XVI
A CHANGE OF PLANS
When Moses saw Mr. Laine hurrying from one side of his bedroom to theother, opening bureau drawers and closet doors and throwing things onfloor and bed in an excited haste never seen before, he was convincedthat something was the matter with his master's mind. It hadhappened very suddenly. He had eaten his dinner, but eaten so littlethat Caddie, the cook, was in angry tears. For days her finestefforts had been ignored, and temptation after temptation, triumphsof skill on her part, had come back barely tasted, and, what wasworse, with no comment made upon them. Praise had hitherto neverbeen withheld, and to please him no labor was too great, no time tooprecious to be expended; but if this was what she was to get-- Caddiewas Irish, and she threw birds and sweetbreads in the slop-can andslammed the door in Moses's face.
"No, siree! I ain't a-goin' to let white folks' eatin's go in blackfolks' stomachs, that I ain't!" she said, and shook both fists up atthe ceiling. "Pigs can have it first; there's some reason for pigs,but that nigger man Moses!" Her nose went up, her head went back,and she wept aloud. The work of her hands was as naught. She woulddie and be buried before Moses should have it!
At his coffee Laine had asked for his mail, asked it to get Moses outof the room. A creature who smiled always was not always to beendured, and to-night he was in no mood for smiles.
Moses brought two letters. "These is all," he said.
Laine waved him out and opened the top one, which was from Dorothea.What a queer propensity the child had for writing! Elbow on thetable and cigar in hand, he began to read indifferently; but in amoment his hand stiffened and his face whitened to the lips, and,half aloud, he read it again.
DEAR UNCLE WINTHROP,--I forgot to tell you something the other night.I told you once that Cousin Claudia's sweetheart was that Washingtonman. He isn't. I asked her and she said he wasn't. I asked her ifshe was going to marry him and she said she was not. I don't like tosay things that aren't true and that's why I'm telling you. MissRobin French thinks she knows everything. We are going awayto-morrow.
Your loving niece, DOROTHEA.
P. S.--When a lady gets married she has to go away with a man, don'tshe? That's why she isn't going to get married. She says she lovesElmwood better than any kind of man she's seen yet. I'm so glad,aren't you?
D.
For half a moment longer Laine stared at the paper in his hand, then,with the cigar, it fell to the floor, and he lifted his head as iffor breath. Something had snapped, something that had been tense andtight, and his throat seemed closing. Presently his face dropped inhis arms. What a fool he had been! He had let the prattle of achild torture and torment him and keep him silent, and now she wasgone. After a while he raised his head and wiped his hands, whichwere moist; and, as he saw the writing on the letter beside him, hisheart gave a click so queer that he looked around to see if the doorwas shut. Quickly he opened the envelope and tried to read: hecouldn't see; the words ran into each other, and, going over to aside light, he held the paper close to it.
DEAR MR. LAINE,--Ours is a very old-fashioned, country Christmas, butwe will be glad to have you spend it with us if you have not madeother arrangements. Uncle Bushrod and I will be at the wharfWednesday to meet the boat from Fredericksburg, and if you are on itwe will bring you home with us, and if not we will be sorry, so comeif you can. One or two other friends are coming that day, but mostof our guests are here. All the trains from the North stop atFredericksburg, and the boat that goes down the river leaves any timeafter 2 P.M., the hour of leaving depending upon the amount offreight, the convenience of the passengers, and the readiness of thecaptain. As there's a boat only three times a week you can't gethere in time for Christmas unless you make the Tuesday boat whichshould reach Brooke Bank, that's our landing, by ten o'clockWednesday morning. Do come if you can.
Sincerely, CLAUDIA KEITH.
"If I can! If I can!" With a sudden movement of his hand the letterwas put in one pocket, his watch taken out of another, and the buttonunder the light pressed violently. It was eight-forty-five. Thelast train for Washington left at twelve-thirty, and a local fromthere reached Fredericksburg at nine-twenty-four the next morning.He knew the schedules well. "I have three hours and forty-fiveminutes," he said, under his breath. "I'd make it if there were butthe forty-five minutes--if there were but ten."
And then it was that Moses, coming in answer to the bell, concludedthat his master was not himself. He had left him a few minutesbefore, unapproachable in his silence, unappreciative of his effortsto please and provide, and now he was giving so many orders at once,calling for this and for that, pulling out clothes and pushing themback, that Moses, who hated to be hurried as only his race can hate,stood helpless, knowing only that something had happened, somethinghe did not understand.
