Hugh Worthington

Backward now with our reader we turn, and take up the broken thread of our story at the point where we left Adah Hastings, sleeping, in that best chamber at Spring Bank; while around the timeworn building the winter wind howled dismally, and drove the sleet in gusts against the windows. There were piles of snow next morning upon the steps, huge drifts against the doors, and banks against the fences, while the bent-up negroes shivered and drew back from the cutting blast, so foreign to their temperaments.

It was a bitter morning in which to face the fierce north wind, and plow one’s way to the Derby cornfield, where in a small, dilapidated building, Aunt Eunice Reynolds, widowed sister of John Stanley, had lived for many years, first as a pensioner upon her brothers bounty, and next as Hugh’s incumbent. At the time of her brother’s death Aunt Eunice had intended removing to Spring Bank, but when Hugh’s mother wrote, asking for a home, she abandoned the plan, and for two seasons more lived alone, watching from her lonely door the tasselled corn ripening in the August sun. It was strange that a house should have been built there in the center of that cornfield, with woods enclosing it on every side save one, and stranger still, that Aunt Eunice should care to stay there, year after year, as she did. But she preferred it, she said “to having a paltry, lazy nigger under foot,” and so her brother suffered her to have her way, while the neighbors marvelled at and admired the untiring energy and careful neatness which made the cottage in the corn field so cozy-like and cheerful. Hugh was Aunt Eunice’s idol, the object which kept her old heart warm and young with human love. For him she would endure any want or encounter any difficulty, and in his dilemma regarding Adah Hastings, he intuitively turned to her, as the one who would lend a helping hand. He had not been to see her in two days, and when the grey December morning broke and he looked out upon the deep, untrodden snow, he frowned impatiently, as he thought how bad the path must be between Spring Bank and the cornfield, whither he intended going, as he would be the first to tell what had occurred. ’Lina’s fierce opposition to, and his mother’s apparent shrinking from Adah, had convinced him how hopeless was the idea that she could stay at Spring Bank with any degree of comfort to herself or quiet to him. Aunt Eunice’s house was the only refuge for Adah, and there she would be comparatively safe from censorious remarks.

“Inasmuch as ye did it to the least of these ye did it unto me,” kept ringing in Hugh’s ears, as he hastily dressed himself, striking his benumbed fingers together, and trying hard to keep his teeth from chattering, for Hugh was beginning his work of economy, and when at daylight Claib came as usual to build his master’s fire, he had sent him back, saying he did not need one, and bidding him go, instead, to Mrs. Hastings’ chamber.

It took more than a shake or two that morning ere Hugh’s toilet was completed, for the stiff, heavy boots refused at first to go on, but with a kick and a jerk, and what would have been an oath if he had not thought of Golden Hair in time to prevent its utterance, Hugh prevailed at last and the refractory boots came to their proper place. Bounding down the stairs he hurried out to the kitchen, where only a few of his negroes were stirring.

“Ho, Claib!” he called, “saddle Rocket quick and bring him to the door. I’m going to the corn field.”

“Lor’ bless you, mas’r, it’s done snow higher than Rocket’s head. He’ll never stand it nohow.”

“Do as I bid you,” was Hugh’s reply, and indolent Claib went shivering to the stable where Hugh’s best horses were kept.

A whinnying sound of welcome greeted him as he entered, but was soon succeeded by a spirited snort as he attempted to lead out a most beautiful dapple gray, Hugh’s favorite steed, his pet of pets, and the horse most admired and coveted in all the country.

“None of yer ars,” Claib said coaxingly, as the animal threw up his neck defiantly, “You’ve got to get along ’case Mas’r Hugh say so. You know Mas’r Hugh.”

As if he really knew and understood, the proud head came down at once, and Rocket suffered himself to be led from the stall, but when the keen north wind struck full upon his face, the gleaming eyes flashed with stubborn fire, and planting his feet firmly in the snow, Rocket resisted all Claib’s efforts to get him any further. Scolding did no good, coax him he could not, strike him he dared not, and alternately changing the halter from hand to hand poor Claib blew his stiffened fingers and called lustily for help.

“What is it?” Hugh asked, coming out upon the stoop, and comprehending the trouble at a glance. “Rocket Rocket,” he cried, “Easy, my boy,” and in an instant Rocket’s defiant attitude changed to one of perfect obedience.

