CHAPTER XXI.
GILCREST'S ATTITUDE
Several weeks wore away, and still no one except Major Gilcrest, hisdaughter, the Rogers family and James Drane was aware of the change inAbner's worldly prospects. As to his business affairs, he felt nouneasiness; for he knew that his interests in Virginia were beinglooked after by Dr. Dudley; and in regard to the Henderson County land,he agreed with Drane that as it was still in the hands of tenants,nothing need be done at present towards making known his ownership. Buthe became extremely impatient over the unsettled state of his loveaffair.
Major Gilcrest, instead of growing more like his former self, becamesterner, if possible, and had little to do with his neighbors. Betsy,strong in the belief that time would effect a favorable change in herfather's attitude, still pleaded with Abner not to speak with him.
James Drane was often at Oaklands, and Abner, aware of this, while he,Betsy's betrothed husband, was prohibited from visiting her, grew moreand more moody and impatient, and sometimes in his despondency hepictured the girl as listening with growing interest to Drane'sentertaining talk, and yielding more and more to his fascination.
"With her headstrong old father so set against me, and so confoundedlywrapped up in Drane, it would be no great wonder if Betty were finallystolen from me," thought Abner bitterly, one afternoon when he knewthat the lawyer was at Oaklands. He had little heart for socialgayeties of the neighborhood, although he sometimes went to thesegatherings in the hope of seeing Betsy. Yet these meetings amid a crowdof young people were very unsatisfactory.
"I reckon Betsy holds herse'f above common fo'ks, now she's visitin''mong the big bugs," Abner heard Mrs. Rogers say one day in answer toLucy's remark that Betsy never came to see them now.
"No, ma," Susan ventured, "Betsy is not one to change. She loves us aswell as ever, I feel sure."
"Well, ef she ain't too stuck up to notice us, her ma's too proud tolet her," retorted Mrs. Rogers. "I allus said thet in spite uv Jane'smeechin' ways, she felt herse'f above us. We ain't got blue blood inour veins. We ain't kin to the Temples an' Blairs an' Goodloes, and therest uv them ristahcrats."
"Mrs. Gilcrest always treats me well when I go there," answered Susan,"and as for Betsy," she continued, her cheeks flushing and her eyesshining, "she's the truest, sweetest girl that ever lived."
"Then, why don't she come to see us lak she usetah?" demanded Mrs.Rogers.
Susan said nothing, but involuntarily glanced at Abner. Their eyes met;Susan quickly averted hers, and he thought, "I wonder if Susan knows!"
"Thah's her pap, too," Mrs. Rogers went on, "he's gittin' crusty an'stiff-lipped ez a sore-eyed b'ar."
"Hiram ain't hisse'f jes' now," interposed Mason; "he's plum crazy kazefolks ain't ready to jump on Brothah Stone an' t'ar him limb frum limb.Hiram's daft on whut he calls pure faith an' docturn, an' is allusboastin' thet his ancestry wuz burnt et the stakes, way back in themdark ages, fur ther religion."
"Religion! sich carryin'-on ain't no religion," exclaimed Mrs. Rogers."'Tain't nothin' but stubbunness an' devilment, an' it'd be a goodthing, I say, ef Hirum could be tied up an' sco'ched a bit hisse'f."
"Well, well, he's a good man et bottom," replied her husband. "We hevlived neighbors ovah twenty year, an' he's allus been ready to do us agood turn, in sickness, in health an' in trouble. As fur his wife, Iwondah, Cynthy Ann, thet you kin find it in yer heart to say aughtag'in her. Hev you furgot thet wintah the twins wuz borned, an' I wuzcrippled up with rheumatiz, an' the niggahs down with the measles, howshe sent ole Dilsey (though Jane hed a young baby herse'f, an' couldill spar' the niggah) to wait on us? Ez fur Betsy," with a sly look atAbner, "I agree with Cissy; she's the smartest, purtiest gal in theseparts, an' good an' true ez she is purty."
One Saturday afternoon in February, Betsy did come to see Susan Rogers.Mrs. Rogers had gone to spend the afternoon at a neighbor's, and Abner,who had been felling trees at his own place, did not return to thehouse until just as Betsy was leaving. With a timidity born ofself-consciousness, Betsy grew still and embarrassed, and soonafterwards rose to go. "It gets dark so early now," she said, "and Icame alone through the fields."
Abner caught up his hat while she was donning cloak and hood.
"Let's walk part way with Betsy," cried Lucindy. "Come, Lucy, an' youtoo, Cissy. Maybe we'll meet ma comin' home." But Susan said she mustattend to supper; nor would she let the twins go.
"Instead of taking the short cut through the fields, let's go around bythe woods, dearest," Abner proposed as soon as he and Betsy had set outon their walk.
"Very well, we have plenty of time," she agreed happily. "There's notelling when we may have another such chance, and I have much to say toyou. You may walk as far as the upper woods with me, if you are good."
"No farther than that?" he asked reproachfully.
"Only to the bars this time, I think, dear," she answered gently,slipping her hand into his.
