Enid wept: “Oh, Hetty, darling baby!”
“Hush,” Mrs. Currain insisted. “You’re just making matters worse, scaring her!”
“I could kill Vigil. If I’ve told her once I’ve told her a thousand times——”
She was near hysterics; Mrs. Currain in sharp exasperation caught her shoulders, shook her. “Be quiet, Enid! Behavel”
Enid at last was still; but when the doctor came, he said Hetty’s eye would need days of care. So the visit to Richmond was postponed, and Enid’s disappointment led her into a violent quarrel with Trav. She demanded that he have Vigil whipped; but Trav protested:
“Now, Enid, Vigil’s had a bad beating already. April chased her clear down to the quarter, pounded her senseless with that stick of firewood. It’s a wonder she didn’t kill her. I think she would have, if the people hadn’t stopped her. Vigil’s got a broken arm and a couple of broken ribs, as it is.”
“It’s good enough for her! Make them take a blacksnake whip and just cut her to pieces, skin her alive!”
“We don’t need to turn into animals!”
“Trav Currain, don’t you dare call me an animal!”
“I only said——”
“I heard what you said. I’ve stood a lot from you, but I don’t intend to stand much more! Defending that worthless nigger against your own wife, after she’s just about killed your baby, maybe made her blind for life!”
“Vigil feels as bad about it as you do, Enid. And after all, it was an accident.”
Her anger fed on opposition; she was half-screaming. “You go have her whipped, you hear me! Have her whipped and then sell her south! See how she likes that!”
“No.” His tone was final. “I don’t have negroes whipped. And I won’t sell our people off the land, out of the family.”
“Did you hear what I said?”
“Yes. Everyone in the house can hear you.”
“Trav Currain, are you going to do what I say, or aren’t you?” He turned away, not answering. “Oh I hate you! I hate you! I just married you in the first place to spite my mother! I wish I’d died first”
He came back to plead for silence. “Don’t, Enid. You upset Mama.”
“Well, she ought to be upset! I want her to be upset! I’d like to see you upset just once! Vigil goes and puts your own baby’s eye out, practically, and you stand up for her. I guess you think more of her than you do of me! Probably she’s not the only one! That sassy Sapphira, for instance—the way you stuck up for her!”
She would have welcomed a raging anger in him. His refusal even to resent these wild accusations which she knew to be ridiculous was like oil on the fire of her fury. She felt a vengeful hatred toward him which she was sure would never die; and she was not appeased when three days later April, triumphantly established as Hetty’s attendant and jealous guardian, reported that Vigil had been sent back to Chimneys.
“Mighty lucky for dat nigguh she gone, too! I ever lay eyes on her again I’ll beat de haid off’n her.”
Enid saw in Vigil’s punishment not surrender on Trav’s part but only evasion; and to realize that he had held his own unyielding way hardened her resentment. Some day, somehow, she would even the long score.
The accident to Hetty postponed, but did not in the end prevent, Enid’s going to Richmond; and the manner of her going was so delightful that she forgot her original disappointment. Burr, since he had come to Great Oak only to act as her escort, returned without her; but as Hetty mended, Faunt one day appeared, and stayed the night. He was on his way to Richmond; and Enid, since Hetty no longer needed her constant attendance, seized upon this opportunity. Mrs. Currain agreed that she could go with Faunt as well as not; Trav made no strong objection; Faunt said he would be honored to be of service.
The prospect of days and perhaps weeks in Richmond—for Enid meant to stay as long as Cinda would let her—was delight enough; but to make the daylong journey in Faunt’s company was like an intoxication. He left his horse at Great Oak and they went by stage; and he was so courteously thoughtful of her comfort, so pleasantly attentive, so ready to answer her thousand questions that she was brimming with content. Seeing his amusement at her happiness she played up to it, eager to provoke his quick charming smile.
At the big house on Fifth Street, old Caesar opened the door and greeted them like a courtly host. “Marste’ Faunt, you’s quite a stranger,” shaking Faunt’s hand. “And how’s you, Mistis?” Caesar for all his gray hair was big and black and muscular, sleek with abounding health. “Hopes I sees ye well. Mighty glad to see de bofe o’ you.”
