Autumn in Virginia, especially if one is not too near the mountains, is
a season in which greenness sails very close to Christmas, although
generally veering away in time to prevent its verdant hues from tingeing
that happy day with the gloomy influence of the prophetic proverb about
churchyards. Long after the time when the people of the regions watered
by the Hudson and the Merrimac are beginning to button up their
overcoats, and to think of weather strips for their window-sashes, the
dwellers in the land through which flow the Appomattox and the James may
sit upon their broad piazzas, and watch the growing glories of the
forests, where the crimson stars of the sweet gum blaze among the rich
yellows of the chestnuts, the lingering green of the oaks, and the
enduring verdure of the pines. The insects still hum in the sunny air,
and the sun is now a genial orb whose warm rays cheer but not excoriate.
The orb just mentioned was approaching the horizon, when, in an
adjoining county to that in which was situated the hospitable mansion of
Midbranch, a little negro boy about ten years old was driving some cows
through a gateway that opened on a public road. The cows, as they were
going homeward, filed willingly through the gateway, which led into a
field, at the far end of which might be dimly discerned a house behind a
mass of foliage; but the boy, whose head and voice were entirely too big
for the rest of him, assailed them with all manner of reproaches and
impellent adjectives, addressing each cow in turn as: "You, sah!" When
the compliant beasts had hustled through, the youngster got upon the
gate, and giving it a push with one bare foot, he swung upon it as far
as it would go; then lifting the end from the surface of the ground he
shut it with a bang, fastened it with a hook, and ran after the cows,
his wild provocatives to bovine haste ringing high into the evening air.
This youth was known as Plez, his whole name being Pleasant Valley, an
inspiration to his mother from the label on a grape box, which had
drifted into that region from the North. He had just stooped to pick up
a clod of earth with which to accentuate his vociferations, when, on
rising, he was astounded by the apparition of an elderly woman wearing a
purple sun-bonnet, and carrying a furled umbrella of the same color.
Behind the spectacles, which were fixed upon him, blazed a pair of fiery
eyes, and the soul of Plez shrivelled and curled up within him. His
downcast eyes were bent upon his upturned toes, the clod dropped from
his limp fingers, and his mouth which had been opened for a yell,
remained open, but the yell had apparently swooned.
The words of the old lady were brief, but her umbrella was full of jerky
menace, and when she left him, and passed on toward the outer gate,
Plez followed the cows to the house with the meekness of a suspected
sheep dog.
The cows had been milked, some by a rotund black woman named Letty, and
some, much to their discomfort, by Plez himself, and it was beginning to
grow dark, when an open spring wagon driven by a colored man, and with a
white man on the back seat came along the road, and stopped at the gate.
The driver having passed the reins to the occupant on the back seat, got
down, opened the gate, and stood holding it while the other drove the
horse into the road which ran by the side of the field to the house
behind the trees. At this time a passer-by, if there had been one, might
have observed, partly protruding from behind some bushes on the other
side of the public road, and at a little distance from the gate, the
lower portion of a purple umbrella. As the spring wagon approached, and
during the time that it was turning into the gate, and while it was
waiting for the driver to resume his seat, this umbrella was
considerably agitated, so much so indeed as to cause a little rustling
among the leaves. When the gate had been shut, and the wagon had passed
on toward the house, the end of the umbrella disappeared, and then, on
the other side of the bush, there came into view a sun-bonnet of the
same color as the umbrella. This surmounted the form of an old lady, who
stepped into the pathway by the side of the road, and walked away with a
quick, active step which betokened both energy and purpose.
The house, before which, not many minutes later, this spring wagon
stopped, was not a fine old family mansion like that of Midbranch, but
it was a comfortable dwelling, though an unpretending one. The gentleman
on the back seat, and the driver, who was an elderly negro, both turned
toward the hall door, which was open and lighted by a lamp within, as if
they expected some one to come out on the porch. But nobody came, and,
after a moment's hesitation, the gentleman got down, and taking a valise
from the back of the wagon, mounted the steps of the porch. While he was
doing this the face of the negro man, which could be plainly seen in the
light from the hall door, grew anxious and troubled. When the gentleman
set his valise on the porch, and stood by it without making any attempt
to enter, the old man put down the reins and quickly descending from his
seat, hurried up the steps.
"Dunno whar ole miss is, but I reckon she done gone to look after de
tukkies. She dreffle keerful dat dey all go to roos' ebery night. Walk
right in, Mahs' Junius." And, taking up the valise, he followed the
gentleman into the hall.
There, near the back door, stood the rotund black woman, and, behind
her, Plez. "Look h'yar Letty," said the negro man, "whar ole miss?"
