CHAPTER XXVIII
IN WHICH SALLY STOOPS
A week or two later the General stopped me as I was leaving his office.
"I don't like the look of you, Ben. What's the matter?"
"My head has been troubling me, General. It's been splitting for a week,and I can't see straight."
"You've thought too much, that's the mischief. Why not cut the wholething and go West with me to-morrow in my car? I'll be gone for amonth."
"It's out of the question. A man who is over head and ears in debtoughtn't to be spinning about the country in a private car."
"I don't see the logic of that as long as it's somebody else's car."
"You'd see it if you had two hundred thousand dollars of debt."
"Well, I've been worse off. I've had two hundred thousand devils ofgout. Here, come along with me. Bring Sally, bring the youngster. I'lltake the whole bunch of 'em."
When I declined, he still urged me, showing his annoyance plainly, as aman does in whom opposition even in trifles arouses a resentful, almosta violent, spirit of conquest. So, I knew, he had pursued every aim,great or small, of his life, with the look in his face of an intelligentbulldog, and the conviction somewhere in his brain that the only methodof overcoming an obstacle was to hang on, if necessary, until theobstacle grew too weak to put forth further resistance. Once, and onceonly, to my knowledge, had this power to hang on, this bulldog grip,availed him but little, and that was when his violence had encountered agentleness as soft as velvet, yet as inflexible as steel. In his wholelife only poor little Miss Matoaca had withstood him; and as I met theangry, indomitable spirit in his eyes, there rose before me the figureof his old love, with her look of meek, unconquerable obstinacy and withthe faint fragrance and colour about her that was like the fragrance andcolour of faded rose-leaves.
"There's no use, General. I can't do it," I said at last; and partingfrom him at the corner, I signalled the car for Church Hill, while hedrove slowly up-town in his buggy.
It was a breathless June afternoon. A spell of intense early heat hadswept over the country, and the summer flowers were unfolding as ifforced open in the air of a hothouse. At the door Sally met me with atelegram from Jessy announcing her marriage to Mr. Cottrel in New York;but the words and the fact seemed to me to have no nearer relation to mylife than if they had described the romantic adventures of a girl, in acrimson blouse, who was passing along the pavement.
"Well, she's got what she wanted." I remarked indifferently, "so she'sto be congratulated, I suppose. My head is throbbing as if it wouldbreak open. I'll go in and lie down in the dusk, before supper."
"Do the flowers bother you? Shall I take them away?" she asked,following me into the bedroom, and closing the shutters.
"I don't notice them. This confounded headache is the only thing I canthink of. It hasn't let up a single minute."
Bending over me, she laid her cheek to mine, and stroked the hair backfrom my forehead with her small, cool hand, which reminded me of thetouch of roses. Then going softly out, she closed the door after her,while I turned on my side, and lay, half asleep, half awake, in thedeepening twilight.
From the garden, through the open blinds of the green shutters, floatedthe strong, sweet scent of the jessamine blooming on the columns of thepiazza; and I heard, now and then, as if from a great distance, theharsh, frightened cry of a swallow as it flew out from its nest underthe roof. A sudden, sharp realisation of imperative duties left undoneawoke in my mind; and I felt impelled, as if by some outward pressure,to rise and go back again down the long, hot hill into the city."There's something important I meant to do, and did not," I thought; "assoon as this pain stops, I suppose I shall remember it, and why it is sourgent. If I can only sleep for a few minutes, my brain will clear, andthen I can think it out, and everything that is so confused now will beeasy." In some way, I knew that this neglected duty concerned Sally andthe child. I had been selfish with Sally in my misery. When I awoke witha clear head, I would go to her and say I was sorry.
The scent of the jessamine became suddenly so intense that I drew thecoverlet over my face in the effort to shut it out. Then turning my eyesto the wall, I lay without thinking or feeling, while my consciousnessslowly drifted outside the closed room and the penetrating fragrance ofthe garden beyond. Once it seemed to me that somebody came in a dreamand bent over me, stroking my forehead. At first I thought it was Sally,until the roughness of the hand startled me, and opening my eyes, I sawthat it was my mother, in her faded grey calico, with the perplexed andanxious look in her eyes, as if she, too, were trying to remember someduty which was very important, and which she had half forgotten. "Why, Ithought you were dead!" I exclaimed aloud, and the sound of my own voicewaked me.
