Chapter Fourth.
"O, what a state is guilt! how wild! how wretched!"--HAVARD.
The war had wrought many changes in the neighborhood where our friendsresided; some who had been reared in the lap of luxury were now inabsolute want, having sacrificed almost their last dollar in the causeof secession; to which also in numerous instances, the husbands, sonsand brothers had fallen victims.
Though through the clemency of the Government there had been noexecutions for treason, no confiscation of property, many plantationshad changed hands because of the inability of the original owners towork them, for lack of means to pay the laborers.
Elsie's tender sympathies were strongly enlisted for these old friendsand acquaintances, and their necessities often relieved by her bountywhen they little guessed whence help had come. Her favors were doubledby the delicate kindness of the manner of their bestowal.
The ability to give largely was the greatest pleasure her wealthafforded her, and one in which she indulged to the extent of disposingyearly in that way, of the whole surplus of her ample income; notwaiting to be importuned, but constantly seeking out worthy objects uponwhom to bestow that of which she truly considered herself but a stewardwho must one day render a strict account unto her Lord.
It was she who had repaired the ravages of war in Springbrook, theresidence of Mr. Wood, her pastor; she who, when the Fosters ofFairview, a plantation adjoining Ion, had been compelled to sell it, hadbought a neat cottage in the vicinity and given them the use of it at amerely nominal rent. And in any another like deed had she done; alwayswith the entire approval of her husband, who was scarcely less generousthan herself.
The purchaser of Fairview was a Mr. Leland, a northern man who had beenan officer in the Union army. Pleased with the southern climate and theappearance of that section of country, he felt inclined to settle thereand assist in the development of its resources; he therefore returnedsome time after the conclusion of peace, bought this place, and removedhis family thither.
They were people of refinement and culture, quiet and peaceable, steadyattendants upon Mr. Wood's ministry, and in every way conductedthemselves as good citizens.
Yet they were not popular: the Fosters, particularly Wilkins, the onlyson, hated them as their supplanters, and saw with bitter envy the rapidimprovement of Fairview under Mr. Leland's careful cultivation. It wasno fault of his that they had been compelled to part with it, and he hadpaid a fair price: but envy and jealousy are ever unreasonable; andtheir mildest term of reproach in speaking of him was "carpet-bagger."
Others found fault with Mr. Leland as paying too liberal wages to thenegroes (including Mr. Horace Dinsmore and Mr. Travilla in the samecharge), and hated him for his outspoken loyalty to the Government; forthough he showed no disposition to seek for office or meddle in any waywith the politics of others, he made no secret of his views whenoccasion seemed to call for their expression. It was not a prudentcourse under existing circumstances, but accorded well with the frankand fearless nature of the man.
Messrs. Dinsmore and Travilla, themselves strong Unionists, though thelatter was more discreet in the utterance of his sentiments, found inhim a kindred spirit. Rose and Elsie were equally pleased with Mrs.Leland, and pitying her loneliness, called frequently, inviting a returnof their visits, until now the three families had become tolerablyintimate.
This state of things was extremely displeasing to Louise and Enna;scarcely less so to their father; but the others, convinced that theywere in the path of duty in thus extending kindness and sympathy todeserving strangers, who were also "of the household of _faith_," werenot to be deterred by remonstrances or vituperation. "Scalawags"--a termof reproach applied by the Democrats of the South to the Republicans,who were natives of that section--was what Enna called her brother, hisson-in-law and daughter, when out of hearing of her father, who thoughvexed at their notice of the Lelands, was too strongly attached to hisonly remaining son, and too sensible of the kindness he had received atthe hands of Mr. Travilla and Elsie, to permit anything of that sort.
The Lelands had several young children, well-bred and of goodprinciples, and it angered Louise and Enna that Elsie evidentlypreferred them to their own rude, deceitful, spoiled offspring ascompanions and playmates for her little ones.
Elsie and her husband were very desirous to live on good terms withthese near relatives, but not to the extent of sacrificing theirchildren's morals; therefore did not encourage a close intimacy withtheir Roselands cousins; yet ever treated them politely and kindly, andmade a valuable present to each on every return of his or her birthday,and on Christmas; always managing to select something specially desiredby the recipient of the favor.
Mr. and Mrs. Dinsmore pursued a similar course; Rosie was allowed to beas intimate as she chose at Ion, and with her Aunt Sophie's children,but never visited Roselands except with her parents or sister; nor werethe Roseland cousins ever invited to make a lengthened stay at the Oaks.
One afternoon, several weeks subsequent to the events related in thelast chapter, Mary and Archie Leland came over to Ion to spend an hourwith their young friends.
