USA > Kentucky > Livingston County > Chronicles of a Kentucky settlement > Part 8
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On returning to his shop, Duncan saw Benton on the opposite side of the street and beckoned him to come over. When the two were together, Duncan told about the sad news Adair had just received. Benton was silent for some moments, and then said : " My God ! troubles never come singly." Duncan supposed he referred to Adair's recent illness, followed by this news of his brother's death, but Benton had in mind the con- versation he had had with his friend the day before.
That evening Benton called to see Adair, and found him calm and composed, but very pale ; and, looking rather than speaking his sympathy, he took the seat pointed out by his friend. For some moments not a word was spoken. Then Adair said :
" Horace, I had a talk with you last evening about
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another matter, and I then wanted time for reflection. The news I have this morning received changes all my plans. My brother has left a widow and three small children-all daughters ; and as they are left with but little, and have no one else to care for thent, their maintenance devolves upon me. I will bring them here as soon as I can. This puts my marrying out of the question, even if Miss Howard would accept me, which I very much doubt. Therefore, you will please let the matter drop, as if forgotten, for it will ever be a mournful memory to me."
" But, Adair," said Benton, very earnestly, "are you not making a sad mistake ? Suppose Miss How- ard loves you, and that she only requires the assurance of your love for her to be willing to wait for years, should she not have the option of so deciding ? Are you not withholding from her a declaration upon which may depend not only your own happiness for life but hers also ? "
" I have thought of these things," was the calm but firm reply, " but I have no assurance I will ever be in a position to offer her a home, without which it would be wrong for me to ask or expect her to wait, and thus, possibly, miss securing a heart and home more worthy of her than I could ever offer. If she loves me, it would only add to her misery to be made aware of my own. If she does not love me, but is as kind and con- siderate as I believe her to be, it would pain her to know of my unhappiness, for that she esteems me as a friend I am well assured. My own load may be a heavy one, but it is bound on my shoulders and I will carry it without complaining."
" But," said Benton, very feelingly, " this load was
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unexpectedly placed upon you. May it not be unex- pectedly removed, or prove much lighter than you suppose ? In other words, may not fortune smile upon you and enable you to support a wife and also maintain your brother's widow and children ? "
" If so," was the steady reply, " and it is not then too late, I will hasten to make known my desire and receive her answer."
Benton saw that his friend's mind was made up, and that further efforts to change it would be unavailing ; nor could he but admire the firmness and unselfishness of the man ; and, after a few passing remarks, he left the room.
But scarcely had Benton reached the street before he met Squire Howard, who at once informed him that he had secured the office of Deputy Sheriff for Adair, and proposed to go at once and so inform him.
"No, Squire," said Benton, " before going to see him, walk with me, please, to the Clerk's office. I wish to speak with you about Mr. Adair."
When the two were in the office and seated alone, " Our friend is in great distress," said Benton. "He has to-day heard of the death of a brother of his, in Hopkinsville, who leaves a widow and three small children-all girls-and as they are in poor circum- stances and have no one else to aid them, their main- tenance devolves on him. He has resolved to go to Hopkinsville, as soon as he is able to travel, and bring the widow and children here, where he can better care for and protect them. It may, therefore, be that he will be delayed for some time in entering upon his duties as Deputy Sheriff. If so, can this difficulty be overcome ? "
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"No difficulty about that !" promptly replied the Squire. " I can, I am sure, get Mr. Boyd to retain his place until Joseph is ready to take it. But I am really sorry to hear this sad news about the death of Joseph's . brother. Such a blow, coming upon him before he has recovered from his serious spell, will go hard with him. That he should take upon himself the burden of sup- porting his brother's family is no more than I should have expected of such a man. You, Horace, are not perhaps aware of it, but I first met Joseph on the road, in the mountains of North Carolina, when I was mov- ing West from South Carolina. He was then a lad some ten or twelve years of age, and for several months following I saw a good deal of him and liked him greatly. Besides, on one occasion he rescued one of my little ones from great danger at the peril of his own life : it was Laura when she was our minikin. This, of course, attached us all the more strongly to him, and we were all much pleased when he came to make his home among us. But come, let us go over and see him, for among other matters I have a message for him from my wife, who wants me to take him out home with me, for she thinks she can doctor him so that he will improve faster than if he remains in this dusty town."
