Milady at Arms/Chapter 14
SALLY was standing a-tiptoe, lighting the candles in their tin holders on the high shelf over the Williamses' fireplace, when a sarcastic voice spoke behind her.
"I' good sooth, mistress, art still here? I wonder at ye!"
Sally blew out the wood chip which she had been using as a taper and turned around coolly. "I wonder at ye daring to return!" she answered.
"How so, mistress?" James Williams, hands in coat pockets, teetered back and forth upon the threshold and eyed her with a look in which teasing and maliciousness were equally blended.
"Think ye a traitor to his mother should be welcome?" demanded the girl hotly, her own gaze dark and wide with accusation.
James, however, merely grinned. "Tush!" he said, lazily removing and hanging up his hat upon its wooden peg behind the door. "Where be my mother?" he asked.
Instead of answering, Sally went over to the spinning wheel which stood in the corner started its spokes revolving. James's glance darkened at her deliberate insolence, and he was about to stalk over to her, to reprimand, when his mother entered the kitchen from an adjoining bedroom.
"Hush! Best not to start the wheel until little Nat doth fall asleep, he be so wakeful wi' his teeth, Sally!" she said, her fingers to her lips. She glanced at James in surprise; but gave him a cordial kiss when he loungingly approached her. "What, ye home, my dear! Where hast kept thyself since yesterday?"
"I—had business," James told her, after a slight hesitation. "Business i' which my father was interested," he added, well knowing how to close his mother's mouth.
True to James's shrewd surmise, a slight shade passed over Mistress Williams's sweet face, and she did not pursue the subject. Instead, she went over to the fireplace, where she took the bellows and, getting down stiffly upon her knees, prepared to "blaze" the fire for supper. Sally, who had stopped the whirr of the spinning wheel, now came forward quickly.
"Do ye let me 'blaze' the fire!" she begged. "And you do something I cannot!"
James now disappeared and Zenas, coming in slowly and wearily from outdoors, took his place.
"So tired, dear?" asked Mistress Williams, presently hearing him sigh. She looked up sympathetically from the porridge she was stirring over the fire Sally had succeeded in blowing to a splendid glow. The girl sat back upon her heels and stared dreamily into the dancing flames wondering, as usual, about Jerry—how he was faring, what he was doing, what would become of him?
"Tired, Mother—aye, and hungry!" said Zenas. He sank upon the fireside settle to watch his mother.
"Hungry?" repeated Mistress Williams. She looked dubiously from the porridge pot to Zenas. "I know," she went on, her face brightening. "I'll make waffles for ye, Zenas! The very thing! Fetch me the flour bag and two eggs, Sally," she directed, rising to take down the long-handled waffle iron from where it hung beside the Dutch oven door. "And get some butter from the spring house," she added, calling softly after the girl as Sally sprang up and flew to do her bidding.
Soon the big kitchen began to be filled with the appetizing odor of baking waffles, and the pile of golden, fluffy things began to tower upon the platter Mistress Williams had placed in the warming oven before the fire.
"Hast syrup, Ma?" asked Zenas, getting up to draw his three-legged stool to the supper table, which Sally had set. "Waffles be naught without syrup!"
"Aye, some maple syrup which I did save from last winter against this treat, lad," answered his mother, transferring an enormous pile of the waffles on to Zenas's plate, which she had warmed for him, and placing it before him. "I did think mayhap I should ha' sent the syrup to the soldiers at Morris Town," she went on apologetically, "but 'twas not enow for many, so I saved it!"
"And glad enow we are ye did. Ma," said Zenas, with a twinkle, taking the syrup pitcher his mother had handed to him and letting the yellow-brown liquid splash down upon the cakes.
"Do ye sit down, too, Sally," directed Mistress Williams kindly, "for ye be as hungry as Zenas, here, I have no doubt!"
"Hungrier!" laughed Sally, obeying her. "Oh, I I was but jesting, Zenas, truly! Stop, that be enow!" she added, as the boy unselfishly gave her the larger half of his pile of waffles.
"There be more to come," said Mistress Williams, smiling. "I wonder where the children are?" She glanced at the clock in the corner.