"Dunno," said the woman. "She done gib out supper, an' I ain't seed her
sence. Is dis Mahs' Junius? Reckon' you don' 'member Letty?"
"Yes I do," said the gentleman, shaking hands with her; "but the Letty
I remember was a rather slim young woman."
"Dat's so," said Letty, with a respectful laugh, 'but, shuh 'nuf, my
food's been blessed to me, Mahs' Junius."
"But whar's ole miss?" persisted the old man. "You, Letty, can't you go
look her up?"
Now was heard the voice of Plez, who meekly emerged from the shade of
Letty. "Ole miss done gone out to de road gate," said he. "I seen her
when I brung de cows."
"Bress my soul!" ejaculated Letty. "Out to de road gate! An' 'spectin'
you too, Mahs' Junius!"
"Didn't she say nuffin to you?" said the old man, addressing Plez.
"She didn't say nuffin to me, Uncle Isham," answered the boy, "'cept if
I didn't quit skeerin' dem cows, an' makin' 'em run wid froin' rocks
till dey ain't got a drip drap o' milk lef' in 'em, she'd whang me ober
de head wid her umbril."
"'Tain't easy to tell whar she done gone from dat," said Letty.
The face of Uncle Isham grew more troubled. "Walk in de parlor, Mahs'
Junius," he said, "an' make yourse'f comf'ble. Ole miss boun' to be back
d'reckly. I'll go put up de hoss."
As the old man went heavily down the porch steps he muttered to himself:
"I was feared o' sumfin like dis; I done feel it in my bones."
The gentleman took a seat in the parlor where Letty had preceded him
with a lamp. "Reckon ole miss didn't spec' you quite so soon, Mahs'
Junius, cos de sorrel hoss is pow'ful slow, and Uncle Isham is mighty
keerful ob rocks in de road. Reckon she's done gone ober to see ole Aun'
Patsy, who's gwine to die in two or free days, to take her some red an'
yaller pieces for a crazy quilt. I know she's got some pieces fur her."
"Aunt Patsy alive yet?" exclaimed Master Junius. "But if she's about to
die, what does she want with a crazy quilt?"
"Dat's fur she shroud," said Letty. "She 'tends to go to glory all wrap
up in a crazy quilt, jus chockfull ob all de colors of the rainbow. Aun'
Patsy neber did 'tend to have a shroud o' bleached domestic like common
folks. She wants to cut a shine 'mong de angels, an' her quilt's most
done, jus' one corner ob it lef'. Reckon ole miss done gone to carry her
de pieces fur dat corner. Dere ain't much time lef', fur Aun' Patsy is
pretty nigh dead now. She's ober two hunnerd years ole."
"What!" exclaimed Master Junius, "two hundred?"
"Yes, sah," answered Letty. "Doctor Peter's old Jim was more'n a hunnerd
when he died, an' we all knows Aun' Patsy is twice as ole as ole Jim."
"I'll wait here," said Master Junius, taking up a book. "I suppose she
will be back before long."
In about half an hour Uncle Isham came into the kitchen, his appearance
indicating that he had had a hurried walk, and told Letty that she had
better give Master Junius his supper without waiting any longer for her
mistress. "She ain't at Aun' Patsy's," said the old man, "and she's jus'
done gone somewhar else, and she'll come back when she's a mind to, an'
dar ain't nuffin else to say 'bout it."
Supper was eaten; a pipe was smoked on the porch; and Master Junius went
to bed in a room which had been carefully prepared for him under the
supervision of the mistress; but the purple sun-bonnet, and the umbrella
of the same color did not return to the house that night.
Master Junius was a quiet man, and fond of walking; and the next day he
devoted to long rambles, sometimes on the roads, sometimes over the
fields, and sometimes through the woods; but in none of his walks, nor
when he came back to dinner and supper, did he meet the elderly mistress
of the house to which he had come. That evening, as he sat on the top
step of the porch with his pipe, he summoned to him Uncle Isham, and
thus addressed the old man:
"I think it is impossible, Isham, that your mistress started out to meet
me, and that an accident happened to her. I have walked all over this
neighborhood, and I know that no accident could have occurred without my
seeing or hearing something of it."
Uncle Isham stood on the ground, his feet close to the bottom step; his
hat was in his hand, and his upturned face wore an expression of
earnestness which seemed to set uncomfortably upon it. "Mahs' Junius,"
said he, "dar ain't no acciden' come to ole miss; she's done gone cos she
wanted to, an' she ain't come back cos she didn't want to. Dat's ole
miss, right fru."
"I suppose," said the young man, "that as she went away on foot she must
be staying with some of the neighbors. If we were to make inquiries, it
certainly would not be difficult to find out where she is."
