fetch her back. Good. Me do it quick. Cap'n feel all right again.”
“I can't, Abe, I can't. I promised. I gave her my word. I can't. I wish
she had asked me to cut my throat instead,” and he despairingly shook
his head.
Abe regarded him with evident perplexity for some moments, and then with
an abrupt nod of the head turned and glided out of the room. Perez,
in his gloomy preoccupation did not even note his going. His head sunk
lower on his breast, and he murmured to himself wild words of passion
and despair.
“If she only knew. If she knew how I loved her. But she would not care.
She hates me. She will never come back. Oh, no, never. I shall never see
her again. This is the end. It is the end. How beautiful she was!” and
he buried his face in his arms on the table and wept miserable tears.
There were voices and noises about and within the guardhouse, but he
took no note of them. Some one came into the room, but he did not look
up, and for a moment Desire Edwards, for she it was, in hat and cloak,
stood looking down on him. Then she said, in a voice whose first accent
brought him to his feet as if electrified:
“No wonder you hide your head.”
There was a red spot as big as a cherry in either cheek, and her eyes
scintillated with concentrated scorn and anger. Over her shoulder
was visible Abe Konkapot's swarthy face, wearing a smile of great
self-satisfaction.
“I was foolish enough to think even a rebel might keep his word,” Desire
went on, in a voice trembling with indignation. “I did not suppose even
you would give me a pass and then send your footpads to stop me.”
It was evident from his dazed look, that he did not follow her words. He
glanced inquiringly at Abe, who responded with lucid brevity:
“Look a' here, Cap'n, me see you feel heap bad cause gal go away. You
make fool promise; no can stop her. Me no make promise. Gal come long
in cart. Show pass. Pass good, but no good for gal to go. Tear up pass;
fetch gal back. Cap'n no break no promise, cause no stop gal. Abe no
break promise, cause no make none. Cap'n be leetle mad with Abe for
tear up pass, but heap more glad for git gal back,” and having thus
succinctly stated the matter the Indian retired.
“I beg your pardon, Captain Hamlin,” said Desire, with an engaging
smile. “I was too hasty. I suppose I was angry. I see you were not
to blame. If you will now please tell your men that I am not to be
interfered with again, I will make another start for Pittsfield.”
“No, not again,” he replied slowly.
“But you promised me,” she said, with rising apprehension, nervously
clasping the edge of her cloak with her fingers as she spoke. “You
promised me on the word of a duke you know,” and she made another feeble
attempt at a smile.
“I promised you,” replied he, “I don't know why I was so mad. I was
bewitched. I did not break the promise, but I will not make it again.
God had pity on me, and brought you back. What have I suffered the last
hour, and shall I let you go again? Never! never! None shall pluck you
out of my hand.
“Don't let me terrify you, my darling,” he went on passionately, in a
softened voice, as she changed countenance and recoiled before him in
evident fright. “I will not hurt you. I would die sooner than hurt a
hair of your head.” He tried to take her hand, and then as she snatched
it away, he caught the hem of her cloak, and kneeling quickly, raised it
with a gesture of boundless tenderness and reverence, to his lips.
She had shrunk back to the wall, and looked down on him in wide-eyed,
speechless terror, evidently no longer thinking of anything but escape.
“Oh, let me go home. Let me go home. I shall scream out if you don't let
me go,” she cried.
He rose to his feet, walked quickly across the room and back, and then
having in some measure subdued his agitation, replied:
“Certainly, you shall go home. It is dark; I will go with you,” and they
walked together across to the store without speaking. Returning, Perez
met Abe, and taking him by the hand, gave it a tremendous grip, but said
nothing.
Whatever resentment Squire Edwards cherished against Perez on account
of Desire's recapture and return, he was far too shrewd to allow it to
appear. He simply ignored the whole episode and was more affable than
ever. Whenever he met the young man, he had something pleasant to
say, and was always inviting him into the store to take a drop when
he passed. Meanwhile, however, so far as the latter's opportunities of
seeing or talking with Desire were concerned, she might just as well
have been in Pittsfield, so strictly did she keep the house. A week or
ten days passed thus, every day adding fuel to his impatience, and he
had already begun to entertain plans worthy of a brigand or a kidnapper,
when circumstances presented an opportunity of which he made shrewd
profit.