"Ye wait, Sally," promised Zenas, attacking his cakes with a two-pronged fork. "Ye will indeed want more! The children, Ma?" He glanced over at his mother, who, seated upon a stool, was watching the waffle iron. "Oh, they will be along presently."
There was silence for a while, as Mistress Williams skillfully ejected the delicious morsels from the waffle iron, greased it, poured in more batter, and, snapping the cover, replaced the iron in the fire, seemingly all with one swift motion. Then candles flickered as the door opened and closed and Master Williams stood before it. His tired, worried face brightened as he took in the cheerful picture—Zenas and Sally chatting and eating at the table, his wife upon her low stool, watching with such an intent gaze the waffle iron! He took off his hat slowly, came forward to kiss his wife, and to place, for an instant, a fatherly hand upon Zenas's shoulder.
"How now, my lad?" he said affectionately' smiling across the table at Sally, "didst have a successful journey to the Town by the River? Mother said ye were going wi' Sally. Ye ha' much to tell us o' the battle and all, this even, I make no doubt."
Involuntarily, the eyes of the girl and the boy met across their now empty waffle plates. "Aye, sir—there be much o' interest to narrate," answered Zenas respectfully, then. But Sally, her gaze dropping to the jagged rents in sleeve and skirt, knew that one interesting incident would not be told.
Master Williams seated himself upon the settle and sighed as he passed his hand across his brow. "Bad news, wife," he muttered. "The battle still rages to the north o' Newark, for the militia are determined that the British shall not pass beyond. An the British did sweep back this way, o'erpowering the rebels, there be no telling what might happen." His troubled glanced traveled around the ancient kitchen, whose beams had stood for so many years. "Troops mad wi' victory oft do not know friend from foe! And e'en the rebels gain the victory, still, sentiment be roused against us who remain loyal to His Majesty—they will resent us as they resent the men who they claim have invaded their homes! While the Amnesty Act hath expired, now, and there be danger—there be danger!"
Mistress Williams, who had been listening silently, rose from her place and, platter of waffles in hand, nodded toward the table.
"Come, Nathaniel," she said, in her cheerful voice, "'twill do ye no good to worry! Live life as ye go along, say I, and fret not about the morrow! An there was aught we could do, then I believe i' being up and doing! But when all we can do is to wait, then let us not fret and grumble wi' the waiting!"
Master Williams looked at her with a smile. "Why, ye be right, wife," he answered heartily, rising and following her to the table as he spoke. "What ha' we here—'waffles? Nay, this be an unexpected treat!"
"E'en save us some o' the treat!" drawled a voice, with some insolence, as the door opened and James reëntered the kitchen, followed by Amos, half scuffling as they made for their seats, and the younger Williams children streamed along after them.
"Softly, boys, softly!" exclaimed Master Williams. He glanced at them leniently, however, and as he passed the platter of waffles to them, his glance met that of his wife. "I mind me when the boys were little—always scuffling they were, then, too!" he remarked. "Do ye remember, Mary?"
"Aye, Nathaniel, I—remember!" she answered, with a half catch in her breath. Sally, looking at her obliquely just then, wondered if she imagined the tears she thought she saw in the mother's eyes, then concluded that she had, as Mistress Williams turned with some playful question to Amos.
Zenas looked resentfully at the pile of waffles James dumped from the platter on to his pewter plate. "I cannot see how ye would be hungry, i' sooth, James!" he observed pointedly. "Those gorged wi' chicken should want naught else!"
James merely grinned at him maliciously and reached for the syrup pitcher. Mistress Williams, observing that the waffle platter was empty, started to rise from the table, although her own plate was untouched as yet; but Sally forestalled her.
"Nay!" exclaimed the girl, "let me bake more waffles! See—e'en now have I finished. And ye must be weary after baking so many!" She flew across to the fireplace at the housewife's grateful nod, and had just greased the iron, had just beaten the batter ready for pouring, when there came the sound of sudden tumult outside the door and a loud knock.
Mistress Williams turned a pale face toward her husband. "Nathaniel!" she half whispered. Forks were dropped along the table as his children turned their faces toward Master Williams.
