The Hills of Refuge Part 14

"There are all cla.s.ses among the workers about a circus," he said--"good, bad, and indifferent."

"Well," she smiled, "let's get back to business. When can you come? We live five miles out, at the foot of the mountains, and any one can direct you to our plantation--I say 'plantation,' because it used to be styled that when we owned a lot of slaves and land. Nowadays the slaves are all free and our land has been sold off, for one reason or another, till we have only a farm now."

"I can come any day," Charles answered. "I have nothing to do and would rather be at work."

"Well, then, suppose you come out in the morning," Mary said. "I'm going right home, and I want to fix a place for you to sleep. We've got a rather roomy house, but it is not fully furnished. Oh, you will find us odd enough! We used to have a lot of old furniture, but we got hard up a few years ago and sold it by the wagon-load to a dealer in antiques. We have some of the old things left, but very few. The man s.h.i.+pped the furniture to Atlanta and sold it at a very high price. A funny thing happened about it. I was down there visiting a cousin of mine, and we went to a tea given by a wealthy woman--one of the sort, you know, that says 'I seen,' and 'had went.' Well, you may imagine my surprise when I recognized our old mahogany side-board in her dining-room. She saw me looking at it, and set in and told me a long story about how it had come down to her through several generations on her mother's side. I was crazy to know how much she paid for it, to see how badly we were stuck by that dealer, but of course I kept my mouth shut."

Charles laughed heartily, and it struck him with surprise, as he suddenly realized that it was almost the first genuine laugh he had enjoyed since he had left his home. Then he became conscious of his incongruous appearance. He noticed the enormously heavy, unpolished boots he wore, with their thick leather and metal heel-taps. His nails were neglected, his hands as rough and calloused as a blacksmith's; he had not shaved for several days and his beard felt bristly and unclean.

The s.h.i.+rt he wore was thick, coa.r.s.e, and collarless; the trousers resembled the stained overalls of a plumber. He wondered that Miss Rowland should be treating him in such a cordial and even friendly manner, and he decided that it might be the way of the higher cla.s.s in the South.

"Well," she suddenly said, turning toward the entrance of the store, "I'm going to expect you."

"I promise you that I won't fail," he said, earnestly, fumbling his coa.r.s.e cap in his hands.

"And I believe you mean it." She smiled that entrancing smile again and, to his surprise, she held out her hand. As he took it an indescribable sensation pa.s.sed over him. It felt soft and warm and like some sentient, pulsing thing too delicate and helpless for the touch of the rough palm which now held it.

"Many have fooled me, both white and black," she went on. "They swore they would come--even some of our old slaves--but didn't. However, I know I can count on you."

"You may be sure of it," he answered. "The obligation is on the other side. I want work badly and I am grateful to you for giving it to me."

"Oh, I hope you will like it out there!" she said, thoughtfully, as she lingered, and with her words she dropped her eyes for the first time.

"We have our troubles and you will be sure to notice them. I have two brothers, Kenneth and Martin, both older than I am, and I may as well tell you that they are somewhat wild and reckless. I never know where they are half the time. Yes, they are bad--they are my dear brothers and I love them with all my heart, but they are bad. They drink; they play poker; they are always in fights. It was to get Kenneth out of trouble, to pay his lawyer and the fines, that we sold some of our best land. He wasn't altogether to blame, I'll say that; but he is quick-tempered and never could control himself. Martin is getting to be like him. He imitates Kenneth in everything. It all rests on me, too. My father is as easy-going as an old shoe and doesn't care much what happens. You will find him odd, I reckon. He has only one hand; he can't work, and so he is always at his books. He is writing a history of the Rowlands. He spends all our spare change for stamps to write to people of that name whenever he happens to hear of one. It is a fearful waste of time and energy, but it amuses him and I can't object. Well, I am going now. I'll count on you, sure."

"You may be sure I'll come," Charles repeated. He had the feeling that he ought to accompany her to the door, but at once realized that the instinct to do so came from the past in which he had the social right to consider himself on an equality with any lady. He sat down in his chair and watched her as she moved through the motley throng of country people in the store. How different she seemed from them all! Then an indescribable sense of dissatisfaction came over him. Why, he was to be her servant, nothing more nor less, and the freedom she had shown meant nothing. Yet surely it wasn't so bad as that, after all. She had said that he seemed to have a sensitive nature and that he struck her as being an educated man. Yes, she had said those things, and he was sure that the memory of them would never leave him. He was glad that he had parted company with Mason, as much as he liked him, for he wanted to hug this new adventure close to his own individual breast. She had her troubles, and was bravely bearing them. He would never complain again over his lot. He went through the store and out onto the street. There was something in the very atmosphere that seemed to shower down content and joy upon him. He spent the remainder of the day wandering about the old town, almost as one in a delightful dream. He was almost superst.i.tious enough to think that some guiding angel in an invisible world had led him to this spot. Ruth, Celeste, William--they might remain out of his life forever. He had pa.s.sed through a terrible travail to attain this new birth, but the whole ordeal was worth it. He told himself that no vastly good thing ever came till the price was paid, and he had paid long and well for this. Work? He laughed. He could work till he fell in exhaustion in such a cause. Then he laughed again.

