Throckmorton: A Novel, Page 2

  CHAPTER II.

  Within a few days Throckmorton and Jack Throckmorton--the traitor andthe traitor's son--had arrived at Millenbeck.

  Jacqueline could talk of nothing but the dawning splendors of the place.Delilah, who had an appetite for the marvelous scarcely inferior toJacqueline's, kept her on the rack with curiosity.

  "Dey done put Bruskins carpets all over de house," she retailed solemnlyinto Jacqueline's greedy ears, "an' velvet sofys an' cheers, an' delookin'-glasses from de garret ter de cellar. An' dey got a white manname' Sweeney--mighty po' white trash, Simon Peter say--dat is a whitenigger, an' he talk mighty cu'rus. Simon Peter he meet him in de road,an' dis heah Mis' Sweeney he ax him ef dey was any Orrish gentmans 'bouthere. Simon Peter he say he never heerd o' no sich things ez Orrishgentmans, an' Mis' Sweeney he lif' up he stick, an' Simon Peter he tookter he heels an' Mis' Sweeney arter him, an' Simon Peter 'low ef hehadn't run down in de swamp, Mis' Sweeney would er kilt him, sho'! An'he doan' min' blackin' de boots at Millenbeck an' milk de cows, an' denhe dress up fine an' wait on de table--an' he a white man, too! He donetell some folks he wuz a soldier an' fit, an' he gwine ev'ywhar MarseGeorge Throckmorton go, ef it twuz hell itself. Things is monst'ous fineat Millenbeck--_dat_ dey is--an' all fur dem two menfolks. Seem like GodA'mighty done give all de good times ter de menfolks an' all de hardtimes ter de womenfolks."

  "Is that so, mammy?" asked Jacqueline, dolefully, who was simple ofsoul, and disposed to believe everything Delilah told her.

  "Dat 'tis, chile, ez sho'--ez sho' ez God's truf. De menfolks jes' livesfur ter be frustratin' an' owdacious ter de po' womenfolks, what byar deburdens. I tell Simon Peter so ev'y day; but dat nigger he doan' worritmuch 'bout what de po' womenfolks has got ter orndure. Men is mightypo', vain, weak creetures--_I_ tell Simon Peter dat too ev'y day."

  "Dat you does," piously responded Simon Peter.

  The windows to Judith's room possessed a strange fascination in thosedays for Jacqueline, because they looked straight out to Millenbeck.There she stood for hours, dreaming, speculating, thinking out aloud.

  "Just think, Judith; there is a great big hall there that mamma says hasa splendid dancing-floor!"

  "Jacky, stop thinking about Millenbeck and the dancing-floor. It doesn'tconcern you, and you know that mother will never let you speak toeither of the Throckmortons," answered Judith.

  "Yes, I know it," said Jacqueline, disconsolately. "The more's the pity.Papa is dying to be friends with them when they come; but, of course,mamma won't let him."

  Jacqueline's voice was usually high-pitched, rapid, and musical, butwhenever she meant to be saucy she brought it down to great meeknessand modesty.

  "Major Throckmorton, you know, is a widower. I don't believe in grievingforever, like mamma. Suppose, now, Judith, _you_ should--"

  But Judith, whose indulgence to Jacqueline rarely failed, now rose upwith a pale face.

  "Jacqueline, you forget yourself."

  Usually one rebuke of the sort was enough for Jacqueline, but this timeit was not. She came and clasped Judith around the waist, and held hertight, looking into her eyes with a sort of timid boldness.

  "Just let me say one thing. Mamma is sacrificing all of us--you and meand papa--to--to Beverley--"

  "Hush, Jacqueline!"

  "No, I won't hush. Judith, how long was it from the time you first metBeverley until you married him?"

  "Two months."

  "And how much of that time were you together?"

  "Two--weeks," answered Judith, falteringly.

  "And then you married him, and you had hardly any honeymoon, didn'tyou?"

  "A very short one."

  "And Beverley went away, and never came back."

  There was a short silence. Jacqueline was nerving herself to say whathad been burning upon her lips for long.

  "Then--then, Judith, he was so little _in_ your life--he was so little_of_ your life."

