CHAPTER V
THE STOREKEEPER
It was now late afternoon, the sun's rays coming slantingly into theforest, and the warmth of the day past and gone. To Haward, riding at agallop down the road that was scarce more than a bridle path, the rush ofthe cool air was grateful; the sharp striking of protruding twigs, theviolent brushing aside of hanging vines, not unwelcome.
It was of the man that the uppermost feeling in his mind was one ofdisgust at his late infelicity of speech, and at the blindness which hadprompted it. That he had not divined, that he had been so dull as toassume that as he felt, or did not feel, so must she, annoyed him like thejar of rude noises or like sand blowing into face and eyes. It was of him,too, that the annoyance was purely with himself; for her, when at last hecame to think of her, he found only the old, placid affection, as farremoved from love as from hate. If he knew himself, it would always be asfar removed from love as from hate.
All the days of her youth he had come and gone, a welcome guest at herfather's house in London. He had grown to be her friend, watching thecrescent beauty of face and mind with something of the pride andtenderness which a man might feel for a young and favorite sister; andthen, at last, when some turn of affairs sent them all home to Virginiato take lot and part there, he had thought of marriage.
His mind had turned, not unwillingly, from the town and its apples ofSodom to his Virginia plantation that he had not seen for more than tenyears. It was his birthplace, and there he had spent his boyhood.Sometimes, in heated rooms, when the candles in the sconces were gutteringdown, and the dawn looked palely in upon gaming tables and heaped gold,and seamed faces, haggardly triumphant, haggardly despairing, determinedlyindifferent, there had come to him visions of cool dawns upon the river,wide, misty expanses of marsh and forest, indistinct and cold and pure.The lonely "great house," too,--the house which his father had built withso much love and pains, that his son and his son's sons should have aworthy home,--appealed to him, and the garden, and the fishing-boats, andthe old slaves in the quarters. He told himself that he was glad to goback.
Had men called him ambitious, he would have smiled, and felt truly thatthey had bungled in the word. Such and such things were simply hisappurtenances; in London, the regard due to a gentleman who to a certaindistinction in his manner of amusing himself added the achievement of asuccessful comedy, three lampoons quoted at all London tea-tables, and apiece of Whig invective, so able, stern, and sustained that many criedthat the Dean had met his match; in Virginia, the deferential esteem ofthe colony at large, a place in the Council, and a great estate. Analliance with the master of Westover was in itself a desirable thing,advantageous to purse and to credit; his house must have a mistress, andthat mistress must please at every point his fastidious taste.
What better to do than to give it for Mistress Evelyn Byrd? Evelyn, whohad had for all her suitors only a slow smile and shake of the head;Evelyn, who was older than her years; Evelyn, who was his friend as he washers. Love! He had left that land behind, and she had never touched itsshores; the geography of the poets to the contrary, it did not lie in thecourse of all who passed through life. He made his suit, and now he hadhis answer.
If he did not take trouble to wonder at her confession, or to modestly askhimself how he had deserved her love, neither did he insult her with pityor with any lightness of thought. Nor was he ready to believe that hisrejection was final. Apparently indifferent as he was, it was yet his wayto move steadily and relentlessly, if very quietly, toward what goal hedesired to reach. He thought that Fair View might yet call Evelyn Byrd itsmistress.
Since turning into the crossroad that, running south and east, would takehim back to the banks of the James and to his own house, he had notslackened speed, but now, as he saw through the trees before him a longzigzag of rail fence, he drew rein. The road turned, and a gate barred hisway. When he had opened it and passed through, he was upon his own land.
He had ridden off his irritation, and could now calmly tell himself thatthe blunder was made and over with, and that it was the duty of thephilosopher to remember it only in so far as it must shape his futurecourse. His house of cards had toppled over; but the profoundindifferentism of his nature enabled him to view the ruins with composure.After a while he would build the house again. The image of Evelyn, as shehad stood, dark-eyed and pale, with the flowers pressed to her bosom, heput from him. He knew her strength of soul; and with the curious hardnessof the strong toward the strong, and also not without the delicacy which,upon occasion, he could both feel and exhibit, he shut the door upon thathour in the forest.
