The All-True Travels And Adventures Of Lidie Newton Part 26

I shook my head.

"Tomorrow?"

I nodded.

"First thing in the morning?"

"I suppose so."

"Lorna thinks she knows you."

"Why do you say that?"

"I heard her telling Delia."

"Has she ever been to Kansas"- I stumbled-"City?"

"Goodness, no."

Well, of course not. I had seen only one or two Negroes in K.T., had I not? "I must look like someone else she knows."

"I reckon. But I may ask another question tomorrow?"

"Yes."

"I have a whole day to think of one, then."

But her thoughts were still running on the same subject, because as we rose for the day and went about our morning ablutions, she broke out in a wail. "Louisa! Now you see my difficulty, don't you? Those men who were here last night, those are the best men we know! All of them have property, some of them have a great deal of property, and they truly think like we do about all the great issues. Not everyone does! There are quite a few around here who aren't strictly abolitionists, you know, or who don't care one way or another about the inst.i.tution, but they can't afford slaves or don't have them. You should see how they live! The wives and children work right alongside the men, dawn to dusk every day. And they live all jumbled together in little houses or even cabins, and they don't have any nice dresses to wear, and no occasion to wear them, because they have no amus.e.m.e.nts! They just go to dirty little churches every Sunday, all day, and bring along dishes that they've made, and eat together sitting on a blanket, and how amusing is that? And they have ever so many children, because they need lots of people to work, and you know that when you keep having ever so many children, some of them die, and that's horrible, and then the mother dies from having so many, and then the father marries again, and it starts all over. Did you know that that devil John Brown has twenty-seven children? That's a very low way of doing things, like an animal! And then they try to tell us that G.o.d prefers that sort of life to this!" She swept her hand toward the windows and the front lawn. "How could He possibly prefer such a life for us, if He loves us?"

"But, Helen," I remonstrated, "when Adam and Eve were banished from the Garden, He condemned them to labor for their own bread."

"Don't you think that's a terribly hard religion? I know it comes from that, but Papa said none of our family were Puritans like that, that the Puritans were hateful people, and even the Dutch couldn't stand them, and so that's why they had to go to the New World, not because they were persecuted, but because they were hateful. And I don't think it's fair that they should come to New England and that our people should come to Virginia, an utterly different sort of place, and that in the end, they should put their hatefulness and hard religion over on the rest of us, after all! And you know what? It was those very people that started the slave trade, just to get rich. They treated those slaves much more horribly on those s.h.i.+ps than ever Papa or Mr. Harris would treat even a dog, even a rat! Papa said they used to have more slaves in Newport, Rhode Island, than anywhere else in the United States, until the Irishmen came in, and it was cheaper to pay the poor benighted Irishmen, who don't know any better because of their religion, nothing and get rid of having to care for your slaves as a proper master does!"

"Helen ..." But I paused, wanting to be careful of what I said. I dared not openly argue with her.

"So I can't go to one of those men who lives like that, with a wife and seventeen children. I don't want to be the first wife, who dies, and I don't want to be the second wife, who raises the first wife's brats, and I don't want my husband to be talking to me about my duty all the time! Isn't it better to have two or three children, like Bella and Minna and me, and teach us to sing and play the piano and sew and draw and write a fine hand and even make a pudding if we have to-but my goodness, what if I had to slaughter a hog and watch the blood run out, and chop the head off a chicken?"

I almost admitted that I, too, had found these activities distasteful and that I had avoided them whenever I could, so that my niece, Annie, had been forced to take my place. But I hadn't minded hunting, and dressing game, in K.T. I said, "When you are married, you'll find yourself doing what you have to do and not minding it so much. You'll love your husband, and you'll love your children even more."

"But I was not reared to work every day, all day, and to have my looks go by the time I'm twenty-five, and if I have to live that way, I will certainly die first!" She said it petulantly, almost as a childish threat, but in fact, it was probably true. I said, "Surely your papa will find you a husband to your taste."

