CHAPTER XXV
Rivers gathered no comfort from a consultation of surgeons, who talked ofthe long-lasting effects of concussion of the brain. Made careful by thesad change he had observed in Ann Penhallow when last seen, he sent histelegram for Leila to the care of the post-mistress, and a day later abrief letter.
Understanding the mode of address, Mrs. Crocker walked at once to GreyPine, and found Leila in the garden. "Where is your aunt?" she asked.
"Lying down in her room. I got your kind note about the fight lastevening. Is it true? Is the news confirmed?"
"Yes. There was a terrible battle at Gettysburg. The Rebels were defeatedby General Meade and are retreating."
"I did not tell Aunt Ann anything. I waited to hear, as I was sure Iwould from Uncle James. Is there evil news?"
"I don't know. Here is a telegram to my care for you from Mr. Rivers. Itmust have been delayed--and then came this letter to Mrs. Penhallow fromhim."
"Then--then--there is bad news," she cried as she tore open the telegramand stood still.
"What is it?--you know how we all love him."
"Uncle Jim is wounded--not seriously--and will be here shortly."
"Oh, but I am sorry--and glad."
"Yes--yes--I must tell aunt at once. She has not left her room fortwo days, and I forbade the maids to talk of the victory until it wassure--now she must know all. I must tell her at once."
"Why not get Dr. McGregor?"
"No--no," she returned with decision. "I shall know best how totell--it wants a woman."
The ruddy, stout post-mistress looked at the tall young woman with suddenappreciation of her self-command and mental growth. "Maybe you're aboutright, but I thought--well, fact is, I've seen of late so many peoplejust tear open a letter--and go all to pieces."
Leila smiled. "You don't know my aunt. Now I must go. Oh, this war--thiswar! To-morrow will scatter joy and grief over all the land."
"Yes, I've been near about mobbed to-day. Good-bye."
The messenger of evil news went straight from the garden path, where theroses were in unusual abundance. To her surprise she saw her aunt on theback porch. As Leila hesitated, she said, "I saw Mrs. Crocker from mywindow, Leila. She gave you something--a letter--or a telegram. What isit? I suppose after what I have heard of the Confederates at York andCarlisle, they may be in Harrisburg by this time and the railroad to thewest cut off. It may be well to know." She spoke rapidly as she came downthe steps to meet her niece. "It is as well James Penhallow is not init."
The two women stood facing one another in one of those immeasurably briefsilences which are to timeless thought as are ages. Her husband safe,General Lee victorious--some slight look of satisfaction could be seen inher face--a faint smile, too easily read--and then--
"Well, dear, your news?"
Anger, tenderness, love, pity--all dictated answers. "Aunt Ann, I havebad news."
"Of course, dear. It was to be expected. You won't believe me, but I amsorry for you and for James."
The face of the tall young woman flushed hot. She had meant to spareher--to be tender. She said, "General Lee is retreating after losing agreat battle at Gettysburg."
Her aunt said quickly, "But James Penhallow--he is in Washington?"
"No, he was in the army--he is wounded--not seriously--and he is cominghome."
"I might have known it." A great illumination came over her face notunderstood by Leila. She was strangely glad for him that he had been inthe field and not in peaceful safety at Washington. With abrupt change ofexpression, she added, "Wounded? Not seriously. That isn't like him tocome home for a slight wound. You or Mark Rivers are hiding something."
"Not I, aunt; but any wound that kept him off duty would be better caredfor here. Lee's defeat leaves him free for a time--I mean at ease--"
"Don't talk nonsense!" she cried. "What do I care for Lee--orMeade--or battles! James Penhallow is all the world to me.Victory!"--she flamed with mounting colour--"it is I am the victor! Hecomes back with honour--I have no duties--no country--I have only mylove. Oh, my God! if he had died--if--if--I should have hated!--" Shespoke with harsh vehemence, and of a sudden stopped, and breathing fastgasped in low-voiced broken tones, "Don't stare at me--I am not afool--I am--I am--only the fool of a great love. You don't know what itmeans. My God! I have no child--James Penhallow is to me children,husband--all--everything." She stood still, wide-eyed, staring down thegarden paths, a wonder of yearning tenderness in her face, with Rivers'sletter in her hand.
"Read your letter, Aunt."
"Yes--yes--I forgot it." She read it, and said, "It only confirms thetelegram."