He opened his lips to speak; but no sound came forth. From where she knelt upon the hearth, Sally could see that his jaw muscles had tightened and his eyes were starting from his head for the instant. A great panic came upon her, and the batter she was about to pour dribbled aimlessly into the fire from her iron spoon as she sank back upon her heels. Was she to witness tragedy, here? For she realized that Master Williams had been living on borrowed time, so far as the patriots were concerned, since he had not taken the oath of allegiance.
Once more came the imperative knocking—rat-a-tat-tat! rat-a-tat-tat! And this time Master Williams nodded to Amos.
"Answer!" he ordered sharply.
As Amos threw open the door, then, there came a surge of excited people into the room, a clamor of voices and discordant calls.
"Hi, Tory—clear out!"
"Aye, ye must go, Williams!"
"'Tis good time, beshrew me an it isn't!"
"What, art lingering here wi' thy fat acres and thy grist mill and all?"
"Tory dog, say I! W'e want not such as ye i' this neighborhood!"
Master Williams rose slowly to his feet. There was a stunned look upon his face now, as he recognized near neighbors and good friends among that angry gathering. His wife, too, stumbled to her feet, felt her way slowly past her children to place her hand upon his arm. When she had done so, some of the eyes softened as they gazed at her sweet pale face.
"Why come ye here i' this manner, neighbors?" asked Nathaniel Williams. Amos and James, who had remained seated, now rose and ranged themselves one on either side of their parents, and so faced the mob.
One man, evidently selected spokesman, advanced. "Williams," he said coldly, "we ha' not come—this time—to do thy person bodily injury! But we have come to see why ye do remain here! The Amnesty Act hath long since expired and having no word o' your swearing allegiance to our cause, we know ye to be Tory. Miy, then, are ye here? We demand your banishment and your lands confiscate to the State! E'en this day hath your king sent his troops into our fair land of New Jersey"—he made a passionate gesture, while his voice grew more and more bitter—"which they did despoil and yet are despoiling! They stole our horses and cattle and sheep and e'en such grain as we have harvested! We hate and loathe that king and all who sympathize with him! So," he fixed a burning gaze upon Master Williams's set face, "we would be rid o' ye and your ilk! And now we are come to see why ye do tarry i' our midst!"
"Neighbors," began Nathaniel Williams. He stopped, choked, made a piteous, pleading movement with his hands. "I will begone!" he said, when only stern silence answered him, "I do—promise—ye—I will begone!"
There was a tense stillness; then, someone starting for the open door, everyone followed like sheep until only the spokesman lingered upon the threshold.
He looked grimly at Master Williams. "Be warned!" he said tersely, "and e'er to-morrow comes, begone!" Then he, too, disappeared into the night, and Zenas ran to close the door.
As soon as they were alone. Mistress Williams broke down. "Ah, Nathaniel," she cried, sinking down upon a stool and covering her eyes with her hands, "I did warn ye, too! why did ye not take the oath—that little oath which might have kept ye safely at home!"
Master Williams shook his head firmly. "That oath to save my property?" he asked scornfully.
Mistress Williams looked up in sudden spirit. "To save your life!" she retorted bitterly. "To keep ye at home! Your brother Benjamin did swear!"
Her husband maintained silence, and in his silence Mistress Williams read contemptuous disapproval of his brother's hypocrisy. She bowed her head and wept silently for a while. But, presently, she dried her eyes, and when her husband, seating himself upon the settle, pulled her tenderly over beside him, she went obediently and leaned her head upon his shoulder.
"Mary," he said, "ye have been a true wife to me for twenty-two years. I mind ye as a bride i' your walking-out gown!" He sighed and Mistress Mary's eyes filled with tears. "But now," he went on abruptly, "ha' we come to the parting o' our ways, for I—for I—" his voice faltered,—"I am going to New York Town to join His Majesty's army," he finished huskily.
As Sally stared in incredulous surprise, wondering if she could have heard aright, she saw Mistress Williams slowly raise her head, slowly glance down at the toil-worn hands lying limply clasped in her lap.