"Where? You saw the gallery last night. And if I were to go off, like Bella or Minna, I would have to leave Papa all alone. Don't you love Papa? He's so lively and dear! How could I leave him and go to Georgia or South Carolina or somewhere?" She lowered her voice. "You know, Papa's always going on about land being good and money being evil, but if we were rich in money rather than in land, Papa and I could be together anywhere we chose. I think about this day and night, but I don't see a solution! I suppose it's better not to think about it at all, but just to let yourself be led about by the nose and to accept what happens to you, but my goodness, that seems an awfully spineless way to live!"

I finally laughed.

"Well, it is," said Helen.

There was a knock on the door, and I opened it. Outside it stood Lorna, with two trays. She said, "Well, at leas' I done foun' Missy. Two seconds later, and I woulda got worried. My land, you should see de dining room and de parlor. It look like dey had a war down dere! An' de girl and I, we got to clean dat up before Ma.s.sa Richard come down!"

I saw that she was annoyed with us for wasting her time. I said, "I'm sorry," and she said, "Ain' your fault, unless you been throwin' de dining room chaiahs about. Done broke a winder! I sweah!" She set the trays down, one on the bed and one on the chest, and we ate our toast. Helen said, "I know Papa will give me Lorna for my wedding, at least. I couldn't stir a step without Lorna, and he knows that. She wouldn't leave me like she did Bella, either, because she likes me, and she never did like Bella."

"Did Lorna try to escape?"

She went over and closed the door, then lowered her voice. "It was Bella's fault. Bella has a miserable temper, you know. She can't help it. But she hit Lorna with a rolling pin, right over the head, and raised a terrible bruise, even though you never hit a house servant like that, but she was the same with me when we were children, she always. .h.i.t me with anything that she had in her hand, and so Lorna got her mad, and she happened to have the rolling pin in her hand, and so she hit her and knocked her down! Oh, Papa was furious with Bella, and Ralph-that's Bella's husband-was, too. But then Lorna made it worse by running off, and they had to advertise, and the catchers caught her, and they beat her worse than Bella did. Papa says sometimes you can't control the catchers, because they are of a very low sort. Well, Bella was all set to sell her south, but Papa wouldn't let her and brought her back here and made her promise never to run off, because that's like stealing, you know, and so she has another chance, but it was such a to-do that if it happens again, Papa will surely just sell her south, because if the others see one run off and then go unpunished, well, it makes them restless."

We finished our breakfast and went out of the room. I felt well enough, in spite of my wakeful night, but everything about me had the quality of seeming magnified-larger, brighter, louder than usual-and I felt as though I were stretching myself to accommodate this, and that sometime the stretch might be too great, and I would snap.

Two days pa.s.sed after the failure of my plan, and I told myself that I had to take things slowly and think carefully about what to do. I thought that I might write a letter to my sisters, asking them for money to get back to Quincy, but I had no way to post a letter, and secrecy was still such a habit with me that I couldn't quite bring myself to entrust my letter to Papa. But in addition to that, posting such a letter amounted to giving up on finding Thomas's killers, and I was so used to planning revenge that even without a plan, I couldn't give up the revenge. I thought it would be easier to come up with a plan than settle for nothing, so I solaced myself by carefully thinking the same thoughts over and over. And indeed, this was a time of great news and perturbation. Very soon, we all knew, the invisible boundary between fighting and war would be crossed, and so, many times every day, my carefully thought thoughts were scattered by some rumor or fear. The prevailing belief was that if Lane could not be stopped, he would be killed, and if he was killed, the northern newspapers would raise such a fuss that someplace like Leavenworth or Westport would be attacked by the federals, and then war would roll from there eastward, widening and inexorably speeding up, until the whole nation was drawn in. Papa said that in the days when it took weeks to get to the east by boat or coach, there might not have been such a danger, but now, with trains and telegraphs, there would be no stopping it. Or sometimes, instead of rolling east, it was said, the war would suck everything west, as if Leavenworth were an ever-widening sinkhole that would soon enough engulf Boston, on the one hand, and Charleston, on the other. Under the influence of these thoughts, Papa wondered aloud what it might be like to go off to California, but really, he was too old for that, wasn't he? And so all of us in the house- Helen, Papa, myself, Lorna, I suppose, and even Delia, who counted her stores over and over-were in our separate ways disheartened and perturbed. I wondered about my sisters, whether they were going along in their usual fas.h.i.+on, all unaware of the world outside Quincy and likely to be ever so piqued should it impose itself upon them.

