Part 14 (1/2)
'_Give me that paper!_' she demanded with extended hand; 'how did you come by it?' 'Tell me first!' I exclaimed; '_who is the child_ spoken of in it? I _must_--I _will_ know!' She stared wildly at me, while a ghastly smile spread itself over her pallid features and suddenly her voice sank to a low musical cadence peculiar to herself as you well know, Grace, and somehow it has never failed to bring my most stubborn will in meek subjection to her feet. 'Lillian, my child,' she said; '_why_ are you so much agitated? Compose yourself; such fits of anger is not at all becoming! The story of the child in whom you seem so much interested is a very short one. I should have confided it to you long ago, if by so doing I would not have been obliged to reveal a secret which I could not have told with honor. I will now, however, satisfy your curiosity in a measure. You know that I have both relatives and friends in Savannah, one of these had a daughter who a few years ago became a mother of an illegitimate child; of course the mortification must be hidden if possible from the world, and much against my will I became an accomplice in the affair. This is the one alluded to in that doc.u.ment you hold so tenaciously in your hand. Now give it to me and forget the subject altogether.' She reached for it, and with her eyes gazing steadily into mine took it from me and walked with a firm tread through an opposite door, leaving me standing alone conquered but not convinced. Do not think harshly of me, dear Grace, I know my mother is your beloved aunt, and for this reason I confide in you. I would not let my suspicions loose upon the world, but something has whispered to me many times since that day that Lily did not die in her infancy, and can you imagine my agony when I realize that now she may be homeless and friendless, or what is equally dreadful to me surrounded perhaps with evil a.s.sociations growing up into womanhood unlovely and unloved?” The head of the agitated Lillian sank down on the shoulder of her companion, and clasped in each other's arms the two mingled their tears of sorrow and sympathy. During all this time Lillian had spoken kindly of the cause of all this treachery and guilt! She was dealing with the great sad past--unclasping it link by link from her present and future as one throws off acc.u.mulated burdens when preparing for laborious action. She had secretly before this laid them all at the feet of Him who had said, ”cast thy burdens on the Lord and he will sustain thee.” His promises she felt were true and she expected to be a.s.sisted over the road that seemed stretching itself among the thick shadows farther than her faith could penetrate.
A few hours before this conversation when alone with her blessed Saviour she had said with quivering lips and wildly throbbing heart: ”Forgive the poor wailing cry, for I cannot hush its sobbings! Rachel wept for her children and would not be comforted--my child is not--not dead, or the mother love would cease its calling,” and then she prayed: ”Thou who noticest the fall of a little sparrow watch over and protect my Lily!
s.h.i.+eld her--lead her in a path where I may find her.”
Did the Father hear?
[Ill.u.s.tration]
CHAPTER XV.
SCENES ON THE PLANTATION.
Autumn came at last. The heart of the great Republic throbbed with unsteady pulsation, and, every nerve in the body politic thrilled with excitement as the looked-for crisis drew near. There were faint whisperings in each breeze, so low at first that every ear was strained to the uttermost tension to catch the vibrating strains, but soon they became louder and louder until the foundations of peace and prosperity were shaken to their very center. ”War, war!” It was talked of everywhere. In the salon, in the dining hall, not even were the parlor and boudoir exempt from the unwelcome sounds. The politicians discussed it over their wine, and unfledged aspirants for fame probed the bare possibilities in secret conclaves. Ebony forms crowded beneath windows and balconies with eyes and lips protruded, eager to catch the mysterious meaning of the universal subject, ”war!” Aristocracy in the brilliant halls of pleasure and revelry saw the strange hand appear and the finger writing upon the wall. How flushed cheeks paled, and rosy lips changed to ashy hue, and how knees smote together with fear. ”War!
war!” A cloud, dark and murky, rolled up from the horizon full of terrible mutterings, and loaded with death and devastation, moving steadily onward, until the broad clear sky was covered, and the rays that had so long fallen upon a prosperous people were shut out, and shadows deep and portentous drooped their heavy folds about the agitated nation. Mothers all over the land gazed through blinding tears upon their n.o.ble sons, who stood with elevated brows around the home fires.
Wives thrust back their true devotion into the secret chambers of agonized hearts, and pressed more closely the pallid lips, and remained silent.
Perhaps there was not another in the whole land who was more bitter towards those who had caused these preparations of calamity than was Mrs. Belmont. True, she had her own ideas who these were, as well as all others throughout both sections of the Republic. Having been for so many years upheld in her present position of luxury and ease by sable hands, it was no very agreeable prospect, surely, to discover a mere possibility that they might at some future time be giving way beneath her.
The lady of Rosedale with her son and daughter had been in the habit of spending several weeks during the winter in Savannah, but now her arrangements for the season were materially changed, Lillian having gone to New Orleans with her cousin Grace for an unlimited time, the mother and son would go immediately without her.
The cloud had never disappeared from the family horizon since that eventful day when George St. Clair left Rosedale a rejected lover. The daughter would not recall him with a promise of her love or her hand, and consequently the shadow of her mother's anger hung over her, dark and gloomy. There were no filial tears shed at parting, nor were there words of regret, or even one sweet, maternal kiss. How sad, how very sad, that such things must be. Can human love die? That healthful seed which G.o.d planted so tenderly in every heart to make life endurable as well as beautiful with its buds and blossoms--can all this ever be rooted up? True, its flowers may wither, its bright green leaves may fade and fall, its tender stalks even be broken, but the roots, the deeply imbedded roots--_they_ can never, never die. Smother them with cruelties and wrongs, if you will, bury them beneath the acc.u.mulated rubbish of selfishness and misconduct, there will come a time when the warm suns.h.i.+ne of tender memories and the soft dews of genial affections, which the hand of divinity shall scatter over it, will bring forth fresh shoots from the hidden life of the heart's immortal love.