"And I shall stay here wi' the children," she said, in a low voice. "For I believe right to be on our side—on the patriot side. Parson Chapman said it, and I do believe it! Go, if you must, Nathaniel—Til stay here!"
"I shall not urge ye to come wi' me," said Nathaniel Williams in a troubled tone. "But how will ye manage, Mary?"
"Wi' Amos's help—he be a grown man, ye forget, Nathaniel—and wi' James's help," began his wife. But Amos shook his head.
"Nay, Mother, I believe as doth my father, that 'tis disloyal to go against the King," he said quietly. "So must I go wi' him to New York Town to enlist also i' the King's army."
Sally, watching silently from the corner whither she had retreated, saw Mistress Williams's lips tighten, saw her gather together her courage. "Then, wi' James's help," she commenced again.
This time it was James who interrupted. "Nay," he cried quickly, impetuously, "the patriots be fools! I would not stay and fight a losing fight, as it must be. I, too, am going wi' our father!"
"He thinks the fun will be wi' his father and the work wi' his mother!" thought Sally contemptuously, and, glancing across the kitchen, she read the same thought in Zenas's eyes.
Mistress Williams's chin went up. "Then wi' Zenas's help," she said steadily, "and the help o' my brother Dr. Mathias, and o' your cousin Tom, who both be good Whigs, I shall manage some way. We shall not lack, for wi' your co-opering business and the mills, both grist and saw, and wi' this farm, we shall ha' plenty!"
"The forfeit!" groaned Master Williams, his face buried in his hands.
"We shall cross that bridge when we come to it," responded Mistress Williams. There was a little silence, and, during it, Sally saw Zenas creep to his mother, saw her head go down for an instant upon his arm as he stood protectingly beside her. But the next instant Mistress Williams arose so briskly and spoke so cheerfully that one, not knowing, would have thought that part of her family were going for a pleasure journey, instead of setting forth never to return.
"Come, now, there be plenty and more to do, an ye leave this night! Amos, do ye look o'er your and James's linen and clothing and bring it to me for laundering and mending. James, do ye find the saddlebags. Bring them hither! Zenas, ye may bring in several buckets o' water from the brook—aye, and mend the fire, too! Nathaniel!" She turned to her husband, who still sat with his head in his hands. "Nathaniel!" she repeated, and when he raised his face and looked at her blankly, she smiled at him with tender eyes. "Do ye look o'er your papers and set all i' order, dear! Sally, look not so downhearted, lass—do ye clear the table and get the dishes out o' our way. For we ha' work—work," she raised her arms toward the ceiling and her voice broke, "thank Heaven we ha' work," she finished brokenly, "to do this night!"
Sally ran over, to drop to her knees before the other. "Oh, ye be brave," she said, with a little sob, pressing the calloused hand to her cheek. "Ye be so brave, dear mistress!"
But a little frown broke upon Mistress Williams's pale, heroic face. It was as if she could not stand sympathy just then. "No time, now, for aught but work, Sally," she said briefly, snatching her hand away and leaving the kitchen hurriedly.
Sally, hurt to the quick, was stumbling to her feet when Zenas paused behind her. "Nay, can ye not see she can bear no more!" he whispered wisely. And the girl, glancing at him, nodded and went about her work.
And how they did work that night! For long hours was the fire kept roaring, with great steaming kettles of water, slung from the crane over it, constantly being emptied, constantly being refilled. Hour after hour. Mistress Williams and Sally washed and ironed and packed and then, long past midnight, Mistress Williams kindled a fire in the Dutch oven, declaring she could not let her menfolk go without providing them dainties for their journey.
Once Sally saw the poor woman fairly reel from fatigue and sorrow, and almost stupefied, herself, from lack of sleep, watched Mistress Williams drag the back of her hand dazedly across her forehead as she stood at one end of the long table thumping a flatiron to and fro. Sally staggered over to her.
"Nay, let me iron awhile! See I am not a bit weary!" she said, trying to straighten her tired young shoulders.
