CHAPTER XXX
THE TURNCOAT
It was late in the sunlit afternoon when there rode into the headof the street of old St. Genevieve a weary and mud-stainedhorseman, who presently dismounted at the hitching rail in front ofthe little inn which he favored with his company. He was a tallman who, as he turned down the street, walked with just theslightest trace of a limp.
This traveler did not turn into the inn, did not pause, indeed, atany of the points of greater interest, but sought out the littlecooper shop of Hector Fournier. That worthy greeted him, wipinghis hands upon his leathern apron.
"Eh, bien, then, it is Monsieur Dunwodee! Come in! Come in! I'llbeen glad for see you. There was those talk you'll would not came."
"Yes, I have come, Hector," said Dunwody, "and naturally, I havecome to see you first. You are one of the few political alliesthat I have left. At least, if you don't believe the way I do, youare generous enough to listen!"
"But, Monsieur, believe me, the situation here is difficult. I hada list here of twelve citizen of St. Genevieve who were willingfor listen to Monsieur Dunwodee to-night in a grand mass meeting;but now talk has gone out. There is much indignation. In fact, itis plan'--"
"What do you mean? What is going on?" demanded Dunwody.
"Alas! Monsieur, it is with regret I announce that the majority ofour citizen, who so dislike Monsieur Benton and his views, are muchin favor of riding upon a rail, after due treatment of the tar andthe feather, him who lately was their idol; that is to say,yourself, Monsieur!"
Dunwody, his face grim, leaned against the door of the little shop."So that is the news?" said he. "It seems hardly generous, thisreception of St. Genevieve to myself! It is too bad that myfriend, Mr. Benton, is not here to share this hospitality of yours!"
"As I have said, alas! Monsieur!"
"But, now, as to that, Hector, listen!" said Dunwody sharply. "Wewill hold the meeting here just the same. We do not run away!To-night, in front of the hall there.
"But why trouble about that?" he added, almost lightly. "Whatcomes, comes. Now, as to yourself and your mother--and your wife?"
"And those baby!" exclaimed Hector. "Assuredly monsieur does notforget the finest baby of St. Genevieve? Come, you shall seeJosephine St. Auban Jeanne Marie Fournier--at once, _tout desuite_. _Voila_!" Hector was rolling down his sleeves andloosening the string of his leathern apron. Suddenly he turned.
"But, Monsieur," he said, "come, I have news! It is a situation_un peu difficile_; but it can not be concealed, and what can notbe concealed may best be revealed."
"What news?" asked Dunwody. "More bad news?"
"Not in the least, as we of my household regard it. With monsieur,I am not so certain. It is _quelque chose un peu difficile, maisoui_. But then--Monsieur remembers that lady, the Countess--?"
"Countess? Whom do you mean?"
"Who but our madame, the Countess St. Auban in her own right? Shewho gave me my Jeanne--_at Tallwoods_, Monsieur! Have you notknown? She is, here. She is _chez nous_. Of wealth anddistinction, yes, she has traveled in this country merely fordivertisement--but the Countess St. Auban, yes, she pauses nowwith the cooper, Hector Fournier! Does one find such beauty, suchdistinction, such gentleness, such kindness, such courteousnesselsewhere than among the nobility?"
"When did she come?" demanded Dunwody quietly.
"But yesterday, upon the boat; without announcement. She is atthis very moment at my house yonder, busy with that baby, JosephineSt. Auban Jeanne Marie Fournier, named for a countess! But do notturn back! Monsieur himself has not yet seen the baby. Come!"For one moment Dunwody paused; then, quietly, he accompaniedHector, making no comment. He limped just slightly. He wasolder--yes, and graver.
The mother of Hector met them even before the gate was opened. Hervoice called to the door her daughter Jeanne, who was shaking handswith Dunwody before he was half way up the walk. The ejaculationsof Jeanne attracted yet another ear farther within the house. Amoment later Dunwody saw pass before the door a figure which herecognized, a face which called the blood to his own face. Aninstant later, forgetting everything, he was at the door, had herhands in his own.
"It is you!" he exclaimed. "How does it happen? It is impossible!"
Her face had more color than for days. "Yes, it is unexpected,"she said simply, at last. "Everything is unexpected. But of allthings possible, this it seems to me is best--to come here--to restfor a time."
"You are passing through to St. Louis?"
"Perhaps," she said. "My plans for the moment are somewhatunsettled. I stopped off here, as no doubt you know, to serve asgodmother to this baby of Jeanne's! It is an important errand."
"But monsieur has not perfectly examined this infant as yet,"interrupted Hector. "See, it has the eyes of Jeanne,--it has--"
"It is a darling!" said Josephine gently, and stroked the somewhatscanty hair of the heiress of the Fournier estates.
