Westways: A Village Chronicle Part 59

She leaned over, laid a hand on his arm and said, "Is not one dear life enough?"

"My child, John had to go. I could, of course, find some excuse for not going. I set myself free to-day. But now I am to settle with Ann. Except for that I would be supremely contented. You would not keep me here if you had the power, nor would you bring home John if you could, dear."

"No," she said faintly. Some quickly dismissed suspicion rose to consciousness as he stole a glance at her face. "I understand," she added, "it is a question of honour-you must go."

"It is a question of duty, dear; but what Ann will say I do not know-but I shall go."

She turned. "Uncle Jim, if you did not go and the war went on to-G.o.d alone knows what end-she would be sick with shame. I know. You see I am a woman and I know. She will suffer, but she will not break down again and she will not try to hold you back. But this house without you and John will be rather lonely. How did you get out of the mills, uncle?"

He answered her at length as they rode homeward with more to think of than was pleasant. At the avenue gate she said earnestly, "Don't wait too long before telling Aunt Ann."

"Upon my word, I am sorry," returned the Squire, "for the unfortunate man who may become your husband. If you undertake to offer advice at your tender years, what will you do when you are older?"

"My husband-that-is-to-be sends you his compliments," laughed Leila, "and says-I don't know what he says, but it is exactly the right thing, Captain Penhallow. But really, don't wait, uncle."

"You are quite right, my dear." Nevertheless he waited. Decisiveness in affairs and in moments of peril he had, but where Ann was concerned he became easily unsure, and as McGregor said, "wabbled awful." This was to Leila. "What gets the matter with men? The finer they are, the braver-the more can a woman bother their judgment. He wires for a regimental command-gets it; and, by George, throws away a fortune to get the privilege of firing a cannon at Mrs. Ann's beloved Rebels. He mustn't make guns it seems-he tries not to believe her hysterics at all affected by his tossing away this big contract."

"Now, Doctor, you are in one of your cynical moods. I hate you to talk this way about the finest gentleman I ever knew, or ever shall know. You delight to tease me."

"Yes-you are so real. No one could get hysterics out of you. Now why do you suppose James Penhallow wants to plunge into this chaotic war?"

"Or your son, Tom? Why do you get up of a winter night to ride miles to see some poor woman who will never pay you a penny?"

"Pure habit."

"Nonsense. You go-and Uncle Jim goes-because to go is duty."

"Then I think duty is a woman-that accounts for it, Leila. I retire beaten."

"You are very bad to-day-but make Uncle Jim talk it all out to Aunt Ann."

"He will, and soon. He has been routed by a dozen excuses. I told him at last that the mill business has leaked out and the village is saying things. I told him it must not come to her except through him, and that he could not now use her health as an excuse for delay. It is strange a man should be so timid."

And still Penhallow lingered, finding more or less of reason in the delays created by the lawyers. Meanwhile he had accepted the command of the 129th Pennsylvania infantry which was being drilled at Harrisburg, so that he was told there was no occasion for haste in a.s.suming charge. But at last he felt that he must no longer delay.

The sun was setting on an afternoon in July when Penhallow, seeing as she sat on the porch how the roses of the spring of health were blooming on his wife's cheeks, said, "I want to talk to you alone, Ann. Can you walk to the river?"

"Yes, I was there yesterday."

The cat-birds, most delightful of the love-poets of summer, were singing in the hedges, and as they walked through the garden Penhallow said, "The rose crop is promising, Ann."

"Yes." She was silent until they sat on the bank above the little river. Then she said, "You are keeping something from me, James. No news can trouble me as much as-as to be sure that I am kept in the dark about your affairs."

"I meant to be frank, Ann, but I have felt so alarmed about your health-"

"You need not be-I can bear anything but not to know-"

"That is why I brought you here, my dear. You are aware that I took out of the business the money you loaned to us."

"Yes-yes-I know."

"I have given up my partnership and withdrawn my capital. The business will go on without me."

"Was this because-I?-but no matter. Go on, please."

He was incapable of concealing the truth from her, however much he might have disguised it from others. "You had your share in causing me to give up, but for a year since this war has gone on from one disaster to another, I have known that as a soldier I must be in it."

She was perfectly calm. "I have long known it would come, James. To have you and John and my brother Henry-all in it, is a hard fate."

"My dear, Charles writes me that Henry has left the army and gone to Europe on business for the Confederates."

"Indeed." Some feeling of annoyance troubled her. "Then he at least is in no danger."

"None, my dear."

"When do you go?"

"I am to command the 129th Infantry, and I shall leave about August 1st."

"So soon!" She sat still, thinking over what Grey Pine would be without him. He explained as she sat that all details of his affairs would be put for her clearly on paper. He ended by saying, "Ask me any questions you want answered."

"Then, James, there will be no income from the mills-from-from that contract?"

"None, except my rental. With that you may do as you please. There will be also, of course, at your disposal the income from my re-invested capital."

"Thank you, James." She was by far the less moved of the two.

"Have I greatly troubled you?" he asked. He was distressed for her.

"No, James. I knew it would come." As the shadows darkened on the forest floor and gathered overhead, she rose to her feet. "Whatever happens, James-whoever wins-I am the loser. I want you to be sorry for me."

"And, my dear Ann, whichever way this contest ends, I too lose."

She returned with tender sadness, "Yes, I did not think of that. Give me your arm, James-I am-tired."

He wondered that she had said nothing of the immense sacrifice few men would have made; nor did she seem to have realized what urgency of added motives she had contributed to bring about his decision.

CHAPTER XXI

Through the great heat of July, 1862, the war went on its inconclusive way. In Westways, as elsewhere, the call of the people's President for three hundred thousand men was felt the more thoughtfully because now it was, of course, known that Penhallow was Colonel of the 129th Infantry; that he had made a great sacrifice of money was also known, but not understood, and Ann Penhallow's half-forgotten politics were again discussed when the village evening parliament met in front of the post-office.

Mrs. Crocker, off duty, stood framed in the door, cooling her round face with a palmetto fan and listening with interest to the talk or taking part in the discussion in so positive a way as was felt to be indiscreetly feminine, but respected on account of her official representation of a husband too deaf to fulfil his duties.

The Doctor got out of his gig. "Any letters from my boy?"

"Yes, two. Wanted to send them by Billy, but he's war-wild and wouldn't go." The Doctor looked over his letters.

"All right, I hope," said Mrs. Crocker.

Pole in his shirt sleeves listening said, "Of course, he is all right-doctors don't fight none."