The storm of passionate emotion was over. Leila amazed and fearful ofresults--twice seen before--watched her. "You have seen," she said in alow voice, "the soul of a great love laid bare. May you too some day, mychild, love as I do! Have no fear for me--I see it in your looks. Comein--I have to see to things--I have to give some orders--there will bemuch to do." She was at once quiet, and composedly led the way into thehouse, the astonished girl following her.
In the hall Mrs. Penhallow said, "I fear, dear, I have left too much ofthe management of the house to you--of late, I mean. What with the farmsand stables, I am not surprised that things have not been quite as Jameswould desire. I am going to relieve you a little. I suppose the stablesare all right."
"They are," returned Leila, feeling hurt. Her aunt had not been in thekitchen or given an order for nearly a month, and house, farm andstables, had been by degrees allowed to slip into Leila's well-trainedand competent hands. Meanwhile Ann Penhallow had gradually failed inhealth and lost interest in duties which had been to her, as Rivers said,what social pleasures were to some women. She yielded by degrees and notwithout resistance to mere physical weakness, and under the emotionalstress of war, and above all the absence of the man on whom she depended,had lapsed to McGregor's dismay into a state of mind and body for whichhe had no remedy.
Every physician of large experience must have seen cases of self-created,unresisted invalidism end with mysterious abruptness and the return ofmental, moral and physical competence, under the influence of some callupon their sense of duty made by calamity, such as an acute illness inthe household, financial ruin, or the death of a husband. The return of awounded man and the need to care for him acted thus upon Ann Penhallow.
Leila looked on in surprise. Her aunt's astounding indifference to theresults of defeat for her beloved South when she learned of her husband'sinjury left the younger woman utterly bewildered. Nothing in her ownnature, as she thought it all over, enabled her to understand it, nor washer aunt's rapid gain in health and cheerfulness during the next few daysmore easy to explain. At first with effort, but very soon with increaseof ability, she gradually became more and more her old self.
Ann Penhallow spent the remainder of the next day in one of thosehousehold inspections which let no failure in neatness or order escapeattention. James Penhallow's library was to be cleaned and cared for ina way to distress any man-minded man, while Leila looked on. Had heraunt's recent look of ill-health represented nothing but the depressinginfluence of a year of anxiety? And, if so, why under the distress of anearer and more material disaster should she grow so quickly active,and apparently strong in place of becoming more feeble. She followedher aunt about the house trying to be helpful, and a little amused ather return to some of the ways which at times annoyed Penhallow intopositive revolt. As she thought of it, Ann was standing over a batteredarmy-chest, open and half full of well-worn cavalry uniforms.
"Really, Leila," she said, "these old army clothes had better be disposedof--and that shabby smoking-jacket--I have not seen it for years. Why domen keep their useless, shabby clothes?"
"I think Uncle Jim wouldn't like those old army uniforms given away,aunt; and don't you remember how he looked like an old Van Dyke portraitin that lovely brown velvet jacket?"
Ann, standing with the much used garment in her hand, let it drop intothe chest, saying, "I rea
lly cannot see the use of keeping things as menlove to do--"
"And women never!" cried Leila, closing the lid of the box, and remarkingthat he would like to find things as he left them; and had Aunt Annnoticed that there were moths about the bear skins. Now a moth has thepower of singularly exciting some women--the diversion proved effectual.
And still as the week went by Ann seemed to be gaining in strength.
At lunch, a telegram from Charles Grey, Baltimore, said, "Penhallow here,doing well. Will return on the 14th, by afternoon train, with Rivers andservant."
"Read that, dear--I want you, Leila, to ride to the mills and tell Dr.McGregor that I will send the carriage for him in time for him to meetyour uncle at the station. I had better not meet him--and there will beMark Rivers and Josiah and--but you will see to all that."
"Certainly, aunt."
"It will be the day after to-morrow. Be sure that the doctor makes nomistake. There are two trains--he will be on the four o'clock express."This was in the manner of her Aunt Ann of former days. "Shall I write itdown?"
Leila cried, "No," and fled, laughing.