He ushered them in, and Enid glowed under his flattering courtesy. Then Cinda and Vesta were here with their welcomes, and Cinda led Enid to the room prepared for her. Had she had a pleasant trip?
“Just wonderful, Cinda! Faunt’s so thoughtful and polite; and when he smiles he’s the handsomest thing you ever saw!”
“Oh, everybody goes crazy over Faunt,” Cinda agreed. “But Travis is my favorite brother. Faunt is moody sometimes, but Travis is always the same.”
“Well, I wish he wasn’t! I wish he’d be different, once in a while. I’m real provoked with Trav, Cinda, the way he acted about Vigil. You know the terrible thing that happened?” Cinda said Burr had reported the accident; nevertheless Enid repeated every detail. “And poor little Hetty will always show it, Cinda, and maybe be blinded in that eye. Wouldn’t it be awful if she was?” She had Cinda’s ready sympathy. “But Trav didn’t mind. He stuck up for Vigil and kept saying it was an accident. Why, he wouldn’t even have her whipped the way I wanted him to! I declare I’m furious with him.”
Cinda said comfortingly: “Husbands are an aggravating lot, but you’ll get over it.”
And in fact Enid’s resentment faded in the happy pleasures of this visit. During the hours and days that followed, each new experience delighted her.
“Caesar’s wonderful, isn’t he! He’s so courtly and dignified.”
Cinda laughed. “Dignified? He’s just lazy. He puts on his dignity to get out of work.” Brett was with them and she spoke to him. “Remember, Mr. Dewain, the time when Vesta was a little girl, having a tea party for some of her friends, and she wanted Caesar to serve them on the low table in the nursery, and he said, ever so hoity-toity: ‘I don’ wait on no pine tables. Wait twell you big enough to put youah laigs unde’ mahogany.’”
Brett chuckled. “And Vesta was so shocked at the indelicacy of his remarks that she wanted him whipped.”
“You should have had it done! You’ve spoiled him for years.”
“He tickles me. Just this morning I caught him wearing a shirt of mine. I tried to make him ashamed of himself, asked if he was sorry, and he said: ‘Well, tell de hones’ truf, I ain’ sorry I stole hit, but I sho’ is sorry I got crotch!’ ”
Enid laughed with him, but Cinda protested. “Oh you make me so mad, Brett Dewain! You think everything Caesar does is just howlingly funny.” Enid, watching this comfortable give and take, recognizing the warm and tender bond between them, felt a wistful envy; they were so close, so fond. There was nothing like this between her and Trav.
Enid would have enjoyed Richmond more but for the fact that the men could talk of nothing except some convention or other that was about to be held here. She had made Faunt promise, on their way from Great Oak, to squire her everywhere. “Will you take me to Pizzini’s for strawberries, Cousin Faunt? And to promenade in Capitol Square? And to see just simply everything?” He smiled and agreed; but even Faunt was at once engrossed in talk of politics, and he and Brett might be closeted for hours with other gentlemen in grave discussions which she could find no excuse for interrupting.
The day before the Convention was to meet, Tony unexpectedly appeared. Enid, remembering her own dislike for Trav’s brother, was glad to see that there was no warmth in Cinda’s welcome.
“Oh, hello, Tony! What brings you to town? Hankering after the fleshpots?”
“Hullo, Cinda.” Enid tho
ught Tony seemed embarrassed. “I haven’t seen you for over two years, not since you and Brett went abroad.”
“So you haven’t! But don’t try to tell me you came to see me!”
“No, as a matter of fact I came to watch the Convention.”
Cinda laughed. “Really? I can’t imagine you being interested in politics!”
“Well, I suppose I am. James Fiddler and Ed Blandy and Tom Shadd and all my neighbors want to know what’s going on.”
Enid saw Cinda’s amazement. “You mean you came to find out and tell them?”
“In a way, yes.” Tony laughed uneasily. “You see, Cinda, the country around Chimneys is pretty far away from everything. The people there just have little farms. No slaves.” Cinda was watching him with searching eyes, and he added almost in apology: “But they come to me for my opinions, and I suppose that flatters me. Anyway, I want to be able to—answer some of their questions.”
