CHAPTER THIRTY
_Miss Polly Has Some News_
The news which Miss Polly had laid as a social offering at Mrs. LucyLumsden's feet, and which she boasted was very astonishing, had theappearance of absurdity on the face of it. Miss Polly, with her work-bagand her turkey-tail fan, had paid a very early visit to the LumsdenPlace. She went in very quietly, greeted her old friend in a subduedmanner, and then sat staring at her with an expression that Mrs. Lumsdenfailed to understand. It might have been the result of special andunmitigated woe, or of physical pain, or of severe fatigue. Whatever thecause, it was unnatural, and so Gabriel's grandmother made haste toinquire about it.
"Why, what in the world is the matter, Polly? Are you ill?"
At this Miss Polly acted as if she had been aroused from a dream or arevery. Her work-bag slid from her lap, and her turkey-tail fan wouldhave fallen had it not been attached to her wrist by a piece of fadedribbon. "I declare, Lucy, I don't know that I ought to tell you; and Iwouldn't if I thought you would repeat it to a living soul. It is morethan marvellous; it is, indeed, Lucy"--leaning a little nearer, andlowering her voice, which was never very loud--"I honestly believe thatRitta Claiborne is in love with old Silas Tomlin! I certainly do."
"You must have some reason for believing that," said Mrs. Lumsden, witha benevolent smile, the cause of which the ear-trumpet could notinterpret.
"Reasons! I have any number, Lucy. I'm certain you won't believe me, butit has come to that pass that old Silas calls on her every night, andthey sit in the parlour there and talk by the hour, sometimes withEugenia, and sometimes without her. It would be no exaggeration at allif I were to tell you that they are talking together in that parlourfive nights out of the seven. Now, what do they mean by that?"
"Why, there's nothing in that, Polly. I have heard that they are oldacquaintances. Surely old acquaintances can talk together, and beinterested in one another, without being in love. Why, very frequentlyof late Meriwether Clopton comes here. I hope you don't think I'm inlove with him."
"Certainly not, Lucy, most certainly not. But do you have Meriwether'sportrait hanging in your parlour? And do you go and sit before it, andstudy it, and sometimes shake your finger at it playfully? I tell you,Lucy, there are some queer people in this world, and Ritta Claiborne isone of them."
"She is excellent company," said Mrs. Lumsden.
"She is, she is," Miss Polly assented. "She is full of life and fun; shesees the ridiculous side of everything; and that is why I can'tunderstand her fondness for old Silas. It is away beyond me. Why, Lucy,she treats that portrait as if it were alive. What she says to it, Ican't tell you, for my hearing is not as good now as it was before myears were affected. But she says something, for I can see her lips move,and I can see her smile. My eyesight is as good now as ever it was. I'mtelling you what I saw, not what I heard. The way she went on over thatportrait was what first attracted my attention; but for that I wouldnever have had a suspicion. Now, what do you think of it, Lucy?"
"Nothing in particular. If it is true, it would be a good thing forSilas. He is not as mean as a great many people think he is."
"He may not be, Lucy," responded Miss Polly, "but he brings a bad tastein my mouth every time I see him."
"Well, directly after Sherman passed through," said Mrs. Lumsden, "andwhen few of us had anything left, Silas came to me, and asked if Ineeded anything, and he was ready to supply me with sufficient funds formy needs."
"Well, he didn't come to me," Miss Polly declared with emphasis, "and ifanybody in this world had needs, I did. You remember Robert Gaither?Well, Silas loaned him some money during the war, and although Robertwas in a bad way, old Silas collected every cent down to the very last,and Robert had to go to Texas. Oh, I could tell you of numberlessinstances where he took advantage of those who had borrowed from him."
"I suppose that Mr. Lumsden had been kind to Silas when he was sowinghis wild oats; indeed, I think my husband advanced him money when he hadexhausted the supply allowed him by the executors of the Tomlin estate."
"And just think of it, Lucy--Ritta Claiborne sits there and plays thepiano for old Silas, and sometimes Eugenia goes in and sings, and shehas a beautiful voice; I'm not too deaf to know that."
It was then that Mrs. Lumsden leaned over and gave the ear-trumpet somevery good advice. "If I were in your place, Polly, I wouldn't tell thisto any one else. Mrs. Claiborne is an excellent woman; she comes of agood family, and she is cultured and refined. No doubt she is sensitive,and if she heard that you were spreading your suspicions abroad, shewould hardly feel like staying in a house where----" Mrs. Lumsdenpaused. She had it on her tongue's-end to say, "in a house where she isspied upon," but she had no desire in the world to offend thatsimple-minded old soul, who, behind all her peculiarities andafflictions, had a very tender heart.
