House Divided (147 page)

Brett and Cinda joined them; and when to Judge Tudor's question Brett said he would return to duty on Monday, Tilda suggested to Cinda that they all come to Sunday dinner.

“We don't see each other as much as I wish we did,” she pointed out. “I think families ought to be together more than ever now, don't you?”

Cinda readily agreed. “Only, don't try to have too much, Tilda. Starvation parties are the thing now, you know. Even on Sunday!”

Tilda promised, but Redford Streean when he heard they were coming said no one would go hungry in his house unless it were from choice, and took the matter out of Tilda's hands. She was disturbed,
fearing Cinda's opinion and Brett's if Redford were too lavish; and before Sunday came she wished it were possible to withdraw her invitation, for she had a second letter from Jenny.

“I'm awfully sorry, Aunt Tilda,” Jenny wrote. “But before your letter came I'd already written Mama that Dolly didn't come on with me. And I told Rollin Lyle. He had heard she was coming and he was visiting in Columbia and rode over to call on her and I had to explain to him.”

If Cinda knew of Dolly's headstrong folly she would have told Brett, and probably Vesta too; so Tilda dreaded what she would see in their eyes, and prepared a defiant answer to any spoken criticism. After all, there was no reason why Dolly should not go to Nassau with Darrell if she wanted to.

But when they appeared at the house on Sunday there was nothing in their manner to suggest that they knew. Julian and Anne, since Anne's baby would be born in April, did not come, nor did Judge Tudor; but Tilda had invited Enid and the children as well as Brett and Cinda and Vesta. They sat down to a lavish board: oysters, a haunch of venison, a platter of partridges, hot biscuits of white flour, rice, salad, ices for dessert. Enid was exclamatory with delight.

“I declare, Cousin Redford, I think you're wonderful to find all these lovely good things.”

“It only needs a little management.” Streean turned to Brett. “There's more wild game in the markets than I've ever seen. The shop keeper who furnished this venison had eight deer hanging up; and wild turkeys, wild geese, ducks, fish, everything.”

“The prices scare me,” Vesta confessed. “Even venison is three dollars a pound.”

Streean smiled. “That sounds like a high price, but you have to remember that Confederate money isn't worth what it used to be.” His eye met Brett's again. “Congress has passed a law to stop your banker friends speculating in Federal money. They've been making some enormous profits, but of course they hurt our currency in doing so.”

Tilda saw Brett's face harden, but he only said mildly that money had no heart. “It's always greedy. Money loves nothing but money.”

“Well, in the long run that's true of everything,” Streean remarked. “The instinct to survive includes the instinct to perpetuate, and at no
matter what cost to others. Right now, for instance, each state is trying to take care of itself, even if that means ruining us all. Governor Vance has exempted twenty-five thousand men from service in the army, and keeps them at home to defend North Carolina; and Georgia and South Carolina and the other states are almost as bad. And Vance keeps a huge supply of uniforms and coats and shoes on hand, and lets the rest of the army go barefoot.”

Lucy said: “I had a letter from Papa, and he says Governor Vance sent them fourteen thousand uniforms. But the soldiers in Tennessee have to make their own shoes out of the skins of the cattle they slaughter.”

Streean chuckled. “Your friend Longstreet's turning his army into cobblers, Brett. Probably that's why they don't do more fighting. People are calling him ‘Slow Pete.' ”

Tilda stirred uneasily, feeling Brett's anger; and Vesta may have felt this too, for she said with a quick laugh: “Making shoes is fun! All you need is some old canvas and a strong needle, and then ask a shoemaker to put soles on them. The ones I make aren't very handsome, but it's better than paying a hundred dollars a pair.”

Tilda thought they were on safer ground, but Streean persisted. “It's all right for North Carolina to send things to her men, but the states can't all do that. Texas can't send anything this far, so her men are ragged and barefoot, while North Carolina men have more than they need. All that ought to be handled by the Quartermaster's department.”

“I suppose it's possible,” Brett commented in a flat tone, “that the states feel the Quartermaster General doesn't do a good job.”