" Just the thing !" exclaimed Benton, who secretly thought that the society of Miss Laura would do Adair good-cheer him up, and perhaps be the means of winning him from his resolution not to tell her of his love ; for, notwithstanding the weighty reasons assigned for his resolution, he, Benton, could but think his friend was making a great mistake. He feared, how- ever, Adair would dread the ordeal through which he
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would have to pass, and decline the kind invitation on the plea that he did not feel strong enough to ride so far. He therefore determined to forestall, if he could, this plea, and, he added : " Yes, I'm sure the visit would do him good. But, between us, Squire, I'm afraid he's not quite strong enough to ride so far, and on this account he may decline going ; but he could, 110 doubt, stand being driven out in a buggy ; and Judge Gilroy has a light one which I am sure I can get for a few hours. I will go by the hotel and see ; and, if I can get it, I will take Adair's horse, Ben Simon, and drive him out and return with the buggy. But this suggestion, Squire, had better come from you."
"All right, Horace," replied the Squire, "and I thank you for the suggestion, for take him home I must, if possible."
The two then walked out, and were soon at the hotel, where they found Judge Gilroy, and, when Ben- ton had explained what he wanted, the Judge at once proffered the loan of the buggy.
CHAPTER VIII.
Adair's Mental Conflicts-Mrs. Gilroy and her Daughters- Benton Drives, with Adair, to Squire Howard's-Ben Bol- ton, the Blacksmith-Jefferson Brantley, the Showman- Miss Emily Wilmot-The Secret, and Ada Howard as Judge.
A A H, Joseph, I was on my way to see you," said Squire Howard, as he entered Adair's room, "to tell you I had arranged that matter about the deputy shrievalty, to the satisfaction of all parties, when Horace met me and told me of the sad news you have received. I was sorry to hear it, not only on your account, but to learn that your brother has left a wife and three small children to mourn his loss. If." continued the Squire, speaking rather hurriedly, as if to relieve Adair from the necessity of making any reply-" yes, if your duty towards them should occa- sion any delay in your entering upon the duties of your office, I can easily induce Mr. Boyd to continue at his post until you are ready to relieve him. But, now, I have a message for you from my wife. She told me to tell you that you must come out home with me ; that, if she had you out there, she could doctor you up so that you would get well much faster than if you remained
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in this dusty town. She says that a glass of warm milk, just from the cow, taken every morning before breakfast, is exactly what you require to strengthen and build you up. We will all be glad to have you with us, and for you to remain as long as you can. Now, will you go with me ? "
For some moments Adair remained silent. He was debating the matter in his mind, as Benton had sup- posed he would, but at last he looked up and said : " I thank you, Squire, for your sympathy, and for this invitation. And I'm sure Mrs. Howard's doctoring and the new milk would do me good ; for, now that I am reminded of the remedy, I distinctly remember that, when I was quite a small and rather delicate boy, an old blind man-a grand-uncle of mine-often made me rise early in order to get a glass of warin new milk, which he made me drink, and which he considered the most efficacious of all remedies for diseases of the chest and lungs. But, Squire, I must ask you to excuse me to Mrs. Howard, for-well-I do not feel strong enough to ride so far at present. And as soon as I am well enough to travel, I must leave for Hopkinsville. I will try and call and see you all as soon after my return as possible. And, Squire, let me also thank you for arranging the matter with the Sheriff ; and you will please say to Mr. Boyd that I will hasten all I can to relieve him."
" I will see Boyd and attend to that," replied the Squire. But," he continued, "as it is necessary for you to go to Hopkinsville, so much the more reason why you should hasten to get well ; and, as you are not strong enough to ride, I propose to get Judge Gil- roy's buggy. And, Horace," he added, turning to
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and addressing that young gentleman, who was slowly stretching his long legs, " you need jolting up. Can't you drive Joseph out ? You can drive out and easily return with the buggy before sundown. The drive ou such a delightful evening will do you both good."
" Certainly !" answered Benton, " I would be glad to take such a drive." Then, observing that Adair hesitated as to what reply he should make to the Squire, he turned to him and said almost pleadingly, "I think you can stand the trip, and that you ought to go."
