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Chester Pike at Cleveland Ave. in Norwood c.1920 |
Luke Nethermark's Ride
Part 2
PART II – Nearly two months had elapsed. During all that time Luke Nethermark and
Polly had not met. She learned from
mutual friends that he had been discharged from active military duty; had
returned to his father’s plantation on Muckinipattus Creek in Lower Darby
Township, and was engaged in grazing cattle for the Philadelphia market and
shipping staves to the West Indies, occupations which then yielded large profit
on the capital invested. Polly at length
so far cast aside maidenly reserve that by the hand of a neighbor she forwarded
a note to Luke in which she demanded an interview, declaring he owed it as much
to himself as did to her.
Two
miles east of Chester on the Queen’s Highway was the plantation of Abram Van
Culin. Crum Creek, then a deeper and
broader stream than now, was easternmost boundary of the farm. The dwelling, in the then accepted architecture,
was a long two-story and attic stone building along whose entire front extended
a roomy porch. Two doors gave access to
the house, the westernmost opening into a hallway, to the right of which was
the parlor – the Holy of Holies, used only upon ceremonial occasions and when
exceptionally honored guests were present.
On the first landing of the stairway was a tall eight-day clock of
English make, which had been owned by George Van Culin, the first emigrant of
the name, and was now held as an heirloom.
Luke and Polly were grandchildren of the original owner, hence it was
thought that no heart burnings would attend its final disposition, the marriage
of the two cousins setting at rest all dispute as to which line of descent the
old timepiece should follow.
The
oaken floor of the hallway and parlor, bare of carpet, was strewn with white
sand, in which as regularly as the weekly tidying up came about, by a dexterous
swirl of the broom wavy figures were produced.
The wide fireplace, enclosed with a semi-circular brass mounted screen,
contained the bright burnished andirons, upon which, although now well along in
May rested hickory logs laid ready for immediate ignition. Save the paneled wainscoting extending to the
ceiling there was little suggestion of ornamentation in the apartment, unless
the ball and claw feet of the high back heavy walnut chairs would come within
that classification. But between the
deep recessed front windows and over a highly polished mahogany table whose
massive leaves well-nigh swept the floor, hung a mirror in a broad flat walnut
frame with scalloped edges, displaying at the top in low relief a rudely carved
and gilded eagle with half extended wings.
This
evening the heavy shutters of the parlor were open and through the westernmost
windows the setting sun threw a broad belt of light into the room. It was evident that the coming guest was one
to whom more than usual distinction was to be accorded.
Pretty
Polly Van Culin was already awaiting Luke’s coming. Occasionally she would make a hasty
inspection of her attire in the mirror and often would deftly adjust a
rebellious ringlet that had become displaced.
Once she mounted into the broad set of the great armchair and standing
at that elevation slowly revolved that she might critically examine her reflection
in the glass. That evening to accentuate
her charms, she had made a studied and elaborate toilet. During her recent visit to Philadelphia she
had carefully observed the dress of the wealthy ladies of that city – the mode
of London a year gone. An accomplished
needlewoman on her return, she had fashioned a petticoat of calamanco, stiffly
paddled with wool, an article of dress that in England had recently supplanted
the enormous and clumsy hoops. That she
had donned for the first time this evening.
Over this she wore a Marscillis quilted petticoat and over all a gown of
printed fabric in huge floral design. It
was without a front, open to the waist and looped in festoons at the sides, so
the elaborate embroidered petticoat should not be wholly hidden from
sight. The bodice, high in the neck, was
open in front to the waist, while lace and quilting were worn in the bosom of
the dress, the blue silk stays affording a delicate tinted background to the
fleecy tucker. The sleeves skin-tight
and reaching halfway down the arms ended in a tuck and a half of several
inches, leaving the arms bare below the elbows.
Her hair was arranged in ringlets unpowdered, but overall was a jaunty
headdress ornamented with gay ribbons, then termed the “Queen’s nightcap,” but
in later days in the United States known as Martha Washington’s coiffure. Her feet, shod in well-fitting London made
shoes with red heels, were clamped at the instep with broad silver
buckles. These as well as her black hose
ornamented with red clocks, the short petticoat, which came hardly to her
ankles, failed to conceal. Jewelry there
was none save that the narrow band of velvet clasping her throat was held in
place by a small agate brooch. It was a
dainty, charming picture Polly saw reflected in the mirror.
