Crestlands: A Centennial Story of Cane Ridge

  CHAPTER XXVII.

  BETSY DECLINES THE HONOR

  For Betsy Gilcrest the year of 1803 dragged along in dreary monotony.All through the radiant freshness of June, the rich glow of July, theintense, white heat of August, and the mellow charm of early autumn thetemperature in her veins had been steadily declining; for she had nomessage from her betrothed.

  In June her father had received Abner's letter. Its manly resignationof Betty, and its undertone of hopeless sadness, touched MajorGilcrest; for now that his soul was no longer vexed with apprehensionfor his daughter's future, his better nature asserted itself, and hefelt the most profound pity for the unfortunate youth in his undeserveddisgrace. For the time, Major Gilcrest even forgot his suspicions thatAbner had been in league with Wilkinson, Sebastian and Powers in anytraitorous designs against the Government.

  A note for Betsy had been enclosed in the letter to her father. Hethought best to withhold this note, lest its tender sadness might havethe opposite effect to that which he desired; and, instead of causingher to forget her lover, it might make her cling the more tenaciouslyto the memory of her lost happiness.

  During all these months Major Gilcrest had taken no steps towardestablishing his wife's claim to the Hite inheritance; nor had JamesDrane made any move toward this end, since his letter declining to actas Abner's agent. The reason for this stay of proceedings was due toMrs. Gilcrest. Her husband, while refraining from entering into fullparticulars, had told her enough of his hopes and intentions to causeher the greatest apprehension. If this claim was pushed forward openly,she thought, not only must the world learn her real maiden name, andthat she had been a widow Logan, but, what was far worse to the weak,timid woman, her husband would learn that she had deceived him allthese years about her clandestine marriage, and regarding all theshameful details of her connection with John Logan. She begged andprayed Major Gilcrest to make no claim to the inheritance. They did notneed it, and the publicity and comment and surmise that would follow,if he tried to enforce her claim, would kill her, she said. He did notconsent at once, but finally, when she became so agitated as to fallreally ill, he, fearing that further agitation in her weak conditionmight prove actually fatal to her, decided to make no public move inthe matter, for the present, at least--until her nerves and strengthhad recovered their usual tone.

  Thus time wore on, and each succeeding day as it passed, bringing notidings to poor Betty, carried hope and love and happiness further fromher grasp. Oaklands had never before seemed desolate and drear; and shecould not have believed, had she been told, that she could ever lookwith ungracious eyes upon the stately home of her childhood. She missedthe boisterous gayety of her brothers. John Calvin and Martin werestudents at Cambridge University, Silas and Philip were absent all dayat the neighborhood school, and only little Matthew was left at home.None of the family were allowed to attend services at Cane Ridgemeeting-house; Betsy was forbidden to hold intercourse with the Rogersfamily; and she had no heart for any of the little merrymakings of theneighborhood. Her parents urged another visit to Mary Winston, but tothis Betsy would not consent; for at the Winstons James Drane would bean almost daily visitor, and Betsy now shared fully her lover'sdistrust of the young lawyer.

  One morning in early October, Betsy, sitting languidly with her sewingin the long side porch, saw Mr. Drane ride up the avenue. She at oncegathered up her work and slipped away to her room, where she satexpecting every moment a summons to come down. When an hour had passed,she supposed that the visitor had departed, and she was folding up herwork, intending to go for a ramble through the woods--for her chiefsolace now was to revisit the spot where she, nearly a year before, hadplighted her troth--when little Matthew came with a message from herfather that she was to come down at once to the parlor. "An' I mussentum back wid oo, pappy says," added the little fellow; "I'se to doe toMammy Dilsey an' det my face washed, an' my hair turled, an' a c'eanapawn on."

  "Who's there, baby, besides father? and where's mother?"

  "Her's dere too, an' Mistah Drane, an' he tissed me, an' say I'se afine 'ittle man, an' he will tek me a nice wide on his pitty b'ackhawse; so huwy up, sisser, an' tum an' see him, so's we tan doea-widin'."

  When the girl entered the parlor, she saw at once that this was to be amomentous interview. Her mother, dressed in her best silk gown, butlooking pale and nervous, was talking to Mr. Drane, who was seatedbeside her on the sofa; while her father, looking more bland than shehad seen him for a long time, was slowly pacing the floor.

  Mrs. Gilcrest gave her daughter an appealing, deprecating look as thegirl entered, and then sank back on the sofa with her hands twitchingnervously. Drane rose at once, and, stepping briskly across the room tomeet Betsy, bowed long before her, and then extended his hand. After amoment's hesitation, she gave him hers in return, which he withgraceful gallantry carried to his lips. Then, still holding her hand,he led her across the room and placed an arm-chair for her facing herfather. After a slight hesitation, Drane was about to leave the room,but Major Gilcrest quietly invited him to remain, whereupon the youngman retired to a position in a window-seat.