The next day to Leila's surprise and pleasure her aunt came down tobreakfast and quietly took her place as mistress of the tea-urn. Thetalent of common sense as applicable to the lesser social commerce oflife was one of Leila's gifts, and she made no comment on her aunt'samazing resumption of her old habits. Ann herself felt some inclinationto explain her rapid recovery of health, and said as she took thelong-vacant seat at the breakfast table, "I think, Leila, the doctor'slast tonic has been of use to me--I feel quite like myself." Having thusanticipated her too sharp-eyed niece's congratulations, Leila'sexpression of pleasure came in accordant place. Whereupon they bothsmiled across the table, having that delicate appreciation of the needsof the situation which is rarely at the service of the blundering mindof man.
The moment of gentle hypocrisy passed, the mistress of Grey Pine took upher memoranda for the day, and said with some attempt at being just herusual self, "I shall walk to Westways after breakfast--Pole needs to betalked to. The meats have been of his worst lately." Then with a glanceat the paper, "Your uncle's books must be dusted; I quite forgot it; Iwill set Susan to work this morning."
"But," said Leila, "he does hate that, Aunt Ann. The last time shesucceeded in setting together 'Don Juan' and 'St. Thomas a Kempis.'"
Ann laughed, and said with some of her old sense of humour, "It might dothem both good--dust them yourself."
"I will," said Leila, liking the task.
"And when you ride this afternoon, see Mrs. Lamb. The cook tells methat she hears of that scamp, her son, as in the army--a nice kind ofsoldier." A half-dozen other errands were mentioned, and they parted,Ann adding, "There is no mail to-day."
They met again at lunch. "It is too bad, Leila, Billy was given theletters and forgot them and went a-fishing. There was a letter for youfrom Mark Rivers about your uncle. Does he think me a child? I read it."
"You read it, Aunt!" exclaimed Leila astonished at this infraction oftheir household law.
"Of course I read it. I knew it must be about James." Leila made noreply, but did not like it.
"Here it is, my dear. I fear James is in a more serious state than I wasled to believe by their first letters. There is also a letter from Johnto you." She did not ask to see it, and Leila took both missives andpresently went away to the stables. Even John, as was plain, wasforgotten in her aunt's anxiety in regard to her husband.
Her many errands over, Leila riding slowly through the lonely wood-roadsread the letters:
"My Dear Leila," wrote Rivers, "you had better let your aunt know thatthe Colonel's wound must have so shocked the brain, though there is nofracture, as to have left him in a mental state which gives me the utmostanxiety. You will sadly realize my meaning when you see him. Be carefulhow you tell your aunt.
"Yours truly,
"MARK RIVERS."
Here indeed was trouble. Leila's eyes filled and tears fell on the paper.She rode on deep in thought, and at last securing the message of calamityin her belt opened John's letter.
"I write you, dear Leila, from my tent near Vicksburg, this 5th of July.The prisoners from Pemberton's army are passing as I write. Our men aregiving them bread and tobacco, and there is no least sign of enmity ortriumph. I am pretty well worn out, as the few engineers have been workedhard and the constant nearness of death in the trenches within five toone hundred feet of the Rebel lines was a situation to make a manthink--not of course while in immediate danger, but afterwards. I hadsome narrow escapes--we all had. But, dear Leila, it has been a splendidthing to see how this man Grant, with the expressionless face, struckswiftly one army after another and returned to secure his prey.
"I cannot even now get a leave of absence, and I am beyond words anxiousto hear about dear Uncle Jim. Just a line from him makes me think he wasto be with General Meade and in that great battle we won. A telegram tothe Engineers' Camp, Vicksburg, will relieve me.
"It is unlikely, if we go South, that I shall see you for many a day. Allleaves are, I find, denied. War--intense war like this--seems to me tochange men in wonderful ways. It makes some men bad or reckless ordrunkards or hard and cruel; it makes others thoughtful, dutiful andreligious. This is more often the case among the men than you may thinkit would be. Certainly it does age a fellow fast. I seem to have passedmany years since I sat with you at West Point and you made me feel howyoung I was and how little I had seen of life. It was true, but now Ihave seen life at its worst and its best. I have had too the educationof battle, the lessons read by thousands of deaths and all the manytemptations of camp life. I believe, and I can say it to you, I am thebetter for it all, and think less and less of the man who was fool enoughto do what with more humility he will surely do once more, if it pleaseGod that he come out of this terrible war alive.
"When you see me again, you will at least respect my years, for one livesfast here, and the months seem years and the family Bible a vain record,as I remember that the statement of births comes after the Apocryphawhich leaves room for doubt."--
Leila smiled. "How like him," she murmured.