But Mistress Williams shook her head. "Nay," she said resolutely. "I will finish! Do ye rest awhile, Sally, till the bake oven be ready, then will I call ye!" She glanced at her husband sorting over papers, tearing up others, writing, at the other end of the table. "Can ye not rest awhile, too, Nathaniel?" she asked wistfully.
But Nathaniel Williams shook his head and turned in his armchair to look at her. The candle flame between them gave her face an unearthly beauty, and he sighed, then smiled at her. "I must leave my affairs all i' order, Mary!" he said. "At least," he sighed again sadly. "I can do that much for ye!"
"Ye be a good man," returned his wife affectionately, ironing with meticulous care the ruffles upon his best shirt. "An only ye could see the nobility o' our patriot cause and so remain at home wi' us!"
But, at that, a cloud passed over his face. "Nay," he said, "let us not spend our last hours together wi' argument!" he protested. And there was a brief silence.
Sally, seated upon the settle before the fire, thought she had been watching the flames for but a moment or two when Mistress Williams's low voice spoke in her ear.
"Come, Sally, an ye do wish to help me wi' the pies and a cake," whispered Mistress Williams. "Hush'ee though!" She looked warningly at the girl as Sally started to her feet, and the girl, glancing around, saw Master Williams's gray head supported upon his arms as he slumbered among his papers. The candle, which the girl thought she had noticed but a moment before as being straight and tall, flickered just then and gutted out, burnt to its very end.
Calmly, Mistress Williams took down another candle and, lighting it at the fire, replaced the first quietly, so as not to disturb her husband. Sally, busy now mixing pie crust at the table, saw his wife's hand flutter above the sleeping man's head, flutter and then drop to her side.
"Where be the boys?" whispered Sally.
Mistress Williams came to the table and, taking a cake bowl in her hand, seated herself upon a stool and commenced to stir up the pound cake she had previously gotten together in it.
"I' bed," she answered, "I sent them hours ago, Sally."
"Did I sleep long?" asked the girl, yawning.
"About two hours," answered Mistress Williams, with a smile. "Poor Sally," she added, "'tis a marvelous cruel way to treat ye! But ye can rest the morrow!" A quick, painful sigh escaped her. "Rest—to-morrow!" she repeated, evidently thinking of the agony of sorrow which should be hers when the first shock of parting should be ended and she had time for rest—or grief!
For a little while, then, silence ensued in the big kitchen—the strange silence preceding the dawn, when the ticking of the clock, the sound of the fire can be so thunderously loud. At last Master Williams stirred, sighed, awoke, to look in profound amazement at his wife sitting there stirring together a cake in the middle of the night. Then remembrance rushed upon him, and he winced, sighed again, got heavily to his feet.
"Do'ee go to bed for a while, Nat," urged his wife.
Sally, watching her, thought again how magnificent she was in her unselfish devotion, in her standing aside and letting her husband decide for himself this problem which had come upon them. How few women would do the same under similar circumstances, how few could resist pleading their own desires!
The girl, glancing at her ever and anon, as Master Williams yielded to his wife's pleading and dragged himself off to bed, was overwhelmed by remorse as she thought of her unjust suspicions toward this noble woman. How could anyone be more patriotic than she! Certainly, no one in that valley or upon that mountain!
It was the final hours, just before daylight, which were hardest for Sally. Stupidly, she opened the oven door, standing ready with her shovel to drag out crisp, browned pies and cakes, to place them for cooling upon the hearth away from the fire.
She could scarcely believe it was dawn when the candles flickered out and the few windows began to show silver-white in the smoke-darkened walls. Yawning, hardly knowing what she was doing, Sally set the table for an early breakfast and watched Mistress Williams preparing the breakfast porridge.
"Best call the boys!" said their mother finally. "Or, stay"—she gave the porridge spoon into Sally's limp hand—"I will call them. 'Tis—'tis for the last time—I shall—call—my boys!" And choking, she hurried from the room.
Sally stirred the porridge mechanically. It was almost as though death had entered this house! Truly, the war had sundered this family as completely as death! Truly, it was now neighbor against neighbor, friend against friend, family against family! And Sally, sighing and stirring, nodded as she stirred.