The Squire was one of the most unsuspecting and least observant of men. It had never occurred to him that there might, could, would, or should be an affair of the heart between Joseph Adair and one of his daughters. He only knew that Joseph, whom he liked, had been very ill ; that his wife had requested him to bring Joseph home with him ; that he believed the visit would be both pleasant and beneficial to the invalid ; and, lastly, as Joseph was a man with whom he delighted to converse, he was anxious to have him go with him.
Adair really felt that he could stand the drive,-that it would refresh him,-and that a few days in the coun- try among the forest trees and green fields would do him good. Moreover, he was at a loss for a valid excuse for declining so kind an invitation. But should he, he asked himself, subject himself to such an ordeal as that he would have to pass through if thrown into the society of her whom he loved so well, but from whom all knowledge of that fact must be scrupulously withheld ? Vet might there not be a " silver lining " to the cloud which hung so darkly over him, and a
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"divinity " that " shaped " the circumstances by which he was surrounded ? But, no ! Divinity would point only to the polar star of Duty, and in that direction would the "silver lining " soonest be found. " And yet-and yet," he said to himself, "I am resolved ! And this ordeal may, perchance, purify me the sooner ! And-then-again -- I have no good excuse !" Then rousing himself from his mental conflict he said to the Squire : " Well, if you can get the buggy, I will go. And, Benton," he added, turning to the latter, "you had better get my horse, Ben Simon, and drive him."
"All right !" exclaimed the Squire. "Come with me, Horace, and we will see about the buggy ; and then, as I am afoot, I will start for home, where I hope to find you both when I arrive."
Half an hour later, Benton drove to the shop door, where Adair was awaiting him. The latter, before being assisted by Duncan to his seat in the buggy, stepped up to his " old comrade," as he often called his horse, Ben Simon ; and really the noble animal seemed to recognize at once the stroke and voice of his master, for he quickly turned his head and gently rubbed it against Adair's shoulder.
As they were about driving off, Mrs. Gilroy and two of her lovely daughters, who were just blooming into womanhood, appeared at the windows of the hotel, nearly opposite, and waved a salutation to Adair, while a younger daughter, Carrie, a bright little maiden of about ten years of age, came bounding across the street to shake hands with her friend and say : " How glad ma, and all of us are to see you out again !" Adair patted the cheek of the dear little lass, and told her to 9
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tell her mother that he was going out into the country to remain a few days. "And, pet," he added, "when I return, I will try and bring you some beautiful flowers."
"I am a very green hand," said Benton, as soon as they had started, "at driving a buggy ; for, as you know, such vehicles are scarce in this 'wooden ' coun- try. But tell me," he continued, "does this slight jolting pain you in any way ?"
"I am very comfortable-in no pain whatever," answered Adair. "In fact, this sense of motion, after my long confinement, and this pleasant breeze re- fresh me."
Ben Bolton, the herculean blacksmith, left his fiery forge as he saw Adair coming past, and came out into the street to speak to him.
" By Jingo ! Jo," Bolton exclaimed, as he shook hands with Adair, "I'm downright glad to see you out ag'in ; and, from what I've hearn, the tire on your wheels come mi'ty nigh slippin' off. But I hope the doctor has made a good job of it, and fixed you all right for a long journey."
" Thank you, Bolton ; thank you," replied Adair. " The doctor has fastened my tire and greased my wheels, and I hope soon to be in good running order again. But, come, tell me how is the little wife and the eleven children."
" Oli, she 's as spry as a cricket. But I tells her- you know, Jo, I allers was sorter fond o' teasin' the little woman-so I tells her ef our sparks goes on a- growin' as fast as they has done, they 'll soon be a con- sumin' fire. But the little woman she only cherups, an' says she has to hold the hot end of the poker.
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And, I reckon, Jo, that 's about so, and ef she can hold on I've no right to complain. Besides, them little tow-headed gals o' mine are sometimes a mi'ty sight o' comfort to me and the little woman."
As they drove on over the hill Adair heard Benton muttering something about an " old grizzly bear " and a "human heart," which he supposed referred in some way to Ben Bolton.