"I said months. There are (there were once last week) minutes when onefelt an insolent contempt of death, although the bullets were singing bylike our brave hornets. Is that courage? I used as a boy to wonder how Iwould feel in danger. Don't tell, but on going under fire I shiver, andthen am at once in quiet possession of all my capacities, whatever theybe worth. A man drops by my side--and I am surprised; then another--and Iam sure I won't be hit. But I _was_ three weeks ago in my leg! It made mefurious, and I still limp a bit. It was only a nip--a spent bullet. Iwanted to get at that anonymous rascal who did it.
"Do wire me, and write fully.
"Yours,JOHN.
"P.S. I wonder where Tom McGregor is, and Pole's boy and Joe Grace, andthose Greys who went diverse ways. As you never talk of yourself when youwrite those brief letters on notepaper the size of a postage stamp, youmight at least tell me all about these good people in Westways."
She telegraphed him, "Uncle Jim slightly wounded, is coming home. Willwrite. Leila Grey."
About four in the afternoon of this July 14th Ann Penhallow kissed herhusband as he came up the porch steps. He was leaning heavily on MarkRivers's arm. He said, "It is quite a long time, Ann. How long is it?"Then he shook off Rivers, saying, "I am quite well," and going by hiswife went through the open door, moving like one dazed. He stood still amoment looking about him, turned back and speaking to his wife said, "Iunderstand now. At first it seemed strange to me and as if I had neverbeen here before. Ever feel that way, Ann?"
"Oh, often, James." No signal of her anguish showed on the gallantlycarried face of the little woman.
"Quiet, isn't it? When was it I was hit? It was--wasn't it in May? Riverssays it was July--I do not like contradiction." His appreciation of timeand recognition of locality were alike disordered, as Rivers had observedwith distress and a too constant desire t
o set him right. With betterappreciation of his condition, Ann accepted his statement.
"Yes--yes, of course, dear--it is just so."
"I knew you would understand me. I should like to go to bed--I wantJosiah--no one else."
"Yes, dear," and this above all else made clear to the unhappy littlelady how far was the sturdy soldier who had left her from the broken manin undress uniform who clung to the rail, as he went slowly up thestairway with his servant. In the hall he had seen Leila, but gave her noword, not even his habitual smile of recognition.
Ann stared after them a moment, motioned Rivers away with uplifted hand,and hastening into the library sat down and wept like a child. She hadbeen unprepared for the change in his appearance and ways. More closelyobservant, Leila saw that the lines of decisiveness were gone, thehumorous circles about the mouth and eyes, as it were, flattened out, andthat the whole face, with the lips a little languidly parted, had becomeexpressionless. It was many days before she could see the altered visagewithout emotion, or talk of him to her aunt with any of the amazinghopefulness with which the older woman dwelt on her husband's intervalsof resemblance to his former self.
He would not ride or enter the stables, but his life was otherwise achildlike resumption of his ordinary habits, except that when annoyed byAnn's too obvious anxiety or excess of carefulness, he became irritableat times and even violent in language. He so plainly preferred Leila'scompany in his short walks as to make the wife jealous and vexed that shewas not wanted during every minute of his altered life. He read no booksas of old, but would have Leila read to him the war news until he fellasleep, when she quietly slipped away.
Mark Rivers resumed his duties for a time, unwilling to abandon thesedear friends for whom McGregor, puzzled and perplexed, had no word ofconsolation, except the assurance that his condition did not grow worse.
At times Penhallow was dimly aware of his state; at others he resentedany effort to control him and was so angry when the doctor proposed aconsultation that the idea was too easily given up, for always in thisas in everything his wife agreed with him and indulged him as womenindulge a sick child. The village grieved for the Colonel who rode nomore through Westways with a gay word of greeting for all he met. Theiron-mills were busy. The great guns tested on the meadows now and thenshook the panes in the western windows of Grey Pine. They no longerdisturbed Ann Penhallow. The war went its thunderous way unheeded by her.Unendingly hopeful, the oppression of disaster seemed only to confirm andstrengthen her finest qualities. Like the pine-tree winning vigour fromits rock-clasped roots, she gathered such hardening strength of soul andbody from his condition as the more happy years had never put at hercommand.
