House Divided

by Ben Ames Williams

8

  December, 1863

  WHEN Tony, leaning down to stare at the figure on the ground in the light of Peg-leg’s approaching torch, recognized Ed Blandy’s wife, it was with an instant shock of dreadful terror. He was afraid for his life. This woman had come to him so short a time before, to buy food which she and her children must have unless they were to starve, and he had refused it; so for her death he would inevitably be blamed. His squirming thoughts sought to find a justification. It was certainly his right—a right that not even Ed Blandy could deny—to refuse to sell to her at a price that was no better than charity! How could he be expected to guess that she would turn thereafter to outright thievery? First to beg, and then to steal! Why, how shamed Ed would be when he knew his wife had descended so low!

  But now here she lay, and she was dead; and Tony sweated with fear of Ed, and with anger at the dead woman. She had no right to put him in such a situation, to get herself killed and thus let loose Ed’s wrath on him! She must have written Ed about that day when she came here to buy and Tony would not sell. What would Ed say? What would he do?

  His own terror made Tony turn on Darrell in a shrill fury. “Set-gun? Who told you you could put a set-gun in my smoke house? I might have opened that door myself! It might have killed anybody—me or anyone!” Peg-leg came up to them; he lowered the torch enough to see the dead woman’s face, stood silently. “Blast it, Darrell,” Tony cried, “you had no right to do that!”

  Even Darrell was for the moment shaken. “How did I know it was a woman? I supposed it was some nigger!”

  “Supposed!” But Tony checked his retort. After all, Darrell was not a man who could safely be abused. He turned furiously on the Negro. “Peg-leg, did you know about this damned gun?”

  “Nawsuh!” The man’s eyeballs gleamed white. “Nawsuh, not me!”

  The night was hushed and silent; yet Tony knew every Negro within sound of those shots was awake, cowering in his cabin. When white folks started shooting, Negroes kept out of the way. Tony could imagine all those listeners down in the quarter, or here near-by in the loom house and the blacksmith shop and the kitchen wing where ’Phemy and Sapphira slept. Darrell said: “Nobody knew anything about it, Uncle Tony. Nobody but mel” He spoke in low tones to the Negro. “And if anybody ever finds it out, Peg-leg, it will be from you; and I’ll tie you up to the nearest tree and peel your hide off you without bothering to shoot you first. Understand?”

  “Yas suh,” Peg-leg assented; but Tony thought with faint envy that the Negro did not sound scared.

  “Go get ’Phemy,” he said. Her level head must help him now. Peg-leg stumped away.

  “This is a clever rig, Uncle Tony, if I do say it,” Darrell declared, his complacency returning. “See here!” He showed Tony his deadly device. Just inside the smoke house door, under a low shelf where even in full day it was unlikely to be seen, a wide-mouthed pistol had been wedged. Tony had never seen the weapon before and said so, and Darrell explained: “It’s mine. I stick it inside my trousers, sometimes, when I’m going into tight places. It’s no good except for close work; but at short range it will throw three or four slugs through an oak board.” He pointed to a cord looped around the trigger and butt which passed through a crevice in the chinking of the log wall and descended to the ground. “I’ve been coming out to set it at night after you’d gone to your room,” Darrell said. “I stretched the cord across the door, so anyone coming in was bound to trip on it, and the charge would get them belly-high; but I came out before day every morning to take it away. I’m always up at the crack of dawn.”

  “You know this is Mrs. Blandy. Ed Blandy’s a friend of Trav’s.”

  “I know. White trash.”

  “Their place is on the road to Martinston. I wish to God you hadn’t killed her.”

  Darrell said boldly: “I didn’t! She killed herself, trying to steal your pork!” Then Peg-leg returned and ’Phemy came with him. No one spoke; but as Peg-leg had done, so did ’Phemy now lean down to look into the face of the dead woman.

  “She tried to break into the smoke house,” Tony said lamely.

  ’Phemy gently touched the loosened hair, lifted the limp head, put the old hat back in place, tucked the hair under it, drew the shabby coat together across the flat chest, straightened the limbs, laid her fingertips on the half-open eyes. She stayed thus kneeling for a moment, and Tony thought she was praying. Then she stood up.

  “She’s mighty pore and thin,” she said. “I’ll tote her into the kitchen. Come mawnin’, y’all kin ca’y her home.”

