The Storm Centre: A Novel

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  THE STORM CENTRE _A NOVEL_

  BY CHARLES EGBERT CRADDOCK

  AUTHOR OF "THE STORY OF OLD FORT LOUDON," "A SPECTRE OF POWER," "IN THE STRANGER-PEOPLE'S COUNTRY," "THE PROPHET OF THE GREAT SMOKY MOUNTAINS," "WHERE THE BATTLE WAS FOUGHT," ETC.

  New York THE MACMILLAN COMPANY LONDON: MACMILLAN & CO., LTD. 1905

  COPYRIGHT, 1905, By THE MACMILLAN COMPANY.

  Set up and electrotyped. Published June, 1905.

  Norwood Press J. S. Cushing & Co.--Berwick & Smith Co. Norwood, Mass., U.S.A.

  THE STORM CENTRE

  CHAPTER I

  The place reminded him then and later of the storm centre of a cyclone.Outside the tempests of Civil War raged. He could hear, as he sat in thequiet, book-lined room, the turbulent drums fitfully beating in tentedcamps far down the Tennessee River. Through the broad, old-fashionedwindow he saw the purple hills opposite begin to glow with a myriad ofgolden gleams, pulsing like fireflies, that told of thousands of troopsin bivouac. He read the mystic message of the signal lights, shiningwith a different lustre, moving athwart the eminence, then back again,expunged in blackness as a fort across the river flashed out an answer.A military band was playing at headquarters, down in the night-begloomedtown, and now and again the great blare of the brasses came widelysurging on the raw vernal gusts. In the shadowy grove in front of thissuburban home his own battery of horse-artillery was parked. It hadearlier made its way over many an obstacle, and, oddly enough, throughits agency he was recently enabled to penetrate the exclusive reserveof this Southern household, always hitherto coldly aloof and averse tothe invader.

  He had chanced to send a pencilled message on his card to the mansion.It merely expressed a warning to lift the sashes of the windows duringthe trial practice of a new gun, lest in the firing the glass beshattered by the concussion of the air. His name was unusual, and seeingit on the card recalled many pleasant reminiscences to the mind of oldJudge Roscoe. Another "Fluellen Baynell" had been his college chum, andinquiry developed the fact that this Federal captain of artillery wasthe son of this ancient friend. An interchange of calls ensued. And heresat Captain Baynell in the storm centre, the quiet of evening closingin, the lamp on the table serenely aglow, the wood fire flashing on thehigh brass andirons and fender, the lion delineated on the velvet rugrespectfully crouching beneath his feet. But in this suave environmenthe was beginning to feel somewhat embarrassed, for the old coloredservant who had admitted him and replenished the fire, and whom he hadpolitely greeted as "Uncle Ephraim," in deference to his age, nowloitered, volubly criticising the unseen, unknown inmates of the house,who would probably overhear, for at any moment the big oak door mightusher them into the room.

  His excuses for his master's delay to appear absorbed but little time,and he assiduously brushed the polished stone hearth with a turkey wingto justify his lingering in conversation with the guest. Unexpectedbusiness had called Judge Roscoe to the town, thus preventing him frombeing present upon the arrival of Captain Baynell, invited to partake oftea _en famille_.

  "But den, he 'lowed dat Miss Leonora--dat's Mrs. Gwynn, his niece, awidder 'oman--would be ready, but Marster mought hev' knowed dat MissLeonora ain't never ready for nuffin till day arter ter-morrow! Dendere's de ladies--dey hes been dressin' fur ye fur better dan an hour.But shucks! de ladies is so vain dat dey is jus' ez liable ter keep ondressin' fur anodder hour yit!"