I had been at Day's End Plantation for about two weeks now, and every day had been hot, when suddenly there was a great summer storm, with thunder and lightning and hail, and the late-afternoon sky turned green, and we all had to go down into the cellar and wait it out, master, mistress, guest, and slaves. We had a couple of candles, and everyone was rather fearful, and so Papa said that we must sing songs, and began himself, by singing a song from an opera called Figaro's Marriage, by Mozart, who also wrote some pieces that some of the girls had played in school, when I was with Miss Beecher. Helen sang a Scottish song about getting up early one morning and seeing a fair maiden in the valley below. I then sang "Hard Times, Hard Times, Come Around No More." I sang this with feeling, in my plain voice, keeping the tune as well as I could. After that, each of the slaves sang a song, none of them songs I had ever heard before. Not everyone sang well-Lorna, for example, seemed unwilling to actually produce a melody, and instead almost talked her song. But Malachi liked to sing and had a wonderful clear voice, and he sang first a song about calling the water boy, and second a hymn called "Deep River." Papa said it was one of his favorite hymns, and he smiled broadly the whole time Malachi was singing it. After all of the singing, we came up out of the cellar and saw that the weather had cleared and that the storm had taken down only a few tree limbs. It wasn't even suppertime yet, but the air was cool and the haze had cleared off, and the fields that ran away from the house looked fresh and fruitful. Helen went up to her room, and I went into the day parlor, where I had the third volume of Miss Austen's novel to finish. Just before supper, Papa came into the parlor.

I was sitting on a sofa, and I have to say that I put down my book with some reluctance, as I was at the very interesting part where Elizabeth is caught visiting Mr. Darcy's estate in Derbys.h.i.+re. I saw that Papa was dressed differently than he had been down in the cellar. He was now wearing crisp black trousers, a red brocade waistcoat, a fresh white cravat, and a neatly cut black jacket. He carried a stick with a silver k.n.o.b, too. He reminded me by contrast of how trim and sober a figure Thomas had made in his black clothes when I first met him. I wondered where Papa was going and whether Helen and I would be alone for supper, in which case we might have a light, quick meal, and I could then get on with my reading.

"Are you alone, then, Mrs. Bisket?" said Papa.

"Helen is in her room, if you would like me to get her."

"Perhaps later."

Papa looked bright, with something of the air of a little spinning top, but I in no way a.s.sociated this with myself, and anyway, my mind was still running on Thomas, so I was entirely unprepared to hear Papa exclaim, "My dear Mrs. Bisket, I feel that you are heaven-sent to us for some special purpose, and I cannot rest until I make known to you my fervent desire to bring you into our family as my bride!" During this speech, Papa had swooped down and perched beside me on the couch, and now he seized my hand in his two little ones and stared into my face. "Do let me go on! Everything here at Day's End Plantation is different since you came into the house. You are truly a presence! An angel, if I may say so, who brings us peace and a sense of well-being, even in these times of conflict and anxious dread. You make the two of us a family!"

"You haven't spoken to Helen about this!" That idea especially appalled me.

"Not yet, but I know she loves you like a sister. What a short step, then, to loving you like a mother?"

"I'm but two years older than Helen."

"But your demeanor is, if I may say so, a lifetime more womanly. I don't know your history, Mrs. Bisket, as yet. It's my fond hope that the intimate bonds of marriage will, might, encourage you to confide in me someday...." He looked at me and hurried on. "But let's not get too far ahead. For the moment, I feel that you have been given to us to ease our troubles! We don't know what will happen. No one knows. Our nation is in great peril. I see no statesman, no Jefferson, nor even a Jackson, who can- d- me, Mrs. Bisket, but this Kansas-Nebraska Act was a deal made in the devil's own kitchen, and the red men from whom the land was stolen have cursed it in perpetuity, that's my opinion. I've told Harris that for years: you throw off those Indians, and they leave their curses behind! Did you know that I spent a considerable time with the Indians myself in my early days? And I never held with selling up the Cherokees and driving them off, but they got richer than some of their neighbors, and their neighbors couldn't abide that! Excuse me!"