  “Can’t you do that?” Tony had no wish to face this dead woman’s children.

  “Rack’n it’d be moah fitten ef you did it.” ’Phemy gathered the small figure in strong arms, bore her toward the house.

  Tony mopped his brow. “I’ll take care of her children,” he muttered. “I’ll see they don’t want for anything.”

  Darrell drawled: “Oh tender heart!”

  “Damn it, Dal, this won’t be taken well!” ’Phemy, with Peg-leg lighting the way, was gone out of hearing.

  “A little frightened, Uncle Tony?”

  “I wish to God you hadn’t done it.”

  “Why, I was simply helping you protect your property!” The young man’s tone was that of one whose intentions have been cruelly misread.

  “I don’t look forward to facing Ed Blandy. He was home last September.”

  “September?” Darrell echoed. “Well, then you needn’t worry. They won’t give him another furlough soon; and if he deserts and comes home you can shoot him, or turn him over to the conscript officers. And if he stays in the army, the Yankees may shoot him and save you the trouble.”

  It would save a lot of trouble, certainly, if something happened to Ed Blandy. “But the men around here are all his friends,” Tony remembered.

  Darrell touched his arm. “Calm those twittering nerves of yours, Uncle Tony,” he advised. “I’ll stand by till the storm clouds roll away.”

  That was some comfort. Tony feared Darrell as much as he hated him; but the young man had a cold courage that made him a useful ally. If there were to be trouble, Darrell would be a good man to stand by his side.

  Before that night was done, Tony more than once came to the edge of panic. He might take his horse and ride away, never to return; but Chimneys was his, he would not give it up. And also, Sapphira was here. He would not leave her, and he could not take her with him. Nowhere in the South could he and she together find any refuge. To leave her was to lose her; to lose her perhaps to Darrell, who would certainly not run away. And to leave her was to lose Chimneys too. So Tony stayed, and dawn came, and he must face the day.

  ’Phemy had bathed and cleaned the dead woman, and she set Peg-leg to the nightlong task of fashioning for her, out of clean-sawed oak boards from the mill, a coffin. She herself sat all night by Mrs. Blandy’s body, till a little after sunrise she came to Tony, abed but not asleep, to say it was time to take the dead woman home to her children.

  Tony could not bring himself to face that duty alone. “You’d better come with me,” he decided. “Tell Peg-leg to bring a clean wagon, lay some hay in it, bring my horse and Mister Darrell’s.”

  Darrell cheerfully agreed to ride with him. “But don’t look so damned guilty, Uncle Tony,” he protested. “You had a right to protect your property. She’s just a common thief, you know, dead or alive.”

  They set out, Peg-leg driving the wagon, ’Phemy sitting in the back beside the neat coffin, Tony and Darrell riding behind. At Ed Blandy’s cabin, a woman and two or three children appeared in the door; and the woman and Ed Blandy’s son came doubtfully toward them. The boy’s face was streaked with stale tears. Tony knew the youngster by sight, but not the woman. He swung to the ground and with his hat in his hand approached her.

  “Ma’am,” he said, “I’m Mr. Currain from Chimneys.”

  His tone was a question, and she answered: “Tom Shadd’s my husband.” Tom had been in that first
Martinston company; he was Ed Blandy’s nearest neighbor. Mrs. Shadd’s eyes went past Tony toward the wagon. She saw the new boards of the coffin, and put her arm around the thin shoulders of the boy beside her. “Eddie here come after me in the night, a-crying. He’d woke up and his maw ‘uz gone.”

  “There’s been a sad accident.” Tony choked on his own words and began to cough; and Mrs. Shadd went past him toward the wagon. Peg-leg had climbed down to hold the mule’s head; ’Phemy slipped to the ground and stood aside Mrs. Shadd looked at that box, its shape so eloquent; the boy, hiccoughing with dry sobs, held to the side of the wagon and stood on tiptoes to look in. Mrs. Shadd asked Tony in an even tone:

  “Is this her?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “I sh’d jedge she’s dead.”

