Daisy, Page 2

  CHAPTER II.

  MY HOME.

  The next day we were to go to Magnolia. It was a better day than Iexpected. Preston kept me with him, away from Aunt Gary and mygoverness; who seemed to have a very comfortable time together.Magnolia lay some miles inland, up a small stream or inlet called theSands River; the banks of which were studded with gentlemen's houses.The houses were at large distances from one another, miles ofplantation often lying between. We went by a small steamer which pliedup and down the river; it paddled along slowly, made a good manylandings, and kept us on board thus a great part of the day.

  At last Preston pointed out to me a little wooden pier or jetty ahead,which he said was my landing; and the steamer soon drew up to it. Icould see only a broken bank, fifteen feet high, stretching all alongthe shore. However a few steps brought us to a receding level bit ofground, where there was a break in the bank; the shore fell in alittle, and a wooded dell sloped back from the river. A carriage andservants were waiting here.

  Preston and I had arranged that we would walk up and let the ladiesride. But as soon as they had taken their places I heard myselfcalled. We declared our purpose, Preston and I; but Miss Pinshon saidthe ground was damp and she preferred I should ride; and ordered mein. I obeyed, bitterly disappointed; so much disappointed that I hadthe utmost trouble not to let it be seen. For a little while I did notknow what we were passing. Then curiosity recovered itself. Thecarriage was slowly making its way up a rough road. On each side thewooded banks of the dell shut us in; and these banks seemed to slopeupward as well as the road, for though we mounted and mounted, thesides of the dell grew no lower. After a little, then, the hollow ofthe dell began to grow wider, and its sides softly shelving down; andthrough the trees on our left we could see a house, standing highabove us, but on ground which sloped towards the dell, which rose andwidened and spread out to meet it. This sloping ground was studdedwith magnificent live oaks; each holding its place in independentmajesty, making no interference with the growth of the rest. Some ofthese trees had a girth that half a dozen men with their armsoutstretched in a circle could not span; they were green in spite ofthe winter; branching low, and spreading into stately, beautiful headsof verdure, while grey wreaths of moss hung drooping from some ofthem. The house was seen not very distinctly among these trees; itshowed low, and in a long extent of building. I have never seen aprettier approach to a house than that at Magnolia. My heart was fullof the beauty this first time.

  "This is Magnolia, Daisy," said my aunt. "This is your house."

  "It appears a fine place," said Miss Pinshon.

  "It is one of the finest on the river. This is your property, Daisy."

  "It is papa's," I answered.

  "Well, it belongs to your mother, and so you may say it belongs toyour father; but it is yours for all that. The arrangement was, as Iknow," my aunt went on, addressing Miss Pinshon--"the arrangement inthe marriage settlements was, that the sons should have the father'sproperty, and the daughters the mother's. There is one son and onedaughter; so they will each have enough."

  "But it is mamma's and papa's," I pleaded.

  "Oh, well--it will be yours. That is what I mean. Ransom will haveMelbourne and the Virginia estates; and Magnolia is yours. You oughtto have a pretty good education."

  I was so astonished at this way of looking at things, that again Ilost part of what was before me. The carriage went gently along,passing the house, and coming up gradually to the same level; thenmaking a turn we drove at a better pace back under some of those greatevergreen oaks, till we drew up at the house door. This was at acorner of the building, which stretched in a long, low line towardsthe river. A verandah skirted all that long front. As soon as I wasout of the carriage I ran to the farthest end. I found the verandahturned the corner; the lawn too. All along the front it sloped to thedell; at the end of the house it sloped more gently and to greaterdistance down to the banks of the river. I could not see the riveritself. The view of the dell at my left hand was lovely. A littlestream which ran in the bottom had been coaxed to form a clear pool inan open spot, where the sunlight fell upon it, surrounded by a softwilderness of trees and climbers. Sweet branches of jessamine wavedthere in their season; and a beautiful magnolia had been planted orcherished there, and carefully kept in view of the house windows. Butthe wide lawns, on one side and on the other, grew nothing but theoaks; the gentle slope was a play-ground for sunshine and shadow, as Ifirst saw it; for then the shadows of the oaks were lengthening overthe grass, and the waving grey wreaths of moss served sometimes as afoil, sometimes as an usher to the sunbeams. I stood in a trance ofjoy and sorrow; they were fighting so hard for the mastery; till Iknew that my aunt and Miss Pinshon had come up behind me.

