Gabriel Tolliver: A Story of Reconstruction by Joel Chandler Harris
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
_Nan and Her Young Lady Friends_
Nan Dorrington found a pretty howdy-do at her house when she reachedhome the night the Union League was organised. The members of thehousehold were all panic-stricken when the hours passed and Nan failedto return. Ordinarily, there would have been no alarm whatever, but alittle after dark, Eugenia Claiborne, accompanied by a little negrogirl, came to Dorrington's to find out why Nan had failed to keep herengagement. She had promised to take supper with Eugenia, and to spendthe night.
It will be remembered that Nan was on her way to present her excuses toEugenia when the spectacle of Mr. Sanders, tipsy and talkative, hadattracted her attention. She thought no more of her engagement, and forthe time being Eugenia was to Nan as if she had never existed.Meanwhile, the members of the Dorrington household, if they thought ofNan at all, concluded that she had gone to the Gaither Place, whereEugenia lived. But when Miss Claiborne came seeking her, why that putanother face on affairs. Eugenia decided to wait for her; but when thelong minutes, and the half hours and the hours passed, and Nan failed tomake her appearance, Mrs. Absalom began to grow nervous, and Mrs.Dorrington went from room to room with a very long face. She could havemade a very shrewd guess as to Nan's whereabouts, but she didn't dare toadmit, even to herself, that the girl had been so indiscreet as to go inperson to the rescue of Gabriel.
They waited and waited, until at last Mrs. Dorrington suggested thatsomething should be done. "I don't know what," she said, "but something;that would be better than sitting here waiting."
Mrs. Absalom insisted on keeping up an air of bravado. "The child's safewherever she is. She's been a rippittin' 'round all day tryin' to gitold Billy Sanders sober, an' more'n likely she's sot down some'rs an'fell asleep. Ef folks could sleep off the'r sins, Nan'd be a saint."
"But wherever she is, she isn't here," remarked Mrs. Dorrington,tearfully; "and here is where she should be. I wonder what her fatherwill say when he comes?" Dr. Dorrington had gone to visit a patient inthe country.
"Perhaps she went with him," Eugenia suggested.
"No fear of that," said Mrs. Absalom. "Ridin' in a gig is too much likework for Nan to be fond of it. No; she's some'rs she's got no business,an' ef I could lay my hand on her, I'd jerk her home so quick, her headwould swim worse than old Billy Sanders's does when he's full up to thechin."
After awhile, Eugenia said she had waited long enough, but Mrs.Dorrington looked at her with such imploring eyes that she hesitated."If you go," said the lady, "I will feel that Nan is not coming, but aslong as you stay, I have hope that she will run in any moment. She iswith that Tasma Tid, and I think it is terrible that we can't get rid ofthat negro. I have never been able to like negroes."
"Well, you needn't be too hard on the niggers," declared Mrs. Absalom."Everything they know, everything they do, everything theysay--everything--they have larnt from the white folks. Study a niggerright close, an' you'll ketch a glimpse of how white folks would lookan' do wi'out the'r trimmin's."
"Oh, perhaps so," assented Mrs. Dorrington, with a little shrug of theshoulders which said a good deal plainer than words, "You couldn't makeme believe that."
Just as Dr. Dorrington drove up, and just as Mrs. Absalom was about toget her bonnet, for the purpose, as she said, of "scouring the town,"Nan came running in out of breath. "Oh, such a time as I've had!" sheexclaimed. "You'll not be angry with me, Eugenia, when you hear all!Talk of adventures! Well, I have had one at last, after waiting allthese years! Don't scold me, Nonny, until you know where I've been andwhat I've done. And poor Johnny has been crying, and having all sorts ofwild thoughts about poor me. Don't go, Eugenia; I am going with you in amoment--just as soon as I can gather my wits about me. I am perfectlywild."
"Tell us something new," said Mrs. Absalom drily. "Here we've been onpins and needles, thinkin' maybe some of your John A. Murrells hadrushed into town an' kidnapped you, an' all the time you an' that slinkof a nigger have been gallivantin' over the face of the yeth. I declareef Randolph don't do somethin' wi' you they ain't no tellin' what'llbecome of you."
But Dr. Dorrington was not in the humour for scolding; he rarely everwas; but on that particular night less so than ever. For one briefmoment, Nan thought he was too angry to scold, and this she dreadedworse than any outbreak; for when he was silent over some of her capersshe took it for granted that his feelings were hurt, and this thoughtwas sufficient to give her more misery than anything else. But she soondiscovered that his gravity, which was unusual, had its originelsewhere. She saw him take a tiny tin waggon, all painted red, from hispocket and place it on the mantel-piece, and both she and Mrs.Dorrington went to him.
"Oh, popsy! I'm so sorry about everything! He didn't need it, did he?"
"No, the little fellow has no more use for toys. He sent you his love,Nan. He was talking about you with his last breath; he rememberedeverything you said and did when you went with me to see him. He saidyou must be good."
