Chapter LXIX: Diamond Island

Diamond Island, on which Mary Noel had given her picnic, belonged to an estate which young Fletcher had inherited from his grandfather. Upon it was a comfortable old house, built of stone and hewn logs, one wing of which was inhabited by a family of colored servants—Uncle Sam and his wife Celia—to whom the care of the house, the cultivation of the land, and the consumption of its products had been left ever since the elder Fletcher’s death.

An inlet of the river cut this island in two, leaving the house, some cultivated fields, and a little swamp, full of magnolias, in one end, and on the other a grove of grand old forest trees, a clearing of rich turf, and the spring which Mary Noel had converted into a wine-cooler on the occasion of her picnic.

A rustic bridge of logs connected these two green fragments, under which the water ran in a swift current, boiling over some hidden stones, and feeding the roots of innumerable wild grape-vines and shaggy trumpet flowers that tangled themselves along the banks and around the logs of the bridge.

Sam had a grand killing-time of one pig and a lean turkey each year. Beyond all this, the old man sometimes went out fishing, and usually got to sleep in his boat, while the fish ran away with his hook, sometimes dragging the pole with it.

As for Celia, she took good heed of the building, aired the furniture once a fortnight, year in and year out, scolding all the time at things in general; baked excellent hoe-cakes by the fire, and made her husband stand around on washing-days, when a pair of tow-trowsers and two or three clumsily-shaped garments of cotton-cloth fluttered ostentatiously from a clothes line at the back of the house.

Once or twice in the year the old couple went over to the home plantation, and got a little news about their young master, which was about all the service they rendered him, and that was always repaid, at Christmas time, by a present of gay calico, gorgeous kerchiefs, and some strong twilled fabric, which Sam claimed for his own particular benefit.

So the time rolled on with the old couple, until one day, just at nightfall, an elegantly dressed lady came gliding across the log bridge, and, looking toward the house, smiled on seeing Sam with one hand over his eyes, watching her approach, and Celia peering over his shoulder with her thick lips ajar, and her eyes widening as they filled with slow, half-doubtful recognition.

“Git out ob de way, you blind ole cuss! Doesn’t yer see who it am? Fore de Lord Miss Alle! didn’t know who it wer, chile! Come in, honey—not dar, dem is only de quarters. Thar, now, young missus, just give old Celia a goad look at yer face. Goramighty, how hansome you is! Wat yer doin’ peakin’ in der door, ole man? Come in, it’s der young missus.”

Sam came into the neat parlor, which Celia had flung open for Mrs. Forbes, and stood, hat in hand, regarding her with mingled joy and trouble in his sly old face.

“Young missus, I hope yer hasn’t come to tell ole Sam and Celia dat dey must leave dis place an go free?”

Before Mrs. Forbes could answer, Celia pushed the old man aside, and fell square upon her knees in front of the lady.

“Oh, honey, yer own brudder doesn’t mean ter send us off de island, toting de old bed on our backs?” said she, with pathetic earnestness.

“No, Celia—get up. He hasn’t the least idea of sending you away, poor souls! That would be cruel; but for a little time you will not be here quite alone.”

“Is you comin’? Is it you, chile?” cried Celia, lifting herself from the floor.

“No; but a lady will come and live a while in the old house, whom you must care for as if it were myself—a lady and her maid.”

“Ough!” groaned Celia. “Miss Alle, when am dey comin’?”

“This evening, I think, Celia.”

“Goramighty! Ole man, g’lang ter de woods, cotch a chicken, an’ pull up some ob dem young tators in de corn lot. Folks am mighty hungry when dey come ober here.”

“That is right, Celia. My friend has been on the railroad all day. She will need your care.”

“Yes, honey.”

“Besides, there is something else. She is not well. Her mother is just dead.”

“Pore chile!” muttered Celia.

“She comes here for perfect solitude.”

“What am dat, Miss Alle?”

“She wishes to be left alone.”

“Oh!”

“You must tell no one that she is here—not a living soul. Caution Sam about that. I shall never forgive him if he speaks of her to any one.”

“I’de jus like ter cotch him at it,” answered Celia, clenching a formidable hand.

“Beyond this, do just as the lady directs; but, if you can help it, let no one, except myself, come on this side of the bridge so long as my friend remains here.”

“I’d like ter see ’em try it—dat am all.”

“I will send things over from the plantation. You will know how to receive them without exciting suspicion.”

“Trus’ dis ole woman ’bout dat.”

“I shall be here often myself. Is the house in perfect order?”

“Ebbery corner ob it.”

“That is right. I must go now. Has Uncle Sam got anything like a boat?”

Celia looked a little confused, but answered that she believed he had.

“Then tell him to look out every day for a handkerchief that I will hang on that great elm tree which droops over the bank, directly opposite the island, when I want him. It will save me the annoyance of trusting too many of our people over yonder.”

Celia nodded.

“Good-night, Celia. I am glad to see you once more. Have everything in readiness. By-the-way, where is Sam?”

The loud cry of a chicken, which Sam was carrying in from the woods by its two legs, revealed his whereabouts, and Mrs. Forbes walked forward to meet him.

“Sam, if you have a boat that will hold two, get into it about sunset, and row over to the big elm tree. You remember how it leans over the water. Wait there till some one inquires for you.”

“Yes, Miss Alle. Hyur, ole woman, dar’s yer chicken; tote it to de house.”

Celia snatched the chicken a little roughly, and wrung its neck then and there, while Sam walked down to the water with his young mistress.

That night, while Sam sat in his boat waiting for the promised summons, a voice from under the elm tree called out, timidly:

“Is a man called Sam waiting?”

“Yes, missus—here I is,” answered the darkey, coming out of the shadows. “Hop in—hop in.”

The next minute, Bertha Canfield and Lydia were on their way to Diamond Island.