  "This is a proud place!" my governess remarked.

  I believe I looked at her. My aunt laughed; said she must not teach methat; and led the way back to the entrance of the house. All along theverandah I noticed that the green-blinded long windows made otherentrances for whoever chose them.

  The door was open for us already, and within was a row of dark facesof men and women, and a show of white teeth that looked like awelcome. I wondered Aunt Gary did not say more to answer the welcome;she only dropped a few careless words as she went in, and asked ifdinner was ready. I looked from one to another of the strange facesand gleaming rows of teeth. These were my mother's servants; that wassomething that came near to my heart. I heard inquiries after "Mis'Felissy" and "Mass' Randolph," and then the question, "Mis' 'Lizy, isthis little missis?" It was asked by an old, respectable-looking,grey-haired negress. I did not hear my aunt's answer; but I stoppedand turned to the woman and laid my little hand in her withered palm.I don't know what there was in that minute; only I know that whereas Itouched one hand, I touched a great many hearts. Then and there beganmy good understanding with all the coloured people on my mother'sestate of Magnolia. There was a general outburst of satisfaction andwelcome. Some of the voices blessed me; more than one remarked that Iwas "like Mass' Randolph;" and I went into the parlour with a warmspot in my heart, which had been very cold.

  I was oddly at home at once. The room indeed was a room I had neverseen before; yet according to the mystery of such things, theinanimate surroundings bore the mark of the tastes and habits I hadgrown up among all my life. A great splendid fire was blazing in thechimney; a rich carpet was on the floor; the furniture was luxuriousthough not showy, and there was plenty of it. So there was plenty ofworks of art, in home and foreign manufacture. Comfort, elegance,prettiness, all around; and through the clear glass of the longwindows the evergreen oaks on the lawn showed like guardians of theplace. I stood at one of them, with the pressure of that joy andsorrow filling my childish heart.

  My aunt presently called me from the window, and bade me let Margarettake off my things. I got leave to go upstairs with Margaret and takethem off there. So I ran up the low easy flight of stairs--they werewooden and uncarpeted--to a matted gallery lit from the roof, withhere and there a window in a recess looking upon the lawn. Many roomsopened into this gallery. I went from one to another. Here were greatwood fires burning too; here were snowy white beds, with light muslinhangings; and dark cabinets and wardrobes; and mats on the floors,with thick carpets and rugs laid down here and there. And on one sideand on the other side the windows looked out upon the wide lawn, withits giant oaks hung with grey wreaths of moss. My heart grew sorestraitened. It was a hard evening, that first evening at Magnolia;with the loveliness and the brightness, the warm attraction, and thebitter cold sense of loneliness. I longed to throw myself down andcry. What I did, was to stand by one of the windows and fight myselfnot to let the tears come. If _they_ were here, it would be so happy!If they were here--oh, if they were here!

  I believe the girl spoke to me without my hearing her. But then camesomebody whom I was obliged to hear, shouting "Daisy" along thegallery. I faced him with a great effort. He wanted to know what I wasdoing, and how I liked it, and where my room was.

  "No
t found it yet?" said Preston. "Is this it? Whose room is this,hey?--you somebody?"

  "Maggie, massa," said the girl, dropping a curtsey.

  "Maggie, where is your mistress's room?"

  "This is Mis' 'Liza's room, sir."

  "Nonsense! Miss 'Liza is only here on a visit--_this_ is yourmistress. Where is her room, hey?"

  "Oh stop, Preston!" I begged him. "I am not mistress."

  "Yes, you are. I'll roast anybody who says you ain't. Come along, andyou shall choose which room you will have; and if it isn't ready theywill get it ready. Come!"