During the Revolutionary war it had been a frequent policy with the
town authorities to attempt to correct the high and capricious prices
of goods, always incident to war times, by establishing fixed rates per
pound, bushel, yard or quart, by which all persons should be compelled
to sell or barter their merchandise and produce. It had been suggested
in the Stockbridge Committee of Correspondence, Inspection, and Safety
that the adoption of such a tariff would tend to relieve the present
distress and promote trade. Ezra Phelps proposed the plan, Israel
Goodrich was inclined to favor it, and Perez' assent would have settled
the matter. He, it was, whom Squire Edwards approached with vehement
protestations. He might well be somewhat agitated, for being the only
merchant in town, the proposed measure was little more than a personal
discrimination against his profits, which, it must be admitted, had been
of late years pretty liberal, thanks to a dearth of money that had made
it necessary for farmers to barter produce for tools and supplies, at
rates virtually at the merchant's discretion. If the storekeeper had
been compelled to trade at the committee's prices for awhile, it would
perhaps have been little more than a rough sort of justice; but he did
not take that view. It is said that all is fair in love and war, and
this was the manner in which Perez proceeded selfishly to avail himself
of the Squire's emergency. He listened to his protestations with a
sympathetic rather than a hopeful air, admitting that he himself would
be inclined to oppose the new policy, but remarking that the farmers and
some of the committee were so set on it that he doubted his ability to
balk them. He finally remarked, however, he might possibly do something,
if Edwards, himself, would meantime take a course calculated to placate
the insurgents and disarm their resentment. Being rather anxiously
inquired of by the storekeeper as to what he could consistently do,
Perez finally suggested that Israel Goodrich was going to have a husking
in his barn the following night, if the warm weather held; and if Desire
Edwards should attend, it would not only please the people generally,
but possibly gain over Israel, a member of the committee. Edwards made
no reply, and Perez left him to think the matter over, pretty confident
of the result.
That evening in the family circle, after a gloomy account of the
disaster threatening to engulf the family fortunes if the proposed
policy of fixing prices were carried out, Edwards spoke of Hamlin's
disposition to come to his aid, and his suggestion concerning Desire's
presence at the husking.
“These huskings are but low bussing-matches,” said Mrs. Edwards with
much disgust. “Desire has never set a foot in such a place. I suspect it
is a trick of this fellow to get her in his reach.”
“It may be so,” said her husband, gloomily. “I thought of that myself,
but what shall we do? Shall we submit to the spoiling of our goods? We
are fallen upon evil times, and the most we can do is to choose between
evils.”
Desire, who had sat in stolid silence, now said in much agitation:
“I don't want to go. Please don't make me go, father. I'd rather not.
I'm afraid of him. Since that last time I'm afraid. I'd rather not.”
“The child is well nigh sick with it all,” said Mrs. Edwards, sitting
down by her and soothingly drawing the head of the agitated girl to her
shoulder, which set her to sobbing. It was evident that the constant
apprehensions of the past several weeks as well as her virtual
imprisonment within doors, had not only whitened her cheek but affected
her nervous tone.
Edwards paced to and fro with knitted brow. Finally he said:
“I will by no means constrain your will in this matter, Desire. I do
not understand all your woman's megrims, but your mother shall not
again reproach me with willingness to secure protection to my temporal
interests at the cost of your peace and quiet. You need not go to this
husking. No doubt I shall be able to bear whatever the Lord sends,” and
he went out.
Soon after, Desire ceased sobbing and raised her head from her mother's
shoulder. “Mother,” she said, “did you ever hear of a maiden placed in
such a case as mine?”
“No, my child. It is a new sort of affliction, and of a strange nature.
I scarcely have confidence to advise you as to your duty. You had best
seek the counsel of the Lord in prayer.”
“Methinks in such matters a woman is the best judge,” said the girl
naively.
“Tut, tut, Desire!”
“Nay, I meant no harm, mother,” and then with a great sigh, she said: “I
will go. Poor father feels so bad.”