  This was indubitably flattering information; but Captain Baynell, ablond man of thirty, of a military stiffness in his brilliant uniform,and of a most uncompromising dignity, glanced with an uneasy monition atthe door, a trifle ajar. He was sensible, notwithstanding, of anunusually genial glow of expectation. The rude society of camps wasunacceptable to a man of his exacting temperament, and, the sentiment ofthe country being so adverse to the cause he represented, he had hadscant opportunities here to enter social circles of the grade that wouldelsewhere have welcomed him. He had not adequately realized how he hadmissed these refinements and felt the deprivation of his isolation tillthe moment of meeting the ladies of Judge Roscoe's household was athand. He had hardly expected, however, to create so great a flutteramongst them, and he was at once secretly elated and disdainful.

  Although a stranger to the ladies, the officer was well known to the oldservant. The guns had hardly been unlimbered in the beautiful grove infront of the house ere the ancient slave had appeared in the camp toexpress his ebullient patriotism, to thank his liberators for hisfreedom,--for this was the result of the advance of the Federal army, amilitary measure and not as yet a legal enactment.

  Despite his exuberant rhetoric, there was something tenuous about hisfervent protestations, and the fact that he still adhered to hismaster's service suggested a devotion to the old regime incongruous withhis loudly proclaimed welcome of the new day.

  "Why don't you leave your servitude, then, Uncle Ephraim?" one of theyounger officers had tentatively asked him.

  "Dat is jes' whut I say!" diplomatically replied Uncle Ephraim, who thuscame to be called "the double-faced Janus."

  Now indeed, instead of a vaunt of liberty, he was disposed to apologize,for the sake of the credit of the house, that there were no more slavesto make a braver show in servitude.

  "Dey ain't got no butler now,--he's in a restauroar up north,--nor nocar'age driver; dat fool nigger went off wid de Union army, an' gotkilled in a scrimmage. He would hev' stayed wid Marster, dough, if deFed'ral folks hedn't tuk de hosses off wid de cavalry; he 'lowed he wuztoo lonesome yere, wid jes' nuffin' but two-footed cattle ter 'sociatewid."

  Once more he whisked the turkey wing along the clean, smooth hearth;then, still on his knees before the fire, he again addressed himself tothe explanations he deemed fit as to the reduced status of his master'shousehold.

  "Me an' my wife is all de servants dey got now--she's Chaney, de cook inde kitchen. Dey hatter scuse me, fur I never waited in de house afore.No, sah! jes' a wuckin' hand; jes' a cawnfield hand, out'n de cawnfieldstraight!"

  Whisk went the turkey wing.

  "Dat's whut I tell Miss Leonora,--dat's Mrs. Gwynn, de widder 'oman,Marster's niece whut's been takin' keer ob de house yere sence his wifedied,--I say I dunno no better when I break de dishes, an' Miss Leonora,she say a b'ar outer a holler tree would know better. Yah! yah!"

  The officer, feeling these domestic confidences a burden, began toscrutinize with an appearance of interest the Dresden china shepherd andshepherdess at either end of the tall white wooden mantelpiece, and thenthe clock of the same ware in the centre.

  Old Janus mistook the nature of his motive. "'Tis gittin' late furshore! Gawd! dem ladies is a-dressin' an' a-dressin' yit! It's a pityMiss Leonora--dat's de widder 'oman--don't fix _herself_ up some; looksole, fur true, similar to a ole gran'mammy of a 'oman. But, sah, whutdid she ever marry dat man fur?"

  Captain Baynell, in the stress of an unusual embarrassment, rose andwalked to one of the tall book-cases, affecting to examine the title ofa long row of books, but the old servant was not sensitive; he resortedto the simple expedient of raising his voice to follow the guest in adetail that brought Captain Baynell back to his chair in unseemly haste,where a lower tone was practicable.

  "She could hev' married my Marster's son, Julius, an' him de flower obde flock! But no! She jus' would marry dis yere Gwynn feller, whutnobody wanted her ter marry, an' eloped wid him--she did! An' shore'nuff, dey do say he pulled her round de house by de hair ob her head,dough some 'lows he jus' bruk a chair ober her head!"

  The officer was a brav
e man, but now he was in the extremity of panic.What if some one were at the door on the point of entering?--the "widder'oman" herself, for instance!

  "I don't need you any longer, Uncle Ephraim," he ventured toremonstrate.

