Gabriel Tolliver: A Story of Reconstruction

by Joel Chandler Harris

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  _Bridalbin Follows Gabriel_

  Boring, or Bridalbin--no one ever discovered why he changed his name,for he changed neither his nature nor his associations--followed alongafter Gabriel, and was in time to see him enter the door and close itbehind him. The Lumsden Place was somewhat in the open, but the trees,where Bridalbin took up his position of watcher, made such dense andheavy shadows that it was almost impossible to distinguish objects morethan a few feet away. In these heavy shadows Bridalbin stood whileGabriel was supposed to be eating his supper.

  A dog trotting along the walk shied and growled when he saw themotionless figure, but after that, there was a long period of silence,which was finally broken by voices on a veranda not far away. The ownersof the voices had evidently come out for a breath of fresh air, and werecarrying on a conversation which had begun inside. Bridalbin could seeneither the house nor the occupants of the veranda, but he could hearevery word that was said. One of the voices was soft and clear, whilethe other was hard, almost harsh, yet it was the voice of a woman. IfBridalbin had been at all familiar with Shady Dale, he would have knownthat one of the speakers was Madame Awtry and the other Miss PuellaGillum.

  "It was only a few weeks ago that they told the poor child about herfather," said Miss Puella. "Neighbour Tomlin couldn't muster up thecourage to do it, and so it became Fanny's duty. I know it nearly brokeher heart."

  "Why did they tell her at all? Why did they think it was necessary?"inquired Madame Awtry. Her voice had in it the quality that attractsattention and compels obedience.

  "Well, you know Margaret is of age now, and Neighbour Tomlin, who ismade up of heart and conscience, felt that it would be wrong to keep herin ignorance, but he couldn't make up his mind to be the bearer of badnews; so it fell to Fanny's lot. But it seems that Margaret alreadyknew, and on that occasion Fanny had to do all the crying that was done.Margaret had known it all along, and had only feigned ignorance in ordernot to worry her mother. 'I have known it from the first,' she said.'Please don't tell Nan.' But Nan had known it all along, and Fanny toldMargaret so. It is a pity about her father. If he was what he should be,he'd be very proud of Margaret."

  "His name was Bridlebin, or something of that kind, was it not?" MadameAwtry asked.

  "Something like that," replied Miss Puella. "The world is full oftrouble," she said after awhile, and her voice was as gentle as thecooing of a dove--"so very full of trouble. I sometimes think that weshould have as much pity for those who are the cause of it as for thosewho are the victims." Alas! Miss Puella was thinking of Waldron Awtry,whose stormy spirit had passed away.

  "That is the Christian spirit, certainly," said Waldron's mother, in herfirm, clear tones. "Let those live up to it who can!"

  "The girl is in good hands," remarked Miss Puella, after a pause, "andshe should be happy. Neighbour Tomlin and Fanny fairly worship her."

  "Yes, she's in good hands," responded Madame Awtry, "yet when she comeshere, which she is kind enough to do sometimes, it seems to me that Ican see trouble in her eyes. It is hard to describe, but it's such anexpression as you or I would have if we were dependent, and somethingwas wrong or going wrong with those on whom we depended. But it may bemerely my imagination."

  "It certainly must be," Miss Puella declared, "for there is nothingwrong or going wrong with Neighbour Tomlin and Fanny."

  At this point the conversation ceased, and the two women sat silent,each occupied with her own thoughts. Miss Puella wondered that MadameAwtry could even imagine trouble at the Tomlin Place, while the Madamewas smiling grimly to herself, and pitying Miss Puella because she couldnot perceive what the trouble really was. "What a world it is! what aworld!" Madame Awtry said to herself with a sigh.

  And Bridalbin stood wondering at the freak of chance or circumstancethat had enabled him to hear two persons unknown to him discussing thedependence of his daughter. "Dependent" was the word that grated on hisear. He never thought of Providence--how few of us do!--he never dreamedthat his presence at that particular place at that particular moment wasto be the means of providing a sure remedy for the most serious trouble,short of bereavement, that his daughter would ever be called on to face.

