Milady at Arms/Chapter 15
THE day of the vendue dawned bright and clear—a beautiful one in early autumn. For weeks, now, the question had been discussed throughout the Mountain settlement and on the adjoining plantations: Should not Mistress Williams, patriot though she declared herself to be and patriot though all knew her to be—should she not be forced to give up her fine farm, her mills, her co-opering business, and be forced to flee with her husband and sons? Should not all this property go to enrich the State, whose coffers were empty, as had all the possessions left by other loyalists who, like Master Willliams, refused to take the oath and had been banished? Early and late had this matter been topic for conversation, most of the people, to do them justice, declaring that, under the circumstances, it was only fair to allow Mistress Williams to retain what had been left her by her husband at his flight.
Mistress Williams, herself, had maintained an air of placid confidence in public, as though there was no question to be made of the subject. No one knew, of course, what long night hours she might spend in prayer or in weeping; but certainly each morning she had emerged from her room with little Nathaniel in her arms, to face her world with cheerfulness upon her face.
It was only at first that Sally saw that her superhuman bravery was really the bravery of utter despair. For upon that fatal morning when her sons had told her farewell, when Master Williams had strained her to his heart and, mounting his horse, had ridden away without one backward glance. Mistress Williams had stood as though turned to stone upon the doorstep, her hands pressed against her heart, her eyes strange and staring until at last, with a pitiful gesture, Zenas had managed to get her back into the kitchen and had made her drink the hot milk Sally had ready, and so, gradually, had won her back to normal actions.
But that had been only at first. From that day on. Mistress Williams had gone forward with both dignity and courage. Sally had an idea both had been augmented by a certain momentous conversation that Mistress Williams had had one day with Master Joseph Hedden, who, as president of the Appraisement Committee, had ridden out from the Town by the River to confer with her. He had told her calmly that, according to law, which was no respecter of persons, the property must be confiscated. But as for the vendue, that was another affair altogether!
"What do ye mean, Master Hedden?" Mistress Williams had asked, her toil-worn hands clasped in her lap. She had leaned forward anxiously to ask this; and behind her, upon a three-legged stool, Sally had leaned forward anxiously, too, for the girl knew that, if poor Mistress Williams lost her property, she would be cast upon her relatives, with her children, for never, never would she willingly flee to the protection of the British, as her husband had done.
"I mean," Master Hedden had told her gravely, "that, considering the circumstances, an no one bids against ye, you will be allowed to buy back all of your property, dear mistress, for the bare costs of the vendue."
"And that is?" Mistress Williams had queried hopefully.
"That will be about five pounds!"
Twenty-five dollars! Of course, that was absurd, in the face of the valuable property involved. At last Mistress Williams, who had been staring straight ahead of her with relief plainly written upon her face, turned and looked at her caller gratefully.
"You are kind, indeed, sir, to tell me so soon," she said quietly. "I—I can stand aught that befalls an I know I shall not be dependent at this time o' my life!"
"Madam." Master Hedden had answered, rising to go, "ye have worked hard to acquire this fortune. As hard, I warrant, as your husband. Why, then, should ye not be permitted to retain it?" He held out his hand to her.
"Not all may think as ye!" Mistress Williams had answered sadly, rising and taking his hand to curtsey. But Sally could see that this talk had been a great help to her during the weeks which followed.
Everyone flew around this morning of the vendue. Sally, who had gone back to the Balls upon Mistress Ball's due return from Morris Town, had been loaned for the occasion, as it were, and had ridden over the day before to help Mistress Williams in any way she could.
"Now, Baby," implored Sally, kneeling beside the cradle where lay a screaming, kicking little tyrant, "do let Sally put on your clean gown! So many people do be coming this morn, and ye—oh, please, sweetheart!"
Mistress Williams, entering hurriedly, still trying to clasp with nervous shaking fingers the brooch at her kerchief crossing, approached the cradle.