  I made him understand my choice might depend on where other people'srooms were; and sent him off. Then I sent the girl away--she was apleasant-faced mulatto, very eager to help me--and left to myself Ihurriedly turned the key in the lock. I _must_ have some minutes tomyself if I was to bear the burden of that afternoon; and I knelt downwith as heavy a heart, almost, as I ever knew. In all my life I hadnever felt so castaway and desolate. When my father and mother firstwent from me, I was at least among the places where they had been;June was with me still, and I knew not Miss Pinshon. The journey hadhad its excitements and its interest. Now I was alone; for June haddecided, with tears and woeful looks, that she would not come toMagnolia; and Preston would be soon on his way back to college. I knewof only one comfort in the world; that wonderful, "Lo, I am with you."Does anybody know what that means, who has not made it the singleplank bridge over an abyss?

  No one found out that anything was the matter with me, except Preston.His caresses were dangerous to my composure. I kept him off; and he atehis dinner with a thundercloud face which foretold war with allgovernesses. For me, it was hard work enough to maintain my quiet;everything made it hard. Each new room, every arrangement of furniture,every table appointment, though certainly not what I had seen before, yetseemed so like home that I was constantly missing what would have made ithome indeed. It was the shell without the kernel. The soup ladle seemedto be by mistake in the wrong hands; Preston seemed to have no businesswith my father's carving knife and fork; the sense of desolation pressedupon me everywhere.

  After dinner the ladies went upstairs to choose their rooms, and MissPinshon avowed that she wished to have mine within hers; it would beproper and convenient, she said. Aunt Gary made no objection; butthere was some difficulty, because all the rooms had independentopenings into the gallery. Miss Pinshon hesitated a moment between oneof two that opened into each other, and another that was pleasanterand larger but would give her less facility for overlooking myaffairs. For one moment I drew a breath of hope; and then my hope wasquashed. Miss Pinshon chose one of the two that opened into eachother; and my only comfort was the fact that my own room had two doorsand I was not obliged to go through Miss Pinshon's to get to it. Justas this business was settled, Preston called me out into the galleryand asked me to go for a walk. I questioned with myself a secondwhether I should ask leave; but I had an inward assurance that to askleave would be not to go. I felt I must go. I ran back to the roomwhere my things lay, and in two minutes I was out of the house.

  My first introduction to Magnolia! How well I remember every minuteand every foot of the way. It was delicious, the instant I stepped outamong the oaks and into the sunshine. Freedom was there, at allevents.

  "Now, Daisy, we'll go to the stables," Preston said, "and see if thereis anything fit for you. I am afraid there isn't; though Edwards toldme he thought there was."

  "Who is Edwards?" I asked, as we sped joyfully away through the oaks,across shade and sunshine.

  "Oh, he is the overseer."

  "What is an overseer?"

  "What is an overseer?--why, he is the man that looks after things."

  "What things?" I asked.

  "All the things--everything, Daisy; all the affairs of the plantation;the rice fields and the cotton fields and the people, and everything."

  "Where are the stables? and where are we going?"

  "Here--just here--a little way off. They are just in a dell overhere--the other side of the house, where the quarters are."

  "Quarters?" I repeated.

  "Yes. Oh, you don't know anything down here, but you'll learn. Thestables and quarters are in this dell we are coming to; nicely out ofsight. Magnolia is one of the prettiest places on the river."

  We had passed through the grove of oaks on the further side of thehouse, and then found the beginning of a dell which, like the one bywhich we had come up a few hours before, sloped gently down to theriver. In its course it widened out to a little low sheltered openground, where a number of buildings stood.

  "So the house is between two dells," I said.

  "Yes; and on that height up there, beyond the quarters, is thecemetery; and from there you can see a great many fields and theriver, and have a beautiful view. And there are capital rides allabout the place, Daisy."