It was broad daylight now; the shutters were open, and the breeze,blowing through the long window, brought the scent of jessaminedistilled in the sunshine beyond. It seemed to me that I had sleptthrough an eternity, and with my first waking thought, there revived thesame pressure of responsibility, the same sense of duties, unfulfilledand imperative, with which I had turned to the wall and drawn thecoverlet over my face. "I must get up," I said aloud; and then, as Ilifted my hand, I saw that it was wasted and shrunken, and that the blueveins showed through the flesh as through delicate porcelain. Then,"I've been ill," I thought, and "Sally? Sally?" The effort of memory wastoo great for me, and without moving my body, I lay looking toward thelong window, where Aunt Euphronasia sat, in the square of sunshine,crooning to little Benjamin, while she rocked slowly back and forth,beating time with her foot to the music.
"Oh, we'll ride in de golden cha'iot, by en bye, lil' chillun, We'll ride in de golden cha'iot, by en bye.
Oh, we'se all gwine home ter glory, by en bye, lil' chillun, We'se all gwine home ter glory by en bye.
Oh, we'll drink outer de healin' fountain, by en bye, lil' chillun, We'll drink outer de healin' fountain by en bye."
"Sally!" I called aloud, and my voice sounded thin and distant in my ownears.
There was the sound of quick steps, the door opened and shut, and Sallycame in and leaned over me. She wore a blue gingham apron over herdress, her sleeves were rolled up, and her hand, when it touched myface, felt warm and soft as if it had been plunged into hot soapsuds.Then my eyes fell on a jagged burn on her wrist.
"What is that?" I asked, pointing to it. "You've hurt yourself."
"Oh, Ben, my dearest, are you really awake?"
"What is that, Sally? You have hurt yourself."
"I burned my hand on the stove--it is nothing. Dearest, are you better?Wait. Don't speak till you take your nourishment."
She went out, returning a moment later with a glass of milk and whiskey,which she held to my lips, sitting on the bedside, with her arm slippedunder my pillow.
"How long have I been ill, Sally?"
"Several weeks. You became conscious and then had a relapse. Do youremember?"
"No, I remember nothing."
"Well, don't talk. Everything is all right--and I'm so happy to have youalive I could sing the Jubilee, as Aunt Euphronasia says."
"Several weeks and there was no money! Of course, you went to theGeneral, Sally--but I forgot, the General is away. You went to somebody,though. Surely you got help?"
"Oh, I managed, Ben. There's nothing to worry about now that you arebetter. I feel that there'll never be anything to worry about again."
"But several weeks, Sally, and I lying like a log, and the General away!What did you do?"
"I nursed you for one thing, and gave you medicine and chicken broth andmilk and whiskey. Now, I shan't talk any more until the doctor comes.Lie quiet and try to sleep."
But the jagged burn on her wrist still held my gaze, and catching herhand as she turned away, I pressed my lips to it with all my strength.
"Your hand feels so queer, Sally. It's as red as if it had beenscalded."
"I've been cooking my dinner, and you see I eat a great deal. There,now, that's positi
vely my last word."
Bending over, she kissed me hurriedly, a tear fell on my face, and thenbefore I could catch the fluttering hem of her apron, she had brokenfrom me, and gone out, closing the door after her. For a minute I layperfectly motionless, too weak for thought. Then opening my eyes with aneffort, I stared straight up at the white ceiling, against which a greenJune beetle was knocking with a persistent, buzzing sound that seemed anaccompaniment to the crooning lullaby of Aunt Euphronasia.
"Oh, we'se all gwine home ter glory, by en bye, lil' chillun, We'se all gwine home ter glory, by en bye."
"Will he break his wings on the ceiling, or will he fly out of thewindow?" I thought drowsily, and it appeared to me suddenly that mypersonal troubles--my illness, my anxiety for Sally, and even thepoverty that must have pressed upon her--had receded to an obscure andcloudy distance, in which they became less important in my mind than theproblem of the green June beetle knocking against the ceiling. "Will hebreak his wings or will he fly out?" I asked, with a dull interest inthe event, which engrossed my thoughts to the exclusion of all personalmatters. "I ought to think of Sally and the child, but I can't. My headwon't let me. It has gone wrong, and if I begin to think hard thoughtsI'll go delirious again. There is jessamine blooming somewhere. Did shehave a spray in her hair when she bent over me? Why did she wear agingham apron at a ball instead of pink tarlatan? No, that was not theproblem I had to solve. Will he break his wings or will he fly out?"
"Oh, we'll fit on de golden slippers, by en bye, lil' chillun,"
crooned Aunt Euphronasia, rocking little Benjamin in the square ofsunlight.
The song soothed me and I slept for a minute. Then starting awake in thecold sweat of terror, I struggled wildly after the problem which stilleluded me.
"Has he flown out?" I asked.