  "My daughter," said Gilcrest, in his most stately manner, "our esteemedyoung friend has done us the honor of seeking an alliance with thisfamily by a marriage with yourself; and, like the honorable gentlemanhe is, he has, before addressing you, laid his proposal before yourparents. I have desired him to remain in the room that he may hear metell you that there is no one to whom I would more willingly intrust mydaughter's future. You have known him long, and, I dare say, esteem himhighly; for he has everything to recommend him to your favor. Yourmother and I have given our cordial approval, and we will now leave himto plead his cause with you. Knowing him as I do, and knowing you, Ifeel sure he will not plead in vain. Come, my dear," he said to hiswife, "we will now withdraw."

  If Gilcrest by this confident manner thought to overawe his daughterand surprise her into acceptance, he was speedily undeceived.

  "Stop, father! Stop, mother!" Betty cried, rising from her chair andfacing her father, her lips firmly set, her face pale, determination inevery line of her graceful figure. "What I have to say to Mr. Dranemust be said in your hearing." Gilcrest, surprised at the firmness ofher voice and the determination and dignity of her bearing, stoodstill, facing her; Mrs. Gilcrest sank limply into the nearest chair.Betsy continued: "I am sensible of the honor Mr. Drane does me inseeking my hand; but I am surprised at his persisting in a suit whichhe must know is displeasing to me. More than once has he so plainlyintimated his intentions that I could not fail to understand, and justas plainly have I intimated that I could not favor his suit. I now, inyour presence, say what I have so often hinted to him--that I can neverbe his wife."

  "Tut! tut! girl, have done with these unseemly airs!" said her father,sharply. "You are not capable of judging. Your parents know best whatis good for you."

  "No, sir," said Betty, firmly, "in this matter which involves my wholefuture, not even my parents shall choose for me. And you know, too,that my love is given and my troth plighted to another."

  "Stop such maudlin raving! Your 'troth plighted'! Tut! you do not knowwhat you are saying; and as for your love, it is but the pulingsentimentality of a silly girl, which you will soon outgrow."

  "Sir," said Betsy, turning toward the crestfallen young lawyer, "I begthat you leave us. I have given you my answer; it is irrevocable.Though humbly thanking you for the honor you would confer upon me, Ican not be your wife."

  "No, no! don't go, James. The girl does not know her own mind; but, byheaven, she shall be made to hear reason!" exclaimed Gilcrest,furiously. "Wait, man, I beg of you; I wish to confer further with you.As for you, you undutiful, foolish girl, you may leave the room while Italk with Mr. Drane."

  "No," said James, "it will be better for me to leave you now," and,bowing low, he took up his hat and departed.

  "But, James, I--we----" stammered Hiram; but the discomfited suitor wasout of hearing.

  Gilcrest turned angrily to
his daughter. "You self-willed, troublesomebaggage!" he ejaculated.

  "Father," said Betty, quietly, "it is of no use for you to storm inthis way. I have always been a dutiful daughter; but in this matter Imean to decide for myself."

  "Why don't you speak to her, Jane?" he asked, turning to his wife. "Whydo you sit there listless and dumb? Have you no influence over thegirl?" But Mrs. Gilcrest was dissolved in tears, and leaned backtremblingly in her chair, saying never a word.

  "Is everything going against me?" groaned the old man, pacing the roomexcitedly. "I'm thwarted and set at naught on every hand--church,neighbors, friends. I'll sell out and go back to Massachusetts. Tothink that my only daughter!--Truly a man's worst foes are often thoseof his own household."

  "I grieve to cross you, father," answered Betsy, "for you have untillately been fond and indulgent."

  Trying to control himself to speak gently, he continued: "Betsy, mydaughter, believe me, I know what is best for you. As James Drane'swife, you will be tenderly loved and indulged in every luxury, and haveevery whim gratified; and I do think that my heartfelt desire in thismatter should incline you to at least consider well before you reject aman whom any other girl in the State would be proud to accept."

  "Dear father," said Betty, going up to him and laying her handbeseechingly upon his arm, "I can never marry James Anson Drane."

  The old man wavered as he saw the tears in his daughter's eyes, andfelt the clinging touch of her fingers. "There, there!" he saidsoothingly, as he tenderly touched her wet cheek, "dry your eyes, dear,and be comforted. It is only your welfare and happiness I seek. We'llsay nothing more just now; after awhile you'll see differently; and Ipredict that before many months have gone by, you will not only bereconciled to marrying James, but will be happy in the shelter of hislove, and will thank me for having urged you to accept him."