  When we came to the stables, Preston sent a boy in search of "Darius."Darius, he told me, was the coachman, and chief in charge of thestable department. Darius came presently. He was a grey-headed,fine-looking, most respectable black man. He had driven my mother andmy mother's mother; and being a trusted and important man on theplace, and for other reasons, he had a manner and bearing that were amodel of dignified propriety. Very grave "Uncle Darry" was; statelyand almost courtly in his respectful courtesy; but he gave me apleasant smile when Preston presented him.

  "We's happy to see Miss Daisy at her own home. Hope de Lord bressher."

  My heart warmed at these words like the ice-bound earth in a springday. They were not carelessly spoken, nor was the welcome. My feettrod the greensward more firmly. Then all other thoughts were for themoment put to flight by Preston's calling for the pony and askingDarius what he thought of him, and Darry's answer.

  "Very far, massa; very far. Him no good for not'ing."

  While I pondered what this judgment might amount to, the pony wasbrought out. He was larger than Loupe, and had not Loupe's peculiarsymmetry of mane and tail: he was a fat dumpy little fellow, sleek andshort, dapple grey, with a good long tail and a mild eye. Prestondeclared he had no shape at all and was a poor concern of a pony; butto my eyes he was beautiful. He took one or two sugarplums from myhand with as much amenity as if we had been old acquaintances. Then aboy was put on him, who rode him up and down with a halter.

  "He'll do, Darius," said Preston.

  "For little missis? Just big enough, massa. Got no tricks at all, onlyhe no like work. Not much spring in him."

  "Daisy must take the whip, then. Come and let us go look at some ofthe country where you will ride. Are you tired, Daisy?"

  "Oh no," I said. "But wait a minute, Preston. Who lives in all thosehouses?"

  "The people. The hands. They are away in the fields at work now."

  "Does Darius live there?"

  "Of course. They all live here."

  "I should like to go nearer, and see the houses."

  "Daisy, it is nothing on earth to see. They are all just alike, andyou see them from here."

  "I want to look in," I said, moving down the slope.

  "Daisy," said Preston, "you are just as fond of having your wayas----"

  "As what? I do not think I am, Preston."

  "I suppose nobody thinks he is," grumbled Preston, following me,"except the fellows who can't get it."

  I had by this time almost forgotten Miss Pinshon. I had almost come tothink that Magnolia might be a pleasant place. In the intervals whenthe pony was out of sight, I had improved my knowledge of the oldcoachman; and every look added to my liking. There was something Icould not read that more and more drew me to him. A simplicity in hisgood manners, a placid expression in his gravity, a staid reserve inhis humility, were all there; and more yet. Also the scene in the dellwas charming to me. The ground about the negro cottages was kept neat;they were neatly built of stone and stood round the sides of aquadrangle; while on each side and below the wooded slopes of groundclosed in the picture. Sunlight was streaming through and brighteningup the cott
ages, and resting on Uncle Darry's swart face. Down throughthe sunlight I went to the cottages. The first door stood open, and Ilooked in. At the next I was about to knock, but Preston pushed openthe door for me; and so he did for a third and a fourth. Nobody was inthem. I was a good deal disappointed. They were empty, bare, dirty,and seemed to be very forlorn. What a set of people my mother's handsmust be, I thought. Presently I came upon a ring of girls, a littlelarger than I was, huddled together behind one of the cottages. Therewas no manners about them. They were giggling and grinning, hopping onone foot, and going into other awkward antics; not the less that mostof them had their arms filled with little black babies. I had gotenough for that day, and turning about, left the dell with Preston.

  At the head of the dell, Preston led off in a new direction, along a wideavenue that ran through the woods. Perfectly level and smooth, with thewoods closing in on both sides and making long vistas through their bolesand under their boughs. By and by we took another path that led off fromthis one, wide enough for two horses to go abreast. The pine trees weresweet overhead and on each hand, making the light soft and the airfragrant. Preston and I wandered on in delightful roaming; leaving thehouse and all that it contained at an unremembered distance. Suddenly wecame out upon a cleared field. It was many acres large; in the distance anumber of people were at work. We turned back again.

  "Preston," I said, after a silence of a few minutes,--"there seemed tobe no women in those cottages. I did not see any."

