The Shorn Lamb/Chapter 5
Chapter 5
AUNT TESTY TAKES CHARGE
"It's because she hasn't eaten any breakfast," said Philip, leaning over and picking up the little creature who seemed no bigger than a stray kitten. "I got breakfast for her at the Court House, but she was too excited to eat."
"No breakfast! May the Lord have mercy on my soul!" cried Major Taylor. "Here, Myra; you, Evelyn, don't stand there like two pop-eyed fools! Go have Testy make waffles. Cook some roe-herring and broil a squab. Didn't you hear this young man say my granddaughter is hungry? She has eaten no breakfast! Go telephone for the doctor, Spot! I never saw such a dumb lot of fools in my life. Here Mr. Bolling, bring my granddaughter into the chamber."
"Wouldn't it be better to take her to the room over the back parlor, Father?" suggested Myra. who had a certain respect for "the chamber," it being the room in which her father spent much of his time. In many of the old homes in the South there is a bedroom on the first floor where the mother and father sleep and which is always known as "the chamber."
"Room over the back parlor! What? That hot hole, when she is ill and starving? No, missy, I'll put my granddaughter where I please and that will be the chamber. You go tell Testy to cook up a big breakfast and see that it is here in a minute," and the Major led the way to his sanctum.
"If you won't consider it an interference, I will suggest that you merely bring the child some bread and milk," said Philip, smiling in spite of himself at the picture of cooking waffles and broiling squabs, which no doubt were still in the pigeon-house, and getting it all done in a minute for a poor little girl who had fainted from exhaustion and lack of nourishment, combined with the excitement of being scorned and ignored by her kinsmen.
She lay quite limp in his arms. He placed her on the bed in the chamber, taking the battered bonnet from her neck and drawing off the dusty little shoes.
Myra and Evelyn had hastened to do their father's bidding and Spot could be heard in the hall at the telephone giving the doctor's ring—two long and a short.
"What must we do? What must we do? Speak, young man! Is she going to die? Why don't they bring that bread and milk? I never saw a little child faint like this. I believe she is already dead and it is I who have killed her. Oh, what an old fool I am!"
Considering Robert Taylor had spent sixty-five years in perfect conviction that he was very wise and always right, it was a strange thing that in one morning he had twice acknowledged himself to be a fool.
"She is not going to die, I am sure," consoled Philip. "There, now she is opening her eyes!"
Open them she did for a moment, but the lashes seemed too heavy for the weary lids and again they rested on the pale cheeks. A sigh escaped from the cold lips. It was hard to have to come back to consciousness and not be dead, after all. But what was that good smell? She sniffed daintily.
"Wha' 'bouts air the po' critter?" asked Aunt Testy as she came waddling in, carrying a small tray.
"Well, bless Bob, if she ain't a layin' up in ol' Marster's baid! Here, honey baby, here's a lil' bite er sumpin' fer yer. What all this I hearn 'bout you ain't et no brekfus? I done briled a bit er bacin, sliced as thin as thin, an' I jes' that minute done tuck a pone er bisit bread out er the oben. It air the kinder bread Marse Tom useter call dog bread, an' he fairly doted on it. It air jes lak the bisit cep'n it ain't cut out—an' sometimes when the folks is all through the dogs gits it."
Rebecca opened her eyes again and her delicate nostrils quivered perceptibly. Philip Bolling whispered something to Major Taylor and the two men tip-toed into the hall, leaving the door open.
"See her pretty nose a wuckin'! That air the odium er the bacin. I allus 'lows the smell er briled bacin will raise the daid. Open yo' mouf, honey chile, an' let Testy put a sup er nice milk in it."
Rebecca raised herself on her elbow a moment and looked eagerly in the good-natured, fat face of Aunt Testy.
"Are you Aunt Old Testament or Aunt New Testament?" she asked eagerly.
"I'm New Testymunt. My maw befo' me wa' Ol' Testymunt," answered Aunt Testy, amazement depicted on her moonlike countenance. "What you know 'bout Ol' Testy an' New Testy, honey chil'?"
While she talked the old woman slipped a sup of milk in the child's mouth.
"My father used to tell about you," whispered Rebecca. "You and Aunt Pearly Gates. Gee, but this milk is good!"
"Yo' paw?"
"Yes, I guess he was the Marse Tom you spoke of, but we mustn't talk about that. Nobody believes me and I am going away back to New York. I'm very sorry I threw that fit. I guess it was a fit, and I wasn't dying after all, but somehow if I had died and waked up in Heaven it might have been just like this: all of the hard, hating faces gone, and a sweet, fat brown angel looking at me so kindly and bringing me milk. Where's the honey, Aunt New Testament?"
"What honey, chil'?" Aunt Testy was trying hard not to cry.
"The honey that goes with the milk! In Heaven the honey always flows with the milk. I'm going to pretend like, just for a few minutes until I get alive again, that I am dead and in Heaven. You won't mind pretending you are my good angel, will you, Aunt New Testament?"