He got up and walked about the room, then sat down again. "On that subject, I will say only one thing: there has been enormous bungling from top to bottom; that's all I will say on the subject right now!" He took my hand again, but I removed it. He said, "Ah, please don't draw away. Let me believe that I have hope in my suit! Let me think that a few more days or weeks with us will persuade you to find us as necessary to your happiness as you are to mine, ours! Let me persuade myself that a longer sojourn at Day's End Plantation will convince you that we do have a little paradise here, all the more so should you confer upon it your angelic presence!"

I have to say that these speeches made me dizzy, as perhaps they were calculated to do. Watching Papa was like watching something small and sparkling that was moving very rapidly, and indeed, he was moving all the time, either around the room or beside me on the sofa. He made me feel vast and immobile, especially when he referred to me as a "presence." At first I didn't know what to say, as I was utterly surprised, but quickly I realized that Papa's intentions made my position, if possible, even more precarious than it had been. I was no longer a mysterious but essentially indifferent guest, who could move off of her own volition. Now I was someone from whom Papa wanted something, wanted it with impatience and even ardor. I had become, to Papa, something that had no relations.h.i.+p to who or what I actually was. There was certainly danger in that situation. I didn't think that I dared reject his suit right then and there, and I cast about for something to say. Finally, I managed, "Mr. Day, I don't believe that you and I are truly of one mind in all things."

"Ah! You see there! Your very want of openness-which in principle I don't disagree with, since I admire discretion in a lady-your very want of openness has prevented us from making the best use of our acquaintance here, but I truly feel that often, in these matters, it is better to act on instinct than on reason. My instinct is that we are of one mind!"

"But, sir, let's set this, just for argument: let's say that you and your daughter go to the Methodist church-"

"Which we do."

"-and that I have been in the habit of attending the Baptist church. Are we of one mind there? Could we be? I don't-"

"But my feeling is that these issues will fall away of themselves! I am a Romantic! Do you know what that is? Ah, they were marvelous boys! They saw more deeply into the heart than many an older man-"

"But what if I were an abolitionist, even?"

He threw back his head and laughed a great baritone laugh. He shouted, "Impossible! Ha ha ha ha!"

And it took all my forbearance to not respond to his amus.e.m.e.nt with a declaration. I sustained my smile and finally, when he was attending to me again, said, "I am, of course, flattered by your offer. You have been unfailingly kind to me, and I am grateful for that. You will have my reply on Monday morning, at breakfast time. That is three days from now. Until then, I feel that I need some seclusion-"

"To organize your thoughts! Yes, of course, my dear." He grinned. I could readily see that he felt a.s.sured of my positive response. I knew that he and Helen would be attending a long church service on Sunday, followed by an afternoon with the Harrises. I had prepared the ground for begging off that, and it would be during those hours, between nine and six, that I would pack my bag and decamp. I thought that I might be able to sell Thomas's watch in Independence for steamboat fare back to Quincy, or, perhaps, for enough to live on until I could get a letter to Harriet and persuade her to send me some money.

I smiled sincerely at Papa and put my hand out to him. He took it and kissed it. I was sincerely grateful to him for goading me into coming up with a plan. He stood and bowed himself out of the room, nearly dancing with delight. At supper, half an hour later, Helen asked him why he seemed so happy, and he said, "Trust me, my dear; you shall know soon enough!" He was that certain of my reply.

CHAPTER 25.