He had left the woods, and was now riding through a field of newly plantedtobacco. It and the tobacco house in the midst of it were silent,deserted, bathed in the late sunshine. The ground rose slightly, and whenhe had mounted with it he saw below him the huddle of cabins which formedthe ridge quarter, and winding down to it a string of negroes. One turnedhis head, and saw the solitary horseman upon the summit of the slopebehind him; another looked, and another, until each man in line had hishead over his shoulder. They knew that the horseman was their master. Somehad been upon the plantation when he was a boy; others were more recentacquisitions who knew not his face; but alike they grinned and ducked. Thewhite man walking beside the line took off his hat and pulled a forelock.Haward raised his hand that they might know he saw, and rode on.
Another piece of woods where a great number of felled trees cumbered theground, more tobacco, and then, in worn fields where the tobacco had been,knee-deep wheat rippling in the evening breeze. The wheat ran down to amarsh, and to a wide, slow creek that, save in the shadow of its reedybanks, was blue as the sky above. Haward, riding slowly beside his greenfields and still waters, noted with quiet, half-regretful pleasure this orthat remembered feature of the landscape. There had been little change.Here, where he remembered deep woods, tobacco was planted; there, wherethe tobacco had been, were now fields of wheat or corn, or wild tangles ofvine-rid saplings and brushwood: but for this it might have been yesterdaythat he had last ridden that way.
Presently he saw the river, and then the marshes with brown dots that werehis cattle straying over them, and beyond these the home landing and themasts of the Golden Rose. The sun was near its setting; the men had leftthe fields; over all things were the stillness and peace, the encroachingshadows, the dwindling light, so golden in its quality, of late afternoon.When he crossed the bridge over the creek, the hollow sound that theboards gave forth beneath his horse's hoofs had the depth and resonance ofdrumbeats, and the cry of a solitary heron in the marsh seemed louder thanits wont. He passed the rolling-house and drew near to the river, ridingagain through tobacco. These plants were Oronoko; the mild sweet-scentedtook the higher ground. Along the river bank grew a row of tall andstately trees: passing beneath them, he saw the shining water betweenbrown columns or through a veil of slight, unfolding leaves. Soon thetrees fell away, and he came to a stretch of bank,--here naked earth,there clad in grass and dewberry vines. Near by was a small landing, withseveral boats fastened to its piles; and at a little distance beyond it,shadowed by a locust-tree, a strongly built, two-roomed wooden house, withthe earth around it trodden hard and bare, and with two or three benchesbefore its open door. Haward recognized the store which his father--afterthe manner of his kind, merchant and trader as well as planter and makerof laws--had built, and which, through his agent in Virginia, he hadmaintained.
Before one of the benches a man was kneeling with his back to Haward, whocould only see that his garb was that of a servant, and that his handswere busily moving certain small objects this way and that upon the board.At the edge of the space of bare earth were a horse-block and ahitching-post. Haward rode up to them, dismounted, and fastened his horse,then walked over to the man at the bench.
So intent was the latter upon his employment that he heard neither horsenor rider. He had some shells, a few bits of turf, and a double handful ofsand, and he was arranging these trifles upon the rough, unpainte
d boardsin a curious and intricate pattern. He was a tall man, with hair that wasmore red than brown, and he was dressed in a shirt of dowlas, leatherbreeches, and coarse plantation-made shoes and stockings.
"What are you doing?" asked Haward, after a moment's silent watching ofthe busy fingers and intent countenance.
There was no start of awakened consciousness upon the other's part. "Why,"he said, as if he had asked the question of himself, "with this sand Ihave traced the shores of Loch-na-Keal. This turf is green Ulva, and thisis Gometra, and the shell is Little Colonsay. With this wet sand I havemoulded Ben Grieg, and this higher pile is Ben More. If I had but a sprigof heather, now, or a pebble from the shore of Scridain!"
The voice, while harsh, was not disagreeably so, and neither the words northe manner of using them smacked of the rustic.
"And where are Loch-na-Keal and Ulva and Scridain?" demanded Haward."Somewhere in North Britain, I presume?"
The second question broke the spell. The man glanced over his shoulder,saw that he was not alone, and with one sweep of his hand blotting lochand island and mountain out of existence, rose to his feet, and opposed toHaward's gaze a tall, muscular frame, high features slightly pockmarked,and keen dark blue eyes.
"I was dreaming, and did not hear you," he said, civilly enough. "It's notoften that any one comes to the store at this time of day. What d' yelack?"
As he spoke he moved toward the doorway, through which showed shelves andtables piled with the extraordinary variety of goods which were deemedessential to the colonial trade. "Are you the storekeeper?" asked Haward,keeping pace with the other's long stride.