  "But, Jacqueline, when one loves, it makes no difference whether it is amonth or a year."

  "Yes, when one loves; but, Judith, did you love Beverley _that_ way?"

  Judith stood quite still and pale. The thought was then put in wordsthat had haunted her. She no longer thought of answering Jacqueline, butof answering herself. Was it, indeed, because she was so young, soentirely alone in the world, and, in truth, had known so little of theman she married, that it became difficult for her to recall even hisfeatures; that she felt something like a pang of conscience when Mrs.Temple spoke his name; that this perpetual kindness to his father andhis mother seemed a sort of reparation? Jacqueline, seeing the changein Judith's face, went softly out of the room. Judith stood whereJacqueline had left her. Presently the door opened, and little Beverleycame in, and made a dash for his mother. Judith seized him in her arms,and knelt down before him, and for the thousandth time tried to finda trace of his father in his face. But there was none. His eyes, hismouth, his expression, were all hers. Even the little bronze rings ofhair that escaped from under her widow's cap were faithfully reproducedon the child's baby forehead. This strong resemblance to his mother wasa thorn in Mrs. Temple's side. She would have had the boy his father'simage. She would have had him grave and given to serious, thoughtfulgames, and to hanging about older people, such as her Beverley had been;but this merry youngster was always laughing when he was not crying, andwas noisy and troublesome, as most healthy young animals are. Yet sheadored him.

  The boy soon got tired of his mother's arms around him, anduncomfortable under her tender, searching gaze.

  "I want to go to my mammy," he lisped.

  Judith rose and led him by the hand down-stairs to Delilah. The childran to his mammy with a shout of delight. His mother sometimes awed hisbaby soul with her gravity, when he had been naughty. Often he could notget what he wanted by crying for it, and got smart slaps upon his plumplittle palms when he cried. But with Delilah there was none of this.Delilah represented a beneficent Providence to him, which permittednaughtiness, and had no limit to jam and buttermilk.

  The Throckmortons had at last come, but had kept very close toMillenbeck for a week or two after their arrival in the county; but onone still, sunny September Sunday at Severn church, just as the Rev.Edmund Morford appeared out of the little robing-room, after havingsurveyed himself carefully in the mite of a looking-glass, and satisfiedhimself that his adornment was in keeping with his beauty, two gentlemencame in quietly at a side door, and took their seats in the first vacantpew. They looked more like an elder and a younger brother than fatherand son. Both had the same square-shouldered, well-knit figures, notover middle height--the same contour of face, the same dark eyes. But itwas a type which was at its best in maturity. Major Throckmorton wasmuch the handsomer man of the two, although, as Judith Temple said sometime after, when called upon to describe him, that handsome scarcelyapplied to him--he was rather distinguished than actually handsome--andshe blushed unnecessarily as she said it. His hair and mustache werequite iron-gray, and he had the unmistakable look and carriage of amilitary man. The pew they took near the door was against the wall ofthe church, and in effect facing the Temple pew, where sat all thefamily from Barn Elms, including little Beverley, who looked a pictureof childish misery, compelled to be preternaturally good, until sleepovercame him, and his yellow mop of hair fell over against his mother.Young Throckmorton, whose eyes were full of a sort of gay curiosity, lethis gaze wander furtively over the congregation, and in two minutes knewevery pretty face in the church. The two prettiest were unquestionablyin the Temple pew. Without boldness or obtrusiveness, he managed to keepevery glance and every motion in that pew in sight; and Jacqueline, bysomething like psychic force, knew it, and conveyed to him the idea thatno glance of his escaped her. Nevertheless, she was very devout, and theonly look she gave him was over the top of her prayer-book. Judith,with her large, clear gaze fixed on the clergyman, was in her way asconscious as Jacqueline. But Throckmorton saw nothing and nobody for atime, except that he was back again in Severn chur
ch after thirty years.How well he remembered it all!--the little dark gallery to the right ofthe pulpit, where in the old times Mrs. Temple and Mrs. Sherrard hadsat, and sung the old, old hymns, their sweet, untrained voices risinginto the dark, cobwebbed, resonant roof--voices as natural as that ofthe sweet, shy singing birds that twittered under the eaves of the oldchurch, and built their nests safely and peacefully in the solemn yewsand weeping-willows of the burying-ground close by. The Septembersunlight, as it sifted through the windows on the heads of the kneelingpeople--even the droning of the honey-bees outside, and the occasionalincursion of a buzzing marauder through the windows--made him feel as ifhe were in a dream. It was not the recollection of a happy boyhood thathad brought him back to Millenbeck. He remembered his grandfather as anold curmudgeon, the terror of his negroes and dependents, wasteful, ahigh liver, and a hard drinker; and himself a lonely boy, with neithermother nor sister, nor any sort of kindness to brighten his boyish soul,except those good women, Mrs. Temple and Mrs. Sherrard. Deep down in hisbeing was that Anglo-Saxon love of the soil--the desire to return whencehe came. He knew much of the world, and doubted if the experiment ofreturning to Millenbeck would succeed, but he at least determined to tryit. He had no very serious notion of abandoning his profession, which heloved, while he grumbled at it, but he had had this project of a year'sleave, to be spent at Millenbeck, in his mind for a long, long time, andhe wanted Jack to own the place. Himself the most unassuming of men, hecherished, unknown to those who knew him best, a strong desire that hisname should be kept up in Virginia where it had been known so long.With scarcely a word on the subject spoken between father and son, Jackhad the same drift of sentiment. Both had inherited from dead and gonegenerations a clinging to old things, old forms, that made itself feltin the strenuous modern life, and even a sturdy family pride that nativegood sense concealed.