Now, if Nan was a heroine, or anything like one, it would never do tosay that she hid her face in her hands and wept a little when she heardof the death of the little boy who had been her father's patient formany months. In the present state of literary criticism, one must bevery careful not to permit women and children to display theirsensitive and tender natures. Only the other day, a very good book wasdamned because one of the female characters had wept 393 times duringthe course of the story. Out upon tears and human nature! Let us go outand reform some one, and leave tears to the kindergarten, where stepsare taking even now to dry up the fountains of youth.
Nevertheless, Nan cried a little, and so did Eugenia Claiborne, when sheheard the story of the little boy who had suffered so long and sopatiently. The news of his death tended to quiet Nan's excitement, butshe told her story, and, though the child's death took the edge offNan's excitement, the story of her adventure attracted as much attentionas she thought it would. She said nothing about Gabriel, and it wassupposed that only she and Tasma Tid were in the closet; but the nextmorning, when Dr. Dorrington drove over to Clopton's to carry theinformation, he was met by the statement that Gabriel had told of it thenight before. A little inquiry developed the fact that Gabriel hadconcealed himself in the closet in order to discover the mysteries ofthe Union League.
Dorrington decided that the matter was either very serious or veryamusing, and he took occasion to question Nan about it. "You didn't tellus that Gabriel was in the closet with you," he said to Nan.
"Well, popsy, so far as I was concerned he was not there. He certainlyhas no idea that I was there, and if he ever finds it out, I'll neverspeak to him again. He never will find it out unless he is told by someone who dislikes me. Outside of this family," Nan went on with dignity,"not a soul knows that I was there except Eugenia Claiborne, and I'mperfectly certain she'll never tell any one."
Dorrington thought his daughter should have a little lecture, and hegave her one, but not of the conventional kind. He simply drew her tohim and kissed her, saying, "My precious child, you must never forgetthe message the little boy sent you. About the last thing he said was,'Tell my Miss Nan to be dood.' And you know, my dear, that it is neitherproper nor good for my little girl to be wandering about at night. Sheis now a young lady, and she must begin to act like one--not too much,you know, but just enough to be good."
Now, you may depend upon it, this kind of talk, accompanied by a smileof affection, went a good deal farther with Nan than the most tremendousscolding would have gone. It touched her where she was weakest--or, ifyou please, strongest--in her affections, and she vowed to herself thatshe would put off her hoyden ways, and become a demure young lady, or atleast play the part to the best of her ability.
Eugenia Claiborne declared that Nan had acted more demurely in thecloset than she could have done, if, instead of Gabriel, Paul Tomlin hadcome spying on the radicals where she was. "I don't see how you couldhelp saying something. If I had been in your place, and Paul had come inthere, I should certainly ha
"Oh, if it had been Paul instead of Gabriel I would have made myselfknown," said Nan; "but Gabriel----"
"I don't see what the difference is when it comes to making yourselfknown to any one in the dark, especially to a friend," remarked Eugenia."For my part, horses couldn't have dragged me in that awful place. I'msure you must be very brave, to make up your mind to go there. Weren'tyou frightened to death?"
"Why there was nothing to frighten any one," said Nan; "not even rats."
"Ooh!" cried Eugenia with a shiver. "Why of course there were rats inthat dark, still place. I wouldn't go in there in broad daylight."
This conversation occurred while Nan was visiting Eugenia, and in thecourse thereof, Nan was given to understand that her friend thought agood deal of Paul Tomlin. As soon as Nan grasped the idea that Eugeniawas trying to convey--there never was a girl more obtuse inlove-matters--she became profuse in her praises of Paul, who was reallya very clever young man. As Mrs. Absalom had said, it was not likelythat he would ever be brilliant enough to set the creek on fire, but hewas a very agreeable lad, entirely unlike Silas Tomlin, his father.
If Eugenia thought that Nan would exchange confidences with her, she wassadly mistaken. Nan had a horror of falling in love, and when the nameof Gabriel was mentioned by her friend, she made many scornfulallusions to that youngster.
"But you know, Nan, that you think more of Gabriel than you do of anyother young man," said Eugenia. "You may deceive yourself and him, butyou can't deceive me. I knew the moment I saw you together the firsttime that you were fond of him; and when I was told by some one that youwere to marry Mr. Bethune, I laughed at them."
"I'm glad you did," replied Nan. "I care no more for Frank Bethune thanfor Gabriel. I'll tell you the truth, if I thought I was in love with aman, I'd hate him; I wouldn't submit to it."
"Well, you have been acting as if you hate Gabriel," suggested Eugenia.
"Oh, I don't like him half as well as I did when we were playfellows. Ithink he's changed a great deal. His grandmother says he's timid, but tome it looks more like conceit. No, child," Nan went on with anaffectation of great gravity; "the man that I marry must be somebody. Hemust be able to attract the attention of everybody."