"Why, she is only a girl!" he said. "Am I a fool? After all these years of common sense am I losing my mind? Now what is there about her that does not belong to the average woman?"

He did not attempt to fathom the mystery. He only knew that he was already itching with the desire to see her again. He wanted to serve her. She was a merry child and a thoughtful woman deliciously compounded. The lights of joy and the shadows of trouble seemed alternately to flit over her wondrous being. She had troubles, and so had he. He was almost glad that it was so, for he would kill his own in fighting hers. Her round, mellow accent sounded in his ears like dream music. The touch of her delicate hand remained, and thrilled him through and through.

CHAPTER IV

At dusk he was back at the old hotel. His strange happiness amounted to ecstasy. Sam Lee, at the cigar case and counter, the pigeon-holed key-rack behind him, filled him with a desire to laugh. How vain and empty the fellow's curling mustache and damp, matted hair made him look!

Charles went into the dining-room for his supper. He was quite hungry and enjoyed the meal. When it was over he sauntered out on the veranda.

Some one in the parlor overhead was playing the piano. It was an old instrument and the notes had a jingling, metallic sound. Through an open window came the merry, jesting voice of Sam Lee chatting familiarly with a drummer in flashy attire. Up the walk from the station came a negro pus.h.i.+ng a two-wheeled truck laden with a mammoth trunk. The negro was humming a tune; his torn s.h.i.+rt was falling from a bare, black shoulder.

Catching sight of a colored waiter idling at a window of the dining-room, he uttered a loud guffaw and continued to laugh as he trudged up the walk. Charles started out again to see the town. This time he strolled along the princ.i.p.al residential street. Many of the houses stood back on wide lawns. All had porches or verandas. Through the front windows he caught sight of families at supper. On one lawn a group of children was playing. Homes, homes! what a beautiful thing a home was! Why had he not realized this and made one for himself when he had a chance?

Turning back, he went to the hotel and up to his room. It was nine o'clock, but he was not sleepy. The room was close and warm, and he undressed and lay down. For hours he lay awake, thinking, thinking of the past and opening windows of hope for the future. Should he write to William? No, it would do no good and might lead to complications.

William and Celeste might as well think of him as dead, and teach the child to forget him. A letter from him might upset his brother. He had promised to disappear, and he would keep his word. Besides, the budding joy of the new life depended upon a thorough detachment from the old. It was midnight when he fell asleep. It was early dawn when he waked. He knew that further sleep was impossible and he got up. Why should he wait longer? Why not be on his way to the Rowland farm? The idea appealed to him. He would walk the five miles through the country instead of hiring a conveyance, as he at first intended. He could have his bag sent out later.

Dressing and descending to the office, he found Sam Lee asleep in a big chair behind the counter. Hearing his step, the clerk waked and stood up.

"Early bird," Sam said, drowsily. "I guess you're anxious to get out to Rowland's. Miss Mary said she had hired you. She was tickled powerfully.

There is a drummer that I got to call now. He is off for a mountain trip. His breakfast will be ready in twenty minutes and I'll have yours fixed at the same time. Have you hired a rig?"

Charles explained that he intended to walk, and made arrangements to have his bag forwarded. The sun was just rising into view as he fared forth, following the clerk's directions as to the way along the main-traveled road toward the east.

The five miles were soon traversed. It was barely eight o'clock when he came into sight of the Rowland home. It was a large, old-fas.h.i.+oned frame building, having two floors. It had once been painted white as to the weatherboarding and green as to the shutters, but time and rain had reduced the walls to gray and the shutters to a dark, nondescript color.

There was a wide veranda which had lost part of its original bal.u.s.trade, and had broken, sagging steps and tall, fluted columns, one of which was out of plumb, owing to the decay of the timbers at its base. Behind the house Charles noticed a rather extensive stable and barns, as well as several cabins which had been occupied by former slaves in the day when the place had seen the height of its prosperity. There was a lawn in front, or the remains of one, and the brick walk was moss-grown and weed-covered save for a worn path in the center; what was once a carriage drive from a wide gate on one side had quite disappeared under a wild growth of bushes.

As he entered the gate a gray-haired man of about seventy years of age, with a book and a ma.n.u.script under a handless arm, came out of the house and stood on the veranda, staring blandly at him. He wore a narrow black necktie, and a long broad-cloth frock coat, with trousers of the same material. The coat was threadbare, the trousers baggy and frayed at the bottoms of the legs. He stepped forward and smiled agreeably as he extended his hand to Charles, who was now ascending the creaking steps.

"Mr. Brown, I believe," he said. "My daughter told me about you and we were expecting you. I am Mr. Rowland. She has gone over to a neighbor's for a minute or two. Will you sit down here or go inside? It is about as comfortable here in the morning as anywhere about the house."