  The Rev. Edmund Morford, along with his unfortunate excess of goodlooks, inherited a rich, strong voice, in which he rolled out theliturgy with great elocutionary effect. He saw the two strangers in thecongregation, and at once divined who they were, and determined to givethem a sermon that would show them what stuff parsons were made of inVirginia. He was much struck by the scrupulousness with which MajorThrockmorton went through the service, which the Rev. Edmund attributedpartly to his own telling way of rendering it. But in truth,Throckmorton neither saw nor heard the Rev. Edmund. He went through theforms with a certain military precision that very often passed forstrict attention, as in this case, but he was still under the spell ofthe bygone time. Mr. Morford gave out a hymn, and the congregation rose,Throckmorton standing up straight like a soldier at attention. After alittle pause, a voice rose. It was so sweet, so pure, that Throckmortoninvoluntarily turned toward the singer. It was Judith Temple, her clearprofile well marked against her black veil, which also brought outthe deep tints of her eyes and hair, and the warm paleness of hercomplexion. She sang quite composedly and unaffectedly, a few women'svoices, Mrs. Temple's among the rest, joining in timidly, but her fullsoprano carried the simple air. Her head was slightly thrown back as shesang, and apparently she knew the words of the hymn by heart, as she didnot once refer to the book held open before her.

  There is something peculiarly touching in female voices unaccompanied.Throckmorton thought so as he came out of his waking dream and glancedabout him. In an instant he took in the pathetic story of war and ruinand loss that was written all over the assembled people. Many of thewomen were in mourning, and the men had a jaded, haggard, hopeless look.They had all been through with four years of harrowing, and they showedit. In the Temple pew Mrs. Temple and Judith were in the deepestmourning, and General Temple wore around his hat the black band thatMrs. Temple would never let him take off.

  Throckmorton's eye rested for a moment in approval on Judith, and thenon Jacqueline, but he looked at Jacqueline the longest.

  Then, after the hymn, Mr. Morford began his sermon. It was electrifyingin a great many unexpected ways. Throckmorton, who knew something aboutmost things, saw through Morford's shallow Hebraism, and inwardlyscoffed at the cheerful insufficiency with which the most abstrusebiblical problems were attacked. Morford's candor, confidence, andperfect good faith tickled Throckmorton; he felt like smiling once ortwice, but, on looking around, he saw that everybody, except those whowere asleep, took Morford at his own valuation; except the young womanwith the widow's veil about her clear-cut face, whose eyes, fixedattentively on Mr. Morford, had something quizzical in their expression.Throckmorton at once divined a sense of humor in that grave young widowthat was conspicuously lacking in Jacqueline, who listened, bored butawed, to the preacher's sounding periods.