  Bridalbin walked slowly in the direction of the Lumsden Place, whichhaving fewer trees around it could be dimly seen in the starlight.Before he emerged from the denser shadows he heard the door open andclose, and then Gabriel came down the steps whistling, and was soon inthe thoroughfare. But, instead of going toward town, he turned and wenttoward the fields. Following the road for a hundred yards or more hesoon came to the bars, which formed a sort of gateway to the richpastures of Bermuda, and, vaulting lightly over these, he was soon lostto view, though the stars were shining as brightly as they could. He wasmaking his way toward his favourite Bermuda hill.

  Now, Bridalbin knew enough about the topography of Shady Dale to knowthat the path or roadway, leading from the bars across the Bermudafields, was a short cut to one of the highways that led from town pastthe door of Mahlon Butts. He paused a moment, and then, more sedate thanGabriel, climbed the bars and followed the path across the field. Hewalked rapidly, for he was anxious to discover what course Gabriel hadtaken. He crossed the fields and saw no one; he reached the highway,and followed it for a quarter of a mile or more, but he could see nosign of Gabriel.

  And for a very good reason. That young man had followed the field-pathonly a short distance. He had turned sharply, to the right, making forthe Bermuda hill, where, with no fear of the dewy dampness to disturbhim, he flung himself at full length on the velvety grass, and gulpeddown great draughts of the cool, sweet air. He heard the sound ofBridalbin's footsteps, as that worthy went rapidly along the path, andhe had a boy's mischievous impulse to hail the passer-by. But he was sofond of the hill, and so jealous of his possession of the silence, thenight, and the remote stars, that he suppressed the impulse, andBridalbin went on his way, firm in the belief that Gabriel had crossedthe field to the public highway, and was now going in the direction ofMahlon Butts's home. He believed it, and continued to believe it to hisdying day, though the only evidence he had was the hint conveyed in thesurmises of Hotchkiss.

  Bridalbin finally abandoned his wild-goose chase, and returned to theneighbourhood of Gabriel's home, where he waited and watched until hisengagement with Hotchkiss compelled him to abandon his post. Thebusiness of the Union League was not very pressing that night, or it hadbeen dispatched with unusual celerity, for when Bridalbin reached theold school-house, the Rev. Jeremiah, who had taken upon himself theduties of janitor, was in the act of closing the doors.

  "I been waitin' fer you, Mr. Borin'," said the Rev. Jeremiah, after hehad responded to Bridalbin's salutation. "De Honerbul Mr. Hotchkiss tol'me ter tell you, in case I seed you, dat he gwine on home; an' he sayp'intedly dat dey's no need fer ter worry 'bout him, kaze eve'ything'sall right. Ez he gun it ter me, so I gin it ter you. You oughter beenhere ter-night. Me an' Mr. Hotchkiss took an' put all de business thoo'fo' you kin bat yo' eye; yes, suh, we did fer a fack."

  "I'm very sorry he didn't wait for me," said Bridalbin.

  As for Gabriel, he lay out on the Bermuda hill, contemplating himselfand the rest of the world. The stars rode overhead, all moving togetherlike some vast fleet of far-off ships. In the northwest, while Gabrielwas watching, a huge star seemed to break away from its companions andrush hurtling toward the west, leaving a trail of white vapour behindit. The illumination was but momentary. The Night was quick to snuff outall lights but its own. Whatever might be taking place on the other sideof the world, Night had possession here, and proposed to maintain it aslong as possible. A bird might scream when Brother Fox seized it; amouse might squeak when Cousin Screech-Owl swooped down on noiselesswing and seized it; Uncle Wind might rustle the green grass in search ofBrother Dust: nevertheless, the order of the hour was silence, and Nightwas prompt to enforce it.

  It is a fine night, Gabriel thought--and the Silence might haveanswered, "Yes, a fine ni
ght and a fateful." It was a night that was toleave its mark on many lives.

  At supper, Gabriel's grandmother had informed him that three of hisfriends had come by to invite him to accompany them to a country danceon the further side of Murder Creek--a dance following a neighbouringbarbecue. These friends, his grandmother said, were Francis Bethune,Paul Tomlin, and Jesse Tidwell. They had searched the town over forGabriel, and were disappointed at not finding him at home.