"I know what you mean, Lucy," said Miss Polly, "and your advice is good;but I can't help seeing what goes on under my eyes, and I thought therecould be no harm in telling you about it. I am very fond of RittaClaiborne, and as for Eugenia, why she is simply angelic. I love thatchild as well as if she were my own. If there's a flaw in her character,I have never found it. I'll say that much."
The explanation of Miss Polly's suspicions is not as simple as herrecital of them. No one can account for some of the impulses of thehuman heart, or the vagaries of the human mind. It is easy to say thatafter Silas Tomlin had his last interview with Mrs. Claiborne, hepermitted his mind to dwell on her personality and surroundings, and sofell gradually under a spell. Such an explanation is not only easy toimagine, but it is plausible; nevertheless, it would not be true. Thereis a sort of tradition among the brethren who deal with character infiction that it must be consistent with itself. This may be necessary inbooks, for it sweeps away at one stroke ten thousand mysteries andproblems that play around the actions of every individual, no matter howhigh, no matter how humble. How often do we hear it remarked in reallife that the actions of such and such an individual are a source ofsurprise and regret to his friends; and how often in our own experiencehave we been shocked by the unexpected as it crops out in the actions ofour friends and acquaintances!
For this and other reasons this chronicler does not propose to explainSilas's motives and movements and try to show that they are allconsistent with his character, and that, therefore, they were all to bepredicated from the beginning. What is certainly true is that Silas wasone day stopped in the street by Eugenia, who inquired about Paul. Helooked at the girl very gloomily at first, but when he began to talkabout the troubles of his son, he thawed out considerably. In this caseEugenia's sympathies abounded, in fact were unlimited, and she listenedwith dewy eyes to everything Silas would tell her about Paul.
"You mustn't think too much about Paul," remarked Silas grimly, as theywere about to part.
"Thank you, sir," replied Eugenia, with a smile, "I'll think just enoughand no more. But it was my mother that told me to ask about him if I sawyou. She is very fond of him. You never come to see us now," the slycreature suggested.
Silas stared at her before replying, and tried to find the gleam ofmockery in her eyes, or in her smile. He failed, and his glances becameshifty again. "Why, I reckon she'd kick me down the steps if I calledwithout having some business with her. If you were to ask her who herworst enemy is, she'd tell you that I am the man."
"Well, sir," replied Eugenia archly, "I have been knowing mother a goodmany years, but I've never seen her put any one out of the house yet. Wewere talking about you to-day, and she said you must be very lonely, nowthat Paul is away, and I know she sympathises with those who are lonely;I've heard her say so many a time."
"Yes; that may be true," remarked Silas, "but she has special reasonsfor not sympathising with me. She knows me a great deal better than youdo."
"I'm afraid you misjudge us both," said Eugenia demurely. "If you knewus better, you'd like us better. I'm sure of that."
"Humph!" grunted Silas. Then looking hard at the girl, he blun
tly asked,"Is there anything between you and Paul?"
"A good many miles, sir, just now," she answered, making one of thoseretorts that Paul thought so fine.
"H-m-m; yes, you are right, a good many miles. Well, there can't be toomany."
"I think you are cruel, sir. Is Paul not to come home any more? Paul isa very good friend of mine, and I could wish him well wherever he mightbe; but how would you feel, sir, if he were never to return?"
"Well, I must go," said Silas somewhat bluntly. When Beauty has a glibtongue, abler men than Silas find themselves without weapons to copewith it.
"Shall I tell mother that you have given your promise to call soon?"Eugenia asked.
"Now, I hope you are not making fun of me," cried Silas with someirritation.
"How could that be, sir? Don't you think it would be extremely pert in ayoung girl to make fun of a gentleman old enough to be her father?"
Silas winced at the comparison. "Well, I have seen some very pert ones,"he insisted, and with that he bade her good-day with a very ill grace,and went on about his business, of which he had a good deal of one kindand another.
"Mother," said Eugenia, after she had given an account of her encounterwith Silas, "I believe the man has a good heart and is ashamed of it."
"Why, I think the same may be said of most of the grand rascals that weread about in history; and the pity of it is that they would have allbeen good men if they had had the right kind of women to deal with themand direct their careers."
"Do you really think so, mother?" the daughter inquired.
"I'm sure of it," said the lady.