"Who, Marse Ben?" enquired the old negress, stopping her rocking and herlullaby at the same instant.
"The June beetle. I thought he'd break his wings on the ceiling."
"Go 'way f'om hyer, honey, he ain' gwine breck 'is wings. Dar's moughtylittle sense inside er dem, but dey ain' gwine do dat. Is yo' wits donecome back?"
"Not quite. I feel crazy. Aunt Euphronasia!"
"W'at you atter, Marse Ben?"
"How did Sally manage?"
"Ef'n hit's de las' wud I speak, she's done managed jes exactly ez ef'nshe wuz de Lawd A'moughty."
"And she didn't suffer?"
"Who? She? Dar ain' none un us suffer, honey, we'se all been livin' onde ve'y fat er de lan', we is. Dar's been roas' pig en shoat e'vyblessed day fur dinner."
She had talked me down, and I turned over again and lay in silence,until Sally came in with a dose of medicine and a cup of broth.
"Have I been very ill, Sally?"
"Very ill. It was the long mental strain, followed by the intense heat.At one time we feared that a blood vessel was broken. Now, puteverything out of your mind, and get well."
She had taken off her gingham apron, and was wearing one of her lastsummer's dresses of flowered organdie. I remembered that I had alwaysliked it because it had blue roses over it.
"How can I get well when I know that you have been starving?"
"But we haven't been. We've had everything on earth we wanted."
"Then thank God you got help. Whom did you go to?"
Putting the empty glass aside, she began feeding me spoonfuls of broth,with her arm under my pillow.
"If you will be bad and insist upon knowing--I didn't go to anybody. Yousaid you couldn't bear being helped, you know."
"I said it--oh, darling--but I didn't think of this!"
"Well, I thought of it, anyway, and I wasn't going to do while you wereill and helpless what you didn't want me to do when you were well."
"You mean you told nobody all these weeks?"
"Well, I told one or two people, but I didn't accept charity from them.The General was away, you know, but some people from the office cameover with offers of help--and I told them we needed nothing. Dr.Theophilus was too far away to treat you, but he has come almost everyday with a pitcher of Mrs. Clay's chicken broth. Oh, we've prospered,Ben, there's no doubt of that, we've prospered!"
"How soon may I get up?"
"Not for three weeks, and it will be another three weeks even if you'regood, before you can go back to the office."
A sob rose in my throat, but I bit it back fiercely before it passed mylips.
"Oh, Sally, my darling, why did you marry me?"
"You cruel boy," she returned cheerfully, as she smoothed my pillows,"when you know that if I hadn't married you there wouldn't be any littleBenjamin in the world."
After this the slow days dragged away, while I consumed chicken brothand milk punches with a frantic desire to get back my strength. Only tobe on my feet again, and able to lift the burden from Sally's shoulders!Only to drive that tired look from her eyes, and that patient, divinesmile from her lips! I watched her with jealous longing while I laythere, helpless as a fallen tree, and I saw that she grew daily thinner,that the soft redness never left her small, childlike hands, that threefine, nervous wrinkles had appeared between her arched eyebrows.Something was killing her, while I, the man who had sworn before God tocherish her, was but an additional burden on her fragile shoulders. Andyet how I loved her! Never had she seemed to me more lovely, moredesirable, than she did as she moved about my bed in her gingham apron,with the anxious smile on her lips, and the delicate furrows deepeningbetween her eyebrows.
"How soon? How soon, Sally?" I asked almost hourly, kissing the scar onher wrist when she bent over me.
"Be patient, dear."
"I am trying to be patient for your sake, but oh, it's devilish hard!"
"I know it is, Ben. Another week, and you will be up."
"Another week, and this killing you!"
"It isn't killing me. If it were killing me, do you think I could laugh?And you hear me laugh?"
"Yes, I hear you laugh, and it breaks my heart as I lie here. If I'mever up, Sally, if I'm ever well, I'll make you go to bed and I willslave over you."
"There are many things I'd enjoy more, dear. Going to bed isn't my ideaof happiness."
"Then you shall sit on a cushion and eat nothing but strawberries andcream."
"That sounds better. Well, there's something I've got to see about, soI'll leave you with Aunt Euphronasia to look after you. The doctor saysyou may have a cup of tea if you're good. We'll make a party together."