  The sermon was long and loud, and there was another hymn, sung in thesimple and touching way that went to Throckmorton's heart, and then adramatic benediction, after the Rev. Edmund had announced that the nextSunday, "in the morning, the Lord will be with us, and in the eveningthe bishop. I need not urge you, beloved brethren, to be prepared forthe bishop."

  Then the congregation streamed out for their weekly gossip in thechurchyard. Throckmorton and Jack went out, too. No one spoke to them,nor did they speak to any one. As a matter of fact, there were not halfa dozen people there that Throckmorton would have recognized; but hewas perfectly well known to everybody in the church, who, but for theuniform he had worn, would have greeted him cordially and generously,recalling themselves to him. But now they all held coldly anddeterminedly aloof. Throckmorton, who was slow to imagine offense, didnot all at once take it in. But he would not lose a moment in speakingto Mrs. Temple, one of the few persons he recognized, and the one mostendeared to him in his early recollections. The Temples, possibly toavoid him, had made straight for the iron gate of the churchyard, andstood outside the wall, waiting for the tumble-down carriage.Throckmorton quickened his pace, and went up to Mrs. Temple, carryinghis hat in his hand.

  "Mrs. Temple, have you forgotten George Throckmorton?" he asked in hispleasant voice.

  Mrs. Temple turned to him with a somber look on her gentle face.

  "No, I have not forgotten you, George Throckmorton. But you and I arewidely apart. Between us is a great gulf, and war and sorrow."

  A deep flush dyed Throckmorton's dark face. He was not prepared forthis, but he could not all at once give up this friendship, the memoryof which had lasted through all the years since his boyhood.

  "The war is over," he said; "we can't be forever at war."

  "It is enough for _you_ to say," she replied. "You have your son. Whereis mine?"

  "As well call me to account for the death of Abel. Dear Mrs. Temple,haven't you any recollection of the time when you were almost the onlyfriend I had? I have few enough left, God knows."

  Here General Temple came to the front. In his heart he was anxious tobe friends with Throckmorton, and did not despair of obtaining Mrs.Temple's permission eventually. He held out his hand solemnly toThrockmorton.

  "_I_ can shake hands with you, George Throckmorton," he said, andthen, turning to Mrs. Temple, "for the sake of what is past, my love,let us be friends with George Throckmorton."

  Throckmorton, who in his life had met with few rebuffs, was cruellywounded. In all those years he had cherished an ideal of womanly andmotherly tenderness in Mrs. Temple, and she was the one person in hisnative county on whose friendship he counted. He looked down, indignantand abashed, and in the next moment looked up boldly and encounteredJudith's soft, expressive eyes fixed on him so sympathetically that heinvoluntarily held out his hand, saying:

  "You, at least, will shake hands with me."

  Judith, who strove hard to bring her high spirit down to Mrs. Temple'syoke, did not always succeed. She held out her hand impulsively. Thespectacle of this manly man, rebuffed with Mrs. Temple's strange power,touched her.

  "And this," continued Throckmorton, out of whose face the dull red hadnot yet vanished, turning to Jacqueline, "must be a little one that Ihave not before seen.--Mrs. Temple, I can't force you to accept myfriendship, but I
want to assure you that nothing--nothing can ever makeme forget your early kindness to me."

  Mrs. Temple opened her lips once or twice before words came. Then shespoke.

  "George Throckmorton, you think perhaps that, being a soldier, you knowwhat war is. You do not. I, who sat at home and prayed and wept for fourlong years, for my husband and my son, and to whom only one came back,when I had sent forth two--_I_ know what it is. But God has willed itall. We must forgive. Here is my hand--and show me your son."

  Throckmorton, whose knowledge of Mrs. Temple was intimate, despite thatlong stretch of years, knew what even this small compromise had costher. He motioned to Jack, who was surveying the scene, surprised andrather angry, from a little distance. The young fellow came up, and Mrs.Temple looked at him very hard, a film gathering in her eyes.

  "I am glad you have such a son. Such was our son."

  The carriage was now drawn up, and General Temple looked agonizingly atMrs. Temple. He wanted her to invite Throckmorton to Barn Elms, butMrs. Temple said not one word. Throckmorton, in perfect silence, helpedthe ladies into the carriage. He did not know whether to be gratifiedthat Mrs. Temple had conceded so much, or mortified that she hadconceded so little.