In spite of her loving little gesture, he still looked gloomy. "Oh,these long, wretched weeks when I have so hungered for a sight of yourface and the sound of your voice!" he presently exclaimed. "And nowwhen I am at last alone with you, you appoint boundaries and limits,and place restrictions upon my walk with you!" and he grasped her handin a tighter clasp and looked at her somewhat sternly. "Oh, mydarling," he broke off, as she turned a wistful, tearful gaze upon him,"forgive my harsh words," and he gathered her into his arms and kissedher tenderly. "It is only because I love you so passionately, my life,my sweetest one. Won't you speak to me, dearest?" he asked, as shecontinued silent.
"'Speech is silver, silence is golden,' according to some wiseauthority," Betsy at last said meaningly and rather reproachfully,although she smiled faintly and looked at him with love-lit eyes.
"But the oracle, when he uttered that bit of questionable wisdom,wasn't, I dare say, walking with his sweetheart after dreary weeks ofseparation," said Abner, squeezing her hand. "If he had, he would havepreferred silvery speech to golden silence--or, rather, the utterancesof his beloved one would have been to him as doubly refined gold; andI'm perfectly certain that his sweetheart could not have compared withmy piquant, peerless Betty. Besides, you declared awhile ago that youhad much to say to me."
"So I had, Sir Flatterer," the girl answered with a radiant smile, hermomentary sadness completely banished by his fond words, "but at thepresent moment the delight of being in your improving society hasrobbed me of all desire to talk. And what greater proof could I givethat I love you?" she continued with an arch glance. "It is surely amighty power indeed that makes a chatterbox like me to revel insilence."
"How I love this dear old forest!" was Abner's exclamation presently."Every tree, every stick and stone, every foot of ground, seems sacred.Do you not love it all, my darling?"
"I do indeed," she acknowledged. "In fact," she added laughingly, "Ithink, by rights, this woods belongs exclusively to us and our love,and I consider any one else guilty of sacrilegious effrontery in evenwalking through its sacred precincts. But you don't appear inespecially radiant spirits, my friend, even though we are together inour hallowed woods," she said presently as he walked silently by herside.
"How can I be in radiant humor, Betty?" he retorted sadly. "Thisrestraint and concealment are becoming unendurable to me. We are nearlyto the bars now where you say I must turn back, and I must first havesome serious words with you. For three months and more, I have obeyedyour behest and have kept aloof from your house; but patience ceases tobe a virtue. I am no nearer winning your father to a more cordial frameof mind than I was at first. On the contrary, in the few times I haveencountered him of late, he has appeared to be getting colder and moreformal, and I really believe this is due in a great measure to hissuspecting that there is a secret understanding between you and me. Heis a straightforward man and likes straightforward courses. Moreover,how can I ever win his consent to our marriage unless I ask him? That'sonly common sense; and furthermore, anything underhanded or clandestineis as obnoxious to me
as to him."
"Oh," she begged with a frightened look, "please wait a little longer.He's sure to be in a more pliable humor after awhile, when this horridold church difficulty is settled. Oh, Abner, my love, I know it ishard, but----"
"How hard," he interrupted gloomily, "you are far from realizing. Thesemiserable weeks of suppression and concealment have worn my patienceand self-control to the breaking-point. Now," he went on firmly, "Iwill wait no longer. I will see your father to-morrow. Patience,forsooth!" he ejaculated in answer to her further pleading, "when I'mdebarred from entering your home, must be satisfied with an occasionalstolen interview like this; when, too, I know that James Drane is afrequent and welcome guest at Oaklands! How can I help being moody andbitter and harassed? Sometimes I think I have overcome my formerdislike for Drane; for he is, to give him his due, invariably cordialto me--in fact, he seems to seek and to enjoy my company--but when Ithink of him as a favored guest at your father's house while I'mprohibited from entering its doors, and while you, my betrothed wife,beg me not to come near the house, is it any wonder I am harassed? Hewas at Oaklands again yesterday, was he not?"
"Yes, he was; but that is of no moment," Betty answered frankly. "He isdad's friend, not mine. I treat him courteously, of course; but that----"
"Your father may consider himself the magnet that draws Drane toOaklands," sneered Abner; "but I know better, and so do you, my girl.The attraction for him is very different. The fellow's in love withyou. That's plain. 'He who runs may read.'"
"And he who reads had better run!" retorted Betsy, now thoroughlynettled, "if this reading construes anything I do or say intoencouragement of this lawyer." And her eyes snapped wickedly, she drewherself up haughtily, and her face grew pale and set.
"No, dear," Abner replied, undaunted by her anger. "I do not mean that.You must not catch up my words in that way. I know the truth andsteadfastness of your nature too well to believe that you encourage orcoquette with Drane or any other man. My meaning is this: your fatherlikes Drane and thinks so highly of his brilliant prospects that themere fact that he is a possible suitor for your hand will dispose yourfather to think with the less favor of my pretensions. And indeed,Betty dear, though I do not for a moment think you encourage thefellow, still what I have said of the situation is true in regard tohis feelings and intentions; he wears his heart upon his sleeve."
