"Miss Lou" Part 21

If by wild, reckless conduct you thwart my efforts in your behalf, my responsibility ceases. I can then feel that I have done my best."

"And so, uncle, you would be quite content, no matter what became of me," added the girl bitterly. "Well, then, I tell you to your face that you cannot marry me, like a slave girl, to whom you please. I'll die first. I shall have my girlhood, and then, as woman, marry or not marry, as I choose. Aunty, I appeal to you, as a woman and a lady, to stop this wretched folly if you can."

"Louise," said her aunt, kindly, "as long as I have a home it shall be a refuge to you. I hope the morrow will bring wiser counsels and better moods to us all."

The mansion soon became quiet, and all slept in the weariness of reaction. No sound came from the darkened dwelling except an occasional groan from one of the wounded men on the piazza. Scoville, wrapped in a blanket, lay down by the fire with his men and was asleep almost instantly. The still shadows on the dewy gra.s.s slowly turned toward the east as the moon sank low. To the last, its beams glinted on the weapons of vigilant sentinels and vedettes, and the only warlike sounds occurred at the relief of guards. All rested who could rest except one--the overseer. Restless, vindictive, he watched and listened till morning.

CHAPTER XVIII

A WELL-AIMED SLIPPER

It would be hard to imagine a morning more lovely, a more perfect type of peace and good-will, than the one which dawned over The Oaks plantation the following day. With the light came fragrant zephyrs of delicious coolness; the stillness of the night gave place to a slight stir and rustle of foliage; chanticleers crowed l.u.s.tily, with no forebodings of their doom; the horses began to whinny for their breakfasts, and the negroes to emerge from their quarters to greet the light of this first fair day of freedom. Uncle l.u.s.thah declared "De millenyum yere sho!" Smoke rose from Aun' Jinkey's chimney, and after the pone was baking on the hearth she came out on the doorstep with her pipe to do a little "projeckin'." Even she was impressed with the beauty and peacefulness of the morning. "En ter tink," she e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed, "my honey's sleepin' lak a lil chile 'stead ob cryin' en wringin' her han's n.o.body know whar! Wen dey gits ter mar'in' my honey en she a bleatin' en a tremlin' like a lamb 'long a wolf dat lickin' he chops ober her, den I say hit's time fer a smash up. Ma.r.s.e Scoville look lak he 'tect her gin de hull worl'."

So thought Miss Lou herself. In her weariness and sense of security she had slept soundly till the light grew distinct, when the birds wakened her. With consciousness memory quickly reproduced what had occurred.

She sprang to the window and peeped through the blinds in time to see Scoville rise from his bivouac and throw aside his blanket. With a soldier's promptness he aroused his men and began giving orders, the tenor of one being that a scouting party should prepare to go out immediately.

"Oh!" she sighed, "if I had such a brother what a happy girl I might be! I don't believe I'd ever care to marry."

She was far from being a soft-natured, susceptible girl, and while Scoville kindled her imagination and had won her trust, she did not think of him as a lover. Indeed, the very word had become hateful to her, a.s.sociating it as she did with her cousin and the idea of selfish appropriation. More strongly than any slave on the plantation, she longed for freedom, and the belief that the Union officer understood her, respecting her rights and feelings, won him all the favor she was then capable of bestowing upon any one. If he had employed his brief opportunity in gallantry and love-making she would have been disgusted.

"I never met any one like him," she soliloquized as she hastily dressed. "It's so strange to find one willing I should be a little bit happy in my own way, who is not 'seeking my best welfare,' as uncle says. Welfare, indeed! As if I couldn't see some wish or scheme of their own back of all they say or do! His dark eyes declare, 'I wish you well whether you are useful to me or not.' Well, I am glad I've known him, whether I ever see him again or not. He has made my course much clearer."

The inmates of the mansion as well as those without were soon busy in their preparations for a day which all felt must be eventful. That the "millenyum" had not come was soon proved by the commencement of hostilities on the part of Mrs. Baron and Scoville. The latter was approaching the kitchen to interview Aun' Suke when "ole miss" appeared.

"Madam," he said, lifting his hat, "will you kindly direct your cook to prepare a breakfast immediately for the wounded? It should be light as well as nutritious, for some are feverish."

She paid no more attention to him than if he had not spoken, and entered Aun' Suke's domain. There was a mirthful flash in his dark eyes as he followed her. When she saw him standing in the doorway, her cold stare, more clearly than words, designated him "intruder." He steadily returned her gaze, and Aun' Suke, who had been shouting over freedom the night before, now had the temerity to quiver in all her vast proportions with amus.e.m.e.nt.

"Madam," resumed Scoville, removing his hat, "will you give my orders, or shall I?"

"Your orders, sir! and in my kitchen!"

"Certainly, madam, and my orders in this instance are simply the dictates of humanity."

"I will see that our men are well cared for. I am not responsible for the others."

"But I am, and all must fare alike. Cook, prepare a nice light breakfast for all the wounded men before you do anything else."

"Yes, mars'r, I 'bey you, I sut'ny will."

