Books: Miss Lou

E >> E. P. Roe >> Miss Lou

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25

She paid no more attention to him than if he had not spoken, and
entered Aun' Suke's domain. There was a mirthful flash in his dark
eyes as he followed her. When she saw him standing in the doorway,
her cold stare, more clearly than words, designated him "intruder."
He steadily returned her gaze, and Aun' Suke, who had been shouting
over freedom the night before, now had the temerity to quiver in all
her vast proportions with amusement.

"Madam," resumed Scoville, removing his hat, "will you give my
orders, or shall I?"

"Your orders, sir! and in my kitchen!"

"Certainly, madam, and my orders in this instance are simply the
dictates of humanity."

"I will see that our men are well cared for. I am not responsible
for the others."

"But I am, and all must fare alike. Cook, prepare a nice light
breakfast for all the wounded men before you do anything else."

"Yes, mars'r, I 'bey you, I sut'ny will."

Scoville strode away to attend to other duties. Mrs. Baron glared
after him and then at Aun' Suke, who at once began her work.

"Do you mean to say that you'll take no more orders from me?" the
old lady asked, in tones of suppressed anger.

"Kyant do mo' 'n one ting ter oncet. Ob co'se I git yo' breakfas'
when I kin. Reck'n dough we soon hab ter disergree on my wages. I'se
a free ooman."

"Oh, you are free and I am not. That's the new order of things your
Yankee friends would bring about."

"La now, misus," said matter-of-fact Aun' Suke, again shaking with
mirth at the idea, "you got mo' edication 'n me. Wat de use bein'
blin' des on puppose? Spose you en ole mars'r tell me dat ain' a
egg" (holding one up): "kyant I see? Hit's broad sun-up. Why not des
look at tings ez dey iz? Sabe a heap ob trouble. Yere, you lil
niggahs, hep right smart or you neber get yo' breakfas'."

Mrs. Baron went back to the house looking as if the end of the world
had come instead of the millennium.

In the hall she met her husband and Mrs. Whately, to whom she
narrated what had occurred. Mr. Baron had settled down into a sort
of sullen endurance, and made no answer, but Mrs. Whately began
earnestly: "Our very dignity requires that we have no more
collisions with a power we cannot resist. Even you, sister, must now
see that you gain nothing and change nothing. We can be merely
passive in our hostility. The only course possible for us is to
endure this ordeal patiently and then win Louise over to our
wishes."

Miss Lou, who was dusting the parlor, stole to the further end of
the apartment and rattled some ornaments to warn them of her
presence. She smiled bitterly as she muttered, "Our wishes; mine
will never be consulted."

Mrs. Whately entered the parlor and kissed her niece affectionately.
She did not like the girl's expression and the difficulty of her
task grew clearer. Nevertheless, her heart was more set on the
marriage than ever before, since her motives had been strengthened
by thought. That her son was bent upon it was one of the chief
considerations. "If I obtain for him this prize," she had reasoned,
"he must see that there is no love like a mother's."

Miss Lou, also, had been unconsciously revealing her nature to the
sagacious matron, who felt the girl, if won, would not become a
pretty toy, soon wearying her son by insipidity of character. "I
know better," the lady thought, "than to agree with brother and
sister that Louise is merely wilful and perverse." Feeling that she
was incapable of controlling her son, she would be glad to delegate
this task to the one who had the most influence over him and who
best promised to maintain it. She was not so blind in her indulgence
as helpless in it from long habit. She thought that as a wife the
girl would not only hold her own, but also do much toward
restraining her son in his wild tendencies; but she gave no weight
to the consideration often in Miss Lou's mind, "I do not see why
everything and everybody should exist for Cousin Mad's benefit."

Mrs. Whately secretly approved of Scoville's orders in regard to the
wounded, but did not so express herself, resolving not to come into
collision again with her relatives unless it was essential. She now
went out and assisted the surgical trooper in dressing the men's
injuries. Miss Lou had learned that breakfast would be delayed, and
so decided to satisfy her hunger partially at Aun' Jinkey's cabin.
The excitements of the preceding day had robbed her of all appetite,
but now she was ravenous. Her estrangement from her uncle and aunt
was so great that she avoided them, having a good deal of the
child's feeling, "I won't speak till they make up first."

The old negress heard her rapid steps and looked out from her door.
"Oh, mammy," cried the girl, "I'm that hungry I could almost eat
you, and I don't know when we'll have breakfast."

"You des in time, den, honey. Come right in."