"No, baby!" sobbed Aunt Testy. "An' I'll git my ol' man ter rob them bee hibes if'n you kin wait three shakes."
"Never mind," smiled Rebecca. "We can just pretend the honey along with the wings. This bacon makes me think maybe we are in Heaven really. Are you quite sure we aren't, Aunt Testy? This bed might be downy clouds."
She bounced up and down gently in the great four-poster. In doing so, her slim little feet came to her notice.
"I see I have lost my shoes on the way to Heaven, but I have the same hole in the toe of my stocking that I started with. I'd hate to think I had to take the holes to Heaven. They are kind of like bad habits and should be left behind. What do you think about that, Aunt Testy?" and Rebecca carefully picked up every crumb of the good bread.
"Sister Pearly Gates kin answer them there questions better'n what I kin. She am mo' sanctified an' kin profoun' the scriptures mo' clarer than mos' preachers. You had better arsk her."
"Then you can tell me where she lives. I am going to see her before I go back to New York. I think it is a kind of pity to come so far and not see the wonders of the neighborhood, don't you Aunt Testy?"
"Sho', chil', but you ain't a gonter go off! We all wants you right here at Mill House."
"Maybe you do, Aunt New Testament, but the others—the old man and the young one and the two ladies, they hate me. I came here thinking they were my relations and I was their poor kin, but I have made some kind of mistake. They can't be of the same blood as my father, although the young man looks like him. Why, Aunt Testy, my father was the kindest, gentlest person in the world. I can only just remember him, because I was so tiny when he died, but I remember very well he was always laughing and his laugh was sweet like singing. I can remember more about my father than I might have because my last stepfather, Daddy, I called him, was always telling me things about my truly father. Daddy was the one who knew about Aunt Pearly Gates and you and Aunt Old Testament, because my father had told him. He said he didn't want me to forget my father and what a wonderful person he was."
"Lawd love us! Now, ain't it the truf? But, honey baby, you air a gonter stay right here an' tell me an' ol' Marse Bob all about yo' paw an' yo' step paws."
Aunt Testy could see the master through the open door and he was signaling for her to try to please Rebecca. The darkey could tell by his expression that he was deeply concerned, and the coming of this grandchild had meant more to him than anything since his little Tom was born. Testy knew Major Taylor's roughness and his kindness, his hard spots and his soft spots. She had not cooked at Mill House for thirty years for nothing. She had been introduced into the mysteries of the master's kitchen when she was twenty years old, Aunt Old Testament being in charge, and now she was a middle-aged woman and her mother was dead and the master an old man. Tom, Myra, and Evelyn had been little children when she had come, a shy, slim, brown girl, to learn the art of cooking under her mother. She had been with the family when the wife and mother had died, and later on when Tom had gone off to study painting in New York, thereby infuriating his father to such an extent that he had returned his son's letters unopened. She was with them when the terrible news of Tom's death was read out by one of his sisters from a New York paper. She had watched her master grow harder and more bitter as the years rolled by; had realized his disappointment in his children, his loneliness and lack of companionship.
Now this child had come and she might help matters somewhat if only the ladies of the house and the young master would be pleasant. Testy knew quite well that when it came to a test the Major had a kinder heart than any of his children.
"He air as rockified as a coconut, but whin oncet you git through his ems' you fin' the milk er human kin'ness is thar, all right," she would declare. "But you is got ter be 'ticular 'bout how you goes ter wuck ter git that milk er you'll spill it. You got ter fin' his soft' spots same as in a coconut and then bo' in under keerful."
She was fond of Evelyn and Myra and Spottswood because they were part of the family, but she understood their limitations quite as well as their own father did. She was more lenient to their faults and quicker to see their virtues.
"The po' things is done got mo' fum they maw than fum they paw, an' they maw didn't hab none ter spare," she would say to herself when something arose in the family that called for intelligence and action, and Evelyn and Myra would begin to wrangle instead of doing and Spot would stand sullenly by.
"I am much better now, Aunt Testy, and I think I'll put on my shoes and go see Aunt Pearly Gates and then go back to New York. I'd like to see Mr. Philip Bolling and tell him good-bye and thank him for all his kindness to me."
Rebecca sat up and reached for her shoes, but again the dizzy feeling seized her and she was compelled to lie down.
"Oh! What am I to do? I don't seem to be able to get up and they don't want me to stay here. I don't want to stay here, either, although I think it is just like Heaven. I wouldn't want to stay in Heaven if I wasn't wanted."
There was a groan from the hall. The Major could control himself no longer.
"What must I do?" he asked tremblingly of Philip.
"Can't you make her understand you want her?" suggested Philip.
"But how?"
"Give the required reference," smiled the young man.
"For character, you mean?"
"Yes—and then prove you are her grandfather."
"Of course! What an ass I am, anyhow! Young man, did I understand you to say you are Rolfe Bolling's son?"
"Yes, sir!" Philip looked the old gentleman squarely in the eyes.