She was
eighteen. Vivacious and sprightly,
refined in manner and winsome in address.
The only child of a well-to-do planter, she had been educated beyond
that which was usually accorded to the women of her day. She was already of an age when it was
expected young women should be married and settled in life, or be held as
approaching perilously close to the danger line of confirmed spinster-hood. It was not for lack of suitors, however, that
Polly was still single. Many young men
of the neighborhood and several even from a locality so remote as Philadelphia
had sought to address her, but to each and all save Luke Nethermark she gave no
encouragement.
Luke
Nethermark had always been attentive to Polly.
When but a boy he had caught her fancy and as a child she had learned to
regard him as her destined husband when the time should come for her to
wed. As the years ripened her into
womanhood her love for the handsome lad became part of her own life, but maiden
coyness prompted her to greater reserve than she had observed in her more
youthful days. That reserve, however,
had been the cause of not a few tiffs between the young people, for Luke could
not or would not comprehend the delicacy of the feminine mind which shrunk from
an open display of affection on every occasion as had been the case when they
were children. And with all Luke was
exceedingly jealous of his pretty sweetheart.
The
estrangement dating from the day of Forbes’ funeral had caused Luke much
uneasiness. He regretted his course and
hoped for a speedy and complete reconciliation with Polly. In fact, he knew that was essential to his
future happiness. But he had so long
brooded upon the incident and had sought to justify to himself his harshness to
the girl, that he resolved that Polly must, as he never doubted she would,
assume all the fault of the misunderstanding.
Then a reconciliation could be effected and be followed by their speedy
marriage. It was in this spirit that mid-May
night Luke Nethermark rode to meet the woman he loved.
Without
dismounting he unlooped the gate at the roadway leading to the Van Culin
dwelling and when it had swung outward sufficient for his mare “Sweetheart”
Polly had so called the animal when it was an unbroken colt – he drew the gate
to and dropped the loop over the post.
Polly was standing upon the wide flag which served as a step to the
porch, to welcome her lover as though no cloud had ever come between them to
mar their happiness. That was not the
meeting which Luke had sketched in his imagination and he was disappointed that
she could cast aside so easily as no longer to be considered the unpleasantness
which their long separation had occasioned to him at least. Dismounting, he threw the reins over the
hitching post and trifled with the buckles of the throat latch, wholly ignoring
the outstretched hand which Polly had tendered to his grasp. For a moment her face flushed, then her hand
fell caressingly upon the muzzle of the mare.
“You are
glad to see me, Sweetheart.” As if in
assent the animal tossed its head and champed the bit while Polly petted the
mare’s glossy neck. The girl gazed
reproachfully at her lover. “I am
disappointed,” she said; “I looked for you fully two hours ago, Luke, and
waited for a long while. I shall call Caesar
to place the mare in the barn.”
“She
will be well enough where she is,” replied Luke. He was angry with himself and Polly as well.
“We are likely to have a heavy storm shortly.
I may need the mare in a hurry.”
“To ride
to shelter? Why, Luke, ever since we
were boy and girl I cannot remember when you could not find shelter here. I know no reason why this house should not
shelter you now.”
“Circumstances
bring changes into all lives,” he replied sullenly.
“I know
of no circumstance which should bring change into our lives, yours and mine,
Luke,” she answered.
“Possibly
our view point is not the same.” Then
with assumed indifference he said, “Your father is at home?”
“No,”
Polly replied. “He went to the Black Horse
to receive the cattle he purchased during his last trip to the back woods. He will return tomorrow.”
“And you
are alone?”
“With
you? I do not fear to be alone with you,
Luke. Father knew you were coming this
evening. He has several times spoken
with surprise of your failure to come here since you were relieved from
military duty.
“While I
am surprised that I am here.”
Polly
showed that his remark wounded her. She
ascended to the porch, “Luke,” she said, “come into the parlor.” Leading the way, she turned when they entered
the apartment. I, at least, do not mean
that our conversation shall be overheard by the Negroes. Be seated.