  "I'm gwine, Cap'n, jus' as soon as I git through wid de ha'th," andUncle Ephraim gave it a perfunctory whisk.

  He interpolated an explanation of his diligence. "I don't want MissLeonora--dat's de widder 'oman--ter be remarkin' on it. Nobody kin donuthin' ter suit her but Chaney, dis cook dey got, who belong ter MissLeonora, an' befo' de War used ter be her waitin'-'oman. Chaney is allde estate Miss Leonora hes got lef,--an' ye know dat sort o' propertyain't wurf much in dis happy day o' freedom. Miss Leonora wuz rich oncein her own right. But she flung her marriage-settlements--dat dey hadfixed to tie up her property so Gwynn couldn't sell it nor wasteit--right inter de fiah! She declared she would marry a man whut shecould trust wid her fortune! An'," the narrator concluded his storyimpressively, "when dat man died--his horse throwed him an' bruk hisneck--I wondered dey didn't beat de drum fur joy, 'twuz sich a crownin'mercy! But he hed spent all her fortune 'fore he went!"

  The whisking wing was still; Uncle Ephraim's eyes dwelt on the fire witha glow of deep speculation. He lowered his voice mysteriously.

  "Dat man wuz de poorest stuff ter make an angel out'n ever you see! Idunno _whut's_ become of him."

  There was a stir outside, a footfall; and, as Captain Baynell sprang tohis feet, feeling curiously guilty in receiving, however unwillingly,these revelations of the history of the family, Judge Roscoe entered,his welcome the more cordial and expressed because he noticed a certainconstraint in his guest's manner, which he ascribed to the unintentionalbreach of decorum in the failure to properly receive him.

  "I had hoped my niece, Mrs. Gwynn, might have been here to save you adull half hour, or perhaps my granddaughters--where are the ladies andMrs. Gwynn, Ephraim?" he broke off to ask of "the double-faced Janus,"scuttling out with his basket of chips and his turkey wing.

  "De ladies is dressin' ter see de company," replied Janus, with a grinwide enough to decorate both his faces. "Miss Leonora, she is helpin''em!"

  Captain Baynell experienced renewed embarrassment, but Judge Roscoelaughed with obvious relish.

  The host, pale, thin, nervous, old, was of a type ill calculated toendure the stress of excitement and turmoil of incident of the CivilWar; indeed, he might have succumbed utterly in the mortality of theaged, so general at that period, but for the incongruous rest andinaction of the storm centre. The town was heavily garrisoned by theFederal forces; the firing line was far afield. He had two sons in theConfederate army, but too distant for news, for speculation, for aughtbut anxiety and prayer. The elder of them was a widower, the father of"the ladies," and hence in his absence Judge Roscoe's charge of hisgranddaughters.

  The phrase "the ladies and Mrs. Gwynn" grated on Captain Baynell. Itseemed incongruous with the punctilious old Southern gentleman to make adiscourteous distinction thus between his granddaughters and his niece.Baynell dated his sympathy with her from that moment. However old andfaded and reduced the house-keeperish "widder 'oman" might be, it was anaffront to thus segregate her. He felt an antagonism toward "the ladies"in their exclusive aristocratic designation even before he heard thefirst dainty touch of their slippered feet upon the great stairway, or agush of fairylike treble laughter. As a silken rustle along the hallheralded their bedizened approach, he arose ceremoniously to greet them.

  The door flew open with a wide swing; his eyes rested on nothing beyond,for he was looking two feet over range. There rushed into the room threelittle girls, six and eight years of age, all hanging back for a momenttill their grandfather's encouraging "Come, ladies!" nerved them for theintroduction of Captain Baynell. Although sensible of a deepdisappointment and a sudden cessation of interest in the storm centre,he could hardly refrain from laughing at the downfall of his ownconfident expectations.

