12. CHAPTER XII.
THE MOTHER-IN-LAW.
When Henry returned home, he found his wife seated at the window,
awaiting his approach. Secret grief was gnawing at her heart. Her
sad, pale cheeks and swollen eyes showed too well that agony, far deeper
than her speech portrayed, filled her heart. A dull and death-like
silence prevailed on his entrance. His pale face and brow, dishevelled
hair, and the feeling that he manifested on finding Gertrude still up,
told Henry in plainer words than she could have used that his wife
was aware that her love had never been held sacred by him. The
window-blinds were still unclosed, and the full-orbed moon shed her
soft refulgence over the unrivalled scene, and gave it a silvery lustre
which sweetly harmonized with the silence of the night. The clock's
iron tongue, in a neighboring belfry, proclaimed the hour of twelve, as
the truant and unfaithful husband seated himself by the side of his devoted
and loving wife, and inquired if she was not well.
“I am, dear Henry,” replied Gertrude; “but I fear you are not. If
well in body, I fear you are not at peace in mind.”
“Why?” inquired he.
“Because,” she replied, “you are so pale and have such a wild look
in your eyes.”
Again he protested his innocence, and vowed she was the only woman
who had any claim upon his heart. To behold one thus playing upon
the feelings of two lovely women is enough to make us feel that evil
must at last bring its own punishment.
Henry and Gertrude had scarcely risen from the breakfast-table next
morning ere old Mrs. Miller made her appearance. She immediately
took her daughter aside, and informed her of her previous night's experience,
telling her how she had followed Henry to Isabella's cottage,
detailing the interview with the quadroon, and her late return home
alone. The old woman urged her daughter to demand that the quadroon
and her child be at once sold to the negro speculators and taken
out of the State, or that Gertrude herself should separate from Henry.
“Assert your rights, my dear. Let no one share a heart that
justly belongs to you,” said Mrs. Miller, with her eyes flashing fire.
“Don't sleep this night, my child, until that wench has been removed
from that cottage; and as for the child, hand that over to me,—I saw
at once that it was Henry's.”
During these remarks, the old lady was walking up and down the
room like a caged lioness. She had learned from Isabella that she had
been purchased by Henry, and the innocence of the injured quadroon
caused her to acknowledge that he was the father of her child. Few
women could have taken such a matter in hand and carried it through
with more determination and success than old Mrs. Miller. Completely
inured in all the crimes and atrocities connected with the institution of
slavery, she was also aware that, to a greater or less extent, the slave
women shared with their mistress the affections of their master. This
caused her to look with a suspicious eye on every good-looking negro
woman that she saw.
While the old woman was thus lecturing her daughter upon her rights
and duties, Henry, unaware of what was transpiring, had left the house
and gone to his office. As soon as the old woman found that he was
gone, she said,—
“I will venture anything that he is on his way to see that wench
again. I'll lay my life on it.”
The entrance, however, of little Marcus, or Mark, as he was familiarly
called, asking for Massa Linwood's blue bag, satisfied her that her son-in-law
was at his office. Before the old lady returned home, it was
agreed that Gertrude should come to her mother's to tea that evening,
and Henry with her, and that Mrs. Miller should there charge the young
husband with inconstancy to her daughter, and demand the removal of
Isabella.
With this understanding, the old woman retraced her steps to her own
dwelling.
Had Mrs. Miller been of a different character and not surrounded by
slavery, she could scarcely have been unhappy in such a home as hers.
Just at the edge of the city, and sheltered by large poplar-trees was the
old homestead in which she resided. There was a splendid orchard in
the rear of the house, and the old weather-beaten sweep, with “the
moss-covered bucket” at its end, swung majestically over the deep
well. The garden was scarcely to be equalled. Its grounds were laid
out in excellent taste, and rare exotics in the greenhouse made it still
more lovely.
It was a sweet autumn evening, when the air breathed through the
fragrant sheaves of grain, and the setting sun, with his golden kisses,
burnished the rich clusters of purple grapes, that Henry and Gertrude
were seen approaching the house on foot; it was nothing more than a
pleasant walk. Oh, how Gertrude's heart beat as she seated herself, on
their arrival!
The beautiful parlor, surrounded on all sides with luxury and taste,
with the sun creeping through the damask curtains, added a charm to
the scene. It was in this room that Gertrude had been introduced to
Henry, and the pleasant hours that she had spent there with him rushed
unbidden on her memory. It was here that, in former days, her beautiful
countenance had made her appearance as fascinating and as lovely
as that of Cleopatra's. Her sweet, musical voice might have been
heard in every part of the house, occasionally thrilling you with an unexpected
touch. How changed the scene! Her pale and wasted
features could not be lighted up by any thoughts of the past, and she
was sorrowful at heart.
As usual, the servants in the kitchen were in ecstasies at the announcement
that “Miss Gerty,” as they called their young mistress,
was in the house, for they loved her sincerely. Gertrude had saved
them from many a flogging, by interceding for them, when her mother
was in one of her uncontrollable passions. Dinah, the cook, always expected
Miss Gerty to visit the kitchen as soon as she came, and was not
a little displeased, on this occasion, at what she considered her young
mistress's neglect. Uncle Tony, too, looked regularly for Miss Gerty
to visit the green house, and congratulate him on his superiority as a
gardener.
When tea was over, Mrs. Miller dismissed the servants from the room,
then told her son-in-law what she had witnessed the previous night, and
demanded for her daughter that Isabella should be immediately sent out
of the State, and to be sure that the thing would be done, she wanted
him to give her the power to make such disposition of the woman and
child as she should think best. Gertrude was Mrs. Miller's only child,
and Henry felt little like displeasing a family upon whose friendship he
so much depended, and, no doubt, long wishing to free himself from Isabella,
he at once yielded to the demands of his mother-in-law. Mr.
Miller was a mere cipher about his premises. If any one came on business
connected with the farm, he would invariably say, “Wait till I see
my wife,” and the wife's opinion was sure to be law in every case.
Bankrupt in character, and debanched in body and mind, with seven
mulatto children who claimed him as their father, he was badly prepared
to find fault with his son-in-law. It was settled that Mrs. Miller
should use her own discretion in removing Isabella from her little cottage,
and her future disposition. With this understanding Henry and
Gertrude returned home. In the deep recesses of his heart the young
man felt that he would like to see his child and its mother once more;
but fearing the wrath of his mother-in-law, he did not dare to gratify
his inclination. He had not the slightest idea of what would become of
them; but he well knew that the old woman would have no mercy on
them.