  "Never!" exclaimed Betsy, drawing back defiantly. "I shall never againlisten to him, nor to you even, upon this subject. I dislike himexceedingly, and I love Abner Dudley with my whole heart. Marry JamesDrane! The very thought of such a thing fills me with loathing. I haveno confidence in his truth and integrity. I would beg my bread ratherthan be his wife."

  "I'll lock you up!" cried Gilcrest, exasperated beyond bounds, hismomentary tenderness completely vanquished by the girl's words. "I'llstarve you on bread and water, you insolent, outrageous fool!"

  "O Hiram! Hiram! don't!" wailed Mrs. Gilcrest. "Don't be so hard. I cannot bear it! Oh, what shall I do! what shall I do!" and she wept andtrembled, and wrung her hands, until her husband and her daughter werealarmed.

  "This is your work," he said to Betsy, as he bent over his hystericalwife. "You are breaking your mother's heart, you obstinate vixen. Ringthe bell for Dilsey, at once. Remain where you are, until I return," headded to Betsy when Aunt Dilsey had obeyed the summons, and wasassisting him to carry his wife upstairs.

  His anger had cooled somewhat when he returned to the parlor half anhour later. "I can not, of course, force you to marry any one," he saidto his daughter; "nor for the present will I urge upon yourconsideration the suit of Mr. Drane, against whom you have taken sounreasoning and unjust a prejudice; but there's another point uponwhich I must do my duty without shrinking. I command you to give upthinking of Abner Dudley, now and forever."

  "I can give you no such obedience," Betsy replied. "I am his promisedwife; but even though loving him as I do, I would give him back histroth, if you could show just and adequate reason why I should.Instead, you give no reason whatever."

  "Is not my wish reason enough?" he asked, desiring to spare her thehumiliating knowledge of Abner's low birth, and the fact that he hadgiven her back her freedom.

  "No, sir, it is not. I am no longer a child, to be made to obey youblindly and unquestioningly."

  "Then, if you will insist upon knowing my reasons, you willful girl,you shall be enlightened. Your precious lover has renounced you; and,what is more, he will never show his face in this community again."

  "No, no! It can't be true. He is loyal. I will believe in him above allthe world. He will return. I know he will," cried Betsy, shrinking andpaling, but still strong in her faith.

  "But he has renounced you, Betsy, my daughter. He has written me thathe must give you up."

  "Let me see the letter," said Betsy, still unbelieving.

  Gilcrest crossed the hall to his office, and in a few seconds returnedwith Abner's letter. "I would have spared you this, my child, ifpossible," her father said as she eagerly seized the letter.

  "Oh, what lie is this they have told you, my persecuted, darlingAbner?" she exclaimed. "You, my proud, high-minded, noble lover, abastard! Never, never, never! It's all a vile plot to cheat you of yourbetrothed wife and your inheritance. Ah! I know whose work this is. Itis that smiling, treacherous Judas, James Anson Drane. I feel it, Iknow it."

  "You rave, my miserable, deluded child," Gilcrest said sadly, "but eventhough you are for the moment well-nigh bereft of reason by the shockof hearing that your lover has given you up, you must not in yourbitterness utter so wicked, so utterly unfounded an accusation againstan honorable man who loves you truly and would make you his wife."

  Nothing her father could say could induce her to believe that Abner wasnot laboring under some delusion about his being base-born. She couldgive no reason for this belief, she said; but her own heart and her owninstincts told her it was all a mistake, or else a scheme to separateher and her lover. "This will all be cleared up, I feel that it will,"she said again and again, "and he will come back to me soon, andwithout a stain upon his name. I intend to write to him at once, andtell him that though all the world should forsake him, I will still betrue to him, and will believe, too, in his right to wear an honorablename."

  Her father reasoned and pleaded in vain. He finally lost all patience,and grew angrier than he had ever been with her. "Go to your room, youunreasonable fool," he finally said. "Go! No longer offend my sight byyour presence--but listen, first, and remember I will be obeyed. Iforbid your writing one line to that base-born vagabond. Further, Iforbid your leaving these premises or holding any communication withany one except members of this household, until you pledge me your wordof honor to have nothing more to do with Abner Dudley."

  "Then, I'm a prisoner for life," answered Betty; "for so long as I liveand breathe, I shall love him. I mean to write to him as soon as I canmanage to escape your vigilance and tyranny long enough to post aletter to him, and when he comes back to claim me, I will marry him inspite of you and that villain, James Drane."