interior once
more, and especially to look upon the portrait of the White Spirit.
The wind was in her favor; the little sail filled and the boat was
wafted swiftly down stream to the landing-place at the island.
Em. furled her sail, moored her boat, and stepped out upon the pretty
path that led first through the girdle of acacias and then through the
ring of silver maples, and thence up the ornamented terraces among
groves, fountains, arbors, statues, and parterres of flowers to the
beautiful high knoll on which the white mansion stood.
She remembered the way taken by old ’Sias when he borrowed the key from
the housekeeper, and so she followed the path around to the rear of the
premises, where she was so fortunate as to find the woman—a very
handsome mulatto, sitting on an arbor, engaged in needlework.
“Good-morning,” said Em., who had approached so softly that her presence
was not perceived until she spoke.
“Lord bless my soul alive! Who _is_ you, anyhow, young lady?” exclaimed
the woman, but there was more of surprise, even of amazement, than of
offence in her manner.
“I startled you, I fear,” said Em. with a smile.
“Well, I should think you did. Who _is_ you, honey, to be sure, then?”
“Only Em. Palmer, one of the new overseer’s daughters from the
Wilderness.”
“Oh, yes! To be sure!” exclaimed the woman, but without ceasing to stare
at the visitor.
“I came upon you too suddenly. You seemed to be in a reverie. But I came
to ask you, if it is not asking too much, to permit me to see the inside
of the house,” said Em. with some bashful hesitation.
“Oh, yes, chile, you can see the house. Any one can see it without
reserve at any time, ’cept when my mistress is at home, and even then
they can see every part of it except her chamber. Yes, chile, here is
the key of the front door. Go in and look for yourself.”
“Thank you very much. I only want to see the drawing-room, with the
portrait of your mistress. It _is_ the portrait of your mistress, is it
not?”
“It’s like her, honey, if you mean the white veiled figure in the
drawing-room.”
“Thank you,” said Em. again, as she received the key and turned to go
around to the front.
She unlocked the door and entered the hall, and then passed immediately
to the elegant drawing-room, upholstered in white, blue and silver.
She scarcely glanced at the splendors of this saloon, but went
immediately up to the figure and stood gazing at it with uplifted eyes
and clasped hands and eager mind, anxious to read the mystery of this
veiled face, whose wonderful, fair beauty could be traced even behind
the mist of the flowing white gauze. She stood thus until startled by a
voice at her elbow:
“That is a most wonderful picture, is it not?”
Em. turned suddenly and stood face to face with Ronald Bruce.