The weather was delightful, and the children preferred playing out ofdoors; the girls took their dolls to a summer-house in the garden, whilewith kite, ball and marbles, the boys repaired to the avenue.
"Who are those?" asked Archie, as looking up at the sound of approachingfootsteps he saw two boys, a good deal older than themselves, comingleisurely toward them.
"My cousins, Wal Conly and Dick Percival," answered Eddie. "I wish theyhadn't come, they always tease me so."
"Hilloa!" cried Dick, "what! Ed Travilla, you play with carpet-baggers,eh? fie on you! I wouldn't be seen with one."
"That's not polite, Dick. Archie's a good boy; mamma and papa says so;and I like him for a playfellow."
"You do? ah, that's because you're a scalawag."
"What's that?"
"What your father is and your grandfather too."
"Then I don't care; I want to be just like my papa."
"But it isn't nice," put in Walter, laughing, "a scalawag's the meanestthing alive."
"Then you shall not call papa that, nor grandpa!" and the child's greatdark eyes flashed with anger.
"Whew! I'd like to see you hinder me. Look here, Ed," and Dick pulledout a pistol, "what d'ye think o' that? don't you wish you had one?don't you wish you could shoot?"
"I can," returned Eddie, proudly, "papa's been teaching me, and he'sgiven me a better pistol than that."
"Hey! a likely story!" cried the two tormentors, with an incredulouslaugh. "Let's see it now?"
"It's in the house, but papa said I should never touch it 'cept when hegives it to me; not till I grow a big boy."
"Nonsense!" cried Dick, "if 'twas there, you'd bring it out fastenough. I sha'n't believe a word of the story until I see the pistol."
"I'll show you if I'm not telling the truth;" exclaimed Eddie, flushinghotly, and turning about as if to go into the house.
But Archie laid a hand on his arm, and speaking for the first time sincethe others had joined them, "Don't, Eddie," he said persuasively, "don'tdisobey your father; I know you'll be sorry for it afterwards."
"Hold your tongue, you young carpet-bagger," said Dick. "Run and get it,Ed."
"No, never mind about his pistol, he can't shoot," said Walter,mockingly. "If he can, let him take yours and prove it."
Eddie remembered well that his father had also forbidden him to touchfirearms at all, except when with him; but the boy was naturally proudand wilful, and spite of all the careful training of his parents, thesefaults would occasionally show themselves.
He did not like to have his word doubted, he was eager to prove hisskill, which he conceived to be far greater than it was, and as hiscousins continued to twit and tease him, daring him to show what hecould do, he was sorely tempted to disobey.
They were slowly walking on farther from the house as they talked, andfinally when Dick said, "why, Ed, you
couldn't hit that big tree yonder,I dare you to try it," at the same time offering him the pistol, thelittle fellow's sense of duty suddenly gave way, and snatching theweapon from Dick's hand, he fired, not allowing himself time, in hishaste and passion, to take proper aim.
In their excitement and pre-occupation, none of the boys had noticed Mr.Travilla riding into the avenue a moment before, closely followed by hisbody servant Ben. Almost simultaneously with the report of the pistolthe former tumbled from the saddle and fell heavily to the ground.
With a cry, "O, Mass Edard's killed!" Ben sprang from his horse and bentover the prostrate form, wringing his hands in fright and grief. He washis master's foster-brother and devotedly attached to him.
The fall, the cry, the snorting and running of the frightened horses,instantly told the boys what had happened, and Eddie threw himself onthe ground screaming in an agony of grief and remorse, "O, I've killedmy father, my dear, dear father! O, papa, papa! what shall I do? whatshall I do?"
Mr. Leland coming in search of his children, the men passing the gatereturning from their work, all heard and rushed to the spot. The blackscrowded about the scene of the accident, sobbing like children at thesight of their loved master and friend lying there apparently lifeless.
Mr. Leland, his features working with emotion, at once assumed thedirection of affairs.
"Catch the horses," he said, "and you, Ben, mount the fleetest and flyfor the doctor. And you," turning to another, "take the other and hurryto the Oaks for Mr. Dinsmore. Now the rest of you help me to carry yourmaster to the house. I will lift his head, there gently, gently, my goodfellows, I think he still breathes. But Mrs. Travilla!" he added,looking toward the dwelling, "all seems quiet there; they have notheard, I think, and she should be warned. I wish--"
"I will go, I will tell mamma," interrupted a quivering child voice athis side.
Little Elsie had pushed her way through the crowd and dropping on herknees on the grass was raining kisses and tears upon the pale,unconscious face.
"You? poor child!" Mr. Leland began in piteous tones; but she hadalready sprung to her feet and was flying toward the house with thefleetness of the wind.
