Barbara Ladd

CHAPTER XXX

Barbara felt as if a strange great wind had blown upon New York, scattering and changing everything. Robert was gone, – when she was seeing little of him, and not desiring to see more, she had, nevertheless, had a satisfaction in knowing he was within reach. Now Cary Patten was gone, and Jerry Waite was gone, and young Paget was gone, and the student enthusiast, young Mr. Hamilton, came no more to the old Dutch house on State Street, being engrossed in matters of secrecy and import. And now she herself and Uncle Bob were going. She felt as if that separating wind would inexorably have lifted and borne her somewhere, even if the haven of Second Westings had not been open. Fate drove indifferently, but left her free to shape her course for Westings House and Aunt Hitty, and her own apple-tree down in the back garden.

A few days later she was at home. Glenowen, resting but an hour or two, had hastened on to his duties. Everything seemed to Barbara just as when she went away, save that Doctor Jim was graver than of old, seeming weighed down with care; and Doctor John's absence left a void that ached all the time. But her little room was just as she had left it, – fresh dusted, and with a few things lying about out of place, as she loved to have it. The dust upon the coverlet where "Mr. Grim" slept was there as of old. "He did not, in fact, sleep there once during all your absence, dear," declared Mistress Mehitable, "till the very night before your return, when he forsook me and stalked back to his old place. Then I knew that you'd be here the next day, and we were very happy together; and I gave him clear cream for his breakfast, and made him very sick!"

Within three days the old life had taken Barbara back at every point, and she felt as if she had awakened from a brilliant but oppressive dream. Of course it was interesting telling it all – or not quite all – to every one; to every one the truth, yet not to each the same story. There was one emphasis for Aunt Hitty and Doctor Jim, one for the Reverend Jonathan Sawyer, one for Mercy Chapman, and one much more vivid and enlightening for old Debby. But even as she told it, it began to seem unreal to herself. And soon she grew unwilling to talk of it at all.

As the bright Connecticut summer slipped by, Barbara could not but notice a change of temper among the villagers of Second Westings. To herself they were as civil, as deferential as ever, but, she thought, with a little difference. Half a dozen families had representatives in the army besieging Boston, and two of the village homes were in mourning. When she was walking with Doctor Jim she noticed the sullenness with which his hearty, kindly greetings were returned, – a sullenness which Doctor Jim never allowed himself to observe. Then there was difficulty in getting extra help when special needs arose at Westings House. The people were unwilling to work for Mistress Mehitable. They positively refused to work with Amos, who had to give up his innocently convivial evenings at the tavern and remain sulking in the kitchen, abused and scorned by Abby because he was always in her way. In September, when Congress despatched the army of the north to conquer Canada, seven more men went from Second Westings, and enthusiasm grew. With news of the capture of Montreal came word also that two of the Second Westings men had fallen in the battle. Then feelings grew hot.

One morning, when Barbara was visiting Mercy Chapman's mother, – now a bedridden invalid, – she looked out of the window and saw Mistress Mehitable coming down the street. As she passed his office, she was joined by Doctor Jim, and the two strolled together toward Squire Gillig's store. Suddenly she saw Doctor Jim leave Mistress Mehitable's side, and stride angrily toward the tavern. She ran out at once to see what was the matter. What she saw set her speeding after Doctor Jim in breathless indignation.

Amos, his arms tied behind him, was struggling and kicking in the hands of a dozen men and youths, several of whom had bloody noses to prove that Amos had stood to his colours. Now they were hurrying him to the cooper shop. – where they knew there was a barrel of pitch, – amid cries of "Ride the sneaking Tory on a rail," "Tar and feather him," "Duck him," "Hang him." All at once they were confronted by the tall bulk of Doctor Jim; and they stopped short. The old habit of deference was strong upon them, and several drew away, while others, though they doggedly maintained their grip on the furious and unterrified Amos, dropped their eyes and hung their heads when Doctor Jim's angry gaze fell upon them.

"Hands off! Drop that man! You cowardly bullies, a dozen against one! Drop him, do you hear?" And without waiting for the effect of his words he strode into the mob, flung the fringes of it to this side and that with no gentle hand, and reached those who had actual hold upon the prisoner.

When he found that they were standing their ground, daring to disobey his orders, his wrath was tremendous.