  "Where do you hide yourself, Gabriel?" his grandmother had asked him."And why do you hide? This is not the first time by a dozen that yourfriends have been unable to find you."

  Gabriel shook his curly head and laughed. "Let me see, grandmother:directly after dinner, I said my Latin and Greek lessons to Mr. Clopton.Bethune was upstairs in his own room, for I heard him singing. Afterthat, I went into the library, and read for an hour or more. Then Iselected a book and went over the hill to the big poplar--you know whereit is--and there I stayed until dark."

  "It is all very well to read and study, Gabriel, and I am sure I am gladto know that you are doing both," said his grandmother, with a smile,"but you must remember that there are social obligations which cannot beignored. You will have to go out into the world after awhile, and youshould begin to get in the habit of it now. You should not avoid yourfriends. I don't mean, of course, that you should run after them, orfling yourself at their heads; I wouldn't have you do that for theworld; but you shouldn't make a hermit of yourself. To be popular, youshould mix and mingle freely with your equals. I know how it was in myday. I was not fond of society myself, but my mother always insistedthat I should sacrifice my own inclinations for the pleasure of others,and in this way earn the only kind of popularity that is reallygratifying. And I really believe I was the most popular of all thegirls." The dear old lady tossed her head triumphantly.

  "That's what Mr. Clopton says," remarked Gabriel; "but you know,grandmother, your time was different from our time"--oh, theseyoungsters who persist in reminding us of our fogyism--"and you were agirl in those days, while I am a boy in these. I am lazy, I know; I canloaf with a book all day long; but for the life of me, I can't do asBethune does. He doesn't read, and he doesn't study; he just dawdlesaround, and calls on the girls, and talks with them by the hour. He usedto be in love with Nan (so Mr. Sanders says) and now he's in love withMargaret Bridalbin; he's just crazy about her. Now, I'm not in love withanybody"--"oh, Gabriel!" protested a still, small voice in hisbosom--"and if I were, I wouldn't dawdle around, and whittle ondry-goods boxes, and go and sit for hours at a time with Sally, andSusy, and Bessy, and Molly." Decidedly, Gabriel was coming out; here hewas with strong views of his own.

  His grandmother laughed aloud at this, saying, "You are very much likeyour grandfather, Gabriel. He was a very serious and masterful man. Hedetested small-talk and tittle-tattle, and I was the only girl he everwent with. But Francis Bethune is very foolish not to stick to Nan; sheis such a delightful girl. It would be very unfortunate indeed if thosetwo were not to marry."

  If the dear old lady had not been so loyal to her sex, she would havetold Gabriel that Nan had visited her that very day, and had asked athousand and one questions about her old-time comrade. Indeed, Nan, withthat delightful spirit of unconventionality that became her so well, hadmade bold to rummage through Gabriel's books and papers. She found onesheet on which he had evidently begun a letter. It started out well, andthen stopped suddenly: "Dear Nan: I hardly know----" Then the attemptwas abandoned in despair, and on the lower part of the sheet wasscrawled: "Dearest Nan: I hardly know, in fact I don't know, and you'llnever know till Gabriel blows his horn." This sheet the fair foragerpromptly appropriated, saying to herself "Boys are such funnycreatures."

  The conversation between Gabriel and his grandmother, as has been said,took place while they were eating their supper. The youngster was notsorry that he was absent when his friends called for him. It was a longride to the Samples plantation, where the dance was to be, and a long,long ride back home, when the fiddles were in their bags, the dancersfagged out, and the fun and excitement all over and done with. TheBermuda hill was good enough for Gabriel, unless he could arrange hisown dances, and have one partner--just one--from early candle-light tillthe grey dawn of morning.

  It was late when Gabriel returned from the Bermuda hill, later than hethought, for he had completely lost himself in the solemn imaginingsthat overtake and overwhelm a young man who is just waking up to theserious side of existence, and on whose mind are beginning to dawn thepossibilities and responsibilities of manhood. Ah, these young men! Howlovable they are when they are true to themselves--when they try boldlyto live up to their own ideals!