He knew and loved the voice calling so cheerily to him, and with a sudden plunge, which wrenched his halter from Claib’s grasp and sent the poor negro headlong into the snow, he bounded to his master’s side. Rubbing his head against Hugh’s shoulder, he suffered himself to be caressed for a moment, and then, playful as a kitten, gambolled around him in circles, sometimes making a feint of coming near to him, and again leaping backward with the peculiarly graceful motion for which he was so famous. How Hugh loved that noble animal, and how Rocket loved him, licking his hands whenever he entered the stable, and crying piteously after him when he left. Five hundred dollars had been offered him for that horse, but though wanting money sadly, he had promptly refused the offer, determined that Rocket should know no master save himself.

“There, my beauty,” he said, as the animal continued to prance around him. “There, you’ve showed off enough. Come, now, I’ve work for you to do.”

Docile as a lamb when Hugh commanded, he stood quietly while Claib equipped him for his morning’s task.

“Tell mother I shan’t be back to breakfast,” Hugh said, as he sprang into the saddle, and giving loose rein to Rocket went galloping through the snow.

Under ordinary circumstances that early ride would have been vastly exhilarating to Hugh, who enjoyed the bracing air, but there was too much now upon his mind to admit of his enjoying any thing. Thoughts of Adah, and the increased expense her presence would necessarily bring, flitted across his mind, while Harney’s bill, put over once, and due again ere long, sat like a nightmare on him, for he saw no way in which to meet it. No way save one, and Rocket surely must have felt the throbbing of Hugh’s heart as that one way flashed upon him, for he gave a kind of coaxing whine, and dashed on over the billowy drifts faster than before.

“No, Rocket, no,” and Hugh patted his neck. He’d never part with Rocket, He’d sell Spring Bank first with all its incumbrances.

The cornfield was reached by this time, and with a single bound Rocket cleared the gate at the entrance. A six-rail fence was nothing for him to leap, and like a deer he sped across the field, and ere long stood before Aunt Eunice’s door. It was now three days since Hugh had gladdened Aunt Eunice’s cottage with the sunshine of his presence, and when she awoke that morning, and saw how high the snow was piled around her door, she said to herself, “The boy’ll be here directly to know if I’m alive,” and this accounted for the round deal table drawn before the blazing fire, and looking so inviting with its two plates and cups, one a fanciful china affair, sacredly kept for Hugh, whose coffee always tasted better when sipped from its gilded side. The lightest of egg bread was steaming on the hearth, the tenderest of steak was broiling on the griddle, while the odor of the coffee boiling on the coals came tantalizingly to Hugh’s olfactories as Aunt Eunice opened the door, saying pleasantly,

“I told ’em so. I felt it in my bones, and the breakfast is all but ready. Put Rocket up directly, and come in to the fire.”

Fastening Rocket in his accustomed place in the outer shed, Hugh stamped the snow from his heavy boots, and then went in to Aunt Eunice’s kitchen-parlor, as she called it, where the tempting breakfast stood upon the table. Nimble as a girl Aunt Eunice brought his chair, and placing it in the warmest part of the room, the one next to the wall and farthest from the door where the wind and snow crept in. But Hugh was not selfish enough to keep it, and he made Aunt Eunice change, for he knew the blood moved more slowly through her veins than his.

“No coffee! What new freak is that?” and Aunt Eunice gazed at him in astonishment as he declined the cup she had prepared with so much care, dropping in the whitest lumps of sugar, and stirring in the thickest cream.

It cost Hugh a terrible struggle to refuse that cup of coffee, but if he would retrench, he must begin at once and determining to meet it unflinchingly he replied that “he had concluded to drink water for a while, and see what that would do; much was said nowadays about coffee’s being injurious, and he presumed it was.”

In great distress the good old lady asked if “his dyspeptic was out of order,” still insisting that he should take the cup, whose delicious odor well nigh overcame resolution. But Hugh was firm as a granite rock when once his mind was settled, and assuring Aunt Eunice that his “dyspeptic” was right, he betook himself to the gourd, standing in the pail of water within his reach. Poor Aunt Eunice did not half enjoy her breakfast, and she would not have enjoyed it at all had she known that Hugh was abstaining from what he loved so much only that she and others might be fed and warmed.

“There’s something on your mind,” she said, observing his abstraction. “Have you had another dunning letter, or what?”

Aunt Eunice had made a commencement, and in his usual impulsive way Hugh told the story of Adah and then asked if she would take her.

“But, Hugh,” and Aunt Eunice spoke earnestly, “you cannot afford the expense. Think twice before you commit yourself.”

