The Marrow of Tradition Read online

  XIV

  THE MAUNDERINGS OF OLD MRS. OCHILTREE

  When Mrs. Carteret had fully recovered from the shock attendant upon theaccident at the window, where little Dodie had so narrowly escaped deathor serious injury, she ordered her carriage one afternoon and directedthe coachman to drive her to Mrs. Ochiltree's.

  Mrs. Carteret had discharged her young nurse only the day before, andhad sent for Mammy Jane, who was now recovered from her rheumatism, tostay until she could find another girl. The nurse had been ordered notto take the child to negroes' houses. Yesterday, in driving past the oldhomestead of her husband's family, now occupied by Dr. Miller and hisfamily, Mrs. Carteret had seen her own baby's carriage standing in theyard.

  When the nurse returned home, she was immediately discharged. Sheoffered some sort of explanation, to the effect that her sister workedfor Mrs. Miller, and that some family matter had rendered it necessaryfor her to see her sister. The explanation only aggravated the offense:if Mrs. Carteret could have overlooked the disobedience, she would by nomeans have retained in her employment a servant whose sister worked forthe Miller woman.

  Old Mrs. Ochiltree had within a few months begun to show signs ofbreaking up. She was over seventy years old, and had been of late, byvarious afflictions, confined to the house much of the time. More thanonce within the year, Mrs. Carteret had asked her aunt to come and livewith her; but Mrs. Ochiltree, who would have regarded such a step as anacknowledgment of weakness, preferred her lonely independence. Sheresided in a small, old-fashioned house, standing back in the middle ofa garden on a quiet street. Two old servants made up her modesthousehold.

  This refusal to live with her niece had been lightly borne, for Mrs.Ochiltree was a woman of strong individuality, whose comments upon heracquaintance, present or absent, were marked by a frankness at times noless than startling. This characteristic caused her to be more or lessavoided. Mrs. Ochiltree was aware of this sentiment on the part of heracquaintance, and rather exulted in it. She hated fools. Only fools ranaway from her, and that because they were afraid she would expose theirfolly. If most people were fools, it was no fault of hers, and she wasnot obliged to indulge them by pretending to believe that they knewanything. She had once owned considerable property, but was reticentabout her affairs, and told no one how much she was worth, though it wassupposed that she had considerable ready money, besides her house andsome other real estate. Mrs. Carteret was her nearest living relative,though her grand-nephew Tom Delamere had been a great favorite with her.If she did not spare him her tongue-lashings, it was neverthelessexpected in the family that she would leave him something handsome inher will.

  Mrs. Ochiltree had shared in the general rejoicing upon the advent ofthe Carteret baby. She had been one of his godmothers, and had hinted atcertain intentions held by her concerning him. During Mammy Jane'sadministration she had tried the old nurse's patience more or less byher dictatorial interference. Since her partial confinement to thehouse, she had gone, when her health and the weather would permit, tosee the child, and at other times had insisted that it be sent to her incharge of the nurse at least every other day.

  Mrs. Ochiltree's faculties had shared insensibly in the decline of herhealth. This weakness manifested itself by fits of absent-mindedness, inwhich she would seemingly lose connection with the present, and liveover again, in imagination, the earlier years of her life. She hadburied two husbands, had tried in vain to secure a third, and had neverborne any children. Long ago she had petrified into a character whichnothing under heaven could change, and which, if death is to take us asit finds us, and the future life to keep us as it takes us, promisedanything but eternal felicity to those with whom she might associateafter this life. Tom Delamere had been heard to say, profanely, that ifhis Aunt Polly went to heaven, he would let his mansion in the skies ona long lease, at a low figure.

  When the carriage drove up with Mrs. Carteret, her aunt was seated onthe little front piazza, with her wrinkled hands folded in her lap,dozing the afternoon away in fitful slumber.

  "Tie the horse, William," said Mrs. Carteret, "and then go in and wakeAunt Polly, and tell her I want her to come and drive with me."

  Mrs. Ochiltree had not observed her niece's approach, nor did she lookup when William drew near. Her eyes were closed, and she would let herhead sink slowly forward, recovering it now and then with a spasmodicjerk.

  "Colonel Ochiltree," she muttered, "was shot at the battle of CulpepperCourt House, and left me a widow for the second time. But I would nothave married any man on earth after him."

