Darrell grinned derisively. “Frog in your throat, Uncle Tony? You don’t sound glad to see me!” And he said: “Perhaps I came back to protect you. I met Ed Blandy on the road, on his way home. When he comes for his accounting you’ll want me by your side.” He extended his legs toward the fire, inspected his muddy boots, shouted for ’Phemy, bade her pull off his boots and bring him supper.
“And a bottle of wine,” he directed. “To celebrate my return.”
Tony himself had sent ’Phemy to the cellar a while ago. It was the old Madeira she brought now; and Darrell insisted Tony share it. “Come, come, don’t offend me by declining, Uncle Tony.”
There was no talk in Tony; but Darrell’s light tongue ran. He ate and drank and rose at last and stretched himself and yawned in Tony’s face. “You’re dull company, Uncle. I must seek better. So—good night and pleasant dreams to you.” He stepped out into the hall, shouted: “’Phemy! ’Phemy!”
Tony heard her quiet answer. “Yes, Marse Darrell.”
“Send that wench to my room.” They were in the hall, not far from where Tony sat; their voices plain.
“She done gone,” said ’Phemy.
Tony heard the quick slap of a blow and Darrell’s dry tone. “I said, send her to my room.” Then, as though certain of obedience, Darrell went up the stairs.
Tony came softly to his feet. If Sapphira had fled, Darrell might be thwarted still. He crossed to his desk and took his pistol from the drawer and thrust it under his vest and into his trousers; but when he turned, ’Phemy was at his shoulder with extended hand, whispering: “Gimme dat, please, suh!” He stared at her, not understanding; and she said: “Ain’ no call to go git youse‘f kilt! He ain’ gwine tetch Sapphira! Gimme dat pistol, please suh!”
He had a moment’s leaping certainty that she meant to kill Darrell. Well, let her! He gave her the weapon.
But she replaced it in his desk, softly closed the drawer. “Leave it be,” she warned him, her whisper soft and still, and so was gone.
Tony closed his door. In the room above his he heard Darrell singing softly, moving to and fro. Leave this night in ’Phemy’s strong hands; yes, and the future too! He undressed and hurried into bed. Whatever Darrell’s rage and bafflement, the young man would try no violence on an old man in a night shirt! Yet with the firelight the only illumination in the room, Tony lay trembling and afraid.
He heard Darrell come down the stairs and go toward the kitchen; heard his angry shouting there and his questing to and fro. ’Phemy as well as Sapphira must have found some hiding place; and Tony grinned, relishing Darrell’s disappointment. In darkness there was nothing the young man could do. After a while Darrell went upstairs again. He would be in a fine rage tomorrow; but tomorrow was tomorrow. Time to meet it when it came.
In the morning Tony, for precaution, kept his bed. Darrell found him there, opening the door with no ceremony, looking at him across the room with narrowed, flickering eyes. “Indisposed, Uncle Tony?” he drawled.
“I’ve not yet fully recovered from my wound.”
Darrell showed his teeth. “That is clear. Your niggers here are out of hand. I’ll bring them to time. I’ll send for Mr. Pudrick and his hounds.” Tony said nothing. This was ’Phemy’s problem now. Darrell watched him for a moment, then turned away. Tony slipped out of bed and crossed to the window, hiding behind the curtains to see Darrell go.
He saw not only Darrell but ’Phemy. ’Phemy was coming up from the quarter; Darrell put himself in her path, slapping his riding crop against his thigh. She came steadily on as though to pass him, and he struck her in the face with the heavy thong. She stopped and stood still, not flinching, and he struck her again. But not again. Tony thought it possible her steadiness daunted even Darrell. The young man said something, and she came on and went into the kitchen. Darrell watched her as though in doubt, then returned toward the house again. Tony crept back to bed, to sanctuary.
After a time he heard Darrell in the dining room; and a little later he heard the thud of a horse’s feet at the front steps and then the quicker beats as Darrell rode away. He was still in bed when ’Phemy came to him with breakfast. There were dark welts on her brown cheek.
“He’s gone to Martinston,” he said, “to send for dogs. You must send Sapphira away.”
“He ain’ gwine lay eyes on her.”
“He’ll kill you, ’Phemy.”
“You res’ you‘se’f, Marse Tony.”
“He’ll be back.”
“I’ll know de minute he comes on de place ag’in.”
