CHAPTER XI. BELLEGARDE ONCE MORE
Supper at Bellegarde was not the simple meal it had been for a year pastat Colonel Carvel's house in town. Mrs. Colfax was proud of her table,proud of her fried chickens and corn fritters and her desserts. HowVirginia chafed at those suppers, and how she despised the guests whomher aunt was in the habit of inviting to some of them! And when nonewas present, she was forced to listen to Mrs. Colfax's prattle about thefashions, her tirades against the Yankees.
"I'm sure he must be dead," said that lady, one sultry evening in July.Her tone, however, was not one of conviction. A lazy wind from the riverstirred the lawn of Virginia's gown. The girl, with her hand on thewicker back of the chair, was watching a storm gather to the eastward,across the Illinois prairie.
"I don't see why you say that, Aunt Lillian," she replied. "Bad newstravels faster than good."
"And not a word from Comyn. It is cruel of him not to send us a line,telling us where his regiment is."
Virginia did not reply. She had long since learned that the wisdom ofsilence was the best for her aunt's unreasonableness. Certainly, ifClarence's letters could not pass the close lines of the Federal troops,news of her father's Texas regiment could not come from Red River.
"How was Judge Whipple to-day?" asked Mrs. Colfax presently.
"Very weak. He doesn't seem to improve much."
"I can't see why Mrs. Brice,--isn't that her name?--doesn't take him toher house. Yankee women are such prudes."
Virginia began to rock slowly, and her foot tapped the porch.
"Mrs. Brice has begged the Judge to come to her. But he says he haslived in those rooms, and that he will die there,--when the time comes."
"How you worship that woman, Virginia! You have become quite a Yankeeyourself, I believe, spending whole days with her, nursing that oldman."
"The Judge is an old friend of my father's; I think he would wish it,"replied the girl, in a lifeless voice.
Her speech did not reveal all the pain and resentment she felt. Shethought of the old man racked with pain and suffering in the heat, lyingpatient on his narrow bed, the only light of life remaining the presenceof the two women. They came day by day, and often Margaret Brice hadtaken the place of the old negress who sat with him at night. WorshipMargaret Brice! Yes, it was worship; it had been worship since theday she and her father had gone to the little whitewashed hospital.Providence had brought them together at the Judge's bedside. Themarvellous quiet power of the older woman had laid hold of the girl inspite of all barriers.
Often when the Judge's pain was eased sufficiently for him to talk, hewould speak of Stephen. The mother never spoke of her son, but a lightwould come into her eyes at this praise of him which thrilled Virginiato see. And when the good lady was gone, and the Judge had fallen intoslumber, it would still haunt her.
Was it out of consideration for her that Mrs. Brice would turn the Judgefrom this topic which he seemed to love best? Virginia could not admitto herself that she resented this. She had heard Stephen's letters tothe Judge. They came every week. Strong and manly they were, with plentyof praises for the Southern defenders of Vicksburg. Only yesterdayVirginia had read one of these to Mr. Whipple, her face burning. Wellthat his face was turned to the window, and that Stephen's mother wasnot there!
"He says very little about himself," Mr. Whipple complained. "Had itnot been for Brinsmade, we should never know that Sherman had his eye onhim, and had promoted him. We should never have known of that exploitat Chickasaw Bluff. But what a glorious victory was Grant's capture ofVicksburg, on the Fourth of July! I guess we'll make short work of theRebels now."
No, the Judge had not changed much, even in illness. He would neverchange. Virginia laid the letter down, and tears started to her eyes asshe repressed a retort. It was not the first time this had happened.At every Union victory Mr. Whipple would loose his tongue. How strangethat, with all his thought of others, he should fall short here!
One day, after unusual forbearance, Mrs. Brice had overtaken Virginiaon the stairway. Well she knew the girl's nature, and how difficult shemust have found repression. Margaret Brice had taken her hand.
"My dear," she had said, "you are a wonderful woman." That was all. ButVirginia had driven back to Bellegarde with a strange elation in herheart.
Some things the Judge had forborne to mention, and for this Virginia wasthankful. One was the piano. But she had overheard Shadrach telling oldNancy how Mrs. Brice had pleaded with him to move it, that he might havemore room and air. He had been obdurate. And Colonel Carvel's name hadnever once passed his lips.
