War; or, What happens when one loves one's enemy/Chapter 21
XXI
THE FRENZY OF EVELYN
EVELYN got as white as the wall when she heard it, and choked up and couldn't speak for a while. But, when speech came it made up for halting. She looks Jon straight in the eye, with the horrors in her face and voice, and says:
"Do you mean to say that you enlisted under Lincoln?"
Jon looks just as straight back at her.
"Yes," says he, soft and smiling.
"And you're proud—glad?"
"Yes," again from Jon. "Why not?"
"Why not? You bring down upon us destruction—destruction—destruction! Oh, the ruin, the ruin you have wrought this night!"
"Dear sister," says Jon, soft and fine. "I hate to tell you, but we are under grievous suspicion. All about us, there is a cordon of Union soldiers. There is a spy named Mallory near us. He has somehow made the Federal authorities believe that one of us is Mallory. Don't you see how dangerous that is for all of us? And that the only way to divert suspicion is for some of us to enlist in the Union army?"
"And, do you think," shrieks Evelyn, "that that will make the Federal government believe that it has got rid of a Confederate spy?"
"No," says Jon. "It will find the spy in good time and shoot him. But it will convince the government that he is not here, not one of us; the horrible suspicions and surveillance of us will cease—and be carried on elsewhere."
She gets wilder and wilder.
"Isn't Dave here to shoulder the suspicion still? And if they think the spy is one of you three, don't you see that you have fastened it down on him alone? Dave, Dave! Before, it might have been any of you three. It was uncertain, and that kept you-all safe, but with you two in the Union army it can only be Dave."
At first Jon seems scared by that. But then he smiles and says:
"Kushy—kushy! Why, Dave knows no more about war and spying than a baby. He hasn't been here. How could he be suspected? And every one is aware of that. There's only one thing he knows since he came home."
"What's that?" asks Evelyn, sharp and quick.
"To love you," says nice old Jon. "And don't you think that every one who sees or knows him sees and knows that too? A spy can not be in love or thinking of marriage."
But all the answer he gets to that is shrieking, that we have killed her, killed Dave, killed most everybody and thing on earth.
"Then," says Jon, soft and nice, "what do you think ought to be done to avert suspicion, if daddy and I have made a mistake?"
"Can't you see?" shrieks Evelyn. "Mallory must enlist—Mallory, Mallory, Mallory—in the rebel army now to shield Dave. Mallory himself must be got rid of. And he must be known to have gone away. That is the only way now. The only way! That's how this night's work has turned the matter!"
"But," says Jon, "we don't know him—where to find him—who he is. He doesn't exist, as far as we know. Yet, they know he does. If he could be found—I'd kill him! And send them his body. He wouldn't have to enlist."
"He deserves that," says I, "a man that is too cowardly to shoulder his own deeds, but puts 'em on some one else! I wish, too, that I'd come across him with a gun in my hands!"
"Dear daddy," says Evelyn, more quiet now, and slow and solemn, "the time is at hand—you have brought it to-night—for you and your gun—and Mallory! Yes, you must kill him—that is the better way—better than enlisting in the rebel army. Death to Mallory!"
And she actually laughs.
"Daddy says," put in Jon, puzzled to death, "that you are Union now. If you're Union why do you bother?"
"Do you suppose those little things could make me like this?" says Evelyn. "Union—rebel! What are they now? My God!"
"They use' to be a lot," kind of smiles Jon, and in a nice soft voice. "And, if it's so that you are still rebel—"
She flings up her hands and just goes on.
"It's—Dave—Dave—Dave!"
Jon thinks she's gone crazy, and tries to quiet her, and Dave comes in singing:
"'Dear Evelina,
Sweet Evelina
My love for you can never, never die—'"
This seemed to make her wilder yet.
She starts to run away.
"Jonthy," says I, "do you mind what she said we should do when the devil got her?"
Jon nods, kind of smiling.
"Well, here goes," says I, "Jonthy, follow her instructions. Come on!"
I drags both Jon and Dave up and forced their arms around her, and my own, yelling:
"Now hard—the harder the better!"
But that was different. She beat us in our faces till we were black and blue—and my nose was bleeding. Only—when she had struck Dave once he let go and turned his back. At last Jon and I let go, too, and she stood there among us, like a young devil. I was ready to run, and Jon was discouraged at the result of the embracing business. But Dave just turns and looks at her. She starts to say something not so wild and Dave thunders:
"Silence!"
And, after a moment:
"Apologize to daddy and Jon!"
But nothing happened. She couldn't, she was too choked.
Then Dave turned to us and said:
"Father—brother, since Evelyn will not apologize for herself, I do so for her. I am ashamed of her. I did not know she could be such a devil."
He looks at her like a judge, sentencing a man to be hanged.
"But she must and shall be punished for this sort of thing. Her punishment is—"
Dave turned to her then.
"—to be told, for the first time, that I am a Union man. And that nothing has helped so much to make me one as this madness of hers."
"Ah, what do I care about that!" says Evelyn.
"If you care about me you'll care about that—and not be entirely blinded by your own prejudices," says Dave.
"You, too! You, too! Why, that's all gone!"
"I have asked you," says Dave, in a way new and terrible, "to apologize to Jon and daddy. Be as much of a rebel as you like—but a lady. There's nothing else to be discussed till that has been done."
"But, Dave, my own dear Dave, you must see! Don't you-all see? I'm not rebel—I'm not Union—I'm only Love!"
I was surprised at Dave. He was as hard as a stone to her. Like a judge on the bench.
"It's all my own fault," I says. "I said she had turned Union. I thought she told me so. I guess she didn't. Anyhow, she's not Union—that's plain. We mustn't pester her."