The next evening when, dressed for the husking, she took a last look
in her mirror she was fairly scared to see how pretty she was. And
yet despite the dismay and sinking of heart with which she apprehended
Perez' attentions, she did not brush down the dark ringlets that
shadowed her temples so bewitchingly, or choose a less becoming ribbon
for her neck. That is not a woman's way. It was about seven o'clock
when she and Jonathan, who went as her escort, reached Israel Goodrich's
great barn, guided thither by the light which streamed from the open
door.
The husking was already in full blast. A dozen tallow dips, and half
as many lanterns, consisting of peaked cylinders of tin, with holes
plentifully punched in their sides for the light of the candle to
trickle through, illumined the scene. In the middle of the floor was a
pile of full a hundred bushels of ears of corn in the husk, and close
around this, their knees well thrust into the mass, sat full two-score
young men and maidens, for the most part duly paired off, save where
here and there two or three bashful youths sat together. The young men
had their coats off, and the round white arms of the girls twinkled
distractingly as with swift deft motions they freed the shining yellow
ears from their incasements and tossed them into the baskets. The
noisy rustling of the dry husks, the chatter and laughter of the merry
workers, ever and anon swelling into uproarious mirth as some protesting
maiden redeemed a red ear with a pair of red lips, made altogether a
merry medley that caused the cows and horses munching their suppers in
the neighboring stalls to turn and stare in wonder.
Some of the huskers, looking up, caught sight of Desire and Jonathan
at the door, and by a telegraphic system of whispers and nudges, the
information was presently carried to Israel Goodrich.
“Glad to see ye. Come right in,” he shouted in a broad, cheery voice.
“More the merrier's, the sayin is. Glad to see ye. Glad to see ye.
Look's kinder neighborly.”
As Desire entered the barn, some of the girls rose and curtsied, the
most merely looking bashful and avoiding her eye, as the rural mode of
greeting continues to be to this day. Perez was the first person whom
Desire had seen on entering the barn. Her eyes had been drawn to him by
a sort of fascination, certainly not a pleasant sort, the result of
her having thought so much about him. Nor was this fascination without
another evidence. There was a vacant stool by Perez, and as she passed
it, and he rose and bowed, she made as if she would seat herself there.
“Don't ye sit thar,” said Israel, “that ain't nothin but a stool. Thar's
a chair furder along.”
The offer to sit by Perez was almost involuntary on her part, merely a
sign of her sense of powerlessness against him. She had had the thought
that he meant to have her sit there, and in her nervously abject mood
she had not thought of resisting. Her coming to the husking at all
had been a surrender to his will, and this seemed but an incident and
consequence of that. At Israel's words she blushed faintly, but not in a
way to be compared with the red flush that swept over Perez' face.
“Thar,” said Israel, good-humoredly, as she seated herself in the
promised chair, “naow I guess we'll see the shucks begin to fly.”
“For the land sakes, Miss Edwards, you ain't a gonter go ter shuckin
with them ere white hands o' yourn,” exclaimed Submit Goodrich. “Lemme
git yer some mittins, an an apron tew. Deary me, yew mustn't dew the
fuss thing till yew've got an apron.”
“Guess yew ain't uster huskin, or yew woulden come in yer bes gaown,”
said Israel cheerfully.
“Come naow, father,” Submit expostulated, “tain't likely she's got
nothin poor nuff fer sech doins. Ez if this ere wuz Miss Edwards' bes
gaown. Yew've got a sight better'n this, hain't yew?”
Desire smiled vaguely. Meanwhile the husking had been pretty much
suspended, the huskers either staring in vacant, open mouthedness at
Desire, or communicating whispered comments to each other. And even
after she had been duly provided with mittens and apron, and begun on
the corn, the chatter and boisterous merriment which her arrival had
interrupted, did not at once resume its course. Perhaps in a more modern
assembly the constraint might have been lasting, but our forefathers did
not depend so exclusively as we upon capricious and uncompellable
moods, which, like the winds, blow whence and when they list, for the
generation of vivacity in social gatherings. For that same end they used
most commonly a force as certain as steam in its action; an influence
kept in a jug.