Scoville strode away to attend to other duties. Mrs. Baron glared after him and then at Aun' Suke, who at once began her work.

"Do you mean to say that you'll take no more orders from me?" the old lady asked, in tones of suppressed anger.

"Kyant do mo' 'n one ting ter oncet. Ob co'se I git yo' breakfas' when I kin. Reck'n dough we soon hab ter disergree on my wages. I'se a free ooman."

"Oh, you are free and I am not. That's the new order of things your Yankee friends would bring about."

"La now, misus," said matter-of-fact Aun' Suke, again shaking with mirth at the idea, "you got mo' edication 'n me. Wat de use bein' blin'

des on puppose? Spose you en ole mars'r tell me dat ain' a egg"

(holding one up): "kyant I see? Hit's broad sun-up. Why not des look at tings ez dey iz? Sabe a heap ob trouble. Yere, you lil n.i.g.g.ahs, hep right smart or you neber get yo' breakfas'."

Mrs. Baron went back to the house looking as if the end of the world had come instead of the millennium.

In the hall she met her husband and Mrs. Whately, to whom she narrated what had occurred. Mr. Baron had settled down into a sort of sullen endurance, and made no answer, but Mrs. Whately began earnestly: "Our very dignity requires that we have no more collisions with a power we cannot resist. Even you, sister, must now see that you gain nothing and change nothing. We can be merely pa.s.sive in our hostility. The only course possible for us is to endure this ordeal patiently and then win Louise over to our wishes."

Miss Lou, who was dusting the parlor, stole to the further end of the apartment and rattled some ornaments to warn them of her presence. She smiled bitterly as she muttered, "Our wishes; mine will never be consulted."

Mrs. Whately entered the parlor and kissed her niece affectionately.

She did not like the girl's expression and the difficulty of her task grew clearer. Nevertheless, her heart was more set on the marriage than ever before, since her motives had been strengthened by thought. That her son was bent upon it was one of the chief considerations. "If I obtain for him this prize," she had reasoned, "he must see that there is no love like a mother's."

Miss Lou, also, had been unconsciously revealing her nature to the sagacious matron, who felt the girl, if won, would not become a pretty toy, soon wearying her son by insipidity of character. "I know better,"

the lady thought, "than to agree with brother and sister that Louise is merely wilful and perverse." Feeling that she was incapable of controlling her son, she would be glad to delegate this task to the one who had the most influence over him and who best promised to maintain it. She was not so blind in her indulgence as helpless in it from long habit. She thought that as a wife the girl would not only hold her own, but also do much toward restraining her son in his wild tendencies; but she gave no weight to the consideration often in Miss Lou's mind, "I do not see why everything and everybody should exist for Cousin Mad's benefit."

Mrs. Whately secretly approved of Scoville's orders in regard to the wounded, but did not so express herself, resolving not to come into collision again with her relatives unless it was essential. She now went out and a.s.sisted the surgical trooper in dressing the men's injuries. Miss Lou had learned that breakfast would be delayed, and so decided to satisfy her hunger partially at Aun' Jinkey's cabin. The excitements of the preceding day had robbed her of all appet.i.te, but now she was ravenous. Her estrangement from her uncle and aunt was so great that she avoided them, having a good deal of the child's feeling, "I won't speak till they make up first."

The old negress heard her rapid steps and looked out from her door.

"Oh, mammy," cried the girl, "I'm that hungry I could almost eat you, and I don't know when we'll have breakfast."

"You des in time, den, honey. Come right in."

But Miss Lou paused at the door in embarra.s.sment, for Scoville had risen from the table and was advancing to meet her. "Good-morning, Miss Baron," he said. "Aunt Jinkey and Chunk have prepared me a capital breakfast, and I should be only too delighted to share it. I must be in the saddle soon and so availed myself of the first chance for a meal.

Please do not hesitate, for it will probably be my only opportunity of saying good-by."

"Dar now, honey, sit right down. Ef Ma.r.s.e Scoville ain' quality den I doan know um."

"Miss Baron," cried Scoville, laughing, "Aunt Jinkey has raised a point now which you alone can settle--the question of my quality."

"About the same as my own, I reckon," said the girl, sitting down with rosy cheeks. "Aun' Jinkey is evidently your ally, for she has put her invitation in a form which I could not decline without hurting the feelings of--"

"Your sincere and grateful friend," interrupted the officer.

"Uncle and aunt would think I was committing an unheard-of indiscretion."

"But ARE you?"

"I'm too hungry to discuss the question now," she answered, laughing.

"Do let us hasten, for such OLD friends should not part with their mouths full."

"Well, hit des does my ole heart good ter see you sittin' dar, Miss Lou. I'se po'ful glad yo' mouf's full ob breakfas' en dat yo' eyes ain'

full ob tears. Wat we projeckin' 'bout yistidy?"

"Now, Aun' Jinkey, just keep still. I can't show becoming sentiment on any subject except pones and such coffee as I have not tasted for a long time."

"Hit Yankee coffee."