Cinda went suddenly to him and kissed him. “Why, Tony—” She hesitated, did not finish; and he said honestly:
“I know they just respect me because they respected Trav.” Enid felt a puzzled wonder. Why should anyone respect Trav? He was as common as dirt! “Trav and I never got along, but they think a lot of him down there. I’ve tried to—” He laughed, amused at himself. “Well, I suppose I’ve tried to live up to Trav. And I like it there.”
Cinda touched his shoulder in strong affection. “Isn’t it lonely, away off in the mountains?”
He chuckled. “Lord love you, no, it’s not lonely. There’s lots going on. We have dance frolics; and the men get together at the tavern, or at the store, or at the mill.” He met Enid’s eyes. “I’m letting them have their corn ground at our mill on the place. Trav used to, so I kept it up; so there may be half a dozen men there, waiting their turn, some days. Then we do a little horse racing, and we all get together for the corn shucking and the hog killings.” He smiled. “And you’ve never seen a real dance till you hear one of our fiddlers h’ist a tune!”
Cinda looked at Enid. “Did you and Trav do all those things?”
“Heavens, no! Trav used to spend most of his time with—” Enid hesitated, looking at Tony; but her tone was still scornful. “With people like Ed Blandy; but of course we never went to any of their doings.” She felt in Tony and in Cinda too a withdrawal, an unspoken criticism; and suddenly she was angry. “I don’t see how you can stand them, Tony; all that—trash!”
His eyes hardened; when he spoke there was derision in his tone. “What do you hear from your mother?” It was as though he warned her to curb her tongue. She felt Cinda’s inquiring glance, and she spoke quickly.
“Oh, she’s fine!” Then, to appease him: “I expect I’d have liked them too if I’d known them; but we never went to their doings. Trav always wanted to stay at home and go to bed!” Flatteringly she added: “I declare I just don’t understand a thing about politics, Cousin Tony. You’ll have to explain it all to me.” She took the first means she found to avert his tongue from her mother. If Cinda ever guessed that Tony and her mother—Enid shivered with terror at the thought, and her eager, charmingly innocent questions kept Tony in play. If men liked to talk about politics, she must learn to talk too, or at least listen; but it was all so confusing. Apparently everybody hated that old Abe Lincoln, and some of the Democrats were for a man named Bell, and some were for Senator Douglas, and the Convention here in Richmond was going to nominate Mr. Breckenridge. Tony seemed to think it a mistake to have so many different candidates against Lincoln, and Enid protested:
“But I should think three men could beat him easier than one, Cousin Tony.”
He smiled at her innocence. “They might if they all got together. The trouble is they won’t. John Bell proposed that all three of them withdraw and unite on someone else, but Mr. Douglas wouldn’t do it. So now they’ll each beat the others—and let Lincoln win.”
“Why, I think that’s awfully silly, if what they want is to beat him!”
“Men do some mighty foolish things.”
After the Convention finished its business Enid thought Faunt would at last pay her some attention; but he left at once for Belle Vue. She reminded him in pretty reproach that they had as yet done none of the things he had promised they would do together; but he said he must go home for a week or two. “Perhaps you’ll still be here when I return.”
When he departed, Tony went with him. They would go first to Great Oak, but Tony proposed to proceed from there to Washington. He said he went to see what men in the Capital thought about the campaign, but Enid suspected him of planning to call upon her mother.
Her visit had already been a long one, but she stayed on in Richmond. Faunt was gone and Brett was much too absorbed in something or other to pay her any attention, and Burr spent most of his time with his father or calling on Barbara Pierce, and Vesta had many friends, so Enid was left much alone with Cinda. She remembered Darrell. He had been amusing at Great Oak, and presumably he was in Richmond. “Do you ever see Tilda?” she asked one day, Darrell in her mind.
“Oh, yes,” Cinda said. “But she and Dolly haven’t dared face me since that awful business at the Plains.” Enid had heard nothing of this, and her questions flew, and Cinda answered guardedly. “The less said about it, the better,” she declared. “Dolly’s conceited enough as it is, without having men fighting over her.”