Many a night the girl had lain awake listening to the steamboats as theytoiled against the river's current, while horror held her. Horror lesther father at that moment be in mortal agony amongst the heaps left bythe battle's surges; heaps in which, like mounds of ashes, the fire wasnot yet dead. Fearful tales she had heard in the prison hospitals ofwounded men lying for days in the Southern sun between the trenches atVicksburg, or freezing amidst the snow and sleet at Donelson.
Was her bitterness against the North not just? What a life had beenColonel Carvel's! It had dawned brightly. One war had cost him his wife.Another, and he had lost his fortune, his home, his friends, all thatwas dear to him. And that daughter, whom he loved best in all the world,he was perchance to see no more.
Mrs. Colfax, yawning, had taken a book and gone to bed. Still Virginiasat on the porch, while the frogs sang of rain, and the lightningquivered across the eastern sky. She heard the crunch of wheels in thegravel.
A bar of light, peopled by moths, slanted out of the doorway and fellon a closed carriage. A gentleman slowly ascended the steps. Virginiarecognized him as Mr. Brinsmade.
"Your cousin Clarence has come home, my dear," he said. "He was amongthe captured at Vicksburg, and is paroled by General Grant."
Virginia gave a little cry and started forward. But he held her hands.
"He has been wounded!"
"Yes," she exclaimed, "yes. Oh, tell me, Mr. Brinsmade, tell me--all--"
"No, he is not dead, but he is very low. Mr. Russell has been kindenough to come with me."
She hurried to call the servants. But they were all there in the light,in African postures of terror,--Alfred, and Sambo, and Mammy Easter, andNed. They lifted the limp figure in gray, and carried it into the hallchamber, his eyes closed, his face waxen under a beard brown and shaggy.Heavily, Virginia climbed the stairs to break the news to her aunt.
There is little need to dwell on the dark days which followed--Clarencehanging between life and death. That his life was saved was due toVirginia and to Mammy Easter, and in no particle to his mother. Mrs.Colfax flew in the face of all the known laws of nursing, until Virginiawas driven to desperation, and held a council of war with Dr. Polk. Thenher aunt grew jealous, talked of a conspiracy, and threatened to sendfor Dr. Brown--which Dr. Polk implored her to do. By spells she wept,when they quietly pushed her from the room and locked the door. Shewould creep in to him in the night during Mammy Easter's watches andtalk him into a raging fever. But Virginia slept lightly and took thealarm. More than one scene these two had in the small hours, while Nedwas riding post haste over the black road to town for the Doctor.
By the same trusty messenger did Virginia contrive to send a note toMrs. Brice, begging her to explain her absence to Judge Whipple. By dayor night Virginia did not leave Bellegarde. And once Dr. Polk, whilewalking in the garden, found the girl fast asleep on a bench, her sewingon her lap. Would that a master had painted his face as he looked downat her!
'Twas he who brought Virginia daily news of Judge Whipple. Bad news,alas! for he seemed to miss her greatly. He had become more querulousand exacting with patient Mrs. Brice, and inquired for her continually.
She would not go. But often, when he got into his buggy the Doctor foundthe seat filled with roses and fresh fruit. Well he knew where to carrythem.
What Virginia's feelings were at this time no one will ever know. Godhad mercifully gi
ven her occupation, first with the Judge, and later,when she needed it more, with Clarence. It was she whom he recognizedfirst of all, whose name was on his lips in his waking moments. Withthe petulance of returning reason, he pushed his mother away. UnlessVirginia was at his bedside when he awoke, his fever rose. He put hishot hand into her cool one, and it rested there sometimes for hours.Then, and only then, did he seem contented.
The wonder was that her health did not fail. People who saw her duringthat fearful summer, fresh and with color in her cheeks, marvelled.Great-hearted Puss Russell, who came frequently to inquire, was quietedbefore her friend, and the frank and jesting tongue was silent in thatpresence. Anne Brinsmade came with her father and wondered. A miraclehad changed Virginia. Her poise, her gentleness, her dignity, were theeffects which people saw. Her force people felt. And this is whywe cannot of ourselves add one cubit to our stature. It is God whochanges,--who cleanses us of our levity with the fire of trial. Happy,thrice happy, those whom He chasteneth. And yet how many are there whocould not bear the fire--who would cry out at the flame.