"Then I'm afraid you'll have to move away from this town, or remain anold maid," said the other. "Or it may be that Gabriel will make a greatman. He and Paul belong to a debating society here in town, and Paulsays that Gabriel can make as good a speech as any one he ever heard.They invited some of the older men not long ago, and mother heard Mr.Tomlin say that Gabriel would make a great orator some day. Paul thinksthere is nobody in the world like Gabriel. So you see he is alreadygetting to be famous."
"But will he ever wear a red feather in his hat and a red sash over hisshoulder?" inquired Nan gravely. She was reverting now to the ideal heroof her girlish dreams.
"Why, I should hope not," replied Eugenia. "You don't want him to be thelaughing-stock of the people, do you?"
"Oh, I'm not anxious for him to be anything," said Nan, "but you knowI've always said that I never would marry a man unless he wore a redfeather in his hat, and a red sash over his shoulder."
"When I was a child," remarked Eugenia, "I always said I would like tomarry a pirate--a man with a long black beard, a handkerchief tiedaround his head to keep his hair out of his eyes, and a shining sword inone hand and a pistol in the other."
"Oh, did you?" cried Nan, snuggling closer to her friend. "Let's talkabout it. I am beginning to be very old, and I want to talk about thingsthat make me feel young again."
But they were not to talk about their childish ideals that day, for aknock came on the door, and Margaret Gaither was announced--Margaret,who seemed to have no ideals, and who had confessed that she never hadhad any childhood. She came in dignified and sad. Her face was pale, andthere was a weary look in her eyes, a wistful expression, as if shedesired very much to be able to be happy along with the rest of thepeople around her.
The two girls greeted her very cordially. Both were fond of her, andthough they could not understand her troubles, she had traits thatappealed to both. She could be lively enough on occasion, and there wasa certain refinement of manner about her that they both tried toemulate--whenever they could remember to do so.
"I heard Nan was here," she said, with a beautiful smile, "and I thoughtI would run over and see you both together."
"That is a fine compliment for me," Eugenia declared.
"Miss Jealousy!" retorted Margaret, "you know I am over here two orthree times a week--every time I can catch you at home. But I wish youwere jealous," she added with a sigh. "I think I should be perfectlyhappy if some one loved me well enough to be jealous."
"You ought to be very happy without all that," said Nan.
"Yes, I know I should be; but suppose you were in my shoes, would you behappy?" She turned to the girls with the gravity of fate itself. Asneither one made any reply, she went on: "See what I am--absolutelydependent on those who, not so very long ago, were entire strangers. Ihave no claims on them whatever. Oh, don't think I am ungrateful," shecried in answer to a gesture of protest from Nan. "I would make anysacrifice for them--I would do anything--but you see how it is. I can donothing; I am perfectly helpless. I--but really, I ought not to talk sobefore you two children."
"Children! well, I thank you!" exclaimed Eugenia, rising and making amock curtsey. "Nan is nearly as old as you are, and I am two daysolder."
"No matter; I have no business to be bringing my troubles into thisgiddy company; but as I was coming across the street, I happened tothink of the difference in our positions. Talk about jealousy! I amjealous and envious. Yes, and mean; I have terrible thoughts sometimes.I wouldn't dare to tell you what they are."
"I know better," said Nan; "you never had a mean thought in your life.Aunt Fanny says you are the sweetest creature in the world."
"Don't! don't tell me such things as that, Nan. You will run me wild.There never was another woman like Aunt Fanny. And, oh, I love her! Butif I could get away and become independent, and in some way pay themback for all they have done for me, and for all they hope to do, I'd bethe happiest girl in the world."
"I think I know how you feel," said Nan, with a quick apprehension ofthe situation; "but if I were in your place, and couldn't help myself, Iwouldn't let it trouble me much."
"Very well said," Mrs. Claiborne remarked, as she entered the room."Nan, you are becoming quite a philosopher. And how is Margaret?" sheinquired, kissing that blushing maiden on the check.
"I am quite well, I thank you, but I'd be a great deal better if Ithought you hadn't heard my foolish talk."
"I heard a part of it, and it wasn't foolish at all. The feeling doesyou credit, provided you don't carry it too far. You are alone toomuch; you take your feelings too seriously. You must remember that youare nothing but a child; you are just beginning life. You shouldcultivate bright thoughts. My dear, let me tell you one thing--ifPulaski Tomlin had any idea that you had such feelings as you haveexpressed here, he would be miserable; he would be miserable, and youwould never know it. You said something about gratitude; well if youwant to show any gratitude and make those two people happy, be happyyourself--and if you can't really be happy, pretend that you are happy.And the first thing you know, it will be a reality. Now, I have hadworse troubles than ever fell to your portion and if I had brooded overthem, I should have been miserable. Your lot is a very fortunate one, asyou will discover when you are older."
This advice was very good, though it may have a familiar sound to thereader, and Margaret tried hard for the time being to follow it. Shesucceeded so well that her laughter became as loud and as joyous as thatof her companions, and when she returned home, her countenance was sofree from care and worry that both Neighbour Tomlin and his sisterremarked it, and they were the happier for it.