House Divided (37 page)

Cinda dutifully shed a tear as one always did, at weddings, but the sadness in her was too deep for tears. This was marriage, two people into one, to be one forever. Yet—how long was forever? How long would it be till a leaden ball, a solid shot, a bursting shell tore life out of that dear body that was Burr? “Forever” was—how long? A day, a week, a month, a year? In the world, in all the universe, this meeting and mating of man and woman was the epitome of everything, the whole in miniature. Life in these two was a welling spring, a spring from which other lives would flow.

Unless death intervened.

Cinda shook her head, fiercely banishing her dark thoughts. There must be no shadow on this merry hour before Burr and Barbara rode away.

The church had been crowded; so was the Pierce home afterward.
Cinda thought Anne Tudor was the loveliest person there; and Julian was forever at the girl's side. Cinda smiled to watch them, but she saw that Anne's eyes followed Faunt everywhere and hoped that for Julian no heartache was preparing. Tilda joined her, and saw her looking at Anne, and said: “Lovely, isn't she. If Darrell had known she would be here, he'd have come back from North Carolina to see her. She made a conquest, at Great Oak last Christmas.” Cinda said nothing, but she was glad Darrell had not come.

Dolly, flanked as she always was by admiring beaux, shared with Barbara the center of the stage. When Barbara presently disappeared to dress for her journey, in the group around Dolly suddenly a laughing insistence rose, and Cinda saw that Dolly was being urged to do something or other, and was protesting and yet yielding too; till at last young Randolph Carter called for silence and announced that Miss Streean would recite for them a certain fable. Dolly protested: “Oh, really, I can't! It's so silly! And you've all heard it anyway!” But everyone cried that she must go on, go on; and with many reluctances she surrendered.

“Well, it goes like this.” She cleared her throat in a pompous way that made them laugh, and so began.

“‘Once upon a time, when it was the custom of the beasts and birds of the United States of North America to elect a King to reign over them, it so happened that an ugly and ferocious old Orang Outang from the wilds of Illinois—–'”

Her tone was so eloquently scornful that they all laughed again, and even Cinda smiled. The minx was charming; no doubt of that.

“‘—from the wilds of Illinois,'” Dolly repeated, raising her voice a little to silence them, “‘who was known by the name of Old Abe, was chosen King.'”

Someone said hoarsely: “Down with him!” But Dolly hushed them with a pretty gesture and went on.

“‘This election created a great disturbance in the Southern states, for the beasts in that part of the country had imported from Africa a large number of black Monkeys, and had made slaves of them, and Old Abe had declared that this was an indignity offered to his family—–'”

“Hurrah for old Abe's family!” That was young Jack Haven, one of Burr's comrades.

“‘To his family,'” Dolly patiently repeated, “‘that Monkey slavery was the sum of all villainies, and that when he became King he intended to abolish Monkey slavery throughout all his dominions. So the States lying on the Gulf of Mexico, where the beasts were very independent and ferocious, declared that no Orang Outang should be King over them, and when Old Abe heard that the Gulf States would not acknowledge him to be their King he flourished his great war-club over his head, and swore by his whiskers that he would whip them back into the Union. He accordingly collected a great army of Bloodhounds, Jackals, Vultures, and runaway Monkeys, and placed them under command of a notorious old Turkey Cock named Fuss-and-Feathers.'” Laughing hisses ran around the room, for General Scott was held to be a recreant and a traitor to the South; but Cinda did not laugh. This pseudo fable which Mr. Daniel had published in the
Examiner
last March had never seemed to her amusing. Dolly went on:

“‘At this time the Boar of Rockbridge, who was supposed to be a lineal descendant of David's Sow, and was notorious for the amount of swill that he could consume—–'”

But then here was Barbara! Cinda welcomed the interruption, for certainly if Governor Letcher had been mistaken in opposing secession he had since played a valiant part. Barbara came down the stairs, and Dolly was forgotten as everyone thronged to see the bride depart.