"You scoundrels! You dirty scum of the earth!" he roared. And with that he plucked the nearest fellow by the scruff of the neck and the seat of his breeches and flung him into the gutter. To the next he gave an open-handed buffet that sent him reeling from the mêlée. Ignoring the rest, he was proceeding to unpinion Amos, when the leader of the mob, a big blacksmith from Westings Centre, who was a famous demagogue, confronted him.

"Look a-here, Doctor Pigeon," he said, defiantly, "we're lettin' you be, leastways for the present! You let us be, an' jest mind yer own business. Hands off yerself!"

Doctor Jim, apparently, never heard him.

The blacksmith therefore seized Amos by the waist and jerked him from Doctor Jim's grasp.

"Look a-here, you!" he shouted, squaring off. "You've got to fight me afore you untie that man!"

Fight him! Doctor Jim gave an inarticulate roar of scorn and fury at the idea. Then his great white hands shot out like lightning. One seized the champion's throat; the other laid terrible hold upon his waistband, with just so much of clothing and skin and flesh as those iron fingers could compass. One huge, dislocating shake and the champion had no more fight in him. Doctor Jim lifted his demoralised opponent bodily, carried him several paces, and dropped him over the horse trough into the dirty, deep-trodden mud. Then, seeing that Amos had got himself free, he strode back to where Mistress Mehitable was waiting, his heavy eyebrows still working with indignation.

Barbara, whom he had not seen, now had a word to say to the discomfited rabble, who one and all knew her views and admired her prodigiously. She eyed them for half a minute with slow, eviscerating scorn. Then she said: "You call yourselves patriots! You make me ashamed of the name. If all Americans were like you they'd deserve freedom, wouldn't they? And what is that ruffian doing here?" pointing to the bedraggled, discredited, foaming blacksmith. "Must you go to Westings Centre for a leader? You had better send him back where he belongs!"

"You'd better shet your mouth, miss," sputtered the champion, "or you may git – " but at this moment the men of Second Westings, recovering their manhood, fell upon him with great unanimity and completed the discipline which Doctor Jim had left unfinished. And Barbara walked away with her head in the air.

After this Mistress Mehitable, who was herself, and for herself, absolutely fearless behind her quiet blue eyes, yielded to Doctor Jim's persuasions and let it be known that Barbara, being her heir, was partly in authority at Westings House. Whenever extra help was needed, therefore, Amos was sent down to Doctor Jim's and Barbara hired her helpers in her own name. To her employ the Second Westings men came willingly enough, and showed themselves humourously tolerant of Abby's caustic tongue, which was given full run whenever they entered the kitchen. And the village settled back gradually into a hollow imitation of its ancient somnolence.

In the winter, however, not long after Christmas, there was another stirring of the hot embers. Word came of Montgomery's death and Arnold's repulse before the walls of Quebec. There were men of Connecticut among those who fell that night in the northern snow. Those at home required an outlet for their feelings. What were the Tories for, if not to afford them a chance of evening matters up? A rabble of the worser elements from the up-river villages, led by some noisy fanatics, descended upon Gault House by night, and set it on fire.

Finding old Lady Gault ill in bed, they somewhat regretted their haste, and carried her, bed and all, with as much of her clothing as they could conveniently save, to the house of one of the tenants on the grounds. The leaders apologised to her, indeed, assuring her that, had they known it would so inconvenience her to have her house burnt down just then, they would have turned their avenging attention elsewhere for that night and awaited her recovery. The fiery and arrogant old lady was so overwhelmed with helpless rage, less at the destruction of the home of the Gaults with all its treasures than at the desecration she had suffered, that she was seized next morning with an apoplexy and died in an hour.

This news brought consternation to Westings House. Doctor Jim came up to talk it over. He was too much enraged to find relief in one of his customary large ebullitions. It reduced him to a black silence, which Barbara found much more impressive than his wrath.

"I feel that you ought to go away, Jim," said Mistress Mehitable, with a tenderness that made Barbara eye them both sharply, and think of Doctor John. "These townships are no place for a reckless partisan like you!"

"There is just one reason why you might urge me to go, sweet mistress!" said he. "Lest I be prisoned here, and so lose the chance to fight for the king! But my place is here till John comes back. You and Barbara cannot be left alone. And the sick folks, – I cannot desert them. But when John comes – "

"If it be not then too late! Oh, think, Jim! Every hour now that you stay here carries the menace of some ignominious violence! How can I stand it?"

"My place is here, at present, most dear lady!" answered Doctor Jim, with a positiveness that left no room for argument. "But I think the men of Second Westings would not quite fail Jim Pigeon, even though they do curse him behind his back for a Tory!"