“I have thought twice, the last time just as I did the first. Adah shall stay. You need some one these winter nights. There’s the room you call mine. Give her that. Will you, Aunt Eunice?” and Hugh wound his arm around Aunt Eunice’s ample waist, while he pleaded for Adah Hastings.

Aunt Eunice was soon won over as Hugh knew she would be, and it was settled that she should come that very day if possible.

“Look, the sky is clearing,” and he pointed to the sunshine streaming through the window.

“We’ll have her room fixed before I go,” and with his own hands Hugh split and prepared the wood which was to kindle Adah’s fire, then with Aunt Eunice’s help sundry changes were made in the arrangement of the rather meagre furniture, which never seemed so meagre to Hugh as when he looked at it with Adah’s eyes and wondered how she’d like it.

“Oh, I wish I were rich,” he sighed mentally, and taking out his well worn purse he carefully counted its contents.

Twenty-five dollars. That was all, and this he had been so long in saving for the new coat he meant to buy. Hugh would like to dress better if he could, and was even anticipating his sister’s surprise when he should appear before her some day habited in a coat of the latest style. To do this Adah’s room must go unfurnished yet awhile and with another sigh the purse was returned to his pocket, just as Aunt Eunice, who had stepped out for a moment, reappeared, bringing a counterpane and towel, one of which was spread upon the bed, while the other covered the old pine stand, marred and stained with ink and tallow, the result of Hugh’s own carelessness.

“What a heap of difference that table cloth and pocket-handkerchief do make,” was Hugh’s man-like remark, his face brightening with the improved appearance of things and his big heart growing warm with the thought that he might keep his twenty-five dollars and Adah be comfortable still.

With a merry laugh Aunt Eunice explained that the table cloth was a bed-spread, and the handkerchief a towel. It was all the same to Hugh so long as they improved the room, and glancing at his watch, he said it was time to be gone.

“Ad may pick Adah’s eyes out before I get home,” was his laughing remark as he vaulted into his saddle and dashed off across the fields, where, beneath the warm Kentucky sun, the snow was already beginning to soften.

Breakfast had been late at Spring Bank that morning, for the strangers had required some care, and Miss ’Lina was sipping her coffee rather ill-naturedly when a note was handed her, and instantly her mood was changed.

“Splendid, mother!” she exclaimed, glancing at the tiny, three-cornered thing; “an invitation to Ellen Tiffton’s party. I was afraid she would leave me out after Hugh’s refusal to attend the Ladies’ fair, or buy a ticket for her lottery. It was only ten dollars either, and Mr. Harney spent all of forty, I’m sure, in the course of the evening.”

“Hugh had no ten dollars to spare,” Mrs. Worthington said, apologetically, “though, of course, he might have been more civil than to tell Ellen it was a regular swindle, and the getters-up ought to be indicted. I almost wonder at her inviting him, as she said she’d never speak to him again.”

“Invited him! Who said she had? It’s only one card for me,” and with a most satisfied expression ’Lina presented the note to her mother, whose face flushed at the insult offered her son—an insult which even ’Lina felt, but would not acknowledge, lest it should interfere with her going. “There may be some mistake,” she suggested. “Lulu may have dropped his,” and ringing the bell she summoned to their presence a bright, handsome mulatto girl, who answered frankly that

“Only one invite was given her, and, and that for Miss ’Lina. I asked Jake,” she said, “where was Master Hugh’s, and he said, ‘Oh. Miss Ellen’s ravin’ at him; called him no gentleman; and wouldn’t invite him any way.’ I think it’s right mean in her, for Master Hugh is enough sight better gentleman than Bob Harney, that she’s after. I told Jake to tell her so,” and having thus vindicated her master’s cause, Lulu tripped back to the kitchen, leaving her mistress and ’Lina to finish their party discussion.

“You won’t go, of course,” Mrs. Worthington said, quietly. “You’ll resent her slighting Hugh.”

“Indeed I shan’t,” the young lady retorted. “I hardly think it fair in Ellen, but I shall accept, and I must go to town to-day to see about having my pink silk fixed. I think I’ll have some black lace festooned round the skirt. How I wish I could have a new one. Do you suppose Hugh has any money?”

“None for new dresses or lace flounces either,” Mrs. Worthington replied. “I fancy he begins to look old and worn with this perpetual call for money from us. We must economize.”

“Never mind, when I get Bob Harney I’ll pay off old scores,” ’Lina said, laughingly, as she arose from the table and went to look over her wardrobe, having first investigated the weather, and ascertained, from a consultation with Cæsar, that the roads would undoubtedly be passable by noon.