You certainly understand that I have humbled my pride in insisting upon
this interview. But I knew that there is
no little stubbornness in your character and for more than two months every
advance looking to a reconciliation has been made by me.” With her right hand she toyed with a
straggling tress of hair that had escaped from beneath her cap. “I have not told father of this
misunderstanding. I am a motherless girl
and must act on my own judgment. There
is no one from whom I can ask advice.
For a
moment she hesitated as if weighing well her words. “Tonight,” she continued, “we must decide
what the future is to be for you and me.
Luke, I have reviewed my conduct while in Philadelphia and since my
return. I have striven to be
impartial. I find nothing said or done
by me that can justify your strange action unless it is prompted by a desire on
your part to---.”
“Oh! It is nothing,” exclaimed, rising and
approaching the chair in which she sat.
“It is nothing to embrace a strange man in a crowded street. It is nothing to be deliberately kissed in
public by a strange man while a great multitude looked on, spectators of that
incident.”
“Surely,
Luke, you do not hold me responsible for his act? Do me simple justice.” She spoke in a voice that was well-nigh a
wail. Then the color rushed to her face
and a gleam of anger shown in her eyes.
Luke Nethermark, I am guiltless of all fault in this matter. You must have seen how AI stumbled at the
curb when forced by the crowd, how I lost my footing and in self-preservation
instinctively caught at the first object presented to arrest my fall, how
I---.”
“Chose
as that object the handsomest man in the Grenadiers,” interrupted Luke, who was
incensed that Polly had not made the unconditional surrender that he had
anticipated and that his plan of extending forgiveness to her as an act of
clemency, not as of simple justice, had gone away. “Chose as the object of your embrace dashing
Charley Rutherford, the spoiled child of fortune, a proclaimed lady
killer. You should have heard him boasting
of the pretty provincial maid who had thrown herself into his arms and whom he
had publicly kissed in the crowded street of the city. Of course, all that was nothing. By Heaven!
Mistress Van Culin, to me it was something of such moment that I was
willing to risk my life before the best swordsman in His Majesty’s finest
regiment of foot in all these colonies, to avenge what I held was a gross
insult to a kinswoman – to a girl – pardon me, a young lady who it seems
regards the incident as one of trifling concern.”
Polly,
while Luke was still speaking, rose to her feet, her left hand rested on the
back of the chair she had just quitted and her right, as she unclasped the
brooch which held the band about her cheek, trembled with the excitement under
which she labored. All color had lifted
from her cheeks and her eyes dilated with indignation.
“Luke
Nethermark are you mad?” She
exclaimed. “I have never until now
doubted your courage. No one was so
proud as I while your battalion was on the march to Fort Duquesne, when reports
from the front made creditable mention of you.
I was proud, yes, proud, when I learned you had called that English
coxcomb to account for his gross insult to me, your kinswoman. That was wholly your act. Remember, it was none of my prompting.”
She
hesitated for a moment. “Now you force me
to doubt your courage. No brave man,
certainly no gentleman, I hold, would deliberately insult a defenseless
girl. I am glad, doubly glad, that I did
not ask your protection in this wholly miserable affair. It would have hurt me all my life had I done
that; had I sought a champion in a man who in his inmost heart harbors a doubt
of my womanly purity.” Her breast heaved
with the excitement of the moment as she ceased speaking.
Luke was
amazed at Polly’s denunciation. The
sting of her words were more acute because he felt that she had given voice
only to the truth. He was conscious now
that he had gone too far. Never before
had she failed to take all responsibility for every misunderstanding, and to
assume to herself all blame for every quarrel.
But never before had he brought in question her maidenly integrity. The “make-ups” in the past had been so
pleasant that he had pictured a happy ending to this, their most serious
rupture. He understood that he had
wounded the girl he loved almost beyond pardon.
Yet his stubbornness of will, together with his offended pride held him
silent.
“This
brooch you gave me,” Polly continued.
“It was your mother’s once. If I
am what you think I am I am not fitting to wear this trinket.” She dropped the brooch into his hand which he
mechanically extended. Then Polly thrust
her hand into her bosom and drew forth a small leather box. “This ring came to me from you the very
morning General Forbes was buried. I
placed it on my finger gladly then, but, fearing it might be stolen or lost in
the crowd that day, I removed it before I went to---to---.” The girl left the sentence unfinished. “Since then I have not worn it. I had hoped this evening--. Here is your ring, sir.” He mechanically accepted the box also. For a moment he weighed the articles in his
hand, then striding to the rear door, he opened it and cast them beyond the
back porch in the glooming, muttering an oath as he did so. Polly had followed him and as he turned she
confronted him in the hallway.