"Did you say your riding-clothes, sir?" he asked, holding adress-shirt in his hand. "Or did you say--"
"I don't know what I said." Laine knocked over a box ofhandkerchiefs and threw a white vest on the bed. "Where are myshaving things? I told you I didn't want a trunk. Take the durnedthing away. I'll break my neck over it! Where is that Englishbag--the big one? Get it, will you, and put in my riding-clothes,evening clothes, and one other suit; put in the things I need.You've packed it often enough. Call up Jerdone's private number, andtell him I want all the flowers he's got. Get a move on you, Moses.If you're paralyzed tell me; if not--"
"No, sir. I ain't paralyzed. I just demoralized. Suddenness alwaysdid upset me. At dinner you look like you just as lief be dead aslivin', and now--"
"You or I will be dead if I miss that twelve-thirty train. Have youcalled the cab?"
"No, sir. I ain't called no cab. You ain't never call the word cab.You mean--" Moses's hands dropped limply at his side. "You meanyou're goin' away for Christmas?"
"That's what I mean!" Laine's voice was exultant, revealing, and hecoughed to hide its ring. "By the way, Moses, why don't you go homefor Christmas? Didn't you tell me once you came from Virginia? Whatpart?"
"Palmyra, sir. In Fluvanna County, that's where I come from. Excuseme, but I bound to set down. Go _home_? Me go _home_? I couldn'tgit there and back not to save my life for lessen than twenty-fivedollars, and till I git that farm paid for what I been buyin' to goback to and die on I can't go nowhere. That I can't."
Laine looked up from the collection of collars, cravats, and cuffs hewas sorting. "Is it the money that's keeping you back, or is it youdon't want to go?"
"Don't want to go!" The palms of Moses's hands came together,opened, and came back. "Yesterday I near 'bout bus' open withwantin' to go. My mother she's near 'bout eighty, and she got MissLizzie to write me and beg me to come for this here Christmas. MissLizzie is old Major Pleasants's youngest old-maid daughter. He's gotthree of 'em. He was my mother's marster, old Major Pleasants was,and he sold me the land my mother's livin' on now. He didn't chargenothin' much for it, but I had to have a house built, and buy somepigs and some furniture and git a cow, and I bought two of themstreet-car mules what was in Richmond when they put the 'lectric carson down there. 'T'was the first city in the United States to have'em, Richmond was. They thought them mules was wore out, but thereain't no friskier ones in the county than they is, I tell you now. Iain't been home for four years--"
"And your mother is eighty?"
"Yes, sir, that's what they tell me, though she say she don't knowherself 'ceptin' she had four chillern which was good size when thewar broke out. I belong to the second crop. My mother done hadnineteen chillern, the triflinest, good-for-nothin'est lot the Lordever let live on this earth, if I do say it, and ain't a one of 'emwhat does a thing for her, savin' 'tis me and Eliza--Eliza she's mysister and lives with her."
"And you'd like to spend Christmas with your mother, you say?"
In the years of his service Moses had never before mentioned familymatters, but, having started, he was not likely to stop, and Lainewas forced to
interrupt,
"Yes, sir. This Christmas I would. Some other Christmases Iwouldn't, 'count of a yaller girl what lived on the next place. Itwas in the summer-time, the last time I was home, and, she bein' alikely-lookin' girl, I seen right much of her every now and then, andI just talk along and tell her 'bout New York and what a grand,lonely place it was, and how my heart got hongry for my own people,and--things like that, you know, but I didn't mean nothin' serious orhave any matrimony ideas, and first thing I know she done had meengaged to her. She chase me near 'bout to death, that girl did, butMiss Lizzie say she gone away now and I can come in peace."
Laine took out his pocket-book, put some notes in an envelope, andhanded it to Moses. "This is for your ticket and to get some thingsto take to your mother," he said. "Be back by the thirtieth, andhurry and call that cab for the twelve-thirty train. I've someletters to write before I leave, and there's no time to lose. TellCaddie I want to see her, and don't forget about that Reilley family,and see that everything gets to them in good shape--a good dinner andall the bundles and plenty for the stockings. Tell Caddie I'mwaiting."
Later on, in the library, Laine sealed his last letter and put it onthe pile Moses was to mail in the morning. Perhaps he had been alittle rash this Christmas. Well, suppose he had. The boys in theoffice had done well through the year and ought to be told so. Byitself a check was a pretty cold thing, and the words he had writtento each had been honestly meant. And Miss Button, his stenographer,needed a little trip. Ten days at Atlantic City with her motherwould pull her up. She had been looking badly lately--worried abouther mother, Weeks had told him. Pity she was so homely. It waspretty unfair the way women had to work at both ends of the line.Weeks, too, could get his wife that fur coat he'd been wanting her tohave for three years. What an honest old duck Weeks was!--and whowould ever believe him as full of sentiment as a boy of twenty? Hehad overheard him talking to Miss Dutton about the coat that morning.Fifteen years Weeks had been his secretary, but to-night was thefirst time he had ever told him in actual words of his appreciationof his faithful service. "I wouldn't want a million if it didn'thave some love with it," Claudia had said to him, and before hishalf-closed eyes she seemed to stand in front of him.
"They are her gifts," he said. "I was blind, and she has made mesee."
The Man in Lonely Land Page 16
