Westerfelt Part 28

"Don't say anything," he said; "for G.o.d's sake, pity her."

"I cayn't stand it," she blurted out, half crying; "she's gwine entirely too fur!" She pushed his hands down and stood glaring at Mrs.

Dawson.

"Look a heer, Sue Dawson," she said, getting her breath fast, "yo're a older woman an' me, an' I've got due respect fer age an' a gray head, but John Westerfelt is my friend, an' is a-visitin' of me 'n' Luke at present. You are welcome in my house ef you'll behave yorese'f decent, but you cayn't come under my roof to goad him to desperation. Now I've said my say. Thar's the door ef you dare open yore mouth agin. Thar ain't a speck o' Christian sperit in you. I'm ashamed to call you neighbor."

With an expression of mingled anger and fear in her face, Mrs. Dawson looked at her hostess, and without a word rose stiffly and went to the bed, on which lay her shawl, carpet-bag, and bonnet. Her face was to the wall as she drew her bonnet on and began to tie the strings.

"I'll go out the back way," whispered Westerfelt to Mrs. Bradley; "for G.o.d's sake, don't let her go!"

"All right," promised Mrs. Bradley; "go on. I'll make 'er stay, I reckon, but she's as stubborn as a mule."

He went through the kitchen, round the house, and out at the gate. He stopped, leaned against the fence, and watched the two women through the window. Mrs. Dawson had put on her shawl. She held her bag in front of her, and stood in the centre of the room. Mrs. Bradley leaned against the mantel-piece. Their lips moved, and Mrs. Dawson was gesticulating furiously, but he could not hear their voices. Suddenly Mrs. Bradley took the bag from the old woman and put it on the bed.

Then she untied Mrs. Dawson's bonnet-strings, took off the bonnet and shawl, and drew her back to the fire. They stood talking for a moment, then sat down together. Mrs. Bradley, holding the shawl and bonnet in her lap, put her arm round the old woman. Mrs. Dawson began fumbling in the pocket of her dress. She got out her handkerchief and held it to her face, then Mrs. Bradley began to wipe her own eyes on the corner of her ap.r.o.n.

"My G.o.d!" groaned Westerfelt, as he turned away, "this is more than I can bear!"

The next day was Sunday. It was as bright and balmy as spring.

Westerfelt slept late. When he went in to breakfast Mrs. Bradley told him that Mrs. Dawson was out at the barn with Luke. They all intended to go to camp-meeting that day, she said. A revival had been going on at the meeting-house for the past week, and the congregation had increased so much that the little building would no longer hold the people. It had, therefore, been announced that the Sunday service would be held at Stone Hill Camp-ground, two miles from the village on the most picturesque of the Cohutta Valley roads.

As Westerfelt went down to the stable after breakfast he saw wagons, hacks, and old-fas.h.i.+oned carriages standing at nearly every gate on the street. Washburn and a colored boy, Jake, were at the stable busy was.h.i.+ng and oiling the wheels of vehicles and currying horses.

"I wus jest about to send up to you," was Washburn's greeting.

"Turnouts are at a premium to-day. I didn't know whether to let out yore own hoss an' buggy or not; two or three fellers that want to take the'r girls are offerin' any price fer some'n to ride in."

"I am going myself."

"Hossback ur buggy?"

"Buggy." Westerfelt turned suddenly and walked back towards the hotel.

He had decided to invite Harriet Floyd to go to camp-meeting with him, let the consequences be what they might. He wanted to see her, and nothing should prevent it--not even Mrs. Dawson's presence in the village nor her threats.

As Westerfelt walked away Washburn said to himself; "It u'd be tough on 'im ef Bascom Bates is ahead of 'im, after all his hangin' back. By George! I can't imagine who else Bates could 'a' intended to ask; he's give up goin' to Hansard's. I'll bet my hat Bates means business with Miss Harriet."

Westerfelt walked into the parlor of the hotel. A colored girl was sweeping the carpet and went out to tell Harriet that he wished to see her. Harriet didn't keep him waiting long. On rising she had dressed for church. She wore a pretty gray gown with a graceful bow of ribbon at her throat, and carried her cloak on her arm. She put it on the sofa as she entered. She was agitated, and he felt her hand quiver when he took it.

"I came to ask you to drive to the camp-ground with me," he said, as her hand slid out of his; "will you go?"