"God above us, you don't understand—you don't understand—I am neither—nothing—now—God—"
She was scared and pleading now. It was Dave who was, really, unreasonable.
"Silence!" said Dave once more.
And there was silence for a moment. Then Dave, by force, takes her hands. Honestly, I don't think she ever loved him more than at that moment when he was almost beating her. You could see it. Like some poor caged pestered animal.
"Yes," says Evelyn, more sorry than I ever saw or heard her, "it's over. I'll keep quiet. I'll be glad to. There's nothing to be done. It can't be mended. You don't understand. You can't, won't. I can't make you. I mustn't. Yes—I'll keep quiet. It must be acts now, not words. And quickly—quickly!"
"Yes," says Dave, "there's something wrong here, and we've got to find out what it is—and who—and quickly. While you were away—"
He turns to Jon and me.
"—two Union soldiers came to the door. They knew that you two were away. Now, who were they hunting?"
"You," says I before I could think.
"Dave," shrieks Evelyn. "Now do you see! That is what you've done!"
Jon turns away and says nothing.
"Then they meant to take me with them—if they had found me?" says Dave.
"It must be," says Jon, then, the only one who was quiet, "that you look like the spy, Mallory."
"That's what I have thought, heretofore," says Dave. "But there must be something more. They know, by this time, that we are loyal."
"All but you!" says Evelyn.
"If they tackle you again, Dave," says I, "give 'em the countersign—'Washington'. That'll settle 'em."
It was not Dave but Evelyn who asked what it was.
"Washington," says I. "We'd better all keep it in mind."
Dave takes no notice of it. He's looking at Evelyn. Jon kicks me on the shin—I don't know what for to this day. But I hears Evelyn repeat, under her breath:
"Washington! Thank God! If you don't understand, you help—in your ignorance."
Dave turns on her savage.
"I love you," says he. "What has happened here makes no difference in that. But, you must be at least courteous to Jon and daddy—even when in this devil's mood. I will make you be—even if I have to beat you."
"What?" she asks, as if it wasn't possible that it was from Dave. "Did you say that you would beat me—me—you, Dave?"
And she inches up and touches him, mighty pitiful.
Dave pays no attention to the touch, but says, hard as iron:
"Yes! That is what I said."
"None of us are like ourselves any more," says Evelyn, "but none are so far from it as you, my dear, dear David. Think what you have said to me! Is it the war has set us all at each other's throats? Let us come back to each other! After all, what does all the rest matter if we have each other? Without you-all I have nobody—nothing. I am sorry for my part in it. Come! Let's put our arms around each other and make up!"
She holds out her arms and passes her eyes from one to the other, but some devil she had roused was in us all and held us, and none of us answered—not even Jon. She gets very pale and staggers a little, then drops her head on her breast and turns to go away.
"Wait!" commands Dave. "There are some questions you must answer. Wait!"
"Please let me go and kill myself!" she begs. But, then, she shudders and comes back to Dave as if she had thought of something terrible.
"No, no! No, I must live. That is the only way! Don't be afraid. I won't kill myself. I daren't." So, she stands trembling and sorry, like a whipped child, among us three brutes waiting for more whipping. If there is one moment in my life of which I am more ashamed than another, that's the one.
Dave spoke at last, but it was still like a young brute.
"I don't know who is the cause of this. But it is certain that you, Evelyn, through your passions, have your share in it. Therefore, you have got to do your share of the suffering."
"Yes," whispers Evelyn, "I shall do my full share of the suffering. I am willing. Ready. And my share is laid out! I know it now! May I go—daddy—Jon—Dave, and begin it? I can't stand much more!"
But Dave says, more quiet now:
"No. This is the wrong time to let you go, Evelyn, or you us. It's my opinion that we've got to hang together or we'll hang separately—as Benjamin Franklin said." He was all changed in a minute, and just held her and looked in her face without a word, till her head drooped, and her shoulders shook, and she cried like a baby.
"Now, we're all right," smiles Dave, "because we're all wrong and sorry for it," and puts his arm about her and leads her out under the plums.
And, presently, we could hear them—talking. Once in a while something came through:
"Yes, oh, my dear Dave, once I used to be crazy about the South. I love it still, of course—just as you love your own country. Till you came. Then there was nothing but you. To-night, Dave, it wasn't that—my Southern sympathies. That's all gone. It was you—in awful peril—that was it."
"Of what?" asks Dave.
"I can't tell you—I can't tell you!"
"Because you don't know," laughs Dave. "Same way with me. I can't tell what I don't know. None of us know. Maybe it's nothing."
"No, Dave, we're ruined—me—you—daddy—Jon!"
"Well, I love this kind of ruins."
I suppose he kissed her then.
"Dave—just one thing—more—"
"More than one, more—"
"Is everything forgiven and apologized?"
"Sh!" laughs Dave. "I'm ashamed."
"Do you think you will ever—ever talk to me—about me—no matter how bad I may be—like that, again, Dave?"
"I'm going to get insured against it," laughs Dave.
"Dave," says Evelyn, "do you know I came near dying?"
"No," says Dave.
"Yes, my heart stopped—quite stopped. Everything had passed away. And, Dave, my dear Dave, do you know that I'm afraid that if you are that cross to me again—I shall die! Yes, right before you. For I, really, can't live without you. Honest, when I felt, this evening, that you were going away from me, everything went out of me with you—even my life. You came back to me just in time to save my life. So, if you don't want me to die right before you—please don't be so cross any more!"
Then, after a long while: "And I daren't die, Dave, I daren't! I must live!"
"Not on your life!" laughs Dave. "I hate funerals."
What do you think of that! Only fifteen minutes between hell and Heaven! And Dave traveling the way faster than Evelyn! Sure the war had got us all wrong somehow—the rest of us worse than Evelyn now!