I Am Recognized [image]Carpet bags are very useful, to carry the articles to be used on a journey. The best ones have sides inserted, iron rims, and a lock and key. -p. 316 THE FIRST THING I did was to finish my book, although I must say I did so with somewhat different feelings than I had had before Papa's offer. I no longer felt that living with Mr. Darcy at Pemberley was the be-all and end-all of existence, and I wondered how Elizabeth, who was so witty and lively that it was easy to feel a kins.h.i.+p with her, would a.s.sume authority over the invisible but necessary troop of servants. I wondered how she would transform herself from a girl into the representative of an inst.i.tution so large and public that strangers could appear there and ask to be shown around. Papa's offer took away some of my gratification in the story, I must say.

The second thing I did was to ask Lorna what had become of my woolen dress. "Well," she said, "I don' think you need dat thing! It still smells to high heaven, an' it's been sitting out in de airin' shed fo' two weeks! I had de girl scrub it an' scrub it wi' de soda, until de nap is 'bout worn offn de flannel, but I'll bring it up ifn you want to have a look at it."

"I believe you. I suppose it's ruined, then."

"Pretty near, but I don' know. Maybe a few more days of dry weader will do de trick. Mos' of de last two weeks have been awful damp."

The third thing I did was clean and oil my pistol, then pack it with the percussion caps and the cartridges at the bottom of my bag. That, too, I could sell. I should mention here that Lorna had found the money sewn into my woolen dress and returned it to me. I counted that. There were seven dollars now. The bag (I looked at it critically) was worth very little. Perhaps, as well, I could sell one of the dresses Helen had gotten from the Harrises. The green had turned out quite pretty and unusual-looking, although, of course, any dress of mine was too long in the waist and the skirt to fit most women. But first I had to get someplace where I could sell things. That would be Independence. It had taken me a day to get from Independence to here, but actually, I didn't know how far a walk Independence was, because I didn't know how my strength had been affected by my condition, or by my run from that fellow Master Philip. In fact, most of the events after I'd eaten some supper in Independence (or was it dinner?) were exceedingly difficult to remember, rather like sifting through a bucket of sand to find small objects at the bottom.

I did all these things, and made my plans, only by stealing little bits of time and attention from other concerns. I felt that I dared not look as if I was about to bolt, not because I thought Papa would hurt me, or hold me his captive, but because I thought he would renew his suit in ever more pressing terms. Only if he thought he had said enough would he refrain from saying more.

In this time, it also happened that we heard that Governor Shannon of Kansas had resigned his position, telling President Pierce, according to Papa and his friends, that the devils in Kansas were harder to govern than the devils in H-. This sentiment was viewed in Missouri as a judicious observation by an unbiased observer, and it was widely expected that President Pierce would try to inst.i.tute military law, enrolling all Missourians who cared to join in some sort of military policing arm that would have the privilege, the right, and the duty to destroy the G- d- abolitionists once and for all. Since it was an election year, the only discussion revolved around whether the outgoing President's party would have the stomach to support him in this most necessary course of action. As the executive arm of the government, he could do it on his own, but would he? There was talk around Papa's table of sending a delegation of the area's best men to advise the President on how to deal with the lily-livered members of his own party, who wouldn't do what had to be done even though it was plain as the nose on your face. Did anyone, north or south, want the abolitionists in power? No. Would they get there? As sure as ice melts in the spring. Could they be stopped? (Fists slam down on the table.) Got to be! There was some discussion about how the abolitionists had gotten to be so prominent all of a sudden. Every man at the table could remember a time when the criminals blackguards scoundrels traitors swine pardon my language ma'am were only laughed at. No one ever agreed with them five years ago, a year ago, six months ago. It was one of the great mysteries of history how they'd scrambled up from the bottom like that.

"Well, they got in all them Germans that come over here after that revolution they had there. Them German boys got ideas of their own, d- 'em," said one.

"They hate the Germans. They hate the Irish, too. Only love n.i.g.g.e.rs. You know why-it's twisted."

Looks, then pardoning in front of the ladies. Helen turning red. Me looking at my plate.

"The question is how they got in with the Was.h.i.+ngton men."

"There's a set of scoundrels to begin with. Lining their own pockets with both hands, don't care where it comes from."

"Money's at the bottom of it."