"It's the name they call me by," answered the man curtly; then, as hechanced to turn his eyes upon the landing, his tone changed, and a smileirradiated his countenance. "Here comes a customer," he remarked, "that'llmake you bide your turn."
A boat, rowed by a young boy and carrying a woman, had slipped out of thecreek, and along the river bank to the steps of the landing. When theywere reached, the boy sat still, the oars resting across his knees, andhis face upturned to a palace beautiful of pearl and saffron cloud; butthe woman mounted the steps, and, crossing the boards, came up to the doorand the men beside it. Her dress was gray and unadorned, and she was youngand of a quiet loveliness.
"Mistress Truelove Taberer," said the storekeeper, "what can you choose,this May Day, that's so fair as yourself?"
A pair of gray eyes were lifted for the sixth part of a second, and avoice that bad learned of the doves in the forest proceeded to rebuke theflatterer. "Thee is idle in thy speech, Angus MacLean," it declared. "I amnot fair; nor, if I were, should thee tell me of it. Also, friend, it isidle and tendeth toward idolatry to speak of the first day of the fifthmonth as May Day. My mother sent me for a paper of White-chapel needles,and two of manikin pins. Has thee them in thy store of goods?"
"Come you in and look for yourself," said the storekeeper. "There'swoman's gear enough, but it were easier for me to recount the names of allthe children of Gillean-ni-Tuaidhe than to remember how you call thethings you wear."
So saying he entered the store. The Quakeress followed, and Haward, tiredof his own thoughts, and in the mood to be amused by trifles, trod intheir footsteps.
Door and window faced the west, and the glow from the sinking sunillumined the thousand and one features of the place. Here was the glintof tools and weapons; there pewter shone like silver, and brass dazzledthe eyes. Bales of red cotton, blue linen, flowered Kidderminster, scarletserge, gold and silver drugget, all sorts of woven stuffs from lockram tobrocade, made bright the shelves. Pendent skins of buck and doe showedlike brown satin, while looking-glasses upon the wall reflected greentrees and painted clouds. In one dark corner lurked kegs of powder and ofshot; another was the haunt of aqua vitae and right Jamaica.Playing-cards, snuffboxes, and fringed gloves elbowed a shelf of books,and a full-bottomed wig ogled a lady's headdress of ribbon and malines.Knives and hatchets and duffel blankets for the Indian trade were notwanting.
Haward, leaning against a table laden with so singular a miscellany that afine saddle with crimson velvet holsters took the head of the board, whilethe foot was set with blue and white china, watched the sometime moulderof peak and islet draw out a case filled with such small and womanisharticles as pins and needles, tape and thread, and place it before hiscustomer. She made her choice, and the storekeeper brought a great book,and entered against the head of the house of Taberer so many pounds oftobacco; then, as the maiden turned to depart, heaved a sigh so piteousand profound that no tender saint in gray could do less than pause, halfturn her head, and lift two compassionate eyes.
"Mistress Truelove, I have read the good book that you gave me, and Icannot deny that I am much beholden to you," and her debtor sighed like afurnace.
The girl's quiet face flushed to the pink of a seashell, and her eyes greweager.
"Then does thee not see the error of thy ways, Angus MacLean? If it shouldbe given me to pluck thee as a brand from the burning! Thee will not againbrag of war and revenge, nor sing vain and ruthless songs, nor use dice orcards, nor will thee swear any more?"
The voice was persuasion's own. "May I be set overtide on the Lady's Rock,or spare a false Campbell when I meet him, or throw up my cap for thedamned Hogan Mogan that sits in Jamie's place, if I am not entirelyconvert!" cried the neophyte. "Oh, the devil! what have I said? MistressTruelove--Truelove"--
But Truelove was gone,--not in anger or in haste, for that would have beenunseemly, but quietly and steadily, with no looking back. The storekeeper,leaping over a keg of nails that stood in the way, made for the door, andtogether with Haward, who was already there, watched her go. The path tothe landing and the boat was short; she had taken her seat, and the boyhad bent to the oars, while the unlucky Scot was yet alternately callingout protestations of amendment and muttering maledictions upon hisunguarded tongue. The canoe slipped from the rosy, unshadowed water intothe darkness beneath the overhanging trees, reached the mouth of thecreek, and in a moment disappeared from sight.