"Miss Lou" Part 12

"Surely, Louise, you cannot expect any more trouble, after my son has said there would not be any," said Mrs. Whately, in a somewhat aggrieved tone.

"You must have seen," was the reply, "that Cousin Madison hasn't just the kind of self-control which inspires confidence."

"I a.s.sure you, Louise, that he regrets his act as much as you can. You should, in charity, remember his great provocation."

"Well, then," Miss Lou burst out, "let him make amends. Here I am, a defenceless girl, with all my kindred against me. He should be the first to defend me."

"So he wishes to do, my dear; and he only craves the most sacred right to defend you."

"Yes, in his own way, and without any regard to my feelings and wishes."

"Indeed, my dear, you misjudge him. You have only to yield one point in order to make him a slave to your wishes."

"But that is yielding everything. Oh, aunt, how can you urge a girl toward a loveless marriage?"

"Now, my dear, just listen patiently to me for a few moments," began Mrs. Whately in a wheedling tone. "I am older than you are. I know young girls are apt to have romantic notions, but when they reach my age they find that it is ever best to act in view of good and sufficient reasons. Apart from the terrible emergency that is upon us, you know that we all have had our hearts set on this marriage almost ever since you were born, and we have made no secret of the fact. It would be a terrible disappointment to us if it should not take place. I fear that life has been too strict and narrow for you here, but you know that in my home you will dwell in an atmosphere of kindness and indulgence. I will give up to you whenever you are ready to take the reins after these sore troubles are over. But, Louise, you do not realize that we are in the midst of a terrible emergency. You ought not to remain here. Madison has arranged that we both go south to his cousin Sam's."

"I don't wish to go!" cried the girl, wringing her hands.

"Now, my dear, can't you just believe that we, who are more experienced and know the danger, wish to do what is best for you and what you will soon see was best?"

"No, I cannot! I cannot! I just feel that I can't marry my cousin without perjuring myself."

"Surely you don't love any one else, Louise?"

"What chance have I had to love anyone, except my old mammy? I don't know anything about the love which I feel should lead to marriage. I have just been treated like a child, and then without any girlhood at all I'm to be married to one that I shrink from. I feel in my very soul that it's all wrong and unjust."

"But, my dear, you won't feel so after you are a wife and safe in your own home. You will then feel that you have reached woman's true place and sphere, without incurring the risks and misfortunes which befall so many. Your guardians might have shown more tact, perhaps, but they meant well, and they wish you well, and are seeking only your welfare.

They feel in honor bound to do what is best for you, and not what, in your inexperience, you may wish at the moment. As for my son, a warmer-hearted fellow does not breathe. He loves you fondly. You can influence him, you can control him as no other can, you have the strongest hold upon him."

"Alas!" said the girl, divining the ultimate truth, "you love him blindly and wholly; you would sacrifice me, yourself and everything to him, and because he has always had everything his own way, he would have me in spite of the whole protest of my being. No one truly cares for me; no one understands me. I have been thrown back upon books and my own nature for such knowledge as I now so desperately need, and I feel that if I am false to my interests, to what I believe is right, my life is spoiled. I don't wish to marry any one, and as to all these dangers you so vaguely threaten, I believe that if there is a good G.o.d, he will take care of me."

"Well, my dear," said Mrs. Whately, striving to hide the fact that she was baffled, "we won't talk any more about it to-night. You are excited and worried, and incapable of wise judgment. Rest and sleep are what you need now," and she kissed the girl, who did not return the caress.

"Wise judgment!" she muttered, bitterly, "what fine words they use! So you, too, are hopelessly against me. You would give me to your son just as you used to give him everything he cried for when a child. Well, then, I'll appeal to the minister himself. I don't believe he can marry me against my will. At any rate, I shall never give my consent, never; and perhaps somebody may come in time. My people are teaching me to fear them even more than the Yankees."

CHAPTER XI

AUN' JINKEY'S WARNING

The night pa.s.sed like a lull in the storm. Perkins reported that the negroes were quiet, contenting themselves with whispering and watchfulness. Aun' Jinkey smoked and dozed in her chair, listening to every sound, but no "squinch-owl" renewed her fears. The family at the mansion were too perturbed to sleep much, for all knew that the morrow must bring decisive events. The three soldiers sent after the recreant trooper returned from a bootless chase and were allowed to rest, but Whately saw to it that there was a vigilant watch kept by relief of guards on the part of the others. He was not very greatly encouraged by his mother's report, but as the hours pa.s.sed the habits of his life and the tendencies of his nature a.s.serted themselves with increasing force.

He would marry his cousin on the morrow; he would not be balked in his dearest hope and wish. The very resistance of the girl stimulated his purpose, for throughout all his life nothing so enhanced his desire for anything as difficulty and denial. The subduing the girl's high spirit into subservience to his own was in itself a peculiarly alluring prospect, and he proved how little he appreciated her character by whiling away part of the night over "Taming of the Shrew." A creature of fitful impulse, nurtured into an arrogant sense of superiority, he banished all compunctions, persuading himself easily into the belief that as soldier, officer, and lover he was taking the manly course in going straight forward. "The idea of consulting a whimsical girl at such a time," he muttered, "when a Yankee horde may descend on the plantation within forty-eight hours."

Miss Lou was quite as sleepless as himself, and also did a great deal of thinking. She had too much pride to hide and mope in her room. Her high, restless spirit craved action, and she determined to brave whatever happened with the dignity of courage. She would face them all and a.s.sert what she believed to be her rights before them all, even the clergyman himself. She therefore appeared at the breakfast table with just enough color in her cheeks and fire in her eyes to enhance her beauty.