Then after all there might be some hope for old Silas Tomlin. And hisinstinct may have given him an inkling of the remedy for his particularform of the whimsies, for it was not many days before he came knockingat the lady's door, where he was very graciously received, and mostdelightfully entertained. Both mother and daughter did their utmost tomake the hours pass pleasantly, and they succeeded to some extent. Forawhile Silas was suspicious, then he would resign himself to thetemptations of good music and bright conversation. Presently he wouldremember his suspicions, and straighten himself up in his chair, andassume an attitude of defiance; and so the first evening passed. WhenSilas found himself in the street on his way home, he stopped still andreflected.
"Now, what in the ding-nation is that woman up to? What is she trying todo, I wonder? Why, she's as different from what she was when I firstknew her as a butterfly is from a caterpillar. Why, there ain't apearter woman on the continent. No wonder Paul lost his head in thathouse! She's up to something, and I'll find out what it is."
Silas was always suspicious, but on this occasion he bethought himselfof the fact that he had not been dragged into the house; he had beenunder no compulsion to knock at the door; indeed, he had taken advantageof the slightest hint on the part of the daughter--a hint that may havebeen a mere form of politeness. He remembered, too, that he hadfrequently gone by the house at night, and had heard the piano going,accompanied by the singing of one or the other of the ladies. Hisreflections would have made him ashamed of himself, but he had nevercultivated such feelings. He left that sort of thing to the women andchildren.
In no long time he repeated his visit, and met with the same pleasurableexperience. On this occasion, Eugenia remained in the parlour only ashort time. For a diversion, the mother played a few of the old-timetunes on the piano, and sang some of the songs that Silas had loved inhis youth. This done, she wheeled around on the stool, and began to talkabout Paul.
"If I had a son like that," she said, "I should be immensely proud ofhim."
"You have a fine daughter," Silas suggested, by way of consolation.
She shrugged her shoulders. "Yes, but you know we always want that whichwe have not. Yet they say that envy is among the mortal sins."
"Well, a sin's a sin, I reckon," remarked Silas.
"Oh, no! there are degrees in sin. I used to know a preacher who couldrun the scale of evil-doing and thinking, just as I can trip along thenotes on the piano."
"They once tried to make a preacher out of me," remarked Silas, "butwhen I slipped in the church one day and went up into the pulpit, Ifound it was a great deal too big for me."
"They make them larger now," said the lady, "so that they will hold theexhorter and the horrible example at the same time."
"Did Paul ever see my picture there?" asked Silas, changing theconversation into a more congenial channel.
"Why, I think so," replied the lady placidly. "I think he asked aboutit, and I told him that we had known each other long ago, which was notat all the truth."
"What did Paul say to that?" asked Silas eagerly.
"He said that while some people might think you were queer, you had beena good dad to him. I think he said dad, but I'll not be sure."
"Yes, yes, he said it," cried Silas, all in a glow. "That's Paul allover; but what will the poor boy think when he finds out what you know?"
"Why, he'll enjoy the situation," said the lady, laughing. "As youGeorgians say, he'll be tickled to death."
Silas regarded her with astonishment, his hands clenched and his thinlips pressed together. "Do you think, Madam, that it is a matter for ajoke? You women----"
"Can't I have my own views? You have yours, and I make no objection."
"But think of what a serious matter it is to me. Do you realise thatthere is nothing but a whim betwixt me and disgrace--betwixt Paul anddisgrace?"
"A whim? Why, you are another Daniel O'Connell! Call me a hyperbole, arectangled triangle, a parenthesis, or a hyphen." She was laughing, andyet it was plain to be seen that she had no relish for the term whichSilas had unintentionally applied to her.
"I meant to say that if the notion seized you, you would fetch us downas a hunter bags a brace of doves."
"Doves!" exclaimed Mrs. Claiborne, with a comical lift of the eyebrows.
"Buzzards, then!" said Silas with some heat.
"Oh, you overdo everything," laughed the lady.
"Well, there's nobody hurt but me," was Silas's gruff reply.
"And Paul," suggested the lady, with a peculiar smile.
"Well, when I say Paul, I mean myself. I've been called worse names thanbuzzard by people who were trying to walk off with my money. Oh, theydidn't call me that to my face," said Silas, noticing a queer expressionin the lady's eyes. "And people who should have known better have hatedme because I didn't fling my money away after I had saved it."
"Well, you needn't worry about that," Mrs. Claiborne remarked. "You willhave plenty of company in the money-grabbing business before long. I cansee signs of it now, and every time I think of it I feel sorry for ouryoung men, yes, and our young women, and the long generations that areto come after them. In the course of a very few years you will find yourbusiness to be more respectable than any of the professions. Youremember how, before the war, we used to sneer at the Yankees for theirmoney-making proclivities? Well, it won't be very long before we'll beatthem at their own game; and then our politicians will thrive, for eachand all of them will have their principles dictated by Shylock and hispartners."