"No letters to-day, Miss Leila," said the post-mistress standing besidethe younger woman's horse. "Just only them papers with their lists ofkilled and wounded."
"I must always be Leila, not Miss Leila," said the horsewoman.
"Well--well--I like that better. How's the Colonel?"
"Much the same--certainly no worse. It is wonderful how my aunt standsit."
"Don't you notice, Leila, how she has kind of softened? Me and Joe wastalking of it yesterday. She always was good, but folks did use to sayshe was sort of hard and--positive. Now, she's kind of gentled--noticedthat?"
"Yes, I have noticed it; but I must go. Give me the papers. You love atalk."
"There's no news of John?"
"None of late. He is with General Grant--but where we do not know."
"It's right pleasant to have Josiah back. Lord! but he's strong on warstories--ought to hear him. He was always good at stories."
"Yes, I suppose so. Good-bye."
James Penhallow sat on the back porch in the after luncheon hour to getwith the freshness of October what sunshine the westerning sun wassifting through the red and gold of the maples beyond the garden walls.He was in the undress uniform of the artillery, and still wore thetrefoil of the Second Corps. An effort by Ann to remove his soiled armygarb and substitute his lay dress caused an outbreak of anger which lefthim speechless and feeble, and her in an agony of regretful penitence.Josiah, wiser than she, ventured to tell her what had happened oncebefore when his badge of the glorious Second Corps had been missing."After all, what does it matter?" she said to herself, and made no effortto repair the ragged bullet tear South Mountain left in his jacket, andin which he had at his worst times such childlike pride as in another andwell-known general had once amused him.
He was just now in one of his best conditions and was clearly enjoyingthe pipe he used but rarely. Ann at his feet on the porch-step read aloudto him with indifference to all but the man she now and then looked up towith the loving tenderness his brief betterment fed with illusory hope.
"What's that, Ann?" he exclaimed; "Grant at Chattanooga! That's John'sideal General. Didn't he write about him at--where was it? Oh! Belmont."
"Yes, after Belmont, James."
"When does Mark Rivers go back?"
"To-morrow. He is always so out of spirits here that I am really relievedwhen he returns to the Sanitary Commission." He made no reply, and shecontinued her reading.
"Isn't that Leila with Rivers, Ann?"
"Yes. He likes to walk with her."
"So would any man." A faint smile--very rare of late--showed in herpleased upward look at the face--the changed face--she loved.
The pair of whom they spoke were lost to view in the forest.
"And you are glad to go?" said Leila to Rivers.
"Yes, I am. I can hardly say glad, but now that your uncle is, so tospeak, lost to me and your aunt absorbed in her one task and the dutiesshe has taken up again, our pleasant Dante lessons are set aside, andwhat is there left of the old intellectual life which is gone--gone?"
"But," said Leila gaily, "you have the church and my humble society. Why,you are really learning to walk, as you did not until of late."
Making no reply to her personal remark, he was silent for a moment, andthen said with slow articulation and to her surprise, for he rarely spokeof himself, "Nine years ago I came here, a man broken in mind and body.This life and these dear friends have made me as strong as I can everhope to be. But the rest--the rest. I know what power God has given meto bring souls to him. I can influence men--the lowly and--well, others,as few can. I cannot live in cities--I dare not risk the failure inhealth; and yet, I want--I want a larger field. I found it when youraunt's liberality sent me to the army. There in my poor way I can servemy country--and that is much to me." He was silent.
"But," she said, "is there not work enough here? and the war cannot lastmuch longer. Don't think you must ever leave us."
"I shall--I must. There are limitations I cannot talk of even--above allto you. Your aunt knows this--and your uncle did--long ago."
"What limitations?" she asked rashly.
"You are the last person, Leila Grey, to whom I could speak of them. Ihave said too much, but"--and he paused--"I am tired--I will leave you tofinish your walk." The great beautiful eyes turned on him for a moment."Oh, my God!" he exclaimed, and reproaching his brief human weakness lefther abruptly, walking slowly away through the drifting red and gold ofleaves rocking in air as they sauntered to earth, and was at last lost toview in the woodland.
Leila stood still, puzzled and sorrowful, as she watched the tallstooping form. "How old he looks," she murmured. "What did he mean? Imust ask Aunt Ann." But she never did, feeling that what he had said wassomething like a cautiously hinted confession. In the early morning hewas gone again to the field of war.