After passing beyond the town they met a rather good-looking young man, mounted on a very fine horse, and dressed in the height of fashion.
"Do you know that gentleman ? " asked Adair.
"Oh," replied Benton, "that is Jefferson Brantley, the showman. He has recently given two of his ex- hibitions here-it was while you were sick. He is a wonderful fellow ; eats fire ; pours molten lead into his mouth ; runs a sword blade, an inch wide, down his throat a foot to a foot and a half ; crams raw cotton- almost enough to stuff a pillow -- into his mouth and throat, where he spins and weaves it into beautiful rib- bons of various colors, which he draws from his mouth and presents in the most charming manner to the ladies, and consequently is considered by them as ' some pun'kins.' Where he came from no one seems to know. Why he remains here is said to be due to the charms of Miss Emily Wilmot, whom he saw at one of his shows, and to whom he has since obtained an introduction. And I suppose, from the way he is dressed up, that he is returning from a visit made her. He is further said to be a 'bang-up ' hand at ' seven- up,' and, in fact, at any game of cards. It is half sus- pected that he is a professional gambler, and only makes his show business a convenient disguise for travelling
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through country towns and fleecing the innocents. It is pretty certain that, since his arrival here, he has 'skinned ' several of our 'b'hoys' rather skil -- fully."
Miss Emily Wilmot, the daughter of a well-to-do farmer who lived near Squire Howard, was one of the belles of the county. She was tall and graceful, with regular Grecian features, dark-blue eyes that could sparkle when they liked, and a luxuriant growth of pure auburn hair. Adair, who knew her but slightly, had often heard of her as a former schoolmate and warm personal friend of Miss Laura Howard. He had considered her as a young lady of rather more than ordinary culture and intelligence ; hence this news surprised and pained him, for he felt assured, from what Benton had told him, that Brantley was a capti- vating and dangerous man. But they were now in the country, and his mind was soon attracted by his surroundings.
All around, by the roadside, in forest and unplowed field, were innumerable wild flowers. It, too, was corn-planting time, and the newly-plowed fields sent forth an agreeable exhalation. Great flocks of glisten- ing blackbirds and keen-eyed crows hovered around to scratch up if they could not pick up corn enough. The sight of these hungry, chattering, pillaging pests reminded Adair of an old song he had learned in his early boyhood, one verse of which he recited :
" Says the blackbird to the crow, What makes the farmer hate us so ? For ever since old Adatt was born,
It's been our trade to pick up corn."
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Then the conversation drifted to the days of his boy- hood, and Adair spoke of the old Quaker brothers, of his father, of his brother in North Carolina, whom he had not seen for so-so many years, and of the brother who had just died, to whom he was more attached than to any living relative, due, perhaps, to their compan- ionship in recent years.
But they were now near the residence of Squire Howard. Benton was anxious to witness the meeting between Miss Howard and Adair, and hoped to detect something in Miss Howard's looks or manner that would furnish him evidence of her love for his friend.
They had driven so slowly that Squire Howard, arrived home before them, had informed his wife and daughters that Joseph was on his way out, and of the fresh misfortune which had befallen him in the loss of his brother, in reference to whom he gave them all the information he had received from Horace Benton. After alighting at the front gate, a negro boy took charge of the horse, and Adair, leaning on the arm of Benton, approached the house. The Squire, who met them at the gate, walked by Adair's side to render fur- ther assistance if required. Mrs. Howard and her two daughters came forward to meet the invalid, and in turn took him by the hand. But Mrs. Howard was the only one to speak. "Joseph," she said, in her kind, motherly tone, " we have heard of your loss of a brother, and we are very sorry ; but we are all very glad to have you with us again. Now," she continued, when they had reached the porch, " would you like to lie down-for a bed is in readiness for you,-or will you take this large arm-chair, and rest here for a while ? "
Adair seated himself in the chair, and spoke not
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until he looked up to thank some one who had handed him a glass of water, when his eyes met those of Miss Howard. Her pale, sad face yet had a tinge of glad- ness in it, and never were sympathy and tenderness- more clearly shown in bonny blue eyes or in movement and gesture. Benton, unobserved, watched her closely, and thought he had never seen her look so beautiful.