Submit whispered to her father, and the old man merely poured a double
portion of rum into the cider flip, with which the huskers were being
regaled, and soon all went prosperously again. For rum in those good old
days was recognized as equally the accompaniment of toil and recreation,
and therefore had a double claim to the attention of huskers. From a
sale of meeting-house pews or an ordination, to a ball or a general
training, rum was the touch of nature that made the whole world of
our forefathers kin. And if Desire did but wet her lips with the flip
to-night, it was because the company rather than the beverage offended
her taste. For even at risk of alienating the sympathies of my teetotal
readers, I must refrain from claiming for the maiden a virtue which had
not then been invented.
The appearance of Uncle Sim's black and smiling countenance, as he
entered bowing and grinning, his fiddle under his arm, was hailed with
uproar and caused a prodigious accession of activity among the huskers,
the completion of whose task would be the signal for the dancing to
begin. The red ears turned up so rapidly as to suggest the theory that
some of the youths had stuffed their pockets with a selected lot from
the domestic corn bin before coming. But though this opinion was loudly
expressed by the girls, it did not seem to excite that indignation in
their bosoms which such unblushing duplicity should have aroused. Half
a dozen lively tussles for kisses were constantly going on in various
parts of the floor and the uproar was prodigious.
In the midst of the hurly-burly, Desire sat bending over the task of
which her unused fingers made slow work, replying now and then with
little forced smiles to Submit's good natured efforts to entertain her,
and paying no attention to the hilarious confusion around. She looked
for all the world to Perez like a captive queen among rude barbarian
conquerors, owing to her very humiliation, a certain touching dignity.
It repented him that he had been the means of bringing her to the place.
He could not even take any pleasure in looking at her, because he was so
angry to see the coarse stares of admiration which the bumpkins around
fixed on her. Paul Hubbard, who sat opposite him had been particularly
free with his eyes in that direction, and all the more so after he
perceived the discomfort it occasioned Perez, toward whom since their
collision concerning the disposition to be made of the prisoners, he had
cherished a bitter animosity. The last husks were being stripped off,
and Sim was already tuning his fiddle, when Hubbard sprang to his feet
with a red ear in his hand. He threw a mocking glance toward Perez, and
advanced behind the row of huskers toward Desire. Bending over her lap,
with downcast face, she did not observe him till he laid his hand on the
rich kerchief of India silk that covered her shoulders. Looking up and
catching sight of the dark, malicious face above her, its sensual leer
interpreted by the red ear brandished before her eyes, she sprang away
with a gasp. There was not one of the girls in the room who would have
thought twice about a kiss, or a dozen of them. One of their own number
who had made a fuss about such a trifle would have been laughed at.
But somehow they did not feel inclined to laugh at Desire's terror and
repugnance. They felt that she was different from them, and the least
squeamish hoyden of the lot experienced a thrill of sympathy, and had
a sense of something tragic. And yet no one interfered. Hubbard was
but using his rights according to the ancient rules of the game. A girl
might defend herself with fists and nails from an unwelcome suitor, but
no third party could interfere. As Jonathan, who sat some way from his
sister was about to run to her aid, a stout farmer caught him around the
waist crying, good naturedly:
“Fair play youngster! fair play! No interferin!”
Perez had sprung up, looking very white, his eyes congested, his fists
clenched. As Desire threw an agonized look of appeal around the circle,
she caught sight of him. With a sudden impulse she darted to him crying:
“Oh, keep me from that man.”
“Get out of the way, Hamlin,” said Hubbard, rushing after his prey. “God
damn you, get out of my way. What do you mean by interfering?”
Perez scarcely looked at him, but he threw a glance around upon the
others, a glance of appeal, and said in a peculiar voice of suppressed
emotion:
“For God's sake, some of you take the fellow away, or I shall kill him.”
Instantly Israel Goodrich and half a dozen more had rushed between the
two. The twitching muscles of Perez' face and that strange tone as of a
man appealing to be saved from himself, had suddenly roused all around
from mirthful or curious contemplation of the scene to a perception that
a terrible tragedy had barely been averted.
Meanwhile the floor was being cleared of the husks and soon the merry
notes of the fiddle speedily dissipated the sobering influence of the
recent fracas. Desire danced once with her brother and once with old
Israel, who positively beamed with pleasure. But Hubbard, who was now
pretty drunk, followed her about, every now and then taking the red ear
out of his pocket and shaking it at her, so that between the dances and
after them, she took care not to be far from Perez, though she pretended
not to notice her pursuer. As for Perez, he was far enough from taking
advantage of the situation. Though his eyes followed her everywhere,
he did not approach her, and seemed very ill at ease and dissatisfied.