“Oh, we hear that all the time, but our agents have to compete with the states for everything they buy or impress.” Streean met Brett's eye, said in a resigned tone: “The quartermasters can't win the war, you know, Brett. Our only chance to win is European recognition, and the only way to get that is to free our slaves and convince England and France that we're fighting only for independence. But you slave holders will never agree to that; so we'll lose.”

For a moment there was a tight silence, and Tilda tried desperately to think of something to say. This time Cinda came to her rescue. “How's Travis, Enid?”

“Oh, full of complaints!” Enid added lightly: “But then he always is! He thinks General Longstreet is perfect, so to hear him talk everyone else is plotting against his wonderful General, and the Quartermaster General ought to be shot, and General McLaws and everybody.”

Tilda wished Enid would not talk so about Trav. It only made Cinda angry. Lucy protested: “Oh, Mama, Papa didn't mean that. He was just joking, the way he always does with me, making fun of the way grown men argue about things.”

Streean asked, with a glance at Enid: “His letter was to you then, Lucy?”

Enid herself answered him. “Heavens, yes! Trav never bothers to write to me.”

Lucy said defensively: “Well, you don't ever write to him!”

“Oh, I never write letters.”

Streean watched Enid with a faint smile, and after a moment Brett spoke again. “Mister Streean, I judge you've no confidence in Southern success.”

Tilda always felt a dull hurt when the others addressed Redford thus formally, but Streean moved his hand in a casual gesture. “Every Congressman I know has sold his Confederate bonds, and is advising his friends to do the same.” He looked at Brett with a lifted eyebrow. “Might not be a bad idea for you to sell those Confederates you bought with the Currain funds last summer, if that's what's on your mind.”

Brett shook his head. “We didn't buy them to sell. Tilda's share is set aside, as you desired. But these Congressmen—” He hesitated. “I believe they'll pass the new conscription bill.”

“Oh, yes, I suppose they will,” Streean agreed. “Of course, the newspapers are against it, because it will force a lot of their men to fight. And it abolishes substitutions, so the seventy or eighty thousand men who have hired substitutes are shouting that it annuls their contracts with the Government, and that they'll sue! And everyone liable to service who can afford to do so is turning his property into cash and buying a passport to leave the country. Yes, I think it will pass.”

“I see a lot of talk in the papers about rich men trying to get posts in the Navy Department, or looking for safe details for themselves and their sons.”

“Yes, and they'll get them,” Streean said confidently. He chuckled. “Secretary Seddon exempted one fellow to write a history of the war. It's safe to say the Secretary will have only the kindest mentions in that history. And Mr. Memminger has found places for all his relatives. But people without influence will just have to skedaddle. The children of Israel are going by the hundreds, turning back to the fleshpots of Egypt, running away from the fiery serpent of the conscription officers.” He laughed. “I heard an amusing tale yesterday; an embalmer named McClure has given up his regular business and is smuggling Jews through the lines in coffins.”

“Is there as much of a flight as the papers say?”

“Oh yes. That's why you see so many auctions. Jews who've hired substitutes and stayed here and made fortunes are selling their household goods and paying any price for passports to Europe. But most of them will go North.”

“It's not only the Jews who've made money during these years,” Brett suggested, and Tilda wished they would keep away from such ugly topics. “But it's the fashion to speak of Jews and speculators as though the words were synonyms.”

“It's the fashion among those who have not made money to throw hard names at those who have,” Streean assented, not at all offended, and he smiled. “But it's not too high a price to pay.”

“Speaking of prices and speculators, I wonder how much the Government collects out of the tax on profits,” Brett remarked. Mr. Hartshorn tells me he paid thirty-five hundred dollars, and his whole income was only ten thousand, including a hundred-percent dividend on some stock he owns in the Citizens' Savings Bank in Lynchburg.”