  "I suppose not," said Preston; "because there were not any to see."

  "But had all those little babies no mothers?"

  "Yes, of course, Daisy; but they were in the field."

  "The mothers of those little babies?"

  "Yes. What about it? Look here--are you getting tired?"

  I said no; and he put his arm round me fondly, so as to hold me up alittle; and we wandered gently on, back to the avenue, then down itssmooth course further yet from the house, then off by another woodpath through the pines on the other side. This was a narrower path,amidst sweeping pine branches and hanging creepers, some of themprickly, which threw themselves all across the way. It was not easygetting along. I remarked that nobody seemed to come there much.

  "I never came here myself," said Preston, "but I know it must lead outupon the river somewhere, and that's what I am after. Hollo! we arecoming to something. There is something white through the trees. Ideclare, I believe----"

  Preston had been out in his reckoning, and a second time had brought mewhere he did not wish to bring me. We came presently to an open place, orrather a place where the pines stood a little apart; and there in themidst was a small enclosure. A low brick wall surrounded a square bit ofground, with an iron gate on one side of the square; within, the grassyplot was spotted with the white marble of tombstones. There were largeand small. Overhead, the great pine trees stood and waved their longbranches gently in the wind. The place was lonely and lovely. We hadcome, as Preston guessed, to the river, and the shore was here high; sothat we looked down upon the dark little stream far below us. Thesunlight, getting low by this time, hardly touched it; but streamedthrough the pine trees and over the grass, and gilded the white marblewith gold.

  "I did not mean to bring you here," said Preston, "I did not know Iwas bringing you here. Come, Daisy--we'll go and try again."

  "Oh stop!" I said--"I like it. I want to look at it."

  "It is the cemetery," said Preston. "That tall column is the monumentof our great--no, of our great-great-grandfather; and this brown oneis for mamma's father. Come, Daisy!----"

  "Wait a little," I said. "Whose is that with the vase on top?"

  "Vase?" said Preston--"it's an urn. It is an urn, Daisy. People do notput vases on tombstones."

  I asked what the difference was.

  "The difference? O Daisy, Daisy! Why vases are to put flowers in; andurns--I'll tell you, Daisy,--I believe it is because the Romans usedto burn the bodies of their friends and gather up the ashes and keepthem in a funeral urn. So an urn comes to be appropriate to atombstone."

  "I do not see how," I said.

  "Why because an urn comes to be an emblem of mortality and all that.Come, Daisy; let us go."

  "I think a vase of flowers would be a great deal nicer," I said. "Wedo not keep the ashes of our friends."

  "We don't put signs of joy over their graves either," said Preston.

  "I should think we might," I said meditatively. "When people have goneto Jesus--they must be very glad!"

  Preston burst out with an expression of hope that Miss Pinshon would"do something" for me; and again would have led me away; but I was notready to go. My eye, roving beyond the white marble and the low brickwall, had caught what seemed to be a number of meaner monuments,scattered among the pine trees and spreading down the slope of theground on the further side, where it fell off towards another dell. Inone place a bit of board was set up; further on a cross; then I saw agreat many bits of board and crosses; some more and some lesscarefully made; and still as my eye roved about over the ground theyseemed to start up to view in every direction; too low and too humbleand too near the colour of the fallen pine leaves to make much showunless they were looked for. I asked what they all were.

  "Those? Oh, those are for the people, you know."

  "The people?" I repeated.

  "Yes, the people--the hands."

  "There are a great many of them," I remarked.

  "Of course," said Preston. "You see, Daisy, there have been I don'tknow how many hundreds of hands here for a great many years, eversince mother's grandfather's time."

  "I should think," said I, looking at the little board slips andcrosses among the pine cones on the ground,--"I should think theywould like to have something nicer to put up over their graves."

  "Nicer? those are good enough," said Preston. "Good enough for them."

  "I should think they would like to have something better," I said."Poor people at the North have nicer monuments, I know. I never sawsuch monuments in my life."