  Yet "the ladies," in their way, were well worth looking at, and theirdiligent care of their toilette had not been in vain. The two youngerones were twins, very rosy, with golden hair, delicately curled andperfumed. The other was far more beautiful than either. Her hair was ofa chestnut hue; her dark blue eyes were eloquent with meaning--"speakingeyes." She had an exquisitely fair complexion and an entrancing smile,and amidst the twittering words and fluttering laughter of the othersshe was silent; it was a sinister, weighty, significant silence.

  "A deaf mute," her grandfather explained with a note of pathos and pain.

  Captain Baynell's acceptance of the fact had the requisite touch ofsympathy and interest, but no more. How could he imagine that thechild's infirmity could ever concern him, could be a factor of import inthe most notable crisis of his life!

  Indeed, he might have forgotten it within the hour had naught elseriveted his attention to the house. He had begun to look forward to adull evening,--the reaction from the expectation of charming femininesociety of a congenial age. "The ladies" failed in that particular,lovely though they were in the quaint costumes of the day, thegolden-haired twins respectively in faint blue and dark red "satinfaced" merino, the brown-haired child in rich orange. Over their bodicesall three wore sheer spencers of embroidered Swiss muslin, withembroidered ruffles below the waist line. This was encircled withsilken sashes, the tint of their gowns. The skirts were short, showinglong, white, clocked stockings and red morocco slippers with elasticcrossing the instep. The trio were swift in making advances intofriendship, and soon were swarming about the officer, counting hisshining buttons with great particularity, and squealing with greedydelight when an unexpected row was discovered on the seam of each of hissleeves.

  As the door again opened, the very aspect of the room altered--a newpresence pervaded the life of Fluellen Baynell that made the idea ofstrife indeed alien, aloof; the past a forgotten trifle; the futureremote, in indifferent abeyance, and the momentous present the chiefexperience of his existence. It was partially the effect of surprise,although other elements exerted a potent influence.

  Instead of the forlorn, faded "widder 'oman" of his fancy, thereappeared a girlish shape, whose young, fair face was a magnet to all theromance within him. What mattered it with such beauty that theexpression was a dreary lassitude, the pose indifference, the garb ashabby black dress worn with no touch of distinction, no thought, nocare for appearances. As he rose, with "the ladies" affectionatelyclinging about him, and bowed low in the moment of introduction, hissearching eyes discerned every minute detail. It was like a sun pictureupon his consciousness, realized and fixed in his mind as if he hadknown it forever. And with a sudden ignoble recollection his faceflushed from his forehead to his high military collar. Was it her hair,the old gossip had said, or was it a chair?

  It was impossible to look at her without noticing her hair. A rich,golden brown, it waved back from her white brow in heavy undulations,caught and coiled in a great glittering knot at the back of her head,with no ornament, simplicity itself. Certainly, he reflected, nopreparations were in progress in this quarter for his captivation. Oneof the ready-made crape collars of the period was about her neck, thedelicate, fine contour of her throat displayed by the cut of her dress.Her luminous gray eyes, with their long black lashes, cast upon him amere glance, cool, casual, unfriendly, it might even seem, if it wereworth her languid while.

  He sought to win her to some demonstration of interest when they werepresently at table, with old Janus skirmishing about the dining roomwith a silver salver, hindering the meal rather than serving it. Onlyconventional courtesy characterized her, although she gave Baynell aradiant smile when offering a second cup of tea; an official smile, soto speak, strictly appertaining to her pose as hostess, as she satbehind the massive silver tea service that had been in the Roscoe familyfor many years.

  She left the conversation almost wholly to the gentlemen when they hadreturned to the library. Quiescent, inexpressive, she leaned back in agreat arm-chair, her beautiful eyes fixed reflectively o
n the fire. Thethree "ladies," on a small sofa, apparently listened too, the littledumb girl seeming the most attentive of the trio, to the half-hearted,guarded, diplomatic discussion of politics, such as was possible inpolite society to men of opposing factions in those heady, bitter days.Only once, when Baynell was detailing the names of his brothers togratify Judge Roscoe's interest in the family of his ancient friend, didMrs. Gwynn suggest her individuality. She suddenly rose.