An hour or two later, when the afternoon sunshine was shut out by thegreen blinds, and the room was filled with a gentle droning sound fromthe humming-birds at the jessamine, she drew up the small wicker teatable to my bedside, and we made the party with merriment. Her eyes weretired, the three fine nervous wrinkles had deepened between her archedeyebrows, and the soft redness I had objected to, covered her hands; yetthat spirit of gaiety, which had seemed to me to resemble the spirit ofthe bird singing in the old grey house, still showed in her voice andher smile. As she brewed the tea in the little brown tea-pot and pouredit into the delicate cups, with the faded pattern of moss rosebudsaround the brim, I wondered, half in a dream, from what inexhaustiblesource she drew this courage which faced life, not with endurance, butwith blitheness. Were the ghosts of the dead Blands and Fairfaxes fromwhom she had sprung fighting over again their ancient battles in theirdescendant?
"This is a nice party, isn't it?" she asked, when she had brought thehot buttered toast from the kitchen and cut it into very small slices onmy plate; "the tea smells deliciously. I paid a dollar and a quarter fora pound of it this morning."
"If I'm ever rich again you shall pay a million and a quarter, if youwant to."
The charming archness awoke in her eyes, while she looked at me over thebrim of the cup.
"Isn't this just as nice as being rich, Ben?" she asked; "I am really,you know, a far better cook than Aunt Mehitable."
"All the same I'd rather live on bread and water than have you do it," Ianswered.
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She lifted her hand, pushing the heavy hair from her forehead, and mygaze fell on the jagged scar on her wrist. Then, as she caught myglance, her arm dropped suddenly under the table, and she pulled herloose muslin sleeve into place.
"Does the burn hurt you, Sally?"
"Not now--it is quite healed. At first it smarted a little."
"Darling, how did you do it?"
"I've forgotten. On the stove, I think."
I fell back on the pillow, too faint, in spite of the tea I had taken,to follow a thought in which there was so sharp and so incessant a pang.Before my eyes the little table, with its white cloth and its fragilechina service, decorated with moss rosebuds, appeared to dissolve intosome painful dream distance, in which the sound of the humming-birds atthe jessamine grew gradually louder.
Six days longer I remained in bed, too weak to get into my clothes, orto stand on my feet, but at the end of that time I was permitted tostruggle to the square of sunlight by the window, where I sat for anhour with the warm breeze from the garden blowing into my face. For thefirst day or two I was unable to rise from the deep chintz-coveredchair, in which Aunt Euphronasia and Sally had placed me; but oneafternoon, when the old negress had returned to the kitchen, and Sallyhad gone out on an errand, I disobeyed their orders and crawled out onthe porch, where the scent of the jessamine seemed a part of the summersunshine. The next day I ventured as far as the kitchen steps, and foundAunt Euphronasia plucking a chicken for my broth, with little Benjaminasleep in his carriage at her side.
"Aunt Euphronasia, do you know where Sally goes every afternoon?" Ienquired.
"Hi! Marse Ben, ain't un 'oman erbleeged ter teck her time off de sameez a man?" she demanded indignantly. "She cyarn' be everlastin'lya-settin' plum at yo' elbow."
"You know perfectly well I'm not such a brute as to be complaining,mammy."
"Mebbe you ain't, honey, but hit sounds dat ar way ter me."
"If I could only make sure she'd gone to walk, I'd be jolly glad."
"Ef'n you ax me," she retorted contemptuously, "she ain't de sort, suh,dat's gwineter traipse jes' fur de love er traipsing.'"
There was small comfort, I saw, to be had from her, so turning away,while she resumed her plucking, I crawled slowly back through thebedroom into the hall, and along the hall to the front door, which stoodopen. Here the dust of the street rose like steam to my nostrils, andthe stone steps and the brick pavement were thickly coated. Awatering-cart turned the corner, scattering a refreshing spray, andbehind it came a troop of thirsty dogs, licking greedily at the waterbefore it sank into the dust. The foliage of the trees was scorched to alivid shade, and the ends of the leaves curled upward as if a flame hadblown by them. Down the street, as I stood there, came the old familiarcry from a covered wagon: "Water-million! Hyer's yo' watermillion freshf'om de vine!"
Clinging to the iron railing, which burned my hand, I descended thesteps with trembling limbs, and stood for a minute in the patch of shadeat the bottom. A negro, seated on the curbing, was drinking the juicefrom a melon rind, and he looked up at me with rolling eyes, hisgluttonous red lips moving in rapture.
"Dish yer's a moughty good melon, Marster," he said, and returned to hisfeast.
As I was about to place my foot on the bottom step and begin thedifficult ascent, my eyes, raised to our sitting-room window, hungspellbound on a black and white sign fastened against the panes:
"Fine laundering. Old laces a specialty. Desserts made to order."
"Old laces a specialty," I repeated, as if struck by the phrase. Then,as my strength failed me, I sank on the stone step in the patch ofshade, and buried my face in my hands.