 

When Burr and Barbara were gone away to the Valley where Burr would rejoin his regiment, and where Barbara would lodge with relatives at Staunton and be near him, Cinda was glad to go home, to be once more alone with her own. They were all here save Burr, all these loved men: Brett, and Clayton beside his Jenny; Julian, that infant, that child, a little silent as though still dreaming of Anne Tudor; Tony, tall and straight, a new pride in his bearing; Travis, the only one of them not yet a soldier; Faunt. Cinda thought Faunt had lost weight; he had seen more of camp life than these others. What a pity Tommy Cloyd could not have come for the wedding! Vesta had missed him so. But Tommy had taken his soldiering very seriously; he had sent word that he could not leave the camp at Manassas.

The dinner table had been extended to accommodate them all, and the talk ran to and fro; but beneath the general chorus Cinda heard
Faunt and Trav talking about the people whom Faunt had sent from Belle Vue to Great Oak. Only a half dozen of the men had been willing to accept the freedom he offered them. “Big Martha—she's been my cook and the mistress of the house for years—says she and Zeke will stay at Belle Vue, Yankees or no Yankees. Sam, their son, went with me to Western Virginia.” He smiled. “Martha says if he lets anything happen to me she'll skin him alive.” The Negroes who wished to do so, he said, had started for Alexandria. “I gave each one of them a mule and a bag of corn and some pork and sent them off. Those who wanted to stay with us I told to go to Great Oak.”

Trav said if the Yankees got that far, it would be necessary to move everyone away to Chimneys or the Plains; and Cinda felt something tighten in her breast. Yankees come to Great Oak? Surely that could never happen! To close her mind and her heart against the dreadful thought she interrupted them, asked Faunt some empty question. The Blues had been in camp at Fredericksburg from late April till mid-June. “Mostly drilling,” Faunt said, answering her. “We took time to celebrate the company's sixty-eighth anniversary; and we made a famous double-quick march to Acquia Creek, four miles in twenty-four minutes, when someone reported Yankees landing. But we've been in Western Virginia these two weeks. I'll rejoin them there.”

When dinner was done they moved into the drawing room. Jenny and Clayton, since her baby was scarce a month away, went upstairs so that she might rest; but everyone else grouped around Mrs. Currain and paid affectionate court to her. Above their voices Cinda heard the door bell and she heard Caesar go to answer; and she thought resentfully that this was probably Tilda and Mrs. Streean! Surely none of their friends would intrude upon them in this hour. But when Caesar came to the door and caught Brett's eye he said:

“Major Longstreet wishes to pay his respects, suh, if you all is not too much engaged.”

Brett sprang to his feet with a quick word of pleasure; and Cinda, as glad as he, followed him into the hall. She had not seen Major Longstreet since his wedding at Judge Garland's home in Lynchburg years ago. Then he was just back from Mexico; and this great brown-bearded man was not the youngster she remembered. But she cried out her welcome too, and kissed him; and his eyes twinkled.

“Well, that was worth the journey, ma'am! And I've the answer to it, from Louisa.” He kissed her in turn, and she laughed.

“Mercy, how rough your cheek is! Where is Louisa, Major?”

But Brett said in quick remonstrance: “Here, here, Cinda, give him time to catch his breath before you start your questions. Major, come in.”

In the drawing room, Brett made introductions all around; and Longstreet had a word for each. To Mrs. Currain: “Ma'am, now at last I can understand your daughter's charm.” To Enid he gave an appreciative bow. To Vesta he said: “I perceive that beauty can be twice inherited.” To Faunt: “I see you've been in the field, sir. I want to hear about that.” To Tony: “Sir.” To Trav: “Your servant, Mr. Currain.” And finally, to Julian: “Well, young man, you were in haste to serve your country!”

“He and Tony and Brett were all at Bethel Church!” Cinda said proudly.

“Bethel? Aha!” Major Longstreet's eyes had a hint of mirth in them, but his tone was gravely congratulatory. “A great victory, gentlemen!”

Cinda had waited long enough. “Now, Major, where's Louisa?” she demanded.

“I left my family at Fort Bliss, to come on more slowly,” he explained. “I expect they will visit for a while with my sisters and my mother in Macon on the way.”

“Macon?”

“In Mississippi,” he explained. “My sister Ann married Dr. Dent there, and my mother took all the family to Macon. Louisa will stay with them till we see a little more clearly what is to happen. But she laid an injunction on me to make my duties to you at once.” He added smilingly: “I believe you were engaged with more important matters today, so I should perhaps have waited till tomorrow?”