  "Mis' Ochiltree!" cried William, raising his voice, "oh, Mis'Ochiltree!"

  "If I had found a man,--a real man,--I might have married again. I didnot care for weaklings. I could have married John Delamere if I hadwanted him. But pshaw! I could have wound him round"--

  "Go round to the kitchen, William," interrupted Mrs. Carteretimpatiently, "and tell Aunt Dinah to come and wake her up."

  William returned in a few moments with a fat, comfortable looking blackwoman, who curtsied to Mrs. Carteret at the gate, and then going up toher mistress seized her by the shoulder and shook her vigorously.

  "Wake up dere, Mis' Polly," she screamed, as harshly as her mellow voicewould permit. "Mis' 'Livy wants you ter go drivin' wid 'er!"

  "Dinah," exclaimed the old lady, sitting suddenly upright with a defiantassumption of wakefulness, "why do you take so long to come when I call?Bring me my bonnet and shawl. Don't you see my niece waiting for me atthe gate?"

  "Hyuh dey is, hyuh dey is!" returned Dinah, producing the bonnet andshawl, and assisting Mrs. Ochiltree to put them on.

  Leaning on William's arm, the old lady went slowly down the walk, andwas handed to the rear seat with Mrs. Carteret.

  "How's the baby to-day, Olivia, and why didn't you bring him?"

  "He has a cold to-day, and is a little hoarse," replied Mrs. Carteret,"so I thought it best not to bring him out. Drive out the Weldon road,William, and back by Pine Street."

  The drive led past an eminence crowned by a handsome brick building ofmodern construction, evidently an institution of some kind, surroundedon three sides by a grove of venerable oaks.

  "Hugh Poindexter," Mrs. Ochiltree exclaimed explosively, after aconsiderable silence, "has been building a new house, in place of theold family mansion burned during the war."

  "It isn't Mr. Poindexter's house, Aunt Polly. That is the new coloredhospital built by the colored doctor."

  "The new colored hospital, indeed, and the colored doctor! Before thewar the negroes were all healthy, and when they got sick we took care ofthem ourselves! Hugh Poindexter has sold the graves of his ancestors toa negro,--I should have starved first!"

  "He had his grandfather's grave opened, and there was nothing to remove,except a few bits of heart-pine from the coffin. All the rest hadcrumbled into dust."

  "And he sold the dust to a negro! The world is upside down."

  "He had the tombstone transferred to the white cemetery, Aunt Polly, andhe has moved away."

  "Esau sold his birthright for a mess of pottage. When I die, if yououtlive me, Olivia, which is not likely, I shall leave my house andland to this child! He is a Carteret,--he would never sell them to anegro. I can't trust Tom Delamere, I'm afraid."

  The carriage had skirted the hill, passing to the rear of the newbuilding.

  "Turn to the right, William," ordered Mrs. Carteret, addressing thecoachman, "and come back past the other side of the hospital."

  A turn to the right into another road soon brought them to the front ofthe building, which stood slightly back from the street, with nointervening fence or inclosure. A sorrel pony in a light buggy wasfastened to a hitching-post near the entrance. As they drove past, alady came out of the front door and descended the steps, holding by thehand a very pretty child about six years old.

  "Who is that woman, Olivia?" asked Mrs. Ochiltree abruptly, with signsof agitation.

  The lady coming down the steps darted at the appr
oaching carriage a lookwhich lingered involuntarily.

  Mrs. Carteret, perceiving this glance, turned away coldly.

  With a sudden hardening of her own features the other woman lifted thelittle boy into the buggy and drove sharply away in the directionopposite to that taken by Mrs. Carteret's carriage.

  "Who is that woman, Olivia?" repeated Mrs. Ochiltree, with markedemotion.

  "I have not the honor of her acquaintance," returned Mrs. Carteretsharply. "Drive faster, William."

  "I want to know who that woman is," persisted Mrs. Ochiltreequerulously. "William," she cried shrilly, poking the coachman in theback with the end of her cane, "who is that woman?"

  "Dat's Mis' Miller, ma'am," returned the coachman, touching his hat;"Doctuh Miller's wife."

  "What was her mother's name?"