"Why--why," she stammered, "I--I--promised to go with Mr. Bates; I'm very sorry; if I had known--"

He glanced through the open door; his face had suddenly grown cold, hard, and suspicious. He was jealous even of a man she had never been with before. She sank into a chair and looked up at him helplessly, appealingly. She knew he was jealous, and in that proof of his love her heart went out to him.

"Oh, it don't matter," he said, quickly. "I'm going to drive out myself anyway, and I thought if you had n.o.body to take you, you might like to go 'long."

"He asked me yesterday," she faltered. Her voice was full of startled concern. "I'd rather go with you, you know I had. I have never gone with him anywhere. We are almost strangers. I--I would hardly know how to talk to him."

She knew it was not with his natural voice that Westerfelt answered.

"Well," he said, coldly, "you can't go with two fellows, and he got to you first. I reckon Bates knows the roads; you'd better take the river-bottom route. Washburn says the other is not as good as it might be. Good-bye."

He had reached the veranda when she called him back. As he re-entered the room she rose and stepped towards him.

"Are you mad with me, Mr. Westerfelt?"

He was ashamed of himself, but he could not conquer his horrible humor.

"Not in the least; I don't blame you." His tone was still cold and his glance averted. She put her handkerchief to her face in vexation, but removed it quickly as she caught his glance.

"I'll not go; I'll stay at home," she affirmed.

"No, go; you'd never hear the end of it if you were to slight Bates."

"Shall I see you out there?"

"I reckon not," he laughed, harshly. "I never want anybody bothering me when I take a girl anywhere, and I try to obey the Golden Rule with other men. You belong to Bates to-day." He left the room. She heard him stride across the veranda and walk hurriedly away. She went to the window and tried to catch another glimpse of him, but he was out of sight. She turned into the next room. Her mother was there packing some table linen into the bottom of a wardrobe.

"Mother," the girl faltered, "Mr. Westerfelt asked me just now to go to the camp-ground with him."

Mrs. Floyd let a table-cloth which she was folding hang down in front of her for a moment as she looked at Harriet. "Well, you told him you was going with Bascom Bates, didn't you?"

"Yes, of course, but--"

"Well, what of it? I wish you'd just look what a mess the rats have gone and made of this linen. They've been trying to gnaw the starch out of it, and have cut holes in nearly every piece."

"He looked mad, mother; he pretended he didn't care, but I never saw such a look on anybody's face. Oh, mother--"

"Harriet!" Mrs. Floyd looked straight into the girl's eyes as she closed the wardrobe door and turned the key. "Looky' here, I'm older than you, and I know men a sight better. Mr. Westerfelt is a nice man and a good enough catch, but he's got plenty of faults. You've just got to listen to reason. Some men will despise a girl quicker for letting themselves be run over than anything else, and he's one of that sort. He has deliberately insulted you by throwing up a delicate matter to you, which G.o.d knows you couldn't help, and now--well, he's a purty thing to dictate to you who you go with--"

"Mother, something was wrong with his mind when he said that,"

interrupted Harriet. "He's just gettin' well, that's all. Oh, mother, he loves me--I know he does--I know it! I'll bet he hardly remembers what he said. And now this old Bascom Bates has come between us."

Mrs. Floyd was moved, in spite of her desire to hold her ground.

"Yes," she admitted, "I think he acts like he loves you, and after staying away so long, his wanting to go with you to-day looks powerful like he has come to his senses at last. But you will spoil it all if you slight another respectable man to please him. That's the long and short of it. Now, you take my advice and give him as good as he sends every time, and a little more to boot. It's a woman's right."

"Mother, you don't know Mr. Westerfelt; he--"

"La! yes, I do; they are every one p'int-blank alike. They want what they can't get, and what other men have, a sight more than what is in easy reach. If you've got any gumption, you'll make him think you are having a mighty good time with Bascom Bates to-day. If Bascom keeps coming to see you it will make him think all the more of you, too.

Bates belongs to mighty nigh as good stock as he does anyway, and folks say he is the sharpest trader and note-shaver in the county. Ef you don't encourage him to come regular I shall do it for you. And if I ever get a chance I'll throw out a hint to Westerfelt that you have a little leaning towards the law anyway."

"I don't want you to do that, mother," objected Harriet, quite seriously.

Mrs. Floyd laughed slyly as she turned away. "You leave them two Jakes to me. I feel like I was a girl again. We used to have lots o' fun with Mr. Floyd, me 'n' mother did. Did I ever tell you the time me'n'

her--" But Harriet, with a preoccupied air, had turned away.

Chapter XVIII