The destruction of Gault House and the death of Lady Gault filled Barbara's heart with pity and tenderness toward Robert. It oppressed her with a feeling that he was left desolate, a homeless and wandering outcast. She wondered where and when the news would reach him, – being such evil news she felt sure it would journey fast. No word or rumour had she heard of him since that day of their harsh parting in the old Dutch house on State Street.

A few days later she heard from Glenowen, who was now in command of one of the regiments besieging Boston, that Cary Patten, after covering himself with glory by his wild daring and desperate exploits, had fallen with Montgomery before the walls of Quebec. This news sent Barbara to her room for the afternoon. Besides her many tears for the gallant boy, who had loved her gallantly and truly, she could not for the moment rid herself of a vague remorse. Had she been quite fair to him? Had she encouraged him even while repelling him? At first she called herself guilty. But after some hours of this self-reproach she came to a clearer view, and saw that it was sentimental weakness to accuse herself. Her grief on his account, however, was deep and sincere. "Poor, beautiful, brave boy!" she sighed, at last. "How little good to him were my token and my blessings! I fear I am a curse, and not a blessing, to any one who greatly cares for me!" Then the thought flashed across her – "If it were Robert, instead of poor Cary! How do I know that Robert, too, has not been – " and at the thought her heart stood still. A sort of numbness came over her, and she found herself shaking violently. She had been lying with her face in the pillow, but now she sat up sharply, brushed the thick, dark locks back from her eyes, went over to the dressing-table, lit two candles, and looked at her white, frightened face in the glass.

"I didn't know I cared – like that!" she said to herself, at last.

CHAPTER XXXI

In the spring, a little before the fall of Boston, Doctor John came home. Second Westings learned then for the first time what he had so studiously and considerately kept concealed, – the fact that he had been wounded in a skirmish two months before. As soon as he was well enough for the journey, he had been ordered home. He looked gaunt, and walked with some difficulty, but otherwise seemed fairly well; and he made haste to take back his old patients, with many expressions of amazement that they had not died off under Jim Pigeon's treatment.

His coming brought new cheer to Westings House; and to Barbara, reassured by his explicit accounts of her uncle's abounding health, it meant such stimulus and diversion as was to be had of endless, sympathetic talks. The little group of four were as close to one another as of old, – yet with a difference. The love and trust were as of old, but the dividing of hopes and aims threw Barbara more and more with Doctor John, Mistress Mehitable more and more with Doctor Jim. This seemed perfectly natural, – yet it soon began to cause a certain heaviness on Doctor John's part, which made his whimsical sallies grow infrequent. It caused, at the same time, a certain uneasiness on the part of Doctor Jim; and Mistress Mehitable was seen more than once with tears in her eyes, when, as it seemed to Barbara, there was no very definite reason for the phenomenon. And all these symptoms troubled Barbara. She grew more than commonly tender of Doctor John.

One day when she and Doctor John and Doctor Jim had strolled down to the tavern to see the Hartford coach come in, they found a knot of eager listeners gathered about two horsemen who were drinking a pot of ale. As the little party approached, its members were pointed out, and the horsemen turned to look at them with sharp interest. The two came from up the river, in the next county, and were on their way to join the Connecticut battalions under Putnam. They were bitter partisans, and one of them had lost a brother in the fighting at Quebec. To them it was of little account that Doctor John was a good rebel, – such, in their eyes, all good men were bound to be. And they did not appreciate the fact that he was an officer in the army they were about to join. What they saw was simply Doctor Jim, the declared Tory, shameless and unafraid. They eyed him with growing menace, uncertain, by reason of the fact that he was walking between Barbara and Doctor John, just what they wanted to do.

Presently Doctor Jim swung away by himself to speak to a lad whose mother he was treating. He was giving some little order, when the two horsemen, riding up to him, thrust him against the icy watering-trough so unexpectedly that he fell over it. Bewildered, and not understanding that he had been deliberately attacked, he was picking himself up in a sputter of vexation, when one of the riders, a fierce-eyed, burly fanatic, reached over the trough and cut at him viciously with his riding-whip, exclaiming, "Take that, you damned Tory dog!"

The blow missed Doctor Jim's head, but fell smartly across his shoulders. The next moment a great hand seized the rider, tore him from his seat, jammed him furiously against his horse's rump, and dashed him down upon the dirty snow. Then Doctor John turned to deal likewise with the second culprit. But he had forgotten his wound. He grew white, reeled, and would have fallen, but that two of the Second Westings men sprang to his aid and held him up.

