VI
"I must get some things for the boss, then we'll start home," announcedMr. Grundy, after we were seated side by side in the rockaway. I noticedwith gratification that his voice had sunk a few notes. He had lookedaskance at my yellow pup when I lifted him to a place at our feet, buthad only queried, "Is that part of your baggage?" and had not demurred.His next speech was rather mystifying, for I had understood from Reubenthat this man was certainly lord of his manor, and presided in a lordlyway.
"The boss?" I asked, with a puzzled look, whereat he burst into a laughthat hurt my ears.
"Bless me! I forgot that you were a bachelor," he replied, when hisrisibles had subsided sufficiently for him to talk. "If you ever marry,you'll find out who's boss. The niggers call me boss and Marse, but_Sallie's_ boss of our plantation!"
We drove about town for perhaps half an hour, purchasing a supply ofgroceries, then our horse's head was turned towards the open country.
"Antony'll take us home in less than an hour," said Mr. Grundy, eyeingwith pride the easy, far-reaching strides of the big bay. "That's thebest horse in my stables, Stone; there can't anything in the countycatch him. I've taken premiums with him at every fair in the circuitever since he was a yearling. It's a day's work for a nigger to drivehim to town and back, for he pulls on the lines every inch of the way,and it takes good muscles to hold him in."
My companion did most of the talking on the road home. I addressed a fewpolite questions, then fell to viewing the country through which we werebeing whirled. The world was waking after its annual nap. The odor andcharm of spring pervaded the air. Tree-buds were bursting, and tenderleaves were spreading their tiny hands to the gentle sky. Immenseexpanses of green wheat waved by the roadside, and each small bladebowed its head to me in welcome. A pair of bluebirds flitted from staketo stake of a rail fence at our right. Yonder two gentle undulationsprepared for corn swelled and fell away. Wherever I looked was freshnessand verdure, and the starting into life of green things beneath themagic wand of spring. She holds the key to earth's resurrection, and shealone can unlock the myriad gateways of the sod. And what a host comesforth when her luring breath falls upon the barren ground!--cereals,flowers, mosses, vines, and the thousand little things which have noname. Forth they come exulting,--the nightshade and the lily, thethistle and the rose. And on the broad bosom of their mother there isroom for each, and from her breast each draws its life.
A gray turret surrounded by evergreens drew my eyes to the left. Ipointed to it with the question, "Can you tell me what that is?"
"St. Rose,--a convent founded by the Dominicans in the early part of thecentury. We'll drive over some day and take a look at it. That's thechurch you see,--a fine piece of masonry."
Then I grew silent again, becoming absorbed in the changing landscape.The road now led along the margin of a creek, bounded on the fartherside by densely wooded hills. We had been gradually descending forseveral miles, and had now reached a great basin, wherein lay thefertile lands of my host. A sudden turn to the right, and a beautifulvalley stretched before us. Part of it had yielded to the plough, andthe brown, friable soil bespoke richness and boundless possibilities forcorn. Farther on were meadows, reaching like green carpets close up tothe whitewashed fences. And in the distance--behold my future home! Itsat upon the crest of a gentle eminence back of those verdant lowlands,and was almost hidden by elms and oaks. These trees filled the big yard,too, and some were burdened with tangled grape-vines. Leaving thehighway, a curving road led us up to the yard gate. As we drove slowlyup the avenue to the large two-story brick house, a sense of unexpectedhappiness and quiet stole over me. Here was the Mecca of my vaguedesires. Here, in the midst of pastoral beauty, a kind Providence hadsent me, and here, with the blue-grass all around, and peace in myheart, I would be happy.
"Mother!"
The powerful voice at my elbow made me jump. By the time we reached theground, the double front doors were open, and standing there was one ofthe sweetest-looking old women I had ever seen. She was clad indignified black, with a white kerchief at her throat, and her gray hairdrawn smoothly back from a kind, broad brow. Hat in hand, I mounted thehuge stone steps which led to the porch, while that big voice came frombelow.
"This is Stone, mother! Show him his room and make him comfortable! I'moff to see 'bout the young lambs that came last night!"
It was a hospitable, friendly greeting which I received from themistress of the house. Her voice was low and pleasant to the ear, andthere was culture in every tone. The room into which she ushered me wasdelightfully cool and shadowy. The ceiling was high, the windows broadand deep, with green slat-curtains. The rocking-chair and the sofa nearone of the windows were covered with haircloth. The centre-table was abeautiful piece of mahogany; sitting in the middle of it was a vase ofjonquils. In one corner was a bookcase, empty--ready for my treasures.Everything was as it should be. I at once expressed my thanks and mysatisfaction, and the good lady retired, saying that I was doubtlessweary, and needed to rest a little.
Left alone, I stood still a moment, and looked about me. The paper uponthe walls represented red-top clover in bloom, and I was glad of this.Hanging about the room were some old-time portraits in gilt frames, andsome pictures representing historical events. Some dried-up cat-tailslifted their brown heads from another vase on one end of the tallmantel. A screen covered with wall-paper stood before the fireplace.Hastily I lifted it aside, and there--yes, there was the blackenedchimney, the andirons, and the stone-laid hearth. If I have a weakpoint, it is an old-fashioned fireplace.
Dinner came just as I finished my toilet, and I followed Mrs. Grundy outinto the broad hall, onto a latticed porch, and into the dining-room.The good things that were piled upon that table would have fed aregiment, but all who sat down were my host and hostess, and myself. Mr.Grundy asked a blessing, and his voice was just as loud as though hewere hallooing to one of his negroes across a field. Surely the Lordheard that petition. In two minutes my plate was heaped high, and I hadto put back other dishes till a later moment. When he had fairly settledhimself to the business of eating, my host began to talk.
"Walker tells me that you're not used to mixing with people much, Stone,but I'm afraid it'll be lonely for you 'way out here. We don't have muchcompany, and of course the niggers don't count. You can ride about thefarm with me if you want to, and mother can hold her own at talking.When S'lome gets back, things'll be different. She's a whole housefulherself."
I almost dropped the piece of ham I was conveying to my mouth. HadReuben betrayed me! What did this talk of "mother" and "Salome" mean?When he first spoke the word "mother," I had paid no particularattention to it; but when coupled with that other name, it took a deepermeaning.
"I--I--I understood you had no children," I said, trying to conceal mydismay by bending over my plate.
"Quite true, quite true, Stone. We've never had a child born to us. Igot in the habit of calling the boss mother, from S'lome."
"Who is Salome?" I asked, but my voice was so weak that it scarcelyconveyed the question.
"Bless me! didn't Walker tell you? I'll wring the rascal's neck forforgettin' S'lome. Why, man, she's the pride of this farm, and the queenof every heart on it! S'lome? Who's S'lome? Ask any nigger or dog in thecounty, and they'll tell you. She's our 'dopted daughter, man, off toBellwood for her second year, and'll be home the fifth of June, Godbless her!"
The Love Story of Abner Stone Page 6