  He nodded. “Someone had been stealing pork out of our smoke house,” he said, his throat dry. “We had to put a stop to that.” Darrell was near, so he dared not tell the truth. “We fixed it so that anyone who opened the door would touch off a gun inside. It caught her, ma’am.” The boy at her side turned and ran toward the house. Mrs. Shadd struck the back of her hard, veined hand against her mouth; she bit at it as a man under the surgeon’s knife bites the bullet to hold back his cries. She leaned against the wagon, staring at the box there; and Tony said miserably: “I wouldn’t have had it happen for anything in the world.”

  He was facing Mrs. Shadd, his back toward the house. Darrell, still mounted, shouted a sudden warning. “Look out!” He lifted his horse over the fence, charging toward the cabin.

  At Darrell’s cry, Tony whirled. The boy was there in the door, resting a musket against the jamb. Tony when he turned looked squarely into the barrel. He tried to fling himself aside, and felt the heavy blow of the bullet. Great weakness flowed into him; and then he was down, his legs giving way, propping himself briefly on both hands, then sagging forward on his face in the roadside dust.

  When his senses began to return it was to sickening pain. He could see at first nothing at all; but he felt an uneven jolting which he recognized. He was in the wagon, lying on the hay in the wagon bed. He drifted into insensibility again, and when he roused it was at the foot of the steps at Chimneys, and Darrell was saying in cheerful reassurance:

  “There you are, Uncle Tony. We’ll give you a hand You’re not hurt. Just a scratch. Now come along.”

  Darrell and ’Phemy helped him slide out of the wagon, slide his feet to the ground. His head hung weakly; he saw his long legs under him and wondered how they managed to support him. With strong hands under his shoulders helping, he watched those legs lift his feet from step to step, and so came presently to his own room and his bed and felt the bed receive him like tender arms. He lay with his eyes closed under ’Phemy’s ministrations, and he heard Darrell’s voice, and felt the probing blade against his naked side, and cried out in a brief sharp anguish arid heard Darrell laugh and say triumphantly:

  “There it is! He was lucky, ’Phemy! Two inches to the left would have done it. He’s born to be hung!”

  It was days before Tony’s fever passed and before his strength was sufficiently returned so that he could move across his room to sit in his big chair by the fire. When he began to be himself again, ’Phemy told him things he did not remember. In that moment at Ed Blandy’s cabin, Darrell had moved fast, but not fast enough. He flung his horse across the bullet’s path too late; but he leaped off and caught the boy by the collar and wrenched the discharged weapon from his hands. Then he and Peg-leg and ’Phemy and Mrs. Shadd carried the rude coffin into the cabin. Mrs. Shadd promised to take care of the children, and ’Phemy had since sent Peg-leg to them with a bushel of meal, pork and bacon and a ham. Everyone in Martinston had gone to Mrs. Blandy’s funeral, even the deserters who for the most part stayed in hiding, and Alex Spain and his wild, reckless band; but no one had come to ask for Tony or to inquire how he fared. Folks said word had been sent to Ed Blandy; he was expected to come home. Mister Darrell had twice ridden into Martinston, and ’Phemy guessed he was looking for trouble, but nothing happened.

  By the way she spoke of Darrell, Tony knew she hated that bold young man. So did Tony; and he remarked to Darrell one day: “I’m surprised you’re still here.”

  Darrell shrugged. “Oh, I won’t go away and leave you to the wolves, not till you’re on your feet again. I took that young murderer’s gun away from him, but he may try again. You’ll have to keep your eyes open after I’m gone.”

  “You think of leaving?”

  “Captain Pew expects to sail early in January. I’ll join him.” Darrell’s eyes glowed. “The blockaders make a fortune every voyage, you know; and they spend it in Nassau, and when men with a lot of money want pleasure, any pleasure they want comes into the market.” He grinned. “If you were thirty years younger, you’d enjoy a visit there, Uncle Tony.”

  “When will you leave?”

  “As soon as you’re on your feet. I’ll spend Christmas in Wilmington.”

  Tony was divided between relief at this prospective departure and dread of being left alone. There was still Ed Blandy some day to be faced. “Better stay for Christmas,” he urged. “We’ll celebrate together.”

  Darrell shook his head. “Wilmington has more to offer in the way of celebration.”