  "Her mother's name wuz Julia Brown. She's be'n dead dese twenty yearser mo'. Why, you knowed Julia, Mis' Polly!--she used ter b'long ter yo'own father befo' de wah; an' after de wah she kep' house fer"--

  "Look to your horses, William!" exclaimed Mrs. Carteret sharply.

  "It's that hussy's child," said Mrs. Ochiltree, turning to her niecewith great excitement. "When your father died, I turned the mother andthe child out into the street. The mother died and went to--the placeprovided for such as she. If I hadn't been just in time, Olivia, theywould have turned you out. I saved the property for you and your son!You can thank me for it all!"

  "Hush, Aunt Polly, for goodness' sake! William will hear you. Tell meabout it when you get home."

  Mrs. Ochiltree was silent, except for a few incoherent mumblings. Whatshe might say, what distressing family secret she might repeat inWilliam's hearing, should she take another talkative turn, was beyondconjecture.

  Olivia looked anxiously around for something to distract her aunt'sattention, and caught sight of a colored man, dressed in sober gray, whowas coming toward the carriage.

  "There's Mr. Delamere's Sandy!" exclaimed Mrs. Carteret, touching heraunt on the arm. "I wonder how his master is? Sandy, oh, Sandy!"

  Sandy approached the carriage, lifting his hat with a slightexaggeration of Chesterfieldian elegance. Sandy, no less than hismaster, was a survival of an interesting type. He had inherited thefeudal deference for his superiors in position, joined to a certainself-respect which saved him from sycophancy. His manners had beenformed upon those of old Mr. Delamere, and were not a bad imitation; forin the man, as in the master, they were the harmonious reflection of amental state.

  "How is Mr. Delamere, Sandy?" asked Mrs. Carteret, acknowledging Sandy'ssalutation with a nod and a smile.

  "He ain't ez peart ez he has be'n, ma'am," replied Sandy, "but he'sdoin' tol'able well. De doctuh say he's good fer a dozen years yit, efhe'll jes' take good keer of hisse'f an' keep f'm gittin' excited; fersence dat secon' stroke, excitement is dange'ous fer 'im."

  "I'm sure you take the best care of him," returned Mrs. Carteret kindly.

  "You can't do anything for him, Sandy," interposed old Mrs. Ochiltree,shaking her head slowly to emphasize her dissent. "All the doctors increation couldn't keep him alive another year. I shall outlive him bytwenty years, though we are not far from the same age."

  "Lawd, ma'am!" exclaimed Sandy, lifting his hands in affectedamazement,--his study of gentle manners had been more thansuperficial,--"whoever would 'a' s'picion' dat you an' Mars John wuznigh de same age? I'd 'a' 'lowed you wuz ten years younger 'n him, easy,ef you wuz a day!"

  "Give my compliments to the poor old gentleman," returned Mrs.Ochiltree, with a simper of senile vanity, though her back wasweakening under the strain of the effort to sit erect that she mightmaintain this illusion of comparative youthfulness. "Bring him to see mesome day when he is able to walk."

  "Yas'm, I will," rejoined Sandy. "He's gwine out ter Belleview nex'week, fer ter stay a mont' er so, but I'll fetch him 'roun' w'en hecomes back. I'll tell 'im dat you ladies 'quired fer 'im."

  Sandy made another deep bow, and held his hat in his hand until thecarriage had moved away. He had not condescended to notice the coachmanat all, who was one of the young negroes of the new generation; whileSandy regarded himself as belonging to the quality, and seldom stoopedto notice those beneath him. It would not have been becoming in him,either, while conversing with white ladies, to have noticed a coloredservant. Moreover, the coachman was a Baptist, while Sandy was aMethodist, though under a cloud, and considered a Methodist in poorstanding as better than a Baptist of any degree of sanctity.

  "Lawd, Lawd!" chuckled Sandy, after the carriage had departed, "I neverseed nothin' lack de way dat ole lady do keep up her temper! Wid onefoot in de grave, an' de other hov'rin' on de edge, she talks 'bout myole marster lack he wuz in his secon' chil'hood. But I'm jes' willin'ter bet dat he'll outlas' her! She ain't half de woman she wuz datnight I waited on de table at de christenin' pa'ty, w'en she 'lowed shewuzn' feared er no man livin'."