Finally he called Jonathan aside and told him that the last end of a
husking was often rather uproarious, and Desire perhaps would prefer
to go home early. He would, himself, see that they reached home without
molestation. Desire was glad enough to take the hint, and glad enough,
too, in view of Hubbard's demonstration, to accept the offered escort.
As the three were on the way home, Perez finally broke the rather
stiff silence by expressing with evident distress his chagrin at the
unpleasant events of the evening; and Desire found herself replying
quite as if she felt for, and wished to lessen, his self-reproach. Then
they kept silent again till just before the store was reached, when he
said:
“I see that you do not go out doors at all. I suppose you are afraid
of me. If that is the reason, I hope you will not stay in after this. I
give you my word you shall not be annoyed, and I hope you'll believe me.
Good night.”
“Good night.”
Was it Desire Edwards' voice which so kindly, almost softly, responded
to his salutations? It was she who, in astonishment, asked herself the
question.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SECOND
BRACE OF PROCLAMATIONS
Perez profited by the fact that, however a man may have abused a woman,
that is all forgotten the moment he protects her against another man,
perhaps no worse than himself. Ever so little gratitude is fatal to
resentment, and the instinct of her sex to repay protection with esteem
is so deep, that it is no wonder Desire found her feelings toward Perez
oddly revolutionized by that scene at the husking. Try as she might to
resume her former resentment, terror, and disgust toward the young man,
the effort always ended in recalling with emotions of the liveliest
thankfulness how he had stood between her and that hateful fellow, whom
otherwise she could not have escaped. All that night she was constantly
dreaming of being pursued by ruffians and rescued by him. And the
grateful sense of safety and protection which, in her dreams, she
associated with him, lingered in her mind after she awoke in the
morning, and refused to be banished. She was half ashamed, she would not
have had anybody know it, and yet she had to own that after these weeks
of constant depression and apprehension, the change of mood was not
wholly disagreeable.
She had quite a debate with herself as to whether it would be consistent
with her dignity to accept Perez' assurance that she would not be
annoyed, and go out to walk. Without fully determining the question,
she concluded to go anyway, and a beginning having been thus made,
she thereafter resumed her old habit of long daily walks, to the rapid
improvement of her health and spirits. For some days she did not chance
to meet Perez at all, and it annoyed the high-spirited girl to find that
she kept thinking of him, and wondering where she would meet him, and
what he would say or do, and how she ought to appear. And yet it
was perfectly natural that such should be the case. Thanks to his
persecution, he had preoccupied her mind with his personality for so
long a time that it was impossible the new phase of her relations toward
him should not strongly affect her fancy. The first time they actually
did meet, she found herself quite agitated. Her heart beat oddly when
she saw him coming, and if possible she would have turned aside to avoid
him. But he merely bowed and passed on with a word of greeting. After
that he met her oftener, but never presumed to stop--or say more than
“Good morning,” or “Good afternoon,” the result of which was that, after
having at first welcomed this formality as a relief, after awhile she
came to think it a little overstrained. It looked as if he thought that
she was childishly afraid of him. That seemed absurd. One day, as they
met, and with his usual courteously curt salutation he was passing by,
she observed that it was delightful weather. As her eye caught his start
of surprise, and the expression of almost overpowering pleasure that
passed over his face at her words, she blushed. She unquestionably
blushed and hurried on, scarcely waiting for his reply. Some days later,
as she was taking a favorite walk over a path among the thickets on the
slope of Laurel Hill, whence the hazy Indian Summer landscape could be
seen to perfection beneath the thin but wonderfully bland sunshine of
November, she again met him face to face. Perhaps it was the color in
her cheeks which reminded him to say:
“You don't look as if you needed to go to Pittsfield for your health
now.”
“No,” she said, smiling. “When I found I could not go, I concluded I
would get well here.”
“I suppose you are very angry with me for stopping you that night,
though it was not I that did it.”
“If I were angry, I should not dare tell you, for fear of bringing down
your vengeance on me.”
“But are you angry?” he asked anxiously.