“Well, the new tax bill adds ten percent to the fifteen percent already levied,” Streean told him, “if anyone chooses to report his profits and pay it. But a sensible man can make it up easily enough, with this new currency bill. Putting a thirty-three-percent tax on everything bigger than a five-dollar note unless it's invested in four percents is just plain repudiation, so prices will go sky-high.” He added calmly: “But of course, if he doesn't report his profits, who's to know that he made any? I don't know anyone innocent enough to report to the collector.” Brett made a sudden movement, and Streean said dryly: “Mr. Green is the collector in your district, if you're interested, Brett; and William
Johnson's the assessor. Every registered business is supposed to report profits at three-month intervals, and farmers have to report what crops they make, and the value of their cattle as of November first. And anyone who made a profit last year by investing money or goods or even his abilities was supposed to report on the first of January.” He lighted a cigar, repeated: “If you're interested.”

His tone was a challenge, and Tilda saw Brett was blackly angry; so she rose, giving the signal to leave the table. Why need Redford go out of his way to be offensive to Brett and to them all? There had been a time when she exulted in his success; and she still tried to tell herself that people who did not like him were really just jealous of his shrewdness. But those very people, by the ready willingness with which they yielded to her direction, and the friendly gratitude they gave her because she told them how they could be most useful, made her feel for them a wistful liking. There were actually moments when she regretted Redford's fine achievements. That night, abed, thinking of Darrell and Dolly gone heedlessly off to Nassau, thinking of Redford noisily asleep beside her, Tilda found herself crying in the silent dark, gulping down her sobs, letting her eyes drain tears into her pillow. Oh, why could she not have had fine children like Cinda's? She wept not with envy, nor in self-pity, but in longing so hopeless it was like despair.

 

She had not told Redford of Dolly's escapade; but as January ended she began to regret her silence. The
Dragonfly
must soon return to Wilmington, and Captain Pew would surely come here, and then Redford would hear the truth. When on the second day of February he remarked that Captain Pew was in town, she was full of questions she dared not ask. “Is he going to stay with us?”

“No, he's only in Richmond for a day or two.” Streean added in an amused tone: “We're going into the passenger business this trip. Mr. Hyman, the jeweler, has auctioned off everything he owns so he can get out of the country before the conscript officers grab him. He's bought a passport, and wants passage to Nassau for himself and his whole family, his wife and his mother and three or four others. He'll pay through the nose before we're done with him. He's made two or three hundred thousand dollars since the war started, and we'll make
him give up most of it. And Colonel Northrop wants us to make a voyage for the Government, and he'll guarantee us a three-hundred-percent profit on any provisions and meat we'll bring in. Captain Pew says he can buy New York beef and Nassau bacon at a bargain, and get a bill at double the actual price to show Northrop. So he'll hurry off and sail as soon as his cotton's loaded.”

Tilda was not interested in these transactions, but she wished to see Captain Pew. “You must bring him to supper, at least. Tell him he mustn't neglect us just because Dolly's not here.” If Dolly had returned on the
Dragonfly
and gone directly on to the Plains as she had said she would, Captain Pew must have told Redford; and she watched his expression for any change.

But clearly he knew nothing of Dolly. “I doubt if he'll come. He likes a session at Mr. Merrihay's gaming tables.” His eyes shadowed thoughtfully. “Gambling will be the ruin of the good Captain some day.”

One question at least she could ask. “Did Darrell stay on in Nassau?”

“Oh Darrell didn't go to Nassau,” Streean said casually. “I suppose he's still at Chimneys. Captain Pew hasn't seen him.”

That word was like a blow, stopping Tilda's breath; for if Darrell had not gone to Nassau on the
Dragonfly
with Dolly, then Dolly had lied to Jenny. But why had Dolly lied? Where was she now? Questions like missiles pelted Tilda hard.

She slipped away upstairs to be alone, to try to guess the truth, to think what she must do. But what could she do, without risking harm to Dolly? It must be that Dolly had not gone to Nassau; for if she had, Captain Pew would have told Redford. Perhaps Dolly had met Darrell, and had been enticed by him into some adventure that she wished to conceal.

No, that guess was obviously wrong; for Dolly must have known her lie to Jenny would be discovered, so she must have expected to be by this time at the Plains. Perhaps in fact she was there now; but if she were, why had no word come? Tilda was frantic with terror deeper than anything she had ever known. Dolly had all her life gone her pretty, capricious way; no one had ever hurt or harmed her; she
knew no more of danger than a child. Tilda's thoughts conjured up a thousand dreadful specters.