“Nonsense,” Cinda retorted. “You should have come to the wedding! And now you're here we mean to keep you. I've so many questions to ask I don't know where to begin. Tell me all about everything! How are the children?”

“Why, fine, ma'am.” Fond pride dwelt in his voice. “Garland's almost a man now; thirteen, you know; a high spirit.” He chuckled
comfortably. “I used to think I could discipline my children as I would a regiment; but experience has taught me I was wrong. Garland and I were forever battling, so for the sake of peace I named Louisa to be the commanding officer in our family. Garland and I still operate under an armistice.” There was, behind the amusement in his tones, a hint of regret, and Cinda guessed that his differences with his eldest son distressed him. He added, more cheerfully: “But Gussie and I get along fine.”

“How old is he?”

“Going on eleven, but I can never best him in any argument. He had a fight one day and came home crying, and I asked why he didn't fight back, and he said through his sobs: ‘How can a fellow fight when he's crying!'”

Cinda smiled. “How are the babies?”

“Don't ever call Jimmy a baby to his face,” he warned her. “He's almost four, and he never lets us forget it. Mary Ann's the baby.”

“She's—three or four months?”

“Six months.”

“Heavens, where does the time go?” And she said: “When you write Cousin Louisa, tell her not to stay too long in Mississippi. I'm eager to see her again.”

“I must write her tomorrow,” he assented. “Since my arrival here I learn that her father died in New York early this month.”

“Colonel Garland?” Brett asked.

“Yes. So she may wish to come on to Lynchburg, if only to be nearer me. She has many relatives there.”

“Is her mother there?” Cinda asked.

“No.” He shook his head. “No, Mrs. Garland died at Saratoga last summer. She was a Detroit woman, and she and the Colonel usually lived in the North. Of course Lynchburg is full of Garlands; but Colonel Garland was a strong Union man. Most officers of the old army had an ancient loyalty that died hard, till the threat of coercion killed it.”

“You didn't hesitate, Major. Louisa wrote us last spring that you'd offered your services.”

He smiled. “Well, Uncle Gus brought me up, you know, and he's
been talking secession for years, and I couldn't fight against my relatives and my state.”

“Uncle Gus? Oh, you mean Judge Longstreet.”

“Yes, I lived with him after my father died, till I went to West Point.”

Brett said: “I saw him in Charleston, Major. He was dreading this war, wished he could recant all the things he had said in favor of secession.”

Longstreet's eyes were grave. “I owe him a great deal, but he's like most orators. They talk on till they begin to believe their own words. I'm sorry for the old gentleman.”

Cinda was in no mind for serious talk today. “Well, I despise him, if you ask me!” Her tone made them smile as she hoped it would. “He expelled Burr from the college for something or other.”

The big man nodded. “He wrote me the boys were a wild lot of unbroken colts, needed a curb.” He added: “Yes, ma'am, I offered my services early. I'd been watching events, corresponding with my old friend Mr. Curry and at last I authorized him to tell Governor Moore I was his to command. I wrote the Governor myself, too. It was a relief to burn my bridges.”

His tone suggested the pain that decision had cost him; and Cinda, to make him forget, said quickly: “What a shame Cousin Louisa and the children couldn't come on with you! Is she just as tiny and dainty and exquisite as ever?”

“Just the same.” His voice was gentle. “I don't suppose she has ever in her life weighed a hundred pounds. Our journey would have worn her out.” He smiled. “Yet it was lively and inspiring. It was like a long serenade. You should hear the Texas young ladies sing
The Bonny Blue Flag
. Yes, and see them, too! Their feet won't be still, they sway and dance in time with the tune, and their eyes shine and their cheeks are bright! They were at every stop to clap their pretty hands and wave their little handkerchiefs and cheer us on.”

Cinda laughed. “Louisa says you've never lost your eye for a pretty face! I believe she's right!”

“I trust I never shall.”

“When did you arrive in Richmond?” Brett inquired.

“Today. I called at the Government offices, then paid my respects to Mr. Lamar. Mrs. Lamar is my cousin, you know; and Mr. Lamar is Lieutenant Colonel of the Nineteenth Mississippi, but he's had an attack of vertigo, fears he cannot go to the front with his men.” He added: “And from his bedside I came here.”