"There, Sally," she said, "I will dress little Nat. Do ye finish wi' the kitchen. Where be Zenas?"
"Zenas be out wi' the horses. Master Alling did ride up from the Town by the River to obtain the horses he let us have, ye remember, and partly, I think, he wanted to attend the sale," responded Sally, rising to her feet and fastening the brooch for Mistress Williams.
Mistress Williams fixed puzzled eyes upon her face. "Horses he let ye have?" she repeated.
"Aye, the day o' that battle at Newark," nodded Sally.
"Oh, of course!" Mistress Williams stood silent a moment, a shade crossing her face. "Sally," she said in a low tone. The girl turned at the anxiety in her voice. "Sally, think ye—think ye there be—anyone planning to bid against us?"
Sally shook a decided head. "Nay," she said gently, "ye ha' been too brave all these weeks, dear mistress, to worry at this late hour!"
The other closed her eyes wearily. "I know," she said, in a smothered voice, "I know—I ha' been brave on the outside! I have tried to show my confidence i' the God o' Right by not fretting. But, suppose—oh, suppose, mayhap, some unknown enemy be present! What defense ha' I against his bidding? Why, he might ruin me! And then shall I be cast out, penniless." She fixed burning, restless eyes upon Sally. "Ye do not know how horrible," she continued, "how awful it be to be dependent upon relatives!"
Sally backed away suddenly. "Say ye that to me?" she answered, with a slight bitter laugh. "To me, who have known naught but dependence! And that not upon relatives, who at least have the same blood i' their veins; but upon strangers—some o' whom have not—cared!"
"Ah, poor child, I did hurt ye!" cried Mistress Williams remorsefully. She followed Sally to the corner whither the girl had retreated in sudden passionate weeping. Tears were in the lady's eyes, too, as she bent and kissed the other. "Truly, I did not mean to hurt ye!" she apologized gently. "Indeed I did not!"
Sally dried her eyes. "I know ye did not," she answered. "And why I weep when I ha' such friends as ye and Mistress Ball, I know not. Mayhap," she stared off into space with brooding gaze, "'tis because I have known peace wi' you and do dread a return to what lay before!"
"Aye?" Mistress Williams watched her with quiet eyes, In which compassion lay deep.
"I mean," said Sally stormily, "I mean that, much as I do long to see Master Todd again, much as I long to know that he be safe and not dying, mayhap, upon some enemy prison ship—I could live forever, without one regret, an I never saw—Mistress Todd again!"
"Poor child!" murmured Mistress Williams, tucking up the riotous curls beneath Sally's cap as she spoke. She had forgotten her own anxieties in those of Sally's. But all at once the clamor of her little son broke out again. Ignored, he had fallen to placidly sucking his thumb. Now, however, suddenly realizing his neglect, he broke into a series of terrific howls which brought his mother to his side in short order.
"There, there!" she exclaimed, picking him up. She laughed as she looked into his puckered, crimsoned little face, and laughed still more when, catching sight of Sally, he commenced to gurgle and babble her name, with the tears still wet upon his smiling cheeks.
Sally, smiling back, felt better in spite of herself, and soon was moving briskly about her work. It was early still, yet neighbors might soon be gathering, and it were well to have everything in perfect order.
Presently Zenas, followed by Master Alling, entered the kitchen. Mistress Williams, hastily replacing the baby, now cleanly garbed, in his cradle, and giving him a rag doll to play with, rose and dropped a curtsey to match the one Sally smilingly bestowed upon the young man.
"So ye were the kind gentleman, forsooth, who helped out my young folk that day i' Newark," she said graciously, advancing to him.
"Nay," he protested laughingly, bending over the hand she extended him. "'Twas the young folk who helped me, madam! Though the British did not return to the Town that day, they might have, and though they did not find my horses the first time, the second time they e'en might have! So, ye see!" And he gave such an eloquent shrug and laughed so merrily, they all joined in.