As Benton drove back to town that evening he was puzzled. He was an adept in the study of men's faces, for it had been almost a "hobby " with him ; but a woman's face, if not a sealed book, was a much more difficult one for him-for any one to read. Miss How- ard's words, looks, and manner during the hour which he remained at the house were the very personification of kindness and thoughtful consideration, but whether the master passion was there was more than he could determine. He had, however, learned that Warren Davidson's visit had been a short one, and that he had returned home, from which he inferred that if Warren's suit had been renewed, he had been unsuccessful.
That night when Miss Howard and her sister Ada were in their room, the latter, after a prolonged silence, said :
" There is something, sister, I want you to tell me. I don't often ask you to tell me any of your secrets, and I'm sure you might tell me this !"
" Why, Ada," smilingly replied her sister, " I don't know that I have ever kept from you any secret of my ow ! There may be some secrets, as you call them, which were intrusted to me by others, and hence not mine to dispose of. But what is it you wish to know ?"
" Well. I'll tell you plump out. I know you love Mr. Adair better than you do Warren Davidson. You
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never told me so in plain words, but I can see it. When Mr. Adair was sick, you walked about here, five miles from town, as if you were afraid of making a noise and disturbing him. And I have lately seen marks of tears in your eyes and on your pillow."
"Oh, come, Ada," pleaded her sister, "don't talk that way, please. And you said you were going to ' plump out ' what you had to ask."
" Well, then, to plump it out, was n't I right ? "
"Right about what ? About my loving Mr. Adair better than Warren ? You have just said you knew that, then why ask me the question ? This much, I'm sure of-Warren loves me and Mr. Adair may not."
"Now, that is just the point," said the excited Ada, "I was coming to, if you had let me plump it out in my own way. I know Warren has loved you ever since he was a boy, and that he has often told you so ; and, before he went South, that he asked you to be his wife. And I know very well that you have always liked him, for you have often told me and others so. Then, I can't understand why you have kept the poor fellow so long in suspense ; for, by his coming here so soon after his return home, he shows very plainly that he hasn't given you up yet, and still hopes to win you. If I had been at home during his visit, I'm sure I could have told, by his tell-tale face, whether you gave him any encouragement. And I have been almost dying, since I came home this evening, to ask you all about it."
"Then, the secret you wish to know," was the amused reply, "is, if Warren, when here, repeated the old story, and what answer I gave him."
"That's exactly it, sister darling !" exclaimed the
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impatient Ada, giving her sister a kiss. " We've come to the point at last. And please-that 's a good sister-do tell me all about it ; what he said, and what you told him, and how he took it, and all about it. Now, please do, for I want to know so much."
But when did any one ever know a young lady, when questioned, to be in a hurry to tell a secret about an affair of her own heart which another young lady- even though a sister-was "alinost dying " to hear ? How they can and do play with it, like a skilful angler with a fish which he has securely hooked, knowing that the sport will be over as soon as the struggling captive is safely landed on the shore.
Miss Howard could but smile at the nervous excite- ment of her beautiful young sister, as she replied : " But, Ada dear, excuse me ! What do you think I should have done under the circumstances ? For, to tell you the truth, I am at times perplexed and fear I may have deceived myself."
"Oh, but I don't know all the circumstances !" exclaimed Ada. "That's just what I want to know, and then I will tell you what I think you ought to do -give you lots of sage advice !"
" But, suppose," continued Miss Howard, good- humoredly, "your sage advice should happen to con- flict with my inclinations, or convictions of duty, what then ? "
"Oh, then," replied Ada, " of course you would and should have your own way, even if it did make me cry a little. But, really, sister darling," she continued in a most appealing manner, " I do feel so much interest in this matter, I'm sure you will tell me all about it !"
" Certainly, darling," was the soothing reply, " but
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I am anxious to know how you would have the affair terminate-which of the gentlemen you favor, and why ?"
" Oh, that's what you want to know, is it ? " said the flattered young sister, who proceeded to take a seat and poke out her dainty footsy-tootsies (a word that ought to be in the dictionary, if it is not) from under her snow-white night-gown ; then, folding her little hands across her lap and assuming the gravity of a judge, she proceeded to sum up the case :
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