Tony trusted her intent but not her powers. Bed was the safest place for him. But before the morning was far spent, ’Phemy came to say that Ed Blandy, with his son behind him on the mule and with Alex Spain for company, was riding along the main road toward Chimneys.
Well, Ed must be faced. Tony, hurrying into his clothes, thought he feared Ed less and Darrell more. Ed at least was an honest and a decent man.
When the men rode up to the house Tony went out to greet them. His heart was pounding; for if Ed knew he had refused to sell provisions to Mrs. Blandy, this moment might be the end of him. He saw with some relief that though Alex had as usual a musket across his saddle and a heavy pistol in his saddle holster, Ed was unarmed. Tony said as steadily as possible: “Good morning, gentlemen.”
Alex Spain lifted his hand; Ed said: “Morning, Captain Currain.”
“Come in and warm yourselves,” Tony invited. “It’s a cold day.”
Ed said: “Why, I just came to speak to you, Captain. Here will do.”
Tony understood that Ed would be ill at ease in the drawing room. “Into my office then,” he insisted. “There’ll be a fire there.” They alighted and secured their animals to the hitching rail, and Ed’s son watched Tony with sullen eyes. Tony walked with them around the corner of the veranda to that pleasant room on the ground level, with its plastered walls and fine old timbers, where the plantation ledgers were kept. As they came in, ’Phemy set a fire going. The lightwood sticks and logs caught quickly, made a bright blaze.
“Now gentlemen, be comfortable,” Tony said courteously. When they were seated, Ed turning his hat in his hand, his son standing stiff beside him, Alex Spain with his musket across his knee, Tony said: “If I’d known you were home, Mr. Blandy, I would have come to you.”
Ed’s lips were white with grief and pain. “Captain Currain, my boy here wants to tell you something,” he said; and to his son: “Go on, Eddie.” The boy licked his lips, and he looked pleadingly at his father; but Ed did not relent. “Go on, son,” he repeated.
So the youngster, head high, obeyed. “I’m shore sorry I shot you, please sir, Captain Currain,” he said; and then tears burst in his eyes and he flung himself into his father’s arms, sobbing bitterly.
Tony said in reassuring gentleness: “I didn’t blame you, son, feeling the way you did.”
Ed Blandy asked: “Are you all right now, Captain?”
“Yes,” Tony told him. “Yes, I’m all right now.”
Ed said: “I’m sorry my wife set out to steal from you.” His arm encircled his son. “I told Eddie if you’d knowed we-uns was hungry you’d have helped us get along.”
Tony felt a deep spring of relief; for clearly Mrs. Blandy had never written Ed the truth. This understanding gave him courage. Alex Spain, though with some sardonic amusement in his eyes, said: “Captain Currain’s been a good neighbor to some of us, to be sure.” He added: “But I wouldn’t look for you to set a spring gun, Captain.”
Tony remembered Darrell. Here might be strong allies against that bold young man. “I didn’t,” he said. “My nephew set that trap gun in the smoke house. I didn’t know it was there.”
Ed Blandy said in honest relief: “I might have knowed that. Not but what you had a right to, if you wanted. But it didn’t look to me you would.” The boy’s sobs had ceased; he lifted his stained face from his father’s shoulder to look at Tony with the searching gaze of youth. Tony wa
s glad he need not lie.
“Someone had tried to get into the smoke house a few nights before,” he said. “I told Peg-leg to fix it so they couldn’t, that was all. Darrell put the gun there, not telling me.”
Alex Spain shifted his position; he spoke carefully: “Please sir, Captain Currain, Mrs. Shadd laid Mrs. Blandy out. When she came to wash her, there was a slug in her that had come from the side, and scraped across her front; but that wouldn’t have killed her. What killed her was another bullet in her back, right between the shoulder blades. That didn’t come from no set-gun.”
Tony had not known about the other bullet; the information spurred his memory. That night when Mrs. Blandy died, he had been awakened by the muffled sound when the set-gun was discharged; and an instant later he heard Darrell’s window open and heard Darrell fire two shots. So Darrell had killed her when she might have lived! Tony saw Alex and Ed waiting for him to speak, and his pulse began to pound. He himself, at the moment of Darrell’s shots, had been still in bed; but no one knew that. If he now made the case as black as possible against Darrell, there was none to challenge his testimony.