But now a shadow darkened the door, and Sally, glancing up, uttered a low cry, for she had the strange hallucination that Stockton was standing there, staring at her. It was only an ancient beldame, however, bent forward beneath the weight of her years upon a cane she tapped before her and gazing curiously around her from the depths of the enormous poke bonnet she wore.
"Be this the place advertised for sale?" she cackled, in a high, quavering voice.
While Zenas muttered at himself for not having closed the door after him, Mistress Williams drew herself up proudly. Then she noticed the other's years and refrained from the sharp reply which trembled upon her tongue.
"Aye, mistress," she answered civilly.
"Mind ye an, perchance, I take a look around," pursued the aged hag, obviously preparing to advance into the kitchen.
"Why" began Mistress Williams dubiously.
But Sally took an impulsive step forward. "Nay!" she exclaimed, glancing from Mistress Williams to the old woman. "Why should she be allowed to poke and pry, dear mistress? She doth not understand the terms of this vendue, forsooth! May I explain them to her?" Then at Mistress Williams's nod, the girl turned swiftly to the old woman, only to fall back amazed. For she thought she saw venomous fire and youth staring at her from the depths of the poke bonnet. The next instant the old dame's eyes were studiously regarding the pattern of the sanded floor and Sally, telling herself that she had imagined too much, once more advanced a step. "Ye do not understand, grandame," she said, briskly kind. "This farm be forfeit to the law, 'tis true. Yet is the owner only to bid—no one else! There is to be offered no opposition to that one bid!"
"How so?" demanded the old woman sourly. "Be this not a public vendue, whereto all ha' been invited by public notice? Then 'tis not likely the owner, who hath been liable under the law, will be allowed to retain it!"
"Still," said Sally hotly, all of her brisk, cool kindliness vanishing at this unexpected opposition, thinking that never in all her life had she seen quite such a disagreeable old lady, "still 'tis understood, I tell ye, grandame, there is to be no other bid than hers!"
"Well, we shall see, we shall see," muttered the old woman. And turning abruptly away, she hobbled off. Sally, watching her from the door, gave indignant report of her movements.
"Why," cried Sally, "she be examining every bush and tree as though she were expecting to purchase this place! Now she be looking, with an air o' ownership, across the garden! Now she be peering down the well! Now she be hobbling toward the barn!"
"Say ye so!" Zenas turned toward the door. "She may be a thief, for a' we know. I'll go wi' her—prying old fingers could steal and hide beneath that ragged cape much o' value that be lying loose around the barn!"
They all laughed at Zenas's angry bounce as he departed; but soon Sally saw soberness returning to Mistress Williams's countenance. "I wish this vendue were well over," she sighed nervously, smoothing down her gown with trembling fingers. "This incident but shows how we be at the mercy o' any who come!"
"Fear not, mistress!" said John Alling sympathetically. "For every enemy—though I doubt the existence o' one for such a sweet lady—ye will ha' twenty friends present this morn!"
Mistress Williams acknowledged his compliment with a faint smile. "Still, sir," she sighed, "I wish it were already night, wi' the vendue well o'er!"
Sally, who had moved over to the window after Zenas had closed the door behind him, now turned to them. "People be driving in from every direction," she announced, excitement in her voice. "'Tis just as though a signal had been given! Oh, such a throng! I suppose in the direction o' the settlement the turn o' the road hath hidden them till now!"
Mistress Williams gave a nervous shudder. "Say ye so—they do come?" she exclaimed, in a high-pitched voice which showed the strain she had been enduring. "Is't that late already?" And her glance traveled distastefully to the corner clock.
"Yet were ye wishing the vendue well o'er!" John Alling laughed softly at her inconsistence, trying to cheer her. He turned as Joseph Hedden entered the kitchen.
"Good-morrow, all," said Master Hedden cheerfully. He advanced and took the cold hand Mistress Williams tremulously extended to him. "What!" he exclaimed, keen eyes upon hers. "Not fretting, mistress, I hope! Tut! Tut!" He clucked his tongue chidingly. "After what I did tell ye?"