“Luke,”
she said, “we are kinsfolks. We must not
part in anger. Father must never know of
this or the bitter things we have said one to the other this night. He loves you.
Trust me this far. I shall so
account for the change in both our lives that he will never think unkindly of
you.”
“Mistress
Van Culin, you have shaped our future, not I,” replied Luke. “It matters little to me what you may choose
to tell anyone respecting this interview.
Make no mistake. Tonight we part
never to meet in life again. Permit me to pass.”
“You
must not go yet, Luke. I would not have
the merest stranger leave the shelter of this house now in the face of such a
storm as is at hand, much less my nearest kinsman and my life-long play
fellow.” Polly, however, moved aside as
she spoke.
“Damn
kinship,” exclaimed Luke, striding to the porch. “That furnishes no tie which can bind you and
me. You must hold a closer relationship
to me than mere kinship or we must be absolute strangers to each other while we
live.”
“I will
not quarrel with you, Luke. You have
grossly insulted me. Think what you
did. You called into question my purity,
for that is as much a thing of thought as words. I cannot forget that. At least, not now.”
The girl
was even then pleading for reconciliation with him, but Luke had descended the
steps and raised one foot and then the other to the porch while he replaced the
spurs he had cast off before entering the house. That done he went to where the mare was
hitched; returning he caught Polly’s hand in his and for a moment gazed
intently into her face.
In the
excitement of the interview both had given little heed to the peculiar
atmospheric conditions. The humidity had
become so dense that its weight was stifling.
The foliage on trees and shrubbery hung motionless. To the southwest huge banks of clouds, darkest
where piled and rolled they mounted in the heavens, shutting out the sky and
the setting crescent moon. At brief
intervals lightning in blinding brilliancy played through the mass and distant
dashes seemed to lift the whole bank of vapor, illuminating the horizon with a
faint lurid glare, while far away peals of thunder rumbled – the prelude to the
rapidly approaching storm.
Polly,
alarmed at the vivid play of lightning, moved as if to get further within the
shelter of the porch, but Luke still held her hand. In a voice hoarse with the passion that had
mastered him he spoke, “Mistress Van Culin, there is no time but now. If we part tonight in anger, we part never to
meet again in life.” He released her hand
as he ceased speaking.
“You
have been rough with me,” Polly replied, “and rude in speech, Luke. You are not yourself tonight. You will not go now. Only a mad man would ride away from a
kinsman’s dwelling in the face of such a storm as that now at hand. You are welcome here, Luke. I ask you to remain for my sake.”
“In what
character,” he eagerly demanded.
“As your
kinswoman, of course.” A smile dimpled Polly’s cheeks as she made answer.
Luke
loosened the rein from the post and vaulted into the saddle as the mare backed
into the roadway. Halting the animal for
a moment, he spoke, “Then tonight Luke Nethermark will ride away from his
kinswoman’s home even if that ride should be directly to his death.” Then gathering his reins and striking his
spurs into Sweetheart’s side, with a bound the horse and its rider disappeared
in the gloom.
“Come
back! Come back, Luke. I will promise everything you wish if you
will only come back,” wailed Polly.
Her
voice failed to reach Luke. It was
overwhelmed in the loud clattering thunder which seemed to wrench the clouds
apart immediately over the house.
Startled and trembling with fear for her own and her lover’s safety,
Polly remained where Luke had left her, anxiously peering into the
darkness. The next flash showed the gate
open swinging into the Queen’s highway.
He had not stayed in his wild ride to close it. That was all.
Luke and the mare were nowhere to be seen.
The now
freshening breeze whitened the leafy branches of the poplars and tossed the
crests of the oaks in the onrush of the tempest. The lightning, increasing in brilliancy, was
reflected in the windows of the Van Culin dwelling and glinted in the ruffled
waters of
Crum Creek.
Thunder shook the air in sharp clattering explosions followed by rolling
vibrations which died away in distance.
A quick pattering of heavy rain drops – then the deluge.
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