The Major stared back, keenly and a little wistfully, taking in his broad forehead, humorous eyes, clear-cut features, and mouth whose characteristics were sadness, patience and strength.
"Have I ever seen you before? I did not remember Bolling had a grown son."
Philip smiled, as he answered:
"I have seen you, sir, many times. When I was a boy my father often sent me here with messages about—"
Philip hesitated, remembering that the messages were always complaints about one thing or another—the Major's cows having crossed the river and got in the Bollings' corn, or maybe a Bolling sow had strayed with her young, and when she was brought back by a Taylor servant the progeny had fallen short of the original number and the owner had written an indignant note accusing the Taylor darkey of deliberate theft and even intimating the master had been cognizant of the shortage.
In recalling those notes Philip Bolling felt himself blushing to the roots of his hair, not only because of the spirit of unneighborliness that had prompted them, but because of the badly spelled scrawls in which his father had written the sow "sough" and how Major Taylor had answered in kind bringing counter charges concerning his "c-o-u-g-h" cow.
"Yes! Yes! I remember there was a boy," said the Major, hurriedly. "And where have you been all these years?"
"Columbia University!"
"What have you been doing there?"
"Trying to get some education!"
"And did you?"
"I have just started. I have my M. A., but—"
"Now you have to stop?"
"I have to work on the farm. For every year of study I have promised my father a year of farm work."
Philip made the statement quite simply. Major Taylor gave a short dry laugh.
"It is comforting in a way to find out I am not the only old fool in the neighborhood," he said shortly. "But young man, would you mind if I complimented you a bit and told you that I am of the opinion you are what in breeding is known as a 'throw back'?"
Dr. Price arrived at this moment and soon pronounced Rebecca as overwrought and undernourished.
"She must rest a great deal, have plenty of fresh air and much wholesome food," was his verdict. "What have you been eating, child?"
"Crackers and tea, principally," Rebecca answered. "We had a lot of tea on hand and you don't have to wash up after crackers, but just blow the crumbs away."
"Well, much more of that kind of food and we can just blow you away. She had better stay in bed for a few days, Major Taylor," the doctor said. "Is she to remain in this room?"
"Hardly!" exclaimed Myra and Evelyn in one breath. "This is Father's chamber!"
The aunts had been hovering in the background until the doctor arrived and then they had come forward. The poor ladies were at a loss as to what was expected of them. They had taken their cue from their father in deciding the queer-looking little creature who had arrived so unexpectedly in their midst was not their brother's child and had not been prepared for this sudden change. They were determined to go on in their assumption that Rebecca was an impostor. For once they were of one mind, and they knew instinctively that their brother agreed with them. He had telephoned for the doctor at his father's command, but had done it with a poor grace, and on his handsome countenance an expression of sullen unconcern.
"Oh! I mustn't stay in this room, then," said Rebecca, sitting up in the great bed and trying not to let the dizzy feeling get the better of her. "I can travel back to New York in a few minutes, I am sure. Can't I, doctor?"
The doctor was puzzled.
"I understood from your grandfather that you were to live here with him."
Rebecca said nothing, but slowly turned her eyes, looking in turn at each person standing around her bed. The countenances of the aunts registered coldness and dislike; the young uncle, who was in the background, showed a kind of sullen rage; Aunt Testy was wiping the tears from her kindly fat face.
Dr. Price tried to appear impersonal, realizing that he had put his foot in a family affair, but his pleasant eyes gave back a sympathetic gleam as his little patient looked at him. Turning to Philip Bolling, Rebecca read trust and encouragement in his face. He gave her a nod and a smile. Still sitting bolt upright in the great four-posted bed, the girl now bent a level gaze on her grandfather, who was leaning forward as though hungrily waiting for her inspection of the other persons in the room to be finished and for his time to come. The Major met her look squarely and for a few seconds young brown eyes looked into old blue ones. What brown eyes saw in blue and what blue eyes saw in brown no one in the room could divine, but suddenly, without the least warning, old man and young girl began to laugh. The laugh proved their kinship.
Evelyn and Myra were plainly shocked. They were accustomed to their father's going off in sudden chuckling fits at what seemed to them solemn or distressing moments. They had been forced to put up with what they considered his misplaced fun, and now here was this terrible child behaving in the same unaccountable manner. What was there to laugh about?
"That's better!" announced Dr. Price, putting his stethoscope back in his black satchel. "I reckon this little lady will soon be on her feet. Mind now, plenty of fresh air and nourishing food, no more crackers and tea, and I shouldn't advise a railroad journey for some time to come."
"Might I have the room my father used to have?" asked Rebecca. "That is, if I am to stay?"
Philip Bolling and the doctor, who were friends of long standing, went off together, both of them evidently entirely satisfied with the turn affairs had taken at Mill House.
"It will be the salvation of old Bob Taylor if he can keep the child," Dr. Price said to Philip as they sped away in the doctor's little car. "The old man is almost bored to death with his wooden-headed daughters. I don't envy the girl, however. It is a terrible thing to cope with humorless fools."