In some way, a moment later, they were apart from the protestationsof the fond parents. They found themselves alone, in the specialapartment reserved for guests of distinction. An awkward momentensued. Josephine was first to break the silence. Dunwody couldonly sit and look at her, devouring each line, each littleremembered gesture of her. Yes, it was she--a little older andgraver and thinner, yes. But it was she.
"I was talking with Jeanne this very morning," she said. "She wastelling me some story that you have been unfortunate--that therehave been--that is to say--political changes--"
He nodded, "Yes. Perhaps you know I have lost my place with mypeople here? I am done for, politically."
He continued, smiling; "Just to show you the extent of my downfall,I have heard that they are intending to tar and feather meto-night,--perhaps to give me a ride upon a rail! That is the formof entertainment which in the West hitherto has generally beenreserved for horse-thieves, unwelcome revivalists, and that sort ofthing. Not that it terrifies me. The meeting is going to be held!"
"Then it is true that you are to speak here to-night--and to upholddoctrines precisely the reverse of what--"
"Yes, that is true." He spoke very quietly.
"I had not thought that possible," she said gently.
"Of course," she added, "I have been in entire ignorance of altmatters out here for a year past. I have been busy."
"Why should you follow the political fortunes of an obscureMissourian?" he asked. "On the contrary, there is at least oneobscure Missourian who has followed yours. I have known prettymuch all you have been doing of late. Yes, you at least have beenbusy!"
As usual, she hung on the main point. "But tell me!" she demandedof him presently, a little added color coming into her cheeks. "Doyou mean to say to me that you really remember what we talkedabout--that you really--"
He nodded, smiling. "Don't you remember we talked about faith, andhow to get hold of it? And I said I couldn't find it? Well, Ihave no apologies and no explanations. All I have to say is that Ifought it out, threshed it all over, and then somehow, I don't knowhow,--well, faith _came_ to me,--that is all. I waked up onenight, and I--well, I just knew. That is all. Then I knew I hadbeen wrong."
"And it cost you everything."
"Just about everything in the world, I reckon, so far as worldlygoods go. I suppose you know what you and your little colonizationscheme have done to me?"
"But you--what do you mean?"
"Why, didn't you know that? Weren't Carlisle and Kammerer youragents; and didn't Lily, our late disappearing slave and also latelecturing fugitive yonder, represent them? Don't you really knowabout that?"
"No, I had nothing to do with their operations."
"Do you mean to tell me that it was--Oh, I am glad you do not knowabout it," he said soberly, "although I don't understand that partof it."
"Won't you explain?" she besought him.
"Now, the truth is--and that is the main reason of all this popularfeeling against me here--that Lil
y, or these men, or people likethem, took away every solitary negro from my plantation, as well asfrom two or three others neighboring me! They didn't stop to _buy_my property--they just _took_ it! You see, Madam,"--he smiledrather grimly,--"these northern abolitionists remain in the beliefthat they have all the virtue and all the fair dealing in theworld. It has been a little hard on my cotton crop. I will nothave any crop this fall. I had no labor. I will not have any cropnext summer. With money at twelve per cent. and no munificentstate salary coming in,--that means rather more than I care to talkabout."
"And it was I--_I_ who did that for you! Believe, believe me, Iwas wholly innocent of it! I did not know!--I did not! I did not!I would not have done that to my worst enemy!"
"No, I suppose not; but here is where we come again to the realheart of all of these questions which so many of us feel able tosolve offhand. What difference should you make between me andanother? If it is right for the North to free all these slaveswithout paying for them, why should there be anything in my favor,over any one of my neighbors? And, most of all, why should you notbe overjoyed at punishing me? Why am I not your worst enemy? Idiffered from you,--I wronged you,--I harmed you,--I did everythingin the world I could to injure you. At least you have played evenwith me. I got you Lily to take along. And I even once went sofar as to tell you my own notion, that the blacks ought to bedeported. Well, you got mine!"
"I never meant it! I never intended it! It was done whollywithout my knowledge! I am sorry! I am sorry!"
"You need not be sorry. It is only one of the consequences offollowing one's faith. Anyhow, I'm just a little less inconsistentthan Mr. Benton, who had always been opposed to slavery, althoughhe still owns slaves. The same is true of Mr. Clay. They bothhave been prominent politically. Well, set them free of theirslaves, and they and I would be about even, wouldn't we? It comesto being pretty much on foot, I must confess."
"I can understand that," said she. "For that matter, we are bothruined; and for the same reason."
"What do you mean? And, tell me, once more, who are you? Youcertainly have stirred things up!"