"Thayer's cellar is stacked with gold ingots. Where do you think he got 'em?"

"Pandering to others with a fondness for dark meat? Haw haw!"

"Sir!"

"Perhaps if the ladies are finished, they might excuse themselves, so that the gentlemen can speak freely."

We blushed our way out of the room, Helen giving me a significant look, half plea, half I-told-you-so. Each day, the talk got rougher, more violent, less softened by habitual good manners.

But mostly I kept to my room, trying to avoid Papa. On Sat.u.r.day night, I went in to Helen and begged off the next day's scheme of church, followed by a party at the Harrises'. Helen smiled and gave me no protest, even though she'd been telling me for days how pleasant it was there, how delightful the victuals would be, how much I would enjoy Mrs. Harris and her sister. I knew right then that Papa had spoken to her of his offer, and I was tempted to let an intimation or two drop of my real intentions, only out of fondness for Helen, only so that she wouldn't feel that I had thought nothing of her and her kindness and good nature when I fled. But I dared not. I smiled back at her, as if we shared some knowledge and everything might easily turn out as she expected. After that, I went back to my own chamber and changed into my nightdress. I sat there for a minute, then got into bed and blew out my candle. I knew I had done so, because after blowing it out, I lay in the dark for quite a time. Even so, before I awakened, I sensed a candle in the room, a blur of light pressing on my heavy lids. But there was no sound. I came around ever so slowly, and as I opened my eyes, the candle went out, another mystery. I must have groaned, because a hand was instantly over my mouth, a dry, strong, firm hand. Lorna's hand. She whispered, "Hush now! I got somethin' to say to ya!"

I sat up. She took her hand away. She was leaning toward me in the dark, sitting in the same chair she had occupied when she was watching over me, wearing the same faded dress that seemed to float in the darkness, a white kerchief around her head.

"Missy Louisa! I knows you! I do! You don' think I do, but I do. I saw it all cleah las' week."

I looked at her, afraid to say a word.

"You done gi' me some money once."

"You must be mis-"

"No, I ain'! You didn' see me, but I saw ya. You was wadin' in a stream and you had a boy wid ya. You lef' four dollar on a rock fo' me."

I felt my jaw drop. I said, "Were you in a cave?"

"That war me, missy. Oh, I was cold dat day! I done swum the river and walked up de crick deah, and my draws was soakin' wet."

"Lorna!"

"Hush, now! Ma.s.sa Richard is a light sleeper, and times he get up and walk around de house 'cause he's thinkin' on things."

I didn't know how not to believe her. I whispered, "It was a man in that cave!"

"No it waren't! It war me! Two days later, de catchers got me and beat me good and put me in de shackles and everythin', so don' say it waren't me, because I got de stripes to show for it! Now hush. I got somethin' to tell ya." She gave me a firm look, then said, "You is leavin' heah, ain' you?"

"How did Thomas know you were in that cave?"

"Dere was a man in dat town. He done come down from Wesconsin to do things fo' de Underground Railroad. He done bought a farm dere, by de river."

"Roger Howell!"

"Dat may be de name. I never seen de man." She shrugged that off. "I know you is leavin', because I looked under de bed and saw dat you packed you bag, an' I heared you beggin' off de outin' tomorra. Dey is gone be away all day and into de night, and dat's a good time fo' you to git off, ain' it?"

I didn't say anything.

"Well, you is takin' me wid ya."

I gasped.

"Yes, you is. Now make up you mine dat you is gone take me, because you is. You cain' gi' me four dollar one time and walk away from me de nex', dat's what I think!"

"I can barely get out of here myself!"

"You think I ain' got me a plan? I been plannin' this fo' a week, since I done seen who you is. I didn' know you at firs', 'cause you cut you haiah and had some men's clothes on and I didn' rightly believe it ware possible that it could be you, but you is a big gal. I ain' never seen another as big as you-tall, I mean, 'cause you ain' fat nohow-but however, I done worked it out."

"That wasn't my four dollars; that was my husband's!"

"De one dat was killed?"

"Yes."