“Why yes,” he said carefully. “Darrell shot her. His room’s above mine. I heard the gun go off, and I ran to my window and I heard Darrell in the room over mine running to his window. There was enough starlight so we could see her, stumbling and crawling along, trying to get away. He shot her and she went down.” He knew these men. This would finish Darrell!
After a moment’s grave silence, Alex Spain rose deliberately to his feet; but Ed Blandy said quickly: “Hold on, Alex. He didn’t know it was a woman.”
Tony added the easy lie. “Yes, he did. When the set-gun went off, she screamed. A woman’s voice.”
Alex said reassuringly: “Why, I wasn’t going nowhere, Ed. Only to the kitchen to get a drink of water.”
“ ’Phemy’ll bring it,” Tony told him.
“I’ll go get it,” said Alex Spain, and he went out.
Ed Blandy asked in a low tone: “Where’s Mister Darrell, Captain Currain?”
“Gone to Martinston. He’ll be back soon.”
“Don’t let him come back. Send word to him to get away and stay away.”
“He won’t.”
“He’d better.” Ed rose. “I’ll go myself. There’s been blood enough. I’ll tell him to go away.”
Tony protested. “You’ll get hurt. Someone will.”
“I’ll not lay a hand on him,” Ed promised. “I’ll let him go away.” He looked at his son. “Eddie, you come on,” he said.
The boy followed them toward the door. When they came out, Alex Spain was yonder by the kitchen steps, ’Phemy holding a pail while Alex dipped water and drank. Blandy hesitated.
“Alex, you coming?” he called.
Alex shook his head. “No, I’m riding on.”
Ed’s mule was at the hitch rail. He swung to its back and gave Eddie a hand to scramble up behind him. “I’ll leave Eddie at home,” he told Tony quietly. “Then I’ll ride on to Martinston. If I miss seeing Mr. Darrell and he comes back here, you tell him to make hisself scarce.”
He waited for no answer. The mule trotted down the hill toward the big road.
Tony went indoors. He was cold, with sweat upon his brow. When he heard Alex Spain canter away, he began to tremble and his teeth to chatter. After some time, ’Phemy came to him. He asked her what Alex Spain had wanted of her. To know where Mr. Darrell was, she said. He told her Ed Blandy had gone to warn Darrell away. She smiled, and those welts Darrell had laid across her cheek burned red.
When Darrell returned, the western sun was low. Tony had thought to stay abed, but he could not; so he was dressed and about when Darrell’s horse, sweat-flecked and weary, came with hanging head to the steps. A boy took the horse, and Darrell strode into the hall, and Tony met him there. ’Phemy stood in the background.
“Well,” said Darrell grimly, “I had a long ride. The stage had gone, so I went to the railroad.” He looked at ’Phemy. “When Mr. Pudrick and his hounds get here, I’ll give them a practice run on you.”
She said humbly: “Please suh, Sapphira’s so little. She cain’t git away. Don’ put de dogs on her. She cain’t run away. She done racked her foot twell she cain’t hardly walk.”
Darrell grinned. “Well then, stop this nonsense! Where is she?”
To Tony’s astonishment, ’Phemy who was always so composed seemed on the verge of frightened tears. “Please suh, don’t ha’m mah baby!”
“Speak up. Where is she?”
The woman looked helplessly right and left. Tony gnawed at his mustache, half understanding. “I ca‘n’ he’p but tell him, Marse Tony,” she pleaded, as though seeking his permission.
Darrell laughed at them both. “Of course you can’t! Where is she?”
’Phemy wretchedly surrendered. “She hidin’ in de sawdust pit down undeh de mill.”
Darrell chuckled and swung toward the door; he ran down the steps and away. When he had disappeared, Tony turned to ’Phemy.
“Is she there?”
’Phemy shook her head. “She in her own room. I tolt Mister Spain I’d send him tuh de mill soon’s he come home.” There was content in her tone. “He ain’ gwine pester us no moah.”
Tony sat down, but he could not be still; he rose again and went out on the porch to listen for a rattle of shots from the direction of the mill. He heard no sound from that direction, but a rider in haste galloped up toward him from the road. This was Ed Blandy on his mule. Ed pulled up, the mule breathing hard.
“Is he here, Captain Currain? I couldn’t find him in town. They said he’d started for Statesville, and I went all the way. He’d been there and left. Is he here?”
“He came back,” Tony said through dry lips.