But Miss Lou paused at the door in embarrassment, for Scoville had
risen from the table and was advancing to meet her. "Good-morning,
Miss Baron," he said. "Aunt Jinkey and Chunk have prepared me a
capital breakfast, and I should be only too delighted to share it. I
must be in the saddle soon and so availed myself of the first chance
for a meal. Please do not hesitate, for it will probably be my only
opportunity of saying good-by."

"Dar now, honey, sit right down. Ef Marse Scoville ain' quality den
I doan know um."

"Miss Baron," cried Scoville, laughing, "Aunt Jinkey has raised a
point now which you alone can settle--the question of my quality."

"About the same as my own, I reckon," said the girl, sitting down
with rosy cheeks. "Aun' Jinkey is evidently your ally, for she has
put her invitation in a form which I could not decline without
hurting the feelings of--"

"Your sincere and grateful friend," interrupted the officer.

"Uncle and aunt would think I was committing an unheard-of
indiscretion."

"But ARE you?"

"I'm too hungry to discuss the question now," she answered,
laughing. "Do let us hasten, for such OLD friends should not part
with their mouths full."

"Well, hit des does my ole heart good ter see you sittin' dar, Miss
Lou. I'se po'ful glad yo' mouf's full ob breakfas' en dat yo' eyes
ain' full ob tears. Wat we projeckin' 'bout yistidy?"

"Now, Aun' Jinkey, just keep still. I can't show becoming sentiment
on any subject except pones and such coffee as I have not tasted for
a long time."

"Hit Yankee coffee."

"I drink your health in my one contribution," cried Scoville. "Never
mind, aunty, we'll be jolly over it all the same. I agree with you.
It's worth a month's pay to see Miss Baron happy and hungry. I'd
like to know who has a better right. Aunt Jinkey's told me how you
protected her. That was fine. You'd make a soldier."

"Oh, please stop such talk, both of you. I'm ridiculously unlike the
heroines in uncle's library. Lieutenant, please don't say 'Ha! the
hour has come and we must part, perhaps forever.' I won't have any
forever. Uncle Lusthah has insured you gray hairs, and if you don't
come and see us before they're gray, Aun' Jinkey and I will believe
all uncle says about the Yankees."

"And so you ought," said Scoville. "Oh, I'll come back to breakfast
with you again, if I have to come on crutches. Well, I must go.
There is Chunk with the horses. Even now I'm keeping one ear open
for a shot from that hasty cousin of yours."

At this reference she looked grave and rose from the table.
"Lieutenant," she said, taking his proffered hand, "please do not
think me a giddy child nor an unfeeling girl. I DO thank you. I do
wish you well just as you wish me well--for your own sake. Oh, it
seems such a blessed thing for people to feel simple, honest
goodwill toward one another, without having some scheme back of it
all."

"Well, Miss Baron, if I had a chance I'd soon prove that I too had a
scheme. The chief point in it would be to keep all trouble out of
the eyes that looked on me so kindly when I came to my senses in
this cabin. Heaven bless your good, kind heart! Promise me one
thing."

"Well?"

"If your cousin comes soon there may be a sharp fight. Keep out of
danger. I could never be myself again if my coming here should
result in injury to you."

"As far as my curiosity will permit I will try to keep out of the
way. I've seen so little in my short life that I must make the most
of this brief opportunity. In a day or so you may all be gone, and
then the old humdrum life will begin again."

"Yes, we may all be gone before night. Your chief danger then will
be from the stragglers which follow the army like vultures. If
possible, I will induce the general to leave a guard to-night. I
wish Mr. Baron had a clearer eye to his interests and safety. The
general is not lamb-like. If a guard can be procured for to-night it
will be due to your action and my representations. My services as a
scout have brought me in rather close contact with the general, and
possibly I may induce him to give protection as long as the interest
of the service permits. All questions will be decided with reference
to the main chance; so, if I seem neglectful, remember I must obey
my orders, whatever they are. Ah! there's a shot."

Her hand ached long afterward from his quick, strong pressure, and
then he mounted and was away at a gallop. Miss Lou hastily returned
to the house, but Chunk coolly entered the cabin, saying, "I'se git
a bite fer mebbe I ain' yere ter dinner."

"Reck'n you better be skerce, Chunk, ef Mad Whately comes," said his
grandmother, trembling.

"I knows des w'at ter 'spect fum Mad Whately en fum dat ar oberseer
too, but dey fin' me a uggly ole hornet. I got my sting han'y," and
he tapped the butt of a revolver in the breast of his coat. Having
devoured the remnants of the breakfast he darted out and mounted his
horse also.