"I know," she answered, coloring faintly. "Yet suppose"
"Suppose naught!" returned Master Hedden roundly. "Ye ha' many friends out yon, madam!"
"E'en what I was telling her!" interrupted John Alling reassuringly.
"Ye all be good to me!" said Mistress Williams simply. She gave a quick, labored sigh. "And truly will I try—not to fret!" Her voice died away upon the last three words and only Sally, who stood behind her, saw her hands clench for a moment in the folds of her gown. The next moment Mistress Willi ams turned a bright face toward her. "Shall we go forth, Sally, and greet our good friends?" she suggested. "Fetch me my cardinal from yonder peg, and do ye don your cape, my dear, for 'tis sharp out. The hoar frost lay thick upon the ground this early morn!"
Sally, about to follow Mistress Williams out into the garden, whither a throng had gathered, as she had reported, was stopped by a straight-shouldered, fine-looking man, uniformed in blue, who came briskly up the stepping stones toward her.
"Why, Captain Littell!" exclaimed the girl in friendly greeting. "Is't you, indeed!"
"So ye do remember me," returned the leader of the Jersey Blues, with a pleased smile. "Aye," he continued, "methought this vendue should be attended by some o' our men!" And Sally, following his significant glance, saw a number of blue-uniformed men strolling through the crowd.
"Why" began Sally, her eyes upon the muskets carelessly displayed upon blue-clad arms.
"E'en so," smiled Captain Littell. "Is Major Alling within?" he added quietly, nodding toward the kitchen door.
"Wi' Master Hedden," Sally told him. Then she flew after Mistress Williams, new-found hope and relief in her girlish breast.
Mistress Williams was talking to her friend, Esther Ball, and to Uzal Ball when Sally came hurrying up, and turned in some surprise to glance at the girl's shining eyes and rosy cheeks. Her own gaze traveled to Uzal's face, and though she found pleasure there, when she looked back at Sally, she knew at once that that young bachelor was not the cause of the girl's obvious delight. Indeed, Sally paid not the slightest attention to him as she stood with clasped hands before them, her eager gaze upon Mistress Williams.
"Why, Sally lass," said Mistress Ball indulgently, "hast no words for Uzal or me this morn?"
Sally, at that, took and squeezed the hand her friend held out to her and dropped Uzal a hasty curtsey, then turned once more to Mistress Williams.
"Well, speak, child!" laughed that lady. "'Tis plain ye be dying to tell me something! Is't aught o' great importance?" And she exchanged a confidential glance with Mistress Ball.
"Oh, dear mistress," gasped Sally, "Captain Littell hath e'en now arrived!"
"Captain Littell?" A puzzled look dawned upon Mistress Williams's face. She shook her head in impatient denial of knowledge of his identity.
"Captain Littell o' the 'Jersey Blues,'" explained Uzal, at this point. He looked meaningly at her. "Why, then, wi' his men—and here be one, now!—circulating the throng, there will be none who dare to bid against ye!"
"Aye?" Mistress Williams gazed eagerly after the blue-clad figure which, musket in elbow-crook, had just brushed past her. She turned relievedly to Sally. "Ye be right," she said smilingly. "'Tis good news, indeed, ye do bring me!"
Now there was stir among the crowd. Everyone commenced to move toward the kitchen door as it opened, and Master Hedden, followed by John Alling and Captain Littell, came out and established himself upon the doorstep. There was a suppressed murmur of excitement through the gathering. Sally, who stood to one side, in the foreground, with Mistress Williams and her friend and Uzal, glanced inquiringly around for Zenas; but she did not see him until the vendue was formally declared open by Master Hedden. Then she saw the boy at a distance, stalking after that same ancient hag who had appeared in the kitchen door and who now hurried from the direction of the barn with surprising agility and speed for one so old. Reaching the throng, the old woman melted into its outskirts, and Zenas, glimpsing Sally's beckoning finger, came around the edge of the crowd and stood, his arms belligerently folded, beside his mother.