No, it cannot die; or why did Mrs. Belmont hurry into her private apartment, as soon as the sound of the rolling wheels that were bearing her daughter from her was lost in the distance, to give vent there to pent up tears? It might have been remorse, it is true, for the last look on that pale face, as Lillian waved her adieus from the carriage window, would not leave her. There were tears also on Aunt Vina's cheeks, although she endeavored to hide them, amid her merry laughter, as she took off her well-worn shoe to throw after her departing darling. But Lillian felt that there was more good luck in her parting words and benediction than in this. ”De good Lord bress ye, honey, and bring ye back to poo' old Vina!”
”Pray for me, Auntie, while I am gone,” was the feeble response from the sore and aching heart.
”Dat I will ebery day, sartin! And don't ye mind nothin'! Just ye be happy; dat's all!”
But there came an hour when the warm suns.h.i.+ne gathered up its little gems of joy from out the poor twisted life of the humble slave, and left the heart bleeding beneath the gloomy shadows where it had been stricken. No one knew how it came about--but one bright morning when the orange groves were full of birds, who had arrived from their northern homes before the wintry blasts had reached them, little Shady was found in the store-house lying beneath a huge bale of cotton quite dead! The overseer ”had seen him frolicking like a kitten among them and told him not to climb to the top one, as he seemed inclined to do”; and that was all that could be revealed of the sad story! It was night now to old Vina! Nowhere in her desolate heart could she find the sweet balm she had so often poured into the wounds of other's griefs. Above her shone no star with silvery ray to light up the dark despair! Grief has many fangs, all sharp and poisonous and hard to be borne as they pierce through the sensitive nerves of the human heart; but some strike deeper than others, letting out the very life of the soul and flooding the secret chambers with the malaria of woe! Aunt Vina felt all this when at last the little form she had so loved and cherished was laid away in its cheerless bed among the b.u.t.tonwood trees, where her hand could reach him no more with its cheery good-night. What was there now to keep her tired feet from faltering by the way, or her heart from sinking under its weight of life's sorrows? When the last sod was laid tenderly on the little grave, and ”Parson Tom” had said in his most solemn tones ”de Lord gabe and de Lord hab taken away; and bressed be de name ob de Lord,” she turned away from it all with no responsive ”bress de Lord”
bubbling up through the torn fissures of her bleeding heart, and sought her accustomed place by the kitchen grate. Without a tear or moan she sank down upon a chair, her head drooping low upon her broad chest, sitting there as motionless and still as though the lamp of her existence had also been blown out. In vain did dark forms gather about her with their tears of sympathy and words of condolence and love! She heeded them not! The soft, warm beams of the noonday sun came in through the door and gathered themselves about her bowed form, but she moved not. When the shadows of night crept in she arose and stole away into the thick darkness of her chamber to pray alone! No eye but His who wept tears of sympathy at the tomb of Lazarus witnessed the agony that night of the poor heart-broken slave. No ear but His who will wipe away all tears listened to the moans and prayers that were borne upward on the wings of departing night from that humble chamber! G.o.d heard them, however, and a register was made in that book which is to be opened on that great day of accounts when one more spotless robe of white was ready for her who had ”come up through much tribulation!”
The next morning, earlier than usual, Aunt Vina appeared in her accustomed place. Her cheeks were hollow and her eyes sunken, yet she moved about with steady step gathering up every trace of her lost darling, burning the few scattered blocks he had brought in that sad day he went out to come in no more, throwing far back into the dark closet the tattered hat and much-used whip, as if by so doing she could hide the sorrow that was eating away her life. And thus she labored on.
The house was indeed empty now! ”Pete” had gone with his young master, and Emily, the particular favorite of her mistress, was with her in Savannah, and poor Aunt Vina turned her heart's longings towards the absent Lillian. ”If she was only here,” she would say over and over again; ”de wee lamb! De Lord knows how to pity dem dat lub Him!”
”And don't you lub Him, Vina?” asked the kind old preacher, who strove in his feeble way to comfort the bereaved one.
”Yes--yes--brudder Tom; but somehow dese old eyes can't see out straight. He was all that was left; it seems as how I might hab dat one little head to lie on dis lone bosom! It won't be long 'fore I shall be 'tro wid it all--and it wouldn't 'a' hurt nothin' if he been lef till I went home!” Tears mingled with her sobs as she bewailed her loneliness.
”De Lord say 'come unto me when tired and can't find nowhere for de sole ob de foot, and He will gib you rest”; and the good man laid his ebony hand on the bowed head as he spoke.
”Don't I know it, brudder Tom? He's all right; but it's hard to bress de Lord when He makes it so dark; maybe by and by old Vina can look up! If Miss Lillian was here _she_ would tell me how.”
How many have thus bent beneath the rod as they hid the light of faith from them, ”refusing to be comforted” when the pitying Father was so ready to bind up the heart His careful love had wounded? ”Before I was stricken I went astray” is the testimony of many a happy soul. The clouds are about us but the sun s.h.i.+nes above them all.
Lillian was gone and Rosedale somehow seemed deserted and dreary.