  "Poor people!" cried Preston. "Why these are the _hands_, Daisy,--thecoloured people. What do they want of monuments?"

  "Don't they care?" said I, wondering.

  "Who cares if they care? I don't know whether they care," saidPreston, quite out of patience with me, I thought.

  "Only, if they cared, I should think they would have something nicer,"I said. "Where do they all go to church, Preston?"

  "Who?" said Preston.

  "These people?"

  "What people? The families along the river do you mean?"

  "No, no," said I; "I mean _our_ people--these people; the hands. Yousay there are hundreds of them. Where do they go to church?"

  I faced Preston now in my eagerness; for the little board crosses andthe forlorn look of the whole burying-ground on the side of the hillhad given me a strange feeling. "Where do they go to church,Preston!"

  "Nowhere, I reckon."

  I was shocked, and Preston was impatient. How should he know, he said;he did not live at Magnolia. And he carried me off. We went back tothe avenue and slowly bent our steps again towards the house; slowly,for I was tired, and we both, I think, were busy with our thoughts.Presently I saw a man, a negro, come into the avenue a little beforeus with a bundle of tools on his back. He went as slowly as we, withan indescribable, purposeless gait. His figure had the same look too,from his lop-sided old white hat to every fold of his clothing, whichseemed to hang about him just as it would as lieve be off as on. Ibegged Preston to hail him and ask him the question about churchgoing, which sorely troubled me. Preston was unwilling and resisted.

  "What do you want me to do that for, Daisy?"

  "Because Aunt Gary told Miss Pinshon that we have to drive six milesto go to church. Do ask him where they go!"

  "They don't go _anywhere_, Daisy," said Preston, impatiently; "theydon't care a straw about it, either. All the church they care about iswhen they get together in somebody's house and make a great muss." br />
  "Make a muss!" said I.

  "Yes; a regular muss; shouting and crying and having what they call agood time. That's what some of them do; but I'll wager if I were toask him about going to church, this fellow here would not know what Imean."

  This did by no means quiet me. I insisted that Preston should stop theman; and at last he did. The fellow turned and came back towards us,ducking his old white hat. His face was just like the rest of him; therewas no expression in it but an expression of limp submissiveness.

  "Sambo, your mistress wants to speak to you."

  "Yes, massa. I's George, massa."

  "George," said I, "I want to know where you go to church?"

  "Yes, missis. What missis want to know?"

  "Where do you and all the rest go to church?"

  "Reckon don't go nowhar, missis."

  "Don't you ever go to church?"

  "Church for white folks, missis; bery far; long ways to ride."

  "But you and the rest of the people--don't you go anywhere to church?to hear preaching?"

  "Reckon not, missis. De preachin's don't come dis way, likely."

  "Can you read the Bible, George?"

  "Dunno read, missis. Never had no larnin'."

  "Then don't you know anything about what is in the Bible? don't youknow about Jesus?"

  "Reckon don't know not'ing, missis."

  "About Jesus?" said I again.

  "'Clar, missis, dis nigger don't know not'ing, but de rice and decorn. Missis talk to Darry; he most knowin' nigger on plantation;knows a heap."

  "There!" exclaimed Preston, "that will do. You go off to your supper,George--and Daisy, you had better come on if you want anythingpleasant at home. What on earth have you got now by that? What is theuse? Of course they do not know anything; and why should they? Theyhave no time and no use for it."

  "They have no time on Sundays?" I said.

  "Time to sleep. That is what they do. That is the only thing a negrocares about, to go to sleep in the sun. It's all nonsense, Daisy."

  "They would care about something else, I dare say," I answered, "ifthey could get it."

  "Well, they can't get it. Now, Daisy, I want you to let these fellowsalone. You have nothing to do with them, and you did not come toMagnolia for such work. You have nothing on earth to do with them."

  I had my own thoughts on the subject, but Preston was not a sympathisinghearer. I said no more. The evergreen oaks about the house came presentlyin sight; then the low verandah that ran round three sides of it; then wecame to the door, and my walk was over.