“Oh, I won’t say a word,” Enid vowed; but at her insistence they did go to Tilda’s to call, and Enid in an itch of curiosity tried to lead Tilda and Dolly to talk about that fatal picnic at Muster Spring. Cinda’s presence and her grim silence kept them silent, too; but thereafter Enid came again, alone, and easily led Dolly to tell her the story. Dolly masked her demure complacency behind many protestations.
“It was simply terrible. I think men are just perfectly ridiculous, Aunt Enid, don’t you?”
Enid agreed that they certainly were. She and Dolly fell easily into a surface friendship; and Darrell, happening to come home while Enid was there, joined them, flattering Enid with easy compliments. At his suggestion they strolled over to Pizzini’s for an ice, and one of Dolly’s many swains joined them, so Darrell escorted Enid back to Fifth Street. She was sparkling with happiness.
“It’s been just the nicest time I’ve had since I came to Richmond, Dal. Thank you kindly.”
He bowed. “A pleasure, ma’am. Now I shall have to answer many questions about Richmond’s newest belle.”
Enid blushed and protested that he mustn’t make fun of an old married woman, and invited him in; but he said good-by at the door.
In her room Enid found a letter from Trav suggesting that she come home; but of course that was ridiculous when she was having such a good time. “He wanted me to come back to Great Oak. But I just told him I was going to stay till he came up to get me,” she confessed to Cinda. “I’m going to make him put himself out for once, if it’s the last thing I do!” She added: “Of course I’ll go on home if I’m too much bother to you?”
Cinda said politely that she must stay as long as she chose, and Enid stayed till at last Trav surrendered and came to fetch her. He reached Richmond on a Saturday, would stay over Sunday; and Sunday morning, as they were all about to start to church, Faunt and Tony rode up to the door. Enid, when they appeared, was nearest. She cried out a glad welcome and kissed Faunt, and then because some sense of guilt made it seem necessary to do so, she kissed Tony too. She proposed they all stay home from church, but found herself overruled; and all through the service she was furious because she had not pleaded a headache. Trav meant to take her away to Great Oak tomorrow; she would see hardly anything of Faunt at all!
She had, in fact, no moment with him alone. At dinner they were all together, and immediately afterward Mr. Streean and Tilda—having learned at church of Tony’s return from Washington—came to hear what he could report. So Enid had to listen rebelliously to hours of tedious talk; but she listened most of all to Faunt, and to him her eyes constant
ly returned.
Tony thought Lincoln would be beaten. “Even the Republicans are ashamed of themselves for nominating him,” he explained. “Charles Francis Adams of Massachusetts made a speech in Congress about the great Republican party, and the Republicans have printed the speech and spread it all over the country—but it doesn’t even mention Abe Lincoln’s name!” He had brought home a book prepared for use in the campaign. “This is his biography, and some of his speeches, and there’s enough right in this book to make anyone vote against him. I’ll read you some of the things it says.”
“Oh, do you have to?” Enid protested. “I’m awfully tired of politics.” But no one answered her, watching Tony as he turned the pages.
“It’s written by a man named Howells—W. D. Howells. It starts off with Lincoln’s ancestors.” He grinned. “If he had any. They don’t seem to be sure.” He read: “‘It is necessary that every American should have an indisputable grandfather——’ ”
“‘Indisputable’?” Brett echoed, amused. “That’s a modest word. Of course, I’ve known men who didn’t even have an indisputable father, but those men weren’t running for President of the United States!”
Tony went on. “This book admits there’s an ‘extremely embarrassing uncertainty’ about Lincoln’s great-grandparents, says it’s ‘not very profitable’ to try to trace his ancestry.”
Cinda uttered an incredulous exclamation. “You mean to say that book’s put out by Lincoln’s friends?”
“Yes.”
“Heavens! If that’s the best his friends can do, what will his enemies say?”
Tony chuckled. “Of course I’m just reading the funniest parts. They did dig up a grandfather for him.” He read: “‘His grandfather (anterior to whom is incertitude)——’”
Their laughter checked him; but Faunt said thoughtfully: “All the same, lots of us, even our FFV’s, are in the same position if the truth were known. Anterior to the grandfathers of a good many of us there is incertitude.”
House Divided Page 18