"As to the latter, it makes little difference," said she. "I willconfess to being a revolutionist and a visionary reformer; and anabsolute failure. I will confess that I have undertaken thingswhich I thought were within my power, but which were entirelybeyond me. Well, it has ruined me also in a material way."
"How, do you mean?"
"This colonization work was carried on by my own funds. It is not longago that I got a letter, saying that my funds were at an end. I hadsome small estates in the old country. They are gone,--confiscated.My last rents were not collected."
She, in turn, smiled, spreading out her hands. "You see me here inSt. Genevieve, perhaps on my way to St. Louis. Tell me, is theredemand for persons of foreign experience, who understand a littleFrench, a little English, perhaps a little music? Or could thereperhaps be a place for an interpreter in Hungarian, French orEnglish?"
She turned, spreading out her hands.]
It was his turn to show consternation. "Is it indeed true?" hesaid. "Now it is time for me to say I am sorry. I do notunderstand all about it. Of course I could see all along that animmense amount of money was being paid into this colonizationfolly. And it was your money, and you are ruined,--for the samehopeless cause! I am sorry, sorry! It's a shame, a shame!"
"I am not sorry," said she. "I am glad! It is victory!"
"I will not say that!" he burst out. "I will not admit it, notconfess it. It is all right for me, because I'm a man. I canstand it. But you--you ought to have ease, luxury, all your life.Now look what you have done!"
There came a sudden knock at the door, and without much pause.Hector entered, somewhat excited.
"Monsieur,--Madame!" he exclaimed. "One comes!"
"Who is it?" demanded Dunwody, frowning.
"_Mon pere_! He is come but now from Tallwoods, Monsieur."
"What is wrong out there? Tell him to come in."
"I go."
A moment later, Dunwody left the room, to meet old Eleazar, whomade such response as he could to the hurried queries. "Monsieur,"said he, "I have ridden down from the hills. There is trouble. Inthe neighborhood are some who are angry because their negroes havedisappear'. They accuse Monsieur Dunwodee of being the cause, andsay that he is traitor, a turncoat. This very night a band aresaid to plan an attack upon the house of monsieur! I have metabove there Monsieur Clayton, Monsieur Bill Jones, Monsieur leDocteur Jamieson, and others, who ride to the assistance ofMonsieur Dunwodee. It is this very night, and I--there being noother to come--have come to advise. Believing that monsieur mightdesire to carry with him certain friends, I have brought the largecarriage. It is here!"
"Thank God!" said Dunwody, "they don't vote with me, but they ridewith me still--they're my neighbors, my friends, even yet!
"Hector," he exclaimed suddenly,--"come here!" Then, as they bothlistened, he went on: "Tell the people there can not be a meeting,after all. I am going back to my house, to see what is on upyonder. Hector, can you get a fresh horse? And are there anyfriends who would go with you?"
The sturdy young cooper did not lack in courage, and his responsewas instant. "Assuredly I have a horse, Monsieur," was his reply."Assuredly we have friends. Six, ten, seven, h'eight person shallgo with us within the hour! But I must tell--"
Jeanne was at his elbow, catching scent of something of this,guessing at possible danger. She broke out now into loudexpostulations at this rashness of her spouse, parent of thisprogeny of theirs, thus undertaking to expose himself to midnightdangers. Hector, none the less, shook his head.
"It is necessary that one go armed," commented Eleazar calmly. Hepatted with affection the long barreled piece which lay over hisown arm.
Much of this conversation, loud and excited as it was, could notfail to reach the ears of Josephine, who presently had joined them,and who now heard the story of the old man, so fully confirming allDunwody said.
"There is trouble! There is trouble!" she said, with her usualprompt decision. "There is room for me in the coach. I am goingalong."
"You--what in the world do you mean? You'll do nothing of thesort!" rejoined Dunwody. "It's going to be no place for women, upthere. It's a _fight_, this time!"
"Perhaps not for Jeanne or Hector's mother, or for many women; butfor me it is the very place where I belong! _I_ made that troubleyonder. It was I, not you, who caused that disaffection among theblacks. Your neighbors ought to blame me, not you--I will explainit all to them in a moment, in an instant. Surely, they willlisten to me. Yes, I am going."
Dunwody looked at her in grave contemplation for an instant.
"In God's name, my dear girl, how can you find it in your heart tosee that place again? But do you find it? Will you go? If youinsist, we'll take care of you."
"Of course! Of course!" she replied, and even then was busyhunting for her wraps. "Get ready! Let us start."
"Have cushions and blankets for the carriage, Eleazar," saidDunwody quietly. "Better get a little lunch of some sort to takealong. Go down to the barn yonder and get fresh horses. I don'tthink this team could stand it all the way back."