Mad Whately was coming sure enough, and like a whirlwind. He had
fallen in with the van of the Confederate advance during the night,
and by his representations had induced an early and forced march to
The Oaks. The vigilant Scoville, with his experiences as a scout
fresh in his mind, had foreseen this possibility. He had two plans
in his mind and was ready to act upon either of them.

Rushing through the hallway of the mansion from the rear entrance,
Miss Lou found her kindred on the veranda. They were too excited and
eager to ask where she had been, for the fierce rebel yell had
already been raised at the entrance of the avenue.

"Ah!" exclaimed Mr. Baron, "now we'll see this Yankee scum swept
away."

Apparently he would have good reason for his exultation. Scoville
was the last man in the world to fight blindly, and Miss Lou kept
her eyes on him. As he sat on his horse, where he commanded the best
view of the advancing enemy, she thought he appeared wonderfully
quiet. Not so his men. They were galloping to the right of the
mansion, where there was a grove on rising ground which formed a
long ridge stretching away to the northwest. It can readily be
guessed that it was Scoville's aim not to be cut off from the main
Union column by a superior force, and the ridge would enable him to
see his enemy before he fought, if he should deem it wise to fight
at all. He knew that his horses were fresh. If those of the
attacking party were somewhat blown he could easily keep out of the
way if it were too strong to cope with. He exchanged a few words
with the sergeant commanding the scouting party recently sent out,
and pointed to the grove with his sabre, then slowly followed with
his eye on the enemy.

Miss Lou was in a fever of apprehension in his behalf, for already
shots were fired at him from the Confederates. Suddenly she heard
the click of a musket lock just beneath her, and, looking down, saw
Perkins levelling a piece at Scoville. Quick as light she drew off
her slipper and dashed it into the man's face as he fired. By reason
of his disconcerted aim the bullet flew harmlessly by the Union
officer, who gave a quick, stern glance toward his assailant,
recognized him, and galloped after his men.

"You vile murderer!" cried Miss Lou, "would you shoot a man in his
back?"

"Oh, come, Perkins, that's hardly the thing, no matter what your
provocation," Mr. Baron added.

Perkins bestowed a malignant glance on Miss Lou, then limped away,
wearing a sullen look. The officer in command of the Confederates
sheered off across the lawn toward the grove, and the girl quickly
saw that his force greatly outnumbered that of Scoville. Mad Whately
dashed up to the piazza steps and asked breathlessly, "Are you all
safe?"

"Yes," cried his mother. "Thank God! I see you are safe also."

He turned his eyes on his cousin, but in her cold, steady gaze found
no encouragement. With something like an oath, he turned and
galloped after the attacking force.

But Scoville did not wait to be attacked. He continued with his men
along the ridge, retreating rapidly when pressed, pausing when
pursuit slackened. The officer in command soon remarked to Whately,
"We are using up our horses to no purpose, and we shall need them
for more important work later in the day."

Therefore he sounded recall and retired on the mansion, Scoville
following, thus proving that he was governed by other motives than
fear. Indeed, he was in a very genial frame of mind. He had got all
his men off safely, except two or three laggards, and had already
sent swift riders to inform his general of the situation. Knowing
that the tables would soon be turned, he was quite content that he
had not made an obstinate and useless resistance. "What's more," he
thought, "Miss Lou would not have kept out of danger. It isn't in
her nature to do so. Miss Lou! I wish I might call her that some day
and then drop the Miss. One thing is clear. If I meet that cousin
again, he'll show me no quarter. So I must look out for him and that
assassin of an overseer, too. She called him by his right name, the
brave little girl! No need of asking me to come back, for I'd go to
the ends of the earth to see her again."

If he had know how her presence of mind and swift action had in all
probability saved his life, his feelings would have been far more
vivid, while his belief in the luck of throwing an old shoe would
have become one of the tenets of his faith. Miss Lou went after the
extemporized missile and put it on again, saying, "I have fired my
first and last shot in this war."

"It is indeed becoming doubtful on which side you are," answered her
uncle sternly.

"I'm not on the side of that wretch Perkins. Suppose he had
succeeded, and Lieutenant Scoville's general came here, what mercy
could we expect? If Perkins values his life he had better not be
caught."

"I am glad indeed, Louise, that you prevented such a thing from
happening," said Mrs. Whately. "The result might have been very
disastrous, and in any event would have been horrible. It was a
brave, sensible thing to do, and you will find that Madison will
think so, too."