  Tony as he grew stronger came to accept Darrell’s decision with a certain relief. Since the young man’s first coming he had not seen Sapphira at all. As patiently as an animal in its den, she kept to her room next to ’Phemy’s in the kitchen wing. She was well, ’Phemy said, but she would be glad when she need not stay in hiding all day long. Sometimes on warm nights she ventured secretly out of doors. Tony warned her to be careful; for Darrell slept more by day than by night, was up till all hours wandering around indoors and out. ’Phemy assured him Sapphira would be on her guard.

  He began to long to see her again. When at last Darrell rode away, Tony bade him good-by almost gratefully, standing on the high veranda to watch him out of sight. He turned back to ’Phemy with a deep gladness in him.

  “Tell Sapphira he’s gone,” he said.

  ’Phemy shook her head. “He ain’ gone twell he’s plumb good and gone,” she corrected. Tony laughed at her fears; but she would not be easy till Darrell had put Martinston behind him. So Tony yielded and let the long day pass, and ate a solitary dinner; and not till well after the early December dark did he see Sapphira. She came to join him for supper by the fire, and he had forgotten how beautiful she was. He bade ’Phemy bring the best of the Madeira, and ’Phemy went to the cellar to fetch it, and Tony said:

  “I’ve been lonesome for you, Sapphira.

  “It’s been long for me.”

  He nodded, wondering as he so often did at her beauty, her steady eyes, her rich and warming tones. By God, there was no handsomer woman anywhere. But in that moment of his full content, he saw her eyes suddenly go wide with terror. She rose shrinkingly to her feet, looking past him toward the open door; and before he could turn, from behind him, as though his own thoughts of a moment ago found words, came Darrell’s voice.

  “By God, I never saw a finer wench!”

  Tony turned slowly in his chair, and Sapphira with a quick movement came behind him, putting him between her and Darrell, and Darrell grinned. “Frightened?” he protested. “Don’t be frightened, gal.”

  He came into the room, booted and muddy from the road, and approached the fire to warm himself; and Sapphira, waiting for her chance, thought she saw it. She tried to dart past him to the open door, but he was too quick. His hand caught her wrist; he swung her whirling into the hard circle of his arms, clipping her close, pinning with one hand her elbows in a lock behind her and with the other forcing her chin up and turning her face this way and that in deliberate inspection. In his hard grasp, terror left her helpless. Darrell laughed and slapped her lightly on the cheek with his open hand. Then with his clenched fist he struck her sharply in the mouth, and Tony saw the thin trickle of blood from cut l
ips. Darrell laughed again; and he let her go with a parting slap as one slaps a horse’s rump to speed it to the pasture. She fled, and he called after her: “I’ll send for you.”

  Then he came to sit facing Tony, and Tony felt anger in him like strangling fingers at his throat. “I thought you’d gone,” he muttered.

  Darrell nodded cheerfully. “Of course you did. I meant you should, so you’d think it safe to bring your pretty out of hiding.” He chuckled. “I’d heard rumors about her, knew she was here somewhere. Enid tells me even Uncle Trav fancied her, when she was still a child. When you didn’t produce her, I thought Enid must be mistaken." His tone was mocking. ”I couldn’t believe you’d wish to treat me so inhospitably; but I thought it worth while to make sure, as you see.” He shouted ’Phemy’s name; and while he waited for her to appear he added: ”You suggested I spend Christmas here, Uncle Tony. Well, I accept. We’ll celebrate together.“ ’Phemy appeared in the door; and he said: ” ’Phemy, tell Peg-leg he’ll find my horse at the corner by the big road.”

  She turned away without speaking, and Darrell drawled: “Yes, Uncle Tony, she’ll make my Christmas a merry one.”

  Tony, remembering how Sapphira had sought to shelter herself behind him, felt old and ashamed by this truculent and deadly youth. He had always been afraid of Darrell. But for that secret fear, he would have shot this young scoundrel long ago, on that day when the Martinston men came to ask him to lead them away to war and Darrell jeered at him, or on that other day when he knew Darrell had betrayed little Miss Mary Meynell.

  Now Sapphira would turn to Darrell. Tony had no doubt of that. Niggers were all alike. If Darrell wanted her, she would quickly yield. For that matter, she could not help herself; she was a chattel, permitted no decisions.

  So here in this boy facing him now Tony saw the end of all his orderly and well-contented life. Darrell’s return was black disaster. These thoughts came not in sequence but in an illumined flash of understanding. “What made you come back?” he asked hoarsely.