"That he does not!" returned Betty with spirit; "not all of his heart,at any rate; only such portions as are fit for public perusal. There'smuch in his heart that would, I'm convinced, make queer reading, if onecould see into the depths of that well-controlled organ of his. Yousee, I haven't got over my original instinct of distrust of JamesDrane, if you have. Let him make love to me! Bah! I'd sooner listen tothe uncouth love phrases of the veriest clodhopper in Bourbon Countythan to his honeyed, courtly utterances. Oh, there comes father!" shebroke off abruptly, looking across the woods.
When Major Gilcrest came up to the couple, his conduct fully justifiedwhat Abner had been telling Betty. He nodded curtly to the young man,asked Betty where she had been, and appeared little pleased when shetold him. Then, reminding her that it was getting late and that hermother would be anxious, he advised her not to linger.
When the three reached the stile, Gilcrest, instead of inviting Abnerin, gave him another cool nod, and with a wave of his hand indicatedthat Betty was to enter the house. Abner, however, detained him amoment to request an interview on the morrow, which Gilcresthesitatingly granted, and in a way that boded ill for the lover'shopes.
At the appointed hour next morning, the young man, screwing up hiscourage to the sticking-place, knocked at the door of Oaklands. Theservant ushered him at once into her master's private office. Gilcrestreceived his caller with extreme hauteur. Abner at once made known hisbusiness.
Gilcrest heard him through without question or comment. Then, after apause, he said, "I have other plans for my daughter, Mr. Dudley."
"But--but--if--if--she herself--" stammered poor Abner, striving tofind the right words for Betty as well as for himself.
"There are no 'buts' nor 'ifs' about it, sir," Gilcrest answeredhaughtily. "Betsy will do as I wish. She's at times rather self-willed,and no doubt has been led away for the moment by some romanticnonsense; but she's a sensible girl in the main, and knows what's bestfor her. If she doesn't, I do, and I'm master of my own household, Iassure you."
"Has she other suitors?" Abner ventured.
"That, sir, if you will permit my saying so, is no affair of yours. Sheshall not marry any one against my will, you may be sure; and when shedoes marry, it will be a man whose social position and worldlyprospects are such as to preclude all suspicion of his seeking her fromany selfish motives."
"Sir," Abner broke forth hotly, "do you mean to insinuate that I haveself-seeking motives in wishing to marry your daughter?"
"I mean to insinuate nothing, young man."
"But you do, sir; by God, you do insinuate that my love is founded uponself-interest, and that is something I can not permit."
"Come, come, Mr. Dudley, keep your temper, and don't talk to me aboutnot permitting. Let your motives be what they may, we will not discussthat. Suffice it to say, I refuse my consent."
"At least tell me this, Major Gilcrest: do you object to me personally,or is your refusal due to other reasons? I'm of as good blood asyourself, and I can maintain your daughter in comfort."
"Understand this, young sir, once for all," replied Gilcrest, "Idecline positively to accept any proposal from you. If you will have aplain answer, I now tell you that aside from any other matrimonialviews which I may or may not have for my daughter, I should in any casedecline the honor of an alliance with you. I bid you good morning, sir.Polly, open the door for Mr. Dudley."
From an upper window Betsy was watching for Abner; and the angry flushon his face, and the way he flung himself into the saddle, told herthat he had fared ill. She raised the window, and he looked up. Hegazed at her yearningly, then, with a wave of his hand toward herfather's room, rode down the long avenue.
Betsy waited in her room an hour, then sought her father. He wasfumbling with some papers, too busy to take any notice of her. Finally,as he would not speak, she went to him. "Father, why have you sentAbner away?"
Major Gilcrest was proud of his only girl, and, in his own way,extremely fond of her; but he would listen to no plea in behalf of herlover. He gave no reason, but simply said that the young man was nosuitable match for her, and that she would one day be thankful that shehad not been allowed to marry him.
Betsy, at first gentle and pleading, grew indignant. Her father, evenmore indignant, finally ordered her to her room, forbidding her to holdfurther communication with her lover.
Next day, Abner wrote her. He assured her of his unchangeable love, andbade her have courage. He wrote also to Major Gilcrest, stating thatalthough he would not at present seek Betsy or urge his claim in anyway, he nevertheless considered that they were pledged to one another,and that he would never give her up unless she herself asked for herrelease.
One day, a month after this, Betsy from her window saw Mr. Drane ridingup the avenue. She got her bonnet and stole out the back way to whereher horse was saddled. Coming back after a gallop, she met Abner, andthey rode together a short while. Then her father overtook them.Without even a bow to her escort, Major Gilcrest told his daughter shewas wanted at home, and, laying hold of her bridle, compelled her toride on with him. This was intolerable to Betty's lover, and, aftertossing all night in a tumult of indignation, he again sought herfather.
Crestlands: A Centennial Story of Cane Ridge Page 24