  Jacqueline in the carriage gave him a friendly little nod. Judith leanedforward and bowed distinctly and politely. General Temple, holding hishat stiffly against his breast, remarked in his most grandiose manner:"As two men who have fought on opposing sides--as two generous enemies,my dear Throckmorton--I offer you my hand. I did my best against you inmy humble way"--General Temple never did anything in a humble way in hislife, and devoutly believed that the exploits of Temple's Brigade hadmaterially influenced the result--"but, following the example of ourimmortal chieftain, Robert Lee, I say again, here is my hand."

  A twinkle came into Throckmorton's eye. This was the same BeverleyTemple of twenty-five years ago, only a little more magniloquent thanever and a little more under Mrs. Temple's thumb. Throckmorton,repressing a smile, shook hands cordially.

  "Neither of us has any apologies to make, general," he said. "I thinkthat ugly business is over for good. I feel more friendly toward my ownunfortunate people now than ever before. Good-by."

  The general then made a stately ascent into the carriage, banged thedoor, and rattled off.

  Short as the scene had been, it made a deep impression upon JudithTemple. Throckmorton's dignity--the tender sentiment that he hadcherished for his early friends--struck her forcibly. The very tones ofhis voice, his soldierly carriage, his dark, indomitable eye, were soimpressed upon her imagination that, had she never seen him again, shewould never have forgotten him. It was an instant and powerfulattraction that had made her hold out her hand and smile at him.

  Throckmorton, without trying the experiment of hunting up any more oldfriends, turned to walk home. It was a good four-mile stretch, andusually he stepped out at a smart gait that put Jack to his trumps tokeep up with. But to-day he sauntered along so slowly, through the woodsand fields with his hat over his eyes and his hands behind him, thatJack lost patience and struck off ahead, leaving Throckmorton alone,much to his relief.

  Throckmorton wanted to think it all over. In his heart there was notone grain of resentment toward Mrs. Temple. He thought he understoodthe workings of her strong but simple nature perfectly well, and hedid not doubt the ultimate goodness of her heart. And GeneralTemple--Throckmorton had heard something of the general's magnificentincapacity during the war--the bare idea of General Temple as acommander made him laugh. How sweet were Mrs. Beverley's eyes, and howdemure she looked when she dropped them at some particularly solemnabsurdity of the clergyman, as if she were afraid somebody would seethe tell-tale gleam in them! The little girl, though, was the mostfascinating creature he had seen for long. How strangely and howpitifully altered was the congregation of Severn church from the merryprosperous country gentry he remembered so long ago! And how quiet, howstill was life there! All his usual every-day life was shut out fromhim. Within the circle of that perfect repose nothing disquieting couldcome. He stopped in the country lane and listened. Nothing broke thesolemn calm except the droning of the locusts in the September noon.Warm as it was, there was a hint of autumn in the atmosphere.Occasionally the clarion cry of a hawk circling in the blue air piercedthe silence.

  "This, then, is peace," said Throckmorton to himself, and thought of theyear of idleness and repose before him. "Nothing ever happens here," hecontinued, thinking. "Even the tragedy of the war was at a distance. AsMrs. Temple says, the men went forth, and those that came back will goforth no more."

  Then he began to think over the way in which the people had completelyignored him in the churchyard, where they stopped and gossiped with eachother, eying him askance. He knew perfectly well the estimate they putupon him. He could have supplied the very word--"traitor." This made himfeel a sort of bitterness, which he consoled with the reflection--

  "Most men of principle have to suffer for those principles at some timeor other."

  By this time he was at his own grounds, and Sweeney's honest Irish face,glowing with indignation, was watching out for him.

  "Be the powers," snorted Sweeney to the black cook, "the murtherin'rebels took no more notice of the major than if he'd been an ouldhat--an' he's a rale gintleman, fit ter dine with the Prisident, as heoften has, an' all the g'yurls has been tryin' to hook him fur twintyyears, bless their hearts, an' the major as hard as a stone to the dearthings, every wan of 'em!"