  Once in his room, Gabriel looked about for the book he had been readingduring the afternoon. It was his habit to read a quarter of an hour atleast--sometimes longer--before going to bed. But the book was not to befound. This was surprising until he remembered that he had not enteredhis bed-room since the dinner-hour; and then it suddenly dawned on hismind that he had left the book at the foot of the big poplar.

  Well! that was a pretty come-off for a young man who was inclined to beproud of his careful and systematic methods. And the book was a borrowedone, and very valuable--one of the early editions of Franklin'sautobiography, bound in leather. What would Meriwether Clopton think,if, through Gabriel's carelessness, the dampness and the dew had injuredthe volume, which, after Horace and Virgil, was one of Mr. Clopton'sfavourites?

  There was but one thing to be done, and that Gabriel was prompt to do.He went softly downstairs, so as not to disturb his grandmother, andmade his way to the big poplar, where he was fortunate enough to findthe book. Thanks to the sheltering arms of the tree, and theleaf-covered ground, the volume had sustained no damage.

  As Gabriel recovered the book, and while he was examining it, he heard achorus of whistlers coming along the road. Mingled with the whistlingchorus were the various sounds made by a waggon drawn by horses. Gabrieljudged that the waggon contained the young men who had been to the danceat the Samples plantation, and in this his judgment turned out to becorrect. The young men were in a double-seated spring waggon, drawn bytwo horses. They drew up in response to Gabriel's holla, and he climbedinto the waggon.

  "Well, what in the name of the seven stars are you doing out here in thewoods at this time of night?" cried Jesse Tidwell, and he laughed withhumourous scorn when Gabriel told him.

  "But the book belongs to Bethune's grandfather," explained Gabriel. "Itmight have been ruined by rain, or by the damp night-air, if left outuntil morning. If it had been my own book, perhaps I'd have trusted toluck."

  "You missed it to-night, Tolliver," said Francis Bethune. "FeelSamples"--his name was Felix--"was considerably put out because youdidn't come. And the girls--Tolliver, when did you get acquainted withthem? They all know you. Nelly Kendrick tossed her head and turned upher nose, and said that a dance wasn't a dance unless Mr. Tolliver waspresent. Tidwell, who was the red-headed girl that raved so aboutTolliver's curls?"

  "Oh, yes!" exclaimed Jesse Tidwell, "that was Amy Rowland. If she wasn'tthe belle of the ball, I'll never want any more money in this world.It's no use for Gabriel to blow his horn, when he has all the girls inthat part of the country to blow it for him. My son, when and where didyou come to know all these young ladies?"

  "Why, I used to go out there to church with Mr. Sanders, and sometimeswith Mrs. Absalom. There are some fine people in that settlement."

  "Fine!" exclaimed Jesse Tidwell, with real enthusiasm; "why, split silkis as coarse as gunny-bagging by the side of those girls. I told 'em Iwas coming back. 'You must!' they declared, 'and be sure and bring Mr.Tolliver!'" Young Tidwell mimicked a girl's voice with such ridiculouscompleteness that his companions shouted with laughter. "There's anotherthing you missed, Tolliver," he went on. "Feel Samples has a cow thatgives apple-brandy, and old Burrel Bohannon, the one-legged fiddler,must have milked her dry, for along about half-past ten he kind ofrolled his eyes, and fetched a gasp, and wobble
d out of his chair, andlay on the floor just as if he was stone dead."

  In a short time the young men had reached the tavern, where the team andvehicle belonged. As they drew up in front of the door, Jesse Tidwell,continuing and completing his description of the condition of BurrelBohannon, exclaimed: "Yes, sir, he fell and lay there. He may havekicked a time or two, and I think he mumbled something, but he was asgood as dead."

  Bridalbin, restless and uneasy, had been wandering about the town, andhe came up just in time to hear this last remark. At that moment, anegro issued from the tavern with a lantern, and Bridalbin was not atall surprised to see Gabriel Tolliver with the rest; and he wonderedwhat mischief the young men had been engaged in. Some one had been badlyhurt or killed. That much he could gather from Tidwell's declaration;but who?

  He went to his lodging and to bed in a very uncomfortable frame ofmind.