"I just can't stand it, Charlotte," said Jessie to me in a low voice, as
I came from the hands of the skillful Sallie and stood beside the window
next to the desk. "You are all I have got and only you--you understand.
I can't give you up. I'm frightened."
"Hush--so am I," I answered her, as my hand gripped her shoulder under
her heavy linen frock until I felt it must bruise it. Then I turned to
the others, collected them and descended to finish breakfast with the
Poplars' guests.
Never a more radiantly beautiful morning had spread its loveliness over
the Harpeth Valley than the one I found out in the garden that
twenty-seventh day of September, the gala day in the history of
Goodloets. Huge white clouds drifted back and forth in a deep blue sky
and they were rosy at times with the sunlight, but from some of the
largest little tongues of lightning darted, while others were lit by
what seemed to be an internal glow of fire. Cool winds, perfumed with
the harvests and the ripening orchards and the vineyards out in the
valley, rustled in the treetops and flaunted in the vines. The ardent
sun seemed to be drawing from the bosom of the earth a hot mist which
lay over the town like a filmy bridal veil, only stirred gently by the
vagrant veering gusts of wind. Nature seemed to be holding herself in
leash and only breathing upon the earth gently, as if to stir some
latent lushness into autumnal activity.
"A perfect Harpeth day for Mr. Jeffries," said the Governor, as he came
from his seat at the table to greet the girls and me. The rest of the
masculine breakfasters followed and I could see from the devastation of
the table that they had all breakfasted well and to repletion. I also
detected the worthless Jefferson, whom Mr. Goodloe had evidently loaned
to his parents for the occasion, lift father's full glass of julep and
drain it with one gulp, grab the half glass that Nickols had left, gulp
it and begin on the finger or so in Billy's tumbler before Dabney could
forcibly but quietly restrain him. In fact, I felt there would have
been a riot among my servitors if Mr. Goodloe had not stepped aside and
spoken a low word to Jefferson, which sent him busily at the table with
his tray.
And from that moment Nickols' triumphant procession of inspection of
Goodloets began. Mr. Jeffries stood in the middle of the reincarnated
old garden, looked for a long time at the Poplars, which was like a
green encrusted gem with its old purple red brick under the vines,
glanced again and again at the chapel with its weathered stone that
stood beyond the silver-leafed graybeards, then let his eye wander down
the broad elm-bordered main street past the courthouse and past the
Settlement to the river bending around it all.