One moment she paused in the spacious entrance hall, to recover herbreath, calm her features, and remove the traces of her tears. "Mamma,mamma," she was saying to herself, "O Lord Jesus give me the right wordsto speak to her."
She hardly knew to which apartment to direct her steps, but "Hark! therewas the sound of the piano and mamma's sweet voice singing a song papahad brought home only the other day, and that he liked. Ah would sheever sing again now that he--"
But no, not even in thought could she say that dreadful word; but sheknew now that mamma was in the music room; and earnestly repeating hersilent petition for help, she hurried thither.
The door was open; with swift, noiseless steps she gained her mother'sside; passing an arm about her neck, and half averting her own pale,agitated face, "Mamma," she said in low, tremulous tones, "'God is ourrefuge and strength, a very present help in trouble!' Mamma, Jesus lovesyou, Jesus loves you! He will help you to bear--"
"My daughter, what is it?" asked the mother in a tone of forcedcalmness, a terrible pang shooting through her heart, "your father?Eddie? Vi?"--then starting up at a sound as of the feet of those whobore some heavy burden, she ran into the hail.
For a moment she stood as one transfixed with grief and horror.
"He breathes, he lives," Mr. Leland hastened to say.
Her lips moved but no words came from them. Silently motioning them tofollow her, she led the way to his room and pointed to the bed. Theylaid him on it and at that instant consciousness returned.
"Dear wife, it is nothing," he faintly murmured, lifting his eyes toher face as she bent over him in speechless anguish.
She softly pressed her lips to his brow, her heart too full forutterance.
The words sent a thrill of gladness to the heart of little Elsie, whohad crept in behind the men, and stood near the bed silently weeping;her father lived; and now Eddie's frantic screams seemed to ring in herears (in her fear for her father she had scarcely noticed them before)and she must go and tell him the glad news. She was not needed here;mamma was not conscious of her presence, and she could do nothing forthe dear injured father. She stole quietly from the room.
On the veranda she found Violet crying bitterly, while Mary Lelandvainly tried to comfort her.
"Don't cry so, little sister," Elsie said, going to her and taking herin her arms in tender motherly fashion, "our dear papa is not killed;I saw him open his eyes, and heard him say to mamma, 'Dear wife, it isnothing.'"
Vi clung to her sister with a fresh burst of tears, but this time theywere tears of joy. "O, I'm so glad! I thought I had no papa any more."
A few more soothing words and caresses and Elsie said, "Now I must goand tell poor Eddie. Do you know where he is?"
"Hark! don't you hear him crying way off in the grounds?" said Mary, "Ithink he's just where he was."
"O, yes, yes!" and Elsie hastened in the direction of the sounds.
She found him lying on the grass still crying in heart-broken accents,"Oh, I've killed my father, my dear, dear father! what shall I do! whatshall I do!"
Dick and Walter were gone; like the guilty wretches they were, they hadfled as soon as they saw what mischief they had caused. But Archie tookind-hearted and noble to forsake a friend in distress, was still there.
"You didn't mean to do it, Eddie," he was saying, as Elsie came withinhearing.
"No, no," burst out the half distracted child, "I wouldn't hurt my dearpapa one bit for all the world! but it was 'cause I disobeyed him. Hetold me never to touch firearms when he wasn't by to help me do itright. Oh, oh, oh, I didn't think I'd ever be such a wicked boy! I'vekilled my father, oh! oh!"
"No, Eddie, no, you haven't; papa opened his eyes and spoke to mamma,"said his sister hurrying to his side.
"Did he? O Elsie, is he alive? Isn't he hurt much?" asked the child,ceasing his cries for the moment, and lifting his tear-swollen face tohers.
"I don't know, Eddie dear, but I hope not," she said, low andtremulously, the tears rolling fast down her own cheeks, while she tookout her handkerchief and gently wiped them away from his.
He dropped his head again, with a bitter, wailing cry. "O, I'm afraid heis, and I shooted him! I shooted him!"
Fortunately Dr. Burton's residence was not far distant, and Ben urgingBeppo to his utmost speed and finding the doctor at home, had him at Mr.Travilla's bedside in a wonderfully short space of time.
The doctor found the injury not nearly so great as he had feared: theball had struck the side of the head and glanced off, making a merescalp-wound, which, though causing insensibility for a time, would haveno very serious or lasting consequences; the blood had been alreadysponged away, and the wound closed with sticking plaster.
But the fall had jarred the whole system and caused some bruises; sothat altogether the patient was likely to have to keep his bed for somedays, and the doctor said must be kept quiet and as free from excitementas possible.
Elsie, leaving Aunt Chloe at the bedside, followed the physician fromthe room.