Then they both heard a sound down past the smoke house toward the mill. Tony turned to look. He saw a dozen mounted men coming at a fast walk up the slope toward the house. In the lead rode Alex Spain. Behind Alex, his hands bound, a rope from his neck to Alex’s saddle, Darrell was at a jog trot to keep the noosed rope slack.
As they neared the smoke house, Alex kicked his horse; its leap jerked Darrell off his feet, and the noose dragged him strangling to the smoke house door.
Ed Blandy met them there; and as Alex checked, Darrell sprawled in the dust behind him. Ed leaped off his mule and eased the noose around Darrell’s throat. Tony heard Darrell choking and coughing, heard his hoarse cry:
“God’s sake! God’s sake!”
Ed Blandy faced Alex and the others. “Boys, don’t do this. Let him go.”
Jeremy Blackstone, one of the old Martinston company who had deserted from the army and come home months ago, rode up beside Ed. Darrell scrambled to his knees, sobbed out entreaties.
“For God’s sake, gentlemen! For God’s sake!”
Ed laid his hand on Alex’s bridle. “Don’t, Alex,” he urged again. “She was my woman. I’m the one to say. Let him go.”
Jeremy Blackstone, behind Ed, swung his pistol like a cudgel. The heavy barrel clipped Ed above the ear, and he crumpled where he stood. Tony, at the end of the veranda, looking down upon them all, felt a retching nausea shake him; he put his arm around a pillar so that he would not fall. Jeremy Blackstone said evenly: “He ain’t hurt, Alex. Be all right in a minute or two. We don’t want him bothering.”
Alex nodded; he said mildly to Darrell, still on his knees: “We’re going a ways down the road, polecat. I sh’d guess’t you c’n walk faster’n you c’n crawl, but suit yourself.”
He turned his horse, and Darrell stumbled to his feet. The noose, though Ed had loosed it enough to let him breathe, was still around his neck. The men paid no heed to Tony on the veranda; but Darrell saw him and uttered a screaming cry, till Alex touched his horse to a fast walk that tightened the noose and hushed him.
Thus they passed the veranda steps, Darrell in dreadful silent effort trotting at the horse’s heels to keep some life-saving slack in the rope.
The little group of horsemen moved down the drive toward the road, and presently Alex put his horse to a jog so that Darrell had to run to keep up. The horsemen following sometimes hid Darrell, but Tony still caught glimpses of the running man.
When the driveway dipped down to the big road, they all passed out of sight, but if they turned away from Martinston they would be in Tony’s sight as they crossed the level bottom lands. He watched where they would reappear, and after a moment saw them. Honeysuckle grew along the fences, and the thick twining vines screened the road. Above that screen Tony could see the riders, and the heads and backs of their horses; and he could see Darrell’s head. Alex had checked his horse to a fast walk, so Darrell sometimes walked, sometimes trotted. They were already half a mile away, making toward the woods along the Yadkin.
Alex’s horse quickened its pace a little, and then suddenly it was trotting; and a moment later Darrell either tripped or was jerked off his feet. Because of the screening vines Tony could no longer see him; but Alex’s horse lifted to a canter and then to full gallop. Tony tried to shut his eyes, but he could not. He watched Alex ride at a dead run for another long half-mile, the others keeping their distance behind him; till beyond the bottom lands where the road dipped to the ford, they pelted in among the trees and disappeared.
Tony held hard to the pillar, and his stomach seemed to turn over and he was sick; but beside him ’Phemy said calmly, as she had said before:
“He ain’ gwine tuh pester us no moah.”
From the distant mountains, shadow flowed across the land as in the west the sun went down.
9
January-February, 1864
DOLLY’S decision to go for a visit with Jenny at the Plains was a relief to Tilda. Perhaps because of her own new taste of responsibility and of authority, the girl’s waywardness which she had used to think so charming now seemed to her dangerously frivolous. After all, Dolly was no longer a child in her ‘teens; she was twenty. She had as many beaux as ever; but except for Rollin Lyle and his unwelcome devotion, and for Captain Pew, who was certainly no beau, the others sooner or later turned from her to someone else. Tilda thought Dolly should marry and settle down to a demure and decorous life. It was high time she ceased coquetting with every man she saw. Perhaps at the Plains, where there would not be so many charming young men, she might decide on one.
House Divided Page 135