Sally longed to whisper in his ear, so set and grim was his pale young face; but she did not dare, in the foreground as she was. Too many curious eyes were upon her to make her aught but self-conscious and afraid to speak.
Master Hedden first read the proclamation known as the Amnesty Act, which had been passed by the Legislature on June 5, 1777. This act, as has been explained, provided forgiveness to all those who would swear allegiance to the patriot cause before it expired.
"And now," Joseph Hedden looked slowly around him, "ye have been advised by public notice that this land, belonging to one Nathaniel Williams, hath been forfeit to the State, inasmuch as the owner thereof did not swear to the prescribed oath, did, instead, flee this State o' New Jersey and take refuge wi' the enemy i' New York Town. Therefore, I declare this man's property be confiscated and open now to bids i' course o' vendue!"
Silence. Throughout that throng of at least five hundred people it might be said that almost one could have heard a leaf dropping to the earth. Involuntarily, eyes rolled toward those muskets displayed here and there, and no one spoke a word. Mistress Williams stood with tense mouth, and eyes burning in her white face. At last Master Hedden looked toward her inquiringly.
"As president o' the Appraisement Committee, I do stand here ready to receive bids," he suggested.
Zenas nudged his mother. "Speak, Ma!" he whispered hoarsely. "Master Hedden be a-waiting ye!"
Still silence dwelt upon that crowd. More silence. Until, all at once, a high, quavering old voice cackled out, at the rear of the gathering. "I do bid"
There was an outburst of laughter. A slight turmoil occurred in that vicinity. And the shrill old voice was stilled so abruptly that one might have imagined that a hand, emerging from a blue sleeve, had been clamped none too gently over the aged one's mouth. In the pause which followed. Master Hedden again looked toward Mistress Williams. And this time, her head held high, Nathaniel Williams's wife stepped forward and in a low but perfectly clear voice, offered the sum of five pounds for all that confiscated property!
Master Hedden accepted this offer so quickly that it might have been viewed with suspicion, had there not been quite so many blue uniforms about. As it was, the ancient beldame, who had been laughingly hustled off the grounds by two of the "Jersey Blues," could be heard muttering and grumbling to herself as she hobbled off down the road. However, had those same "Blues" followed her far, they might have been both surprised and interested, for entering a certain ravine, the old woman presently came out a young man, who briskly started off again toward the Mountain settlement!
But now the muskets, which had been so prominently displayed, were slung up out of the way and the vendue turned into an outdoor reception, with Mistress Williams holding gracious levee upon her doorstep.
When the final guest had departed—all save Mistress Ball and Uzal—Mary Williams turned to the bright young face at her elbow.
"Ah, Sally," she sighed, catching the girl's mittened hands in hers, "I know not what I shall do wi'out ye! 'Twill be a lonely house wi'out Sally!"
Mistress Ball looked at her reproachfully. "But think how drear our house would be wi'out the maid!" she said.
Sally stood looking dubiously from one to another. Were they making fun of her? Then, suddenly—and her heart sung with the knowledge!—she understood that she had been missed, indeed—and that now she was wanted! Wanted! She who had eaten the ungracious bread of begrudging hospitality!
"And ye ha' young people left i' your house!" went on Mistress Ball gently. "Nay, Mary, lure the maid not away from me!"
"Aye, 'tis true! Yet shall we all miss ye! Farewell, Sally!" sighed Mistress Williams, while Zenas said a bashful farewell over his mother's shoulder.
"Farewell, dear mistress!" answered Sally, wondering why she felt so much like weeping, when she should have felt like singing, like shouting, with that wonderful knowledge that she was wanted—somewhere!
So, turning, she walked away between Uzal and his mother, very slim, very pretty—and still very young! So young that she rushed back to throw affectionate arms around Mistress Williams's neck, to implant a kiss upon the astonished and rather resentful Zenas's cheek, and rush away again!