"Why, you talk as if you were a politician yourself. But why are yousorry for our young women?"
"That was a hasty remark. I am sorry for those who will grow weary andfall by the wayside. The majority of them, and the best of them, willmake themselves useful in thousands of ways, and new industries willspring up for their benefit. They will become workers, and, beingworkers, they will be independent of the men, and finally begin to lookdown on them as they should."
"Well!" exclaimed Silas, and then he sat and gazed at the lady for thefirst time with admiration. "Where'd you learn all that?" he asked afterawhile.
"Oh, I read the newspapers, and such books as I can lay my hands on, andI remember what I read. Didn't you notice that I recited my piece muchas a school-boy would?"
"No, I didn't," replied Silas. "I do a good deal of reading myself, butall those ideas are new to me."
"Well, they'll be familiar to you just as soon as our people can lookaround and get their bearings. As for me, I propose to become anadvanced woman, and go on the stage; there's nothing like being thefirst in the field. I always told my husband that if he died and leftme without money, I proposed to earn my own living."
"You told your husband that? When did you tell him?" inquired Silas withsome eagerness.
"Oh, long before he died," replied the lady.
Silas sat like one stunned. "Do you mean to tell me that your husband isdead?"
"Why, certainly," replied Mrs. Claiborne. "What possible reason could Ihave for denying or concealing the fact?"
Silas straightened himself in his chair, and frowned. "Then why did youcome here and pretend--pretend--ain't you Ritta Rozelle, that used tobe?"
"There were two of them," the lady replied. "They were twins. One wasnamed Clarita, and the other Floretta, but both were called Ritta bythose who could not distinguish them apart. I had reason to believe thatyou hadn't treated my sister as you should have done, and I came here tosee if you would take the bait. You snapped it up before the linetouched the water. It was not even necessary for me to try to deceiveyou. You simply shut your eyes and declared that I was your wife andthat I had come."
"You are the sister who was going to school in--wasn't it Boston?"
"Yes; that is why I am broad-minded and free from guile," remarked thelady with a laugh so merry that it irritated Silas.
"Then you have never been married to me," Silas suggested, stillfrowning.
"I thank you kindly, sir, I never have been."
"Well, you never denied it," he said.
"You never gave me an opportunity," she retorted.
"You simply sat back, and watched me make a fool of myself."
"You express it very well."
Silas squirmed on his chair. "Why, you knew me the minute you saw me!"he cried.
"Therefore you are still sure I am the woman you married in Louisiana.Well, the man who was driving the hack the day of my arrival, saw you inthe fields, and he made a remark I have never forgotten. He said--shemimicked Mr. Goodlett as well as she could--'Well, dang my hide! ef tharain't old Silas Tomlin out huntin'! Ef he shoots an' misses he'll pullall his ha'r out.' 'Why?' I asked. 'Bekaze he can't afford to waste aload of powder an' shot.'"
Silas tried to smile. He knew that the point of Mr. Goodlett's joke waslost on the lady.
Silas tried to smile, but the effort was too much for him, and hefrowned instead. "You did all you could to humour my mistake," hedeclared.
"I certainly did," said Mrs. Claiborne, very seriously. "I had goodreason to believe that your treatment of my sister was not what itshould have been."
"Good Lord! she wouldn't let me treat her well. Why, we hadn't beenmarried three months before she took a dislike to me, and she never gotover it. The truth is, she couldn't bear the sight of me. I did what anyother young man would have done. I packed up my things and came backhome. I told Dorrington about it when I came back, and he said thetrouble was a form of hysterics that finally develops into insanity."
"Yes, that was what happened to my poor sister," said Mrs. Claiborne,"and I never knew the facts until a few months ago. Our aunt, you know,always contended that you were the cause of it all. But Judge Vardeman,quite by accident, met the physician who had charge of the case, and Ihave a letter from him which clearly explains the whole matter."
Silas Tomlin sat silent for a long time, his gaze fixed on the floor."Well, well! here I have been going on for years under the impressionthat I was partly responsible for that poor girl's troubles; and it hasbeen a nightmare riding me every minute that I had time to think." Hestood up, stretched his arms above his head, and drew a long breath. "Ithank you for laying my ghost, and I'll bid you good-night."
Gabriel Tolliver: A Story of Reconstruction Page 31