"Ah, this is something like," exclaimed her uncle. "I knew sleep and thought would bring back good sense."

Mrs. Whately kissed her effusively and Mrs. Baron formally, the girl submitting with like mien in both instances. Her cousin, in accordance with his mood and the policy he had adopted, bowed gallantly and with a touch of grandiloquence in his tone said, "I again apologize before all for my most unfortunate act last evening."

She only bowed silently in reply.

Then Whately a.s.sumed the air of one who had many and weighty matters on his mind, his whole conversation conforming to the accepted belief that they were facing a terrible emergency, and that he, as the practical head of the family at such a time, must act decisively for the best good and safety of all. "If I could be governed in this instance," he said, "only by patriotic feeling I would advise the destruction of all the forage on the place if convinced that the Yanks were coming this way, but that would incite them to every possible outrage. Still, I truly believe that it would be best for you and aunt to go with us this evening."

"No," said Mr. Baron, "I've settled that."

"Haven't you negroes that you can trust to take the stock off into the woods for concealment?"

"After Chunk's rascality I won't trust any of them."

"Well, I shall adopt that plan at our place this morning, and leave as little of value within reach as I can help."

By a sort of tacit agreement it was thought best not to say anything to Miss Lou except as Mrs. Whately broached the subject, it being believed that a quiet ignoring of her will and a manifest purpose to carry out their own would have the most weight in breaking down her opposition.

Indeed it was a shrewd policy, hard for the young girl to bear up against. Mrs. Baron had been enjoined not to cross her in little things. The busy housekeeper was too preoccupied to do so had she been disposed, but it troubled and incensed the girl to the last degree to see her bustling about, preparing for the wedding as if it would take place as a matter of course. Mrs. Whately's affectionate smiles and encouraging words were even harder to endure. That good lady acted as if Miss Lou were a timid and coy maiden, who merely needed heartening and rea.s.suring in order to face a brief ordeal, and then all would be well. Her cousin gallantly lifted her hand to his lips and then rode away with part of his men, saying cheerfully, "I'll manage everything for the best."

A vague terror seized upon the girl and she again sought the refuge of Aun' Jinkey's cabin. She must have some one to speak to who understood her, who felt for her. She found that Mrs. Baron had been there before her, urging the completion of certain tasks. Indeed, the old woman was ironing a white muslin dress which looked very bridal-like. Miss Lou recognized it as her own gown, which might naturally be worn on such an occasion.

"Who brought that here?" she asked quickly.

"Ole miss, honey. She said you cud war dis or de one you hab on, des ez you pleases."

"Aun' Jinkey," said the girl in an awed whisper, "do you think they can marry me against my will?"

"Miss Lou, I declar ter you I'se been smokin' en projeckin' ober dat mos' all night."

"Well?"

"Hit 'pears ter me a orfully mux-up question. Yere yo' gyardins, ole mars'r en ole miss. Dey's des had dere gay on dis plantashon sence I wuz a gyurl. You wuz trus' ter dem ter be took keer on en you tole me how he manage yo' prop'ty. He call you he ward. I des dunno w'at po'r dat ward business gib 'im. I'se yeared en my day ob young gyurls mar'ed yere en mar'ed dar en dey aim' sayin' much 'bout who dey mar'y. Folks say dat wuz de way wid ole miss. I reckermember dem days en I year ole mars'r's fader talk'n wid her fader 'bout w'at dey call set'l'ments en po'tions. Den ole miss's mammy tole me how her young miss wuz cool ez a cowc.u.mber, en how she say her folks know bes' en she sat'sfied; en den how she gib her min' ter w'at she call her trosso. Why honey, I des doin' up tings ob dat ar trosso yit."

"That's just the trouble with aunt," said Miss Lou scornfully. "I don't believe she ever had heart enough to love with."

"Well, I reck'n ole mars'r is projeckin' dis away. Ole miss, she settle down en tuck hole strong. She des kin'er fall inter he ways en mek tings hum wid de yard en house folks. She des a nachel-bawn housekeeper, en we uns all had ter stan 'roun' en do ez she sed sud'n, we sutn'y did; en ole mars'r, he tink hit be des de same wid you."

"But it won't, mammy. I'm not like my aunt."

"Dat you ain', honey, bless de Lawd! Ole miss neber stan' 'twix me en a whip, en she neber run fer my pipe en let her shol'er ache whiles I smokes like a ole himage. I'se only des a s'plainin' how dey feels 'bout yo' mar'age."

"Ah, but mammy, you know how I feel about it. I won't marry my cousin if I can help it."

"Hit's yo' feelin's, honey, w'at des riles up my in'erds so I kyant hardly wuk. Dat's whar my projeckin' gins out, en I'se kin'er stump'd 'bout hit. Dey's gwine right 'long wid dere prep'rations des ez ef dey cud do ez dey pleased. Dunno w'at de law is 'bout hit ef dere is any law in dese mux-up times. I'se des took clar off my foots wid all de goin's on. De fiel'-han's at de quarters is bilin' ober wid 'citement, en dey's sayin' de Link.u.m men's comin' ter upset ebryting. Whar dey get de news fum I dunno. Dey sez ole mars'r is 'stracted en ole miss des put her thin lips tergedder ez ef she gwine ter hab her way ter de las'

minit. Ez fer Ma.r.s.e Whately, you knows he al'ays hab his way, en ef dere isn't eny way he mek it. You sez de min'ster en folks is comin'?

Hit des stumps me fer dem ter go on so ef dey hasn't de po'r."

"Well, then," said the girl desperately, "they will have to use force all the way through. I'll never give my consent."