  "You would like to see the portraits of Judge Roscoe's sons," she saidas definitely as if he had asked this privilege. It may not have beenthe fact, but Baynell felt that she was making amends to the absent forthe apostasy of "entertaining a Yankee officer," as the phrase went inthat day, by exhibiting with pride their cherished images and forcinghim to perform polite homage before them.

  He meekly followed, however, as she took from a wide-mouthed jar on thetable a handful of tapers, made of rolled paper, and, lighting one atthe fire, led the way across the wide hall and into the cold, dreargloom of the drawing-rooms. There in the dim light from the hallchandelier, shining through the open door, she flitted from lamp tolamp, and instantly there was a chill, white glitter throughout thegreat apartments, showing the floriated velvet carpets, affected at thattime, the carved rosewood furniture upholstered with satin damask ofgreen and gold, the lambrequins of a harmonizing brocade and lacecurtains at the windows, the grand piano, and marble-topped tables, andon the walls a great inexpressive mirror, above each of the white marblemantelpieces, and some large oil paintings, chiefly the portraits of thefamily.

  The three "ladies" gathered under the picture of their father with thefervor of pilgrims at a votive shrine. Clarence Roscoe's portrait seemedto gaze down at them smilingly. He it was who had given his littledaughters their quaint, formal sobriquet of "the ladies," the phraseseriously accepted by others, until no longer recognized as a nickname.Suddenly the deaf mute rushed back to officiously claim the officer'sattention. Her brilliant eyes were aglow; the fascination of her smiletransfigured her face; she was now gazing at another portrait. This wasof a very young man, extraordinarily handsome, in full Confederateuniform, and, carrying her hand to her forehead with the most spiritedair imaginable, she gave the military salute.

  "That is her sign for Julius," cried Mrs. Gwynn, delightedly. "We haveseen many armies with banners, but Julius is her ideal of a soldier, andthe only one in all the world whom she distinguishes by the militarysalute."

  "My younger son," explained Judge Roscoe; while "the ladies" with theirquick transitions from subject to subject were sidling about the rooms,sinking their feet as deep as possible into the soft pile of the velvetcarpets, and feeling with their slim fingers the rich gloss of the satindamask coverings, complacent in the consciousness that it was all veryfine and revelling in a sense of luxury. Poor little ladies!

  But Mrs. Gwynn with a word presently sent them scuttling back to thewarmth of the library. As she began to extinguish the lamps Baynelloffered to assist. She accepted civilly, of course, but with theunnoting, casual acquiescence that had begun to pique him, and as theyclosed the door upon the shadowy deserted apartments he thought theywere of a grewsome favor, that the evening was of an untoward drift, andhe lingered only for the conventional interval after returning to thelibrary before he took his leave.

  As the door closed after him he noted that the stars were in the darksky. The wind was laid. The lights in the many camps had alldisappeared, for "taps" had sounded. Now and again in close successionhe heard the clocks in divers towers in Roanoke City striking the hour.There was no token of military occupation in all the land, save thatfrom far away on a turnpike toward the dark west came the dullcontinuous roll of wagon wheels as an endless forage train made its wayinto the town; and as he passed out of the portico, a sentry posted onthe gravelled drive in front of the house challenged him. He had ordereda guard to be stationed there for its protection against wanderingmarauders, so remote was the place. He gave the countersign, and tookhis way down through the great oak and tulip trees of the grove that hisauthority had also been exerted to preserve. His father's old friend hadthis claim upon his courtesy, he felt, for century oaks cannot bereplaced in a fortnight, and without them the home would indeed bebereft.

  Thinking still of the placid storm centre, Leonora Gwynn's face wascontinually in his mind; the tones of her voice echoed in his revery.And then suddenly he heard his step ringing on the frosty ground with anew spirit; he felt his finger tips tingle; his face glowed with rancor.The man was dead, and this indeed was well! But--profane thought! was ither hair? her beautiful hair? "The coward! the despicable villain!" hecalled aloud between his set teeth.