"I'll sit here, if you please," Charles answered, now noticing for the first time a deep scar under the old gentleman's right eye, which had been caused by a Northern minie ball.

"Yes, we were quite pleased to secure your help," Rowland went on, taking a chair and resting his book and ma.n.u.script on his gaunt knees.

"We were really about to despair. You see," holding up his handless wrist, "that I am quite incapacitated for rough work, so I spend my time over my books and writing. I am preparing a rather extensive genealogy of the Rowland family. You may not be aware of it, sir, but it is certainly a fascinating pursuit. You never know, till you begin such research, how many of a name are in existence. I have written letters to more than two thousand persons, and had answers from a good many of more or less importance. What seems strange to me is that most persons are so indifferent on the subject. It seems to me the more worldly goods or standing they have the less they care about who they were at the beginning."

"It must be interesting," Charles agreed, vaguely pleased to find that the old gentleman was so kindly disposed toward him.

"It certainly is," Rowland went on. "I always ask strangers the question, and I'll put it to you. Do you happen to have met in your rounds (I understand that you have been a showman) any one by my name?"

"I can't recall any one just now," Charles said.

"Well, I'm not at all surprised," Rowland went on, "for the name is not a common one except in certain spots. Now they are thick in some of the Southern states. There was a governor and a general, but my daughter says all that sounds like bragging of our blood. She was looking over my work one day and said that I had not been so careful to record Rowland blacksmiths and carpenters as Rowland lawyers, doctors, and the like; but I reckon there is a good reason for that discrepancy, and that is that the lower cla.s.ses don't really know much about their forebears. It is when a man starts to rise in the world, or is about to go down, that he sees the value of family history. My daughter will tease me. The last thing she said when she started away at breakfast was that I must not bore you with this work of mine if you came while she was out. I see her now, coming across the field over there. She is worried about her two brothers. They have been away for several days, and she went over to Dodd's to see if she could hear anything of them. Keep your seat, sir. I should have offered you some fresh water before this. I'll have Aunt Zilla, our cook, bring some out to you."

Glad of a chance to change the subject, Charles made no objection, and Rowland stalked, in his slipshod way, into the sitting-room. There he met the servant and gave the order for the water.

Charles heard a veritable African snort. "Who, me? You mean me, Ma.r.s.e Andy? Is you los' yo' senses? You 'spec' me ter draw water en' fetch it in fer dat new fiel'-hand wid clothes like er house-painter? What's he, anyhow? He gwine ter do his work, en' I'll do mine. Huh, I say!"

"Well, then, I'll have to do it with one hand," Charles was mortified to overhear. "This is his first day, Zilla. He has not set in yet. Until he does he is a guest under our roof."

"Well, let 'im set in now, den," Zilla cried. "He ain't de preacher; he ain't de school-teacher; he ain't nuffen but er rousterbout circus man."

Charles heard the sound of receding footsteps toward the rear of the house, and the soft slur of the old man's tread as he returned.

"Aunt Zilla appears to be busy back there," he said, blandly. "We'll walk around to the well and draw it ourselves, if you don't mind."

Deeply chagrined, Charles accepted the offer. The well was at the kitchen door and Charles lowered the bucket into it. As he was drawing it up Aunt Zilla, who was a portly yellow woman of forty, came out with a tin dipper. It looked as if she partially regretted her show of temper, for she had a softened look as she extended the dipper to her master.

Rowland filled it and offered it to Charles, but he declined to drink first, and as a matter of mere form Rowland drank and then refilled the dipper.

"Young miss is ercomin'," Zilla said, turning toward the front. "I wonder is she done hear sumpin' erbout de boys? Lawd! Lawd! what dey bofe comin' to?"

As she disappeared around the corner Rowland stroked his white goatee and smiled wearily. "We have to handle her with care," he said. "She is the only help we have now, and she threatens to leave us every day. She is getting tyrannical. They are all like that."

They were returning to the veranda when Mary came in at the gate.

"Put the table things on the line to dry, Aunt Zilla; there is no time to lose, if they are to be ironed to-day," Charles heard her ordering, in a hurried and yet kind tone.

He noted that she wore a somewhat simpler dress than the day before, a plain checked gingham, but it was most becoming, and her hat, a great wide-brimmed one, woven from the inner husks of corn without adornment of any sort, added to her rare, flushed beauty. Being in the shade of the house, she took the hat off and held it in one hand while she offered the other to Charles.

"So you didn't fail us," she said, but she seemed now to force the exquisite smile which the day before had been so spontaneous. "I was almost sure you'd come when I was talking to you at the store, but when I got home and saw how desolate our place looked I began to fear it would bore one who had traveled about a great deal, as you must have done. Well, if you don't like it, I'll excuse you. It looks like things simply will not go right, somehow." Her face had fallen into pensive solemnity, her pretty lip was drawn tight across her fine teeth.