Mad Whately, however, was in anything but a judicial mood.

CHAPTER XIX

A GIRL'S APPEAL

Miss Lou was too well acquainted with, her cousin not to recognize
evidences of almost ungovernable rage during the brief moment he had
paused at the veranda. She looked significantly at his mother, whose
face was pale and full of an apprehension now uncalled for, since
the prospect of an immediate battle had passed away. "She is afraid
of him herself, her own son, and yet she would marry me to him," the
girl thought bitterly.

Miss Lou was mistaken. Her aunt had fears only FOR her son, knowing
how prone he was to rash, headlong action when almost insane from
passion. The girl, however, was elated and careless. She justly
exulted in the act by which she had baffled the vengeance of
Perkins, and she had ceased to have the anxieties of a bitter
Southern partisan. Such she would have been but for her alienation
from those identified with the cause. She was capable of the most
devoted loyalty, but to whom should she give it? If a loving father
or brother had been among the Confederates, there would have been no
question. Now she was sorely perplexed in her feelings, for the
South was represented by those bent upon doing her a wrong at which
her very soul revolted, and the North by one who had satisfied her
sense of right and justice, who, more than all, had warmed her heart
by kindness. The very friendliness of the negroes inclined her to
take their part almost involuntarily, so deep was the craving of her
chilled nature for sympathy. If she had been brought up in loving
dependence she would not have been so well equipped for the chaotic
emergency. Having no hope of good counsel from natural advisers, she
did not waste a moment in seeking it, or weakly hesitate for its
lack. What her bright, active mind suggested as right and best, that
she was ready to do instantly. Now that she had gained freedom she
would keep it at all hazards.

When the Confederate officers approached the house, she was glad to
observe that her cousin was not chief in command.

Mr. Baron went down upon the lawn to meet the officers, and, after a
brief parley, Major Brockton, the senior in command, began to
dispose of his men for a little rest and refreshment, promising to
join the family soon in the dining-room. Miss Lou, unasked, now
aided in the preparations for the morning meal. Fearing Aun' Suke
would get herself in trouble, she ran to the kitchen and told the
old cook to comply with all demands as best she could. She had
scarcely spoken when Mrs. Baron entered. Casting a severe look on
her niece, she asked Aun' Suke, "Will you obey me now? Will you tell
me you are a free woman now?"

"My haid in a whirl aready, misus. Ef you wants me ter I kin cook,
but I kyant keep track ob de goin's on."

"I can," replied the indomitable old lady, "and I can keep a good
memory of the behavior of all on the plantation!"

"You can't govern much longer by fear, aunt," said Miss Lou. "Had
you not better try a little kindness?"

"What has been the result of all the years of kindness bestowed upon
you?" was the indignant answer.

"I only meant that it might be well to bestow a little of what other
people regard as kindness. I had asked Aun' Suke to do her best and
am sure she will."

"It will be strange if she does, when you are setting the example of
doing your worst. But I am mistress once more, and wish no
interference."

"Doan you worry, honey, 'bout we uns," said Aun' Suke quietly. "We
yeard de soun' fum far away, en we year it agin soon."

Meanwhile Mad Whately was closeted with his uncle and mother,
listening with a black frown to all that had occurred.

"I tell you," exclaimed the young man, "it's as clear as the sun in
the sky that she should be sent away at once--in fact, that you all
should go."

"I won't go," said Mr. Baron, "neither will my wife. If the country
has come to such a pass that we must die on our hearths we will die
right here."

"Then with my whole authority, mother, I demand that you and my
cousin go at once while opportunity still remains. The forces on
both sides are concentrating here, and this house may soon be in the
midst of a battle. Lou will be exposed to every chance of war. By
Heaven! the girl to be my wife shall not trifle with me longer. Oh,
mother! how could you let her walk and talk alone with that Yankee
officer?"

"I tell you both you are taking the wrong course with Louise," began
Mrs. Whately.

"You never spoke a truer word, auntie," said Miss Lou, entering.

Stung to the quick, Whately sprang up and said sternly, "In this
emergency I am the head of my family. I command you to be ready
within an hour to go away with my mother. Perkins and a small guard
will go with you to my cousin's house."

"Go away with that cowardly wretch, Perkins? Never!"

"You are to go away with your aunt and my mother, and you cannot
help yourself. Your readiness to receive attentions from a miserable
Yankee cub shows how little you are to be trusted. I tell you for
the honor of our house you SHALL go away. I'd shoot you rather than
have it occur again."