"Mahs' Junius," said Uncle Isham, his black eyes shining brighter and
brighter as he spoke, "dar's culled people, an' white folks too in dis
yer county who'd put on dere bes' clothes an' black dere shoes, an' skip
off wid alacrousness, to do de wus kin' o sin, dat dey knowed for sartin
would send 'em down to de deepes' and hottes' gullies ob de lower
regions, but nuffin in dis worl' could make one o' dem people go
'quirin' 'bout ole miss when she didn't want to be 'quired about."
The smoker put down his pipe on the top step beside him, and sat for a
few moments in thought. Then he spoke. "Isham," he began, "I want you to
tell me if you have any notion or idea----"
"Mahs' Junius," exclaimed the old negro, "scuse me fur int'ruptin', but
I can't help it. Don' you go, an ax an ole man like me if I tinks dat
ole miss went away cos you was comin' an' if it's my true b'lief dat
she'll neber come back while you is h'yar. Don' ask me nuffin like dat,
Mahs' Junius. Ise libed in dis place all my bawn days, an' I ain't neber
done nuffin to you, Mahs' Junius, 'cept keepin' you from breakin' you
neck when you was too little to know better. I neber 'jected to you
marryin' any lady you like bes', an' 'tain't f'ar Mahs' Junius, now Ise
ole an' gittin' on de careen, fur you to ax me wot I tinks about ole
miss gwine away an' comin' back. I begs you, Mahs' Junius, don' ax me
dat."
Master Junius rose to his feet. "All right, Isham," he said; "I shall
not worry your good old heart with questions." And he went into the
house.
The next day this quiet gentleman and good walker went to see old Aunt
Patsy, who had apparently consented to live a day or two longer; gave
her a little money in lieu of pieces for her crazy bed-quilt; and told
her he was going away to stay. He told Uncle Isham he was going away to
stay away; and he said the same thing to Letty, and to Plez, and to two
colored women of the neighborhood whom he happened to see. Then he took
his valise, which was not a very large one, and departed. He refused to
be conveyed to the distant station in the spring wagon, saying that he
much preferred to walk. Uncle Isham took leave of him with much sadness,
but did not ask him to stay; and Letty and Plez looked after him
wistfully, still holding in their hands the coins he had placed there.
With the exception of these coins, the only thing he left behind him was
a sealed letter on the parlor table, directed to the mistress of the
house.
Toward the end of that afternoon, two women came along the public road
which passed the outer gate. One came from the south, and rode in an
open carriage, evidently hired at the railroad station; the other was
on foot, and came from the north; she wore a purple sun-bonnet, and
carried an umbrella of the same color. When this latter individual
caught sight of the approaching carriage, then at some distance, she
stopped short and gazed at it. She did not retire behind a bush, as she
had done on a former occasion, but she stood in the shade of a tree on
the side of the road, and waited. As the carriage came nearer to the
gate the surprise upon her face became rapidly mingled with indignation.
The driver had checked the speed of his horses, and, without doubt,
intended to stop at the gate. This might not have been sufficient to
excite her emotions, but she now saw clearly, having not been quite
certain of it before, that the occupant of the carriage was a lady, and,
apparently, a young one, for she wore in her hat some bright-colored
flowers. The driver stopped, got down, opened the gate, and then,
mounting to his seat, drove through, leaving the gate standing wide
open.
This contempt of ordinary proprietary requirements made the old lady
spring out from the shelter of the shade. Brandishing her umbrella, she
was about to cry out to the man to stop and shut the gate, but she
restrained herself. The distance was too great, and, besides, she
thought better of it. She went again into the shade, and waited. In
about ten minutes the carriage came back, but without the lady. This
time the driver got down, shut the gate after him, and drove rapidly
away.
If blazing eyes could crack glass, the spectacles of the old lady would
have been splintered into many pieces as she stood by the roadside, the
end of her umbrella jabbed an inch or two into the ground. After
standing thus for some five minutes, she suddenly turned and walked
vigorously away in the direction from which she had come.
Uncle Isham, Letty, and the boy Plez, were very much surprised at the
arrival of the lady in the carriage. She had asked for the mistress of
the house, and on being assured that she was expected to return very
soon, had alighted, paid and dismissed her driver, and had taken a seat
in the parlor. Her valise, rather larger than that of the previous
visitor, was brought in and put in the hall. She waited for an hour or
two, during which time Letty made several attempts to account for the
non-appearance of her mistress, who, she said, was away on a visit, but
was expected back every minute; and when supper was ready she partook of
that meal alone, and after a short evening spent in reading she went to
bed in the chamber which Letty prepared for her.
Before she retired, Letty, who had shown herself a very capable
attendant, said to her: "Wot's your name, miss? I allus likes to know
the names o' ladies I waits on.''
"My name," said the lady, "is Mrs Null."