When the stroke of the whip fell on his shoulders, Doctor Jim had understood. With one of his wordless explosive roars he had sprung right over the trough to take Homeric vengeance. But when he saw Doctor John he forgot all about vengeance, he forgot all about the attack.

"What is it, John?" he cried, picking him up as if the huge frame were a feather, and carrying him to the settee outside the inn door.

"Nothing, Jim, nothing! The old wound, you know, and the heart not yet just right," muttered Doctor John, recovering quickly, but leaning on his brother's shoulder. Barbara, meanwhile, had run to fetch brandy, which she now brought, along with the landlord.

The two horsemen had had their wrath for the moment diverted by the sudden turn of events. But now – the fellow who had been so mauled in Doctor John's grip having remounted, bursting with rage – they thought it time to return to the attack, and made an effort to push through the little crowd. Failing in this, they cursed Doctor Jim with varied vigour, and told him what they intended to do when they could get at him. In their righteous wrath they failed to notice that they were not making themselves popular with the crowd. Neither Doctor Jim nor Barbara paid the slightest attention to their curses, not seeming to hear them; but Doctor John attended.

"Lads!" he said, lifting his head with difficulty. "Lads of Second Westings! Shall we let these insolent scoundrels talk to us that way?"

"No, sir! No, sir! No, sir!" shouted a dozen voices, – whereupon Barbara turned and beamed upon them unutterable favour. The landlord, with several other stout fellows, seized the strangers' bridles and forced the horses back toward the road.

"Ye'd better be gettin' on!" admonished mine host, grinning but decisive. "Ye don't rightly understand us here, I calculate! Better get on now, for convenience!"

The horsemen seemed to have forgotten their wrath in their astonishment.

"Are you all Tories, too?" they found voice to demand.

"We're as good patriots as ever you be!" rejoined mine host, crisply. "But if we've got any Tories among us they're our own, and we'll see about 'em ourselves, our own way. Now clear out!" And he hit the nigh horse a smart slap on the rump, making him bound forward.

By this time the leader and spokesman of the twain had recovered his full head of anger. He had no quixotic notion of undertaking to discipline Second Westings village. But he conceived a very clear purpose. Reining his excited horse down violently, he shook his fist at the crowd, and shouted:

"If you choose to harbour a dirty Tory, there be men and patriots in the other townships who'll come right soon an' teach you yer duty!"

"Oh, you clear out!" jeered the Second Westings men.

That evening, at Westings House, while the beginnings of a bleak March wind storm blustered and whimpered outside, Mistress Mehitable brewed a hot posset of uncommonly cheering quality. The cheer was needed; for all felt that a crisis of some sort, or some grave change, was at hand. Doctor John, who had quite recovered, tried in vain to make his fooling sound spontaneous. The grave eyes of Destiny would persist in looking out through the jester's-mask. At length Doctor Jim exclaimed, abruptly:

"I must go, now! I must take Amos and slip away in the night, and go wherever men are gathering to fight for the king. I'm not needed here now, John, since you are back to take care of Mehitable and Barbara!"

It was what all had been waiting for, but it came with a shock – the shock of conviction, not of surprise – to all. Mistress Mehitable turned ghost pale, and unconsciously her hand went to her heart. Doctor John noticed the action, with sad eyes that belied the humour of his mouth. Barbara sprang up, rushed over to Doctor Jim, and flung her arms around his neck.

"Please don't go, Doctor Jim!" she pleaded. "This is the place for you. And here we all love you so we don't care what side you're on. And as for going to fight for your side, – of course, you want to, we all know that, – but you never can get through to the coast. You can never get through our people. No, you can't, Doctor Jim! You must stay here with us. Help me hold him, Aunt Hitty!"

"Jim," said Doctor John, his voice trembling with earnestness, "I appeal to you to stay. Don't break our hearts by going. Stay for our sakes. I know, brother, how you feel, – and believing as you do, I don't blame you, – I'll never blame you. But Barbara is right. You can't get through. You can stay with a clear conscience!"

Mistress Mehitable, since becoming assured of the attitude of the Second Westings men, had lost all her dread of having him stay, and gained a quivering fear of having him go. Forgetful of all else, she now laid her slim hand on his, looked at him with her whole soul in her eyes, and said: