Sallie Tom and Peter Black had a conversation a night or two after the
return of the “white folks from the college,” and the announcement of
Dorothy’s and Bobbie’s engagement was of course its topic-in-chief.
“Dey do say,” said Sallie Tom, taking her pipe surreptitiously from the
depth of her bottomless pocket, and lighting it with a coal from the
hearth, “dey do say dat de Doctor done walk de flo’ all night long when
Mars’ Bobbie come over and axed for Miss Dorothy, jis as if he didn’t
kno’ dat it had to come; every nigger on the place know’d it was gwine to
end dat way, and tain’t no use fur de Doctor to say he didn’t spec it so
suddin’; tain’t nothin’ suddin’ bout it. Dey been a loving’ one another
ever sence dey been born, ever sence his nose got broke. Miss Dorothy is
mighty nice, but she ought to thank her Gord A’mighty every day that our
Mars’ Bobbie luv her,” and Sallie Tom kicked the ashes together on the
hearth and gave a little grunt, puffing vigorously at her pipe meanwhile.
“He sutny do luv her,” said Peter Black, leaning back in his chair and
clasping his knees between his hands, “ain’t no mistake about dat, and
dere ain’t goin’ to be no foolin’ ’bout gittin’ married if he kin hep
it, but the Doctor say he cayn’t let Miss Dorothy go way from home yit.
She ain’t quite turn eighteen, and Mars’ Bobbie he ain’t been long cum
twenty-one, and de Doctor say dere’s plenty time yit. It don’t mek much
difference to me,” he went on after a pause, “jis so dey stay home and
don’t go flyin’ all roun’ de worl’ enny mo’. I’m glad dey is gwine to git
married, but I do want de marsa to be home a little bit by hissef fust.
’Pears like I ain’t seen him good yit.”
“You’re right,” grunted Sallie Tom, between the puffs, “ain’t hardly
cotch a good look at him mysef, do’ he did come heah de night he got
home an ax me fur his buttermilk and hoecake, same ez what he use’ to do,
and sat over dere in de corner, like what he allus bin a doin’ sence he
wuz a baby; de Lord a-bless him!” And Sallie Tom wrapped her head up in
her big apron and rocked back and forth, quite overcome by the flood of
recollections called up by his presence at home again. It had been the
sorest trial in the lives of Sallie Tom and Peter Black, this going away
of Bobbie, and now that he was back, unspeakable joy reigned supreme in
the breasts of each. During the years at college, Peter Black had acted
as dining-room boy, helping the butler, who was getting rather old, but
he had been immediately reinstalled in his old position on Bobbie’s
return, and his love and allegiance to his young master was greater than
ever before.
It was in the summer of sixty (’60) that Bobbie got his degree at college
and the promise of Dorothy to be his wife, and while much gayety and
pleasure filled up the measure of many days, other and more weighty
subjects began to fill the air, and caused many long and serious
discussions among the men of the neighborhood, old and young alike, and
by the fall the one absorbing topic among all classes was the terrible
possibility of war.
It was a clear, cool October night that Dorothy and Bobbie had their
first serious talk about it. His horse was hitched to the post waiting
for him, and Dorothy had come out on the porch to say good-bye. The moon
shone clear and bright, softening the shadows cast by the great trees on
the lawn, and all the air was full of the sweet, fall fragrance which
belongs to that season of the year.
Bobbie was holding his hat in his hand, idly twirling it as he talked,
to hide the excitement he could scarce repress. “Father says,” and they
began to walk up and down the veranda, “father says if the State secedes,
he will organize a troop of cavalry at once, and I will of course join
him. Your father will be our surgeon, and you—has your father said
anything about it to you, Dorothy?” he asked abruptly, taking her hand
and drawing it through his arm and holding it there tightly. “Has he
mentioned any of his possible plans to you?”
“Yes,” she answered slowly, “yes, he has talked with me of every
possibility. I am to go to your mother in case there is any necessity.
Auntie will go to the city, so as to be near the hospitals, and you—and
father—and everybody I love will be in that horrible, cruel thing! Ah,
Bobbie, why must it happen—why cannot it be stopped?” and she shivered in
dread apprehension of the days that were awaiting her. Bobbie answered
her seriously and solemnly, “I would to Heaven it could, but if not, you
would not have me stay?”
“No,” she said, raising her head quickly. “I would not have you stay even
if it broke my heart to have you go. I did not know how much I loved my
South until now, when I must give up all I love most for it. I pray God
to help me—to make me brave—but sometimes I’m afraid I’m a coward; but
of course you must go, and who knows but I may yet have a major, or a
colonel, or a brigadier-general for a husband?” and she tried to laugh
bravely at the thought.
“You shall have one who is every inch a Southern soldier,” he said,
taking the upturned face in his hands. “And I can have nothing greater
than that,” she added proudly, and the moon rested lovingly for a moment
on their bent heads, and only the winds heard the vows they made to be
true to their cause—come what may, come what might.