"You silly, spoiled, passionate boy!" exclaimed Miss Lou, rendered
self-possessed by the very extravagance of her cousin's anger. "Do
you suppose I will take either command or counsel from one who is
beside himself? Come, Cousin Mad, cool off, or you'll have some more
repenting at leisure to do."

She walked quietly out of the room to the veranda just as Major
Brockton was about to announce himself.

"Miss Baron, I presume," he said, doffing his hat.

"Yes, sir. Please sit down. I think we shall soon be summoned to
breakfast. If the worst comes to the worst," she resolved, "I can
appeal to this officer for protection."

"Mother," said Whately in a choking voice, "be ready to go the
moment you have your breakfast."

His passion was so terrible that she made a feint of obeying, while
he rushed out of the rear door. Perkins readily entered into the
plan, and gave Whately further distorted information about Miss
Lou's recent interview with Scoville. Mrs. Whately's horses were
quickly harnessed to her carriage, and Perkins drove it near to the
back entrance to the mansion.

As Whately entered, his mother put her hand on his arm, and warned,
"Madison, I fear you are all wrong--"

"Mother, I will be obeyed at once. The carriage is ready. My own
men, who have been paroled, will act as escort. Lou shall go if
taken by force."

"Madison, what can you hope from a wife won by such violence?"

"She will fear and obey me the rest of her life. I'd rather die ten
thousand deaths than be balked after what she has said. Come, let's
go through the form of breakfast and then I shall act."

They found Miss Lou with her uncle, aunt, and Major Brockton already
at the table. The major at once resumed his condolences. "I am very
sorry indeed," he said, "that you ladies are compelled to leave your
home."

"Do you think it wisest and best that we should?" asked Mrs. Whately
quickly, hoping that her niece would feel the force of the older
officer's decision.

"Yes, madam, I do. I think that the sooner you all are south of our
advance the better. It is possible that a battle may take place on
this very ground, although I hope not. As soon as my men have had
something to eat I shall follow the Yankees, a course I trust that
will bring on the action elsewhere; but this region will probably
become one of strife and turmoil for a time. It won't last long,
however, and if the house is spared I think you can soon return."

Mrs. Baron poured the coffee and then excused herself. A few moments
later Miss Lou, who was very observant, noted a significant glance
from Zany. As the dusky waitress started ostensibly for the kitchen,
the young girl immediately followed. Whately hesitated a moment or
two, then left the breakfast room also. But Zany had had time to
whisper:

"Oh, Miss Lou, Miss Whately's keridge's at de do', en Perkins en
sogers wid it. Ole miss in yo' room en--"

"Quit that," said Whately in a low, stern voice, and Zany scuttled
away.

"Now, then," resumed Whately to his cousin, "if you have any dignity
or sense left, get ready at once. I can tell you that I'm far past
being trifled with now."

"I'll finish my breakfast first, if you please," was the quiet
response, so quiet that he was misled, and imagined her will
breaking before his purpose.

They were scarcely seated at the table again before she startled
them all by saying, "Major Brockton, I appeal to you, as a Southern
gentleman and a Southern officer, for protection."

"Why, Miss Baron!" exclaimed the major, "you fairly take away my
breath."

"Little wonder, sir. I have had mine taken away."

"Louise, you are insane!" cried Mr. Baron, starting up.

"Major, you can see for yourself that I am not insane, that I have
perfect self-control. As you are a true man I plead with you not to
let my cousin send me away. He can only do so by force, but I plead
with you not to permit it. If I must I will tell you all, but I'd
rather not. I am an orphan and so have sacred claims on every true
man, and I appeal to you. I do not fear any battle that may be
fought here, but I do fear being sent away, and with good reason."

"Oh, Louise!" cried Mrs. Whately, with scarlet face, "you place us
in a horrible position."

"Not in so horrible a one as I have been placed, and which I will
not risk again, God is my witness."

Major Brockton looked very grave, for he was acquainted with
Whately's recklessness. The young man himself was simply speechless
from rage, but Mr. Baron sprang up and said sternly, "You shall hear
the whole truth, sir. It can be quickly told, and then you can judge
whether I, as guardian, am capable of countenancing anything
unwarranted by the highest sense of honor. This girl, my niece, has
been virtually betrothed to her cousin since childhood. I and her
aunts deemed it wisest and safest, in view of dangers threatening
the direst evils, that she should be married at once and escorted by
my sister and her son to the house of a relative residing further
south. First and last, we were considering her interests, and above
all, her safety. That's all."

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25