"You need give yourself no anxiety, my dear Mrs. Travilla," he saidcheerily, taking her hand in his for a moment, in his kind fatherlyway--for he was an old man now, and had known her from her earlychildhood--"the injuries are not at all serious, and there is no reasonwhy your husband should not be about again in a week or so. But how didit happen? What hand fired the shot?"
"Indeed I do not know, have not asked," she answered, with an emotionof surprise at herself for the omission. "It seems strange I should not,but I was so taken up with grief and fear for him, and anxiety torelieve his suffering that I had room for no other thought. Can youtell us, sir?" turning to Mr. Leland, who was standing near.
"I--did not see the shot," he replied with some hesitation.
"But you know; tell me, I beg of you."
"It was an accid
ent, madam, entirely an accident: there can be noquestion about that."
"But tell me all you know," she entreated, growing very pale. "I see youfear to wound me, but it were far better I should know the whole truth."
"I suppose your little son must have been playing with a pistol," heanswered, with evident reluctance. "I heard him screaming, 'O, I'vekilled my father, my dear, dear father!'"
"Eddie!" she groaned, staggering back against the wall, and putting herhand over her eyes.
"My dear madam!" "My dear Mrs. Travilla," the gentlemen exclaimedsimultaneously, "do not let it distress you so, since it must have beenthe merest accident, and the consequences are not so serious as theymight have been."
"But he was disobeying his father, and has nearly taken his life," shemoaned low and tremulously, the big tears coursing down her cheeks. "Oh,my son, my son!"
The gentlemen looked uneasily at each other, scarcely knowing whatconsolation to offer; but a well known step approached, hastily, yetwith caution, and the next instant Elsie was clasped in her father'sarms.
"My darling, my poor darling!" he said with emotion, as she laid herhead on his breast, with a burst of almost hysterical weeping.
He caressed her silently. How could he ask the question trembling on hislips? what meant this bitter weeping? His eye sought that of thephysician, who promptly answered the unspoken query with the samecheering report he had just given her.
Mr. Dinsmore was intensely relieved. "Thank God that it is no worse!" hesaid in low, reverent tones. "Elsie, daughter, cheer up, he will soon bewell again."
Mr. Leland, taking leave, offered to return and watch by the sick bedthat night; but Mr. Dinsmore, while joining Elsie in cordial thanks,claimed it as his privilege.
"Ah, well, don't hesitate to call upon me whenever I can be of use,"said Mr. Leland, and with a kindly "Good evening," he and the doctorretired, Mr. Dinsmore seeing them to the door.
Returning, he found Elsie still in the parlor where he had left her.
She was speaking to a servant, "Go, Prilla, look for the children, andbring them in. It is getting late for them to be out."
The girl went, and Elsie saying to her father that Prilla had broughtword that Mr. Travilla was now sleeping, begged him to sit down and talkwith her for a moment. The tears fell fast as she spoke. It was longsince he had seen her so moved.
"Dear daughter, why distress yourself thus?" he said, folding her in hisarms, and drawing her head to a resting place upon his breast; "yourhusband's injuries are not very serious. Dr. Burton is not one todeceive us with false hopes."
"No, papa, oh, how thankful I am to know he is not in danger; but--oh,papa, papa! to think that Eddie did it! that my own son should have sonearly taken his father's life! I grow sick with horror at the verythought!"
"Yet it must have been the merest accident, the child almost idolizeshis father."
"I had thought so, but he must have been disobeying that father'spositive command else this could not have happened. I could never havebelieved my son could be so disobedient, and it breaks my heart to thinkof it all."
"The best of us do not always resist temptation successfully, anddoubtless in this case it has been very strong. And he is bitterlyrepenting; I heard him crying somewhere in the grounds as I rode up theavenue, but could not then take time to go to him, not knowing how muchyou and Travilla might be needing my assistance."
"My poor boy; he does love his father," she said, wiping her eyes.
"There can be no question about that, and this will be a life-longlesson to him."
"Papa, you always bring me comfort," she said gratefully. "And you willstay with us to-night?"
"Yes; I could not leave you at such a time. I shall send a note to Rose,to relieve her anxiety in regard to Edward's accident, and let her knowthat she need not expect me home till morning. Well, Prilla," as thegirl reappeared, "what is it? why have you not brought the children asyour mistress directed?"
"Please, sah, Massa Dinsmore, Mars Eddie won't come; he jes' lie on deground an' scream an' cry, 'O, I've killed my fader, my dear, dearfader,' an Miss Elsie she comfortin' an' coaxin', an' pleadin', but hewon't pay no pretention to nobody."
Elsie wept anew. "My poor child! my poor little son! what am I to dowith him?"
"I will go to him; trust him to me," Mr. Dinsmore said, leaving the roomwith a quick firm step.
Elsie's Motherhood Page 4