Little by little Clarence mended, until he came to sit out on the porchin the cool of the afternoon. Then he would watch for hours the tasselsstirring over the green fields of corn and the river running beyond,while the two women sat by. At times, when Mrs. Colfax's headaches cameon, and Virginia was alone with him, he would talk of the war; sometimesof their childhood, of the mad pranks they played here at Bellegarde,of their friends. Only when Virginia read to him the Northern account ofthe battles would he emerge from a calm sadness into excitement; andhe clenched his fists and tried to rise when he heard of the capture ofJackson and the fall of Port Hudson. Of love he spoke not a word, andnow that he was better he ceased to hold her hand. But often when shelooked up from her book, she would surprise his dark eyes fixed uponher, and a look in them of but one interpretation. She was troubled.
The Doctor came but every other day now, in the afternoon. It was hiscustom to sit for a while on the porch chatting cheerily with Virginia,his stout frame filling the rocking-chair. Dr. Polk's indulgence wasgossip--though always of a harmless nature: how Mr. Cluyme alwaysmanaged to squirm over to the side which was in favor, and how MaudeCatherwood's love-letter to a certain dashing officer of the Confederatearmy had been captured and ruthlessly published in the hateful Democrat.It was the Doctor who gave Virginia news of the Judge, and sometimes hewould mention Mrs. Brice. Then Clarence would raise his head; and once(she saw with trepidation) he had opened his lips to speak.
One day the Doctor came, and Virginia looked into his face and divinedthat he had something to tell her. He sat but a few moments, and when hearose to go he took her hand.
"I have a favor to beg of you, Jinny," he said, "Judge has lost hisnurse. Do you think Clarence could spare you for a little while everyday? I shouldn't ask it," Dr. Polk continued, somewhat hurriedly forhim, "but the Judge cannot bear a stranger near him, and I am afraid tohave him excited while in this condition."
"Mrs. Brice is ill?" she cried. And Clarence, watching, saw her colorgo.
"No," replied Dr. Polk, "but her son Stephen has come home from thearmy. He was transferred to Lauman's brigade, and then he was wounded."He jangled the keys in his pocket and continued "It seems that he had nobusiness in the battle. Johnston in his retreat had driven animals intoall the ponds and shot them, and in the hot weather the water was soonpoisoned. Mr. Brice was scarcely well enough to stand when they madethe charge, and he is now in a dreadful condition He is a fine fellow,"added the Doctor, with a sigh, "General Sherman sent a special physicianto the boat with him. He is--" Subconsciously the Doctor's arm soughtVirginia's back, as though he felt her swaying. But he was looking atClarence, who had jerked himself forward in his chair, his thin handsconvulsively clutching at the arms of it. He did not appear to seeVirginia.
"Stephen Brice, did you say?" he cried, "will he die?"
In his astonishment the Doctor passed his palm across his brow, and fora moment he did not answer. Virginia had taken a step from him, and wasstanding motionless, almost rigid, her eyes on his face.
"Die?" he said, repeating the word mechanically; "my God, I hope not.The danger is over, and he is resting easily. If he were not," he saidquickly and forcibly, "I should not be here."
The Doctor's mare passed more than one fleet--footed trotter on theroad to town that day. And the Doctor's black servant heard his masterutter the word "fool" twice, and with great emphasis.
For a long time Virginia stood on the end of the porch, until theheaving of the buggy harness died on the soft road, She felt Clarencegaze upon her before she turned to face him.
"Virginia!" He had called her so of late. "Yes, dear."
"Virginia, sit here a moment; I have something to tell you."
She came and took the chair beside him, her heart beating, her breastrising and falling. She looked into his eyes, and her own lashes fellbefore the hopelessness there But he put out his fingers wasted byillness, and she took them in her own.
He began slowly, as if every word cost him pain.
"Virginia, we were children together here. I cannot remember the timewhen I did not love you, when I did not think of you as my wife. All Idid when we played together was to try to win your applause. That was mynature I could not help it. Do you remember the day I climbed out on therotten branch of the big pear tree yonder to get you that pear--whenI fell on the roof of Alfred's cabin? I did not feel the pain. It wasbecause you kissed it and cried over me. You are crying now," he saidtenderly. "Don't, Jinny. It isn't to make you sad that I am saying this.