Meantime Hugh had returned, meeting in the kitchen with Lulu, who worshipping her young master with a species of adoration, resented any insults offered him far more keenly than his own sister did.

“Well, Lu, what is it? What’s happened?” Hugh asked, as he saw she was full of some important matter.

In an instant the impetuous Lulu told him of the party to which he was not invited, together with the reason why, and the word she had sent back.

“I’ll give ’em a piece of my mind!” she said, as she saw Hugh change color. “She may have old Harney. He’s jes good enough for her! The hateful! His man John, told Claib how his master said he meant to get me and Rocket, too, some day; me for her waiting-maid, I reckon. You won’t sell me, Master Hugh, will you?” and Lulu’s eyes looked pleadingly up to Hugh.

“Never!” and Hugh’s riding whip came down upon the table with a force which made Lulu start.

Satisfied that she was safe from Ellen Tiffton’s whims, Lulu darted away, while Hugh entered the sitting-room, where ’Lina sat, surrounded by her party finery, and prepared to do the amiable to the utmost.

“That really is a handsome little boy upstairs,” she said, as if she supposed it were her mother who came in; then an affected start she added, “Oh, it’s you! I thought ’twas mother. Don’t you think, Ellen has not invited you. Mean, isn’t it?”

“Ellen can do as she likes,” Hugh replied, adding, as he guessed the meaning of all that finery, “You surely are not going?”

“Why not?” and ’Lina’s black eyes flashed full upon him.

“I thought perhaps you would decline for my sake,” he replied.

An angry retort trembled on ’Lina’s lip, but she had an object to attain, so she restrained herself and answered that “she had thought of it, but such a course would do no good, and she wanted to go so much, the Tifftons were so exclusive and aristocratic.”

Hugh whistled contemptuously, but ’Lina kept her temper, and continued, coaxingly,

“Everybody is to be there, and you’d like to have your sister look decent, I know; and really, Hugh, I can’t unless you give me a little money. Do, Hugh, be good for once.”

“Ad, I can’t,” and Hugh spoke sorrowfully, for a kind word from ’Lina always touched his weaker side. “I would if I could, but honestly I’ve only twenty-five dollars in the world, and I’ve thought of a new coat. I don’t like to look so shabby. It hurts me worse than it does you,” and Hugh’s voice trembled as he spoke.

Any but a heart of stone would have yielded, but, ’Lina was too supremely selfish. Hugh had twenty-five dollars. He might give her half, or even ten. She’d be satisfied with ten. He could soon make that up. The negro hire came due ere long. He must have forgotten that.

No, he had not; but with the negro hire came debts, thoughts of which gave him the old worn look his mother had observed. Only ten dollars! It did seem hard to refuse, and if ’Lina went, Hugh wished her to look well, for underneath his apparent harshness lurked a kind of pride in his sister, whose beauty was of the bold, dashing style.

“Take them,” he said at last counting out the ten with regretful sigh. “Make them go as far as you can, and Ad, remember don’t get into debt.”

“I won’t,” and with a civil “Thank you,” ’Lina rolled up her bills, while Hugh repaired to Adah’s room telling her of Aunt Eunice, and his plan of taking her there.

With a burst of tears, Adah listened to him, and then insisted upon going away, as she had done the previous night. She had no claim on him, and she could not be a burden.

“You, madam, think it best, I’m sure,” she said, appealing to Mrs. Worthington, who was present and who answered promptly,

“I do not. I am willing you should remain until your friends are found.”

Adah offered no further remonstrance, but turning to Hugh, said hesitatingly,

“I may hear from my advertisement. Do you take the Herald?”

“Yes, though I can’t say I think much of it,” Hugh replied, and Adah continued,

“Then if you ever find anything for me, you’ll tell me, and I can go away,” I said, “Direct to Adah Hastings. Somebody will be sure to see it. Maybe George, and then he’ll know of Willie.”

With a muttered invective against the “villain,” Hugh left the room to see that the carriage was ready, while his mother, following him into the hall, offered to go herself with Adah if he liked. Glad to be relieved, as he had business that afternoon in Versailles, and was anxious to set off as soon as possible, Hugh accepted at once, and half an hour later, the Spring Bank carriage, containing Mrs. Worthington, Adah and Willie, drove slowly from the door, ’Lina calling after her mother to send Cæsar back immediately, as she was going to Frankfort after dinner, and wanted the carriage herself.