"I have had a great deal of time to think lately, Jinny, I was notbrought up seriously,--to be a man. I have been thinking of that dayjust before you were eighteen, when you rode out here. How well Iremember it. It was a purple day. The grapes were purple, and a purplehaze was over there across the river. You had been cruel to me. You weregrown a woman then, and I was still nothing but a boy. Do you rememberthe doe coming out of the forest, and how she ran screaming when I triedto kiss you? You told me I was good for nothing. Please don't interruptme. It was true what you said, that I was wild and utterly useless,I had never served or pleased any but myself,--and you. I had neverstudied or worked, You were right when you told me I must learnsomething,--do something,--become of some account in the world. I amjust as useless to day."
"Clarence, after what you have done for the South?"
He smiled with peculiar bitterness.
"What have I done for her?" he added. "Crossed the river and burnedhouses. I could not build them again. Floated down the river on a logafter a few percussion caps. That did not save Vicksburg."
"And how many had the courage to do that?" she exclaimed.
"Pooh," he said, "courage! the whole South has it, Courage! If I did nothave that, I would send Sambo to my father's room for his ebony box andblow my brains out. No, Jinny, I am nothing but a soldier of fortune.I never possessed any quality but a wild spirit for adventure, toshirk work. I wanted to go with Walker, you remember. I wanted to go toKansas. I wanted to distinguish myself," he added with a gesture. "Butthat is all gone now, Jinny. I wanted to distinguish myself for you. NowI see how an earnest life might have won you. No, I have not done yet."
She raised her head, frightened, and looked at him searchingly.
"One day," he said, "one day a good many years ago you and I and UncleComyn were walking along Market Street in front of Judge Whipple'soffice, and a slave auction was going on. A girl was being sold on whomyou had set your heart. There was some one in the crowd, a Yankee, whobid her in and set her free. Do you remember him?"
He saw her profile, her lips parted, her look far away, She inclined herhead.
"Yes," said her cousin, "so do I remember him. He has crossed my pathmany times since, Virginia. And mark what I say--it was he whom youhad in mind on that birthday when you implored me to make something ofmyself, It was Stephen Brice."
Her eyes flashed upon him quickly.
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p; "Oh, how dare you?" she cried.
"I dare anything, Virginia," he answered quietly. "I am not blaming you.And I am sure that you did not realize that he was the ideal which youhad in mind."
"The impression of him has never left it. Fate is in it. Again, thatnight at the Brinsmades', when we were in fancy dress, I felt that I hadlost you when I got back. He had been there when I was away, and goneagain. And--and--you never told me."
"It was a horrible mistake, Max," she faltered. "I was waiting for youdown the road, and stopped his horse instead. It--it was nothing--"
"It was fate, Jinny. In that half-hour I lost you. How I hated thatman," he cried, "how I hated him?"
"Hated!" exclaimed Virginia, involuntarily. "Oh, no!"
"Yes," he said, "hated! I would have killed him if I could. But now--"
"But now?"
"Now he has saved my life. I have not--I could not tell you before: Hecame into the place where I was lying in Vicksburg, and they toldhim that my only chance was to come North, I turned my back upon him,insulted him. Yet he went to Sherman and had me brought home--to you,Virginia. If he loves you,--and I have long suspected that he does--"
"Oh, no," she cried, hiding her face "No."
"I know he loves you, Jinny," her cousin continued calmly, inexorably."And you know that he does. You must feel that he does. It was a bravething to do, and a generous. He knew that you were engaged to me. Hethought that he was saving me for you. He was giving up the hope ofmarrying you himself."
Virginia sprang to her feet. Unless you had seen her then, you had neverknown the woman in her glory.
"Marry a Yankee!" she cried. "Clarence Colfax, have you known and lovedme all my life that you might accuse me of this? Never, never, never!"Transformed, he looked incredulous admiration.
"Jinny, do you mean it?" he cried.
In answer she bent down with all that gentleness and grace thatwas hers, and pressed her lips to his forehead. Long after she haddisappeared in the door he sat staring after her.
But later, when Mammy Easter went to call her mistress for supper, shefound her with her face buried in the pillows.
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