Country life -- Fiction; Pastoral fiction; Piedmont (U.S. : Region) -- Fiction; Virginia -- Fiction
When she spoke in that tone, she knew that Nathan never waited to argue.
"All right. I turned the horses out to graze, but I'll see if I can find
them." He went off obediently enough, after protesting again that it
wasn't a mile by the short cut through the woods. Though Nathan always
gave in to her wishes, he seldom gave in without grumbling.
It took him a quarter of an hour of hard hunting to catch the horses;
but by the time Lena was ready, he appeared at the dour with the surrey.
"If you don't hurry up and come on, the sale will be over before we get
there," he remarked in the casual tone of a man who is not interested in
the result.
"Why, I thought we had plenty of time," Dorinda replied; but she hurried
Lena down the steps and into the vehicle, in spite of the girl's
complaint that the ruffles on her skirt would be ruined if she did not
spread a robe over the seat. Not until they had started off at a brisk
pace and were well on the road, did Dorinda's heart stop its rapid
pulsation. Suppose her own stupid folly in withstanding Nathan should
cost her the possession of Five Oaks!
XIX
Up the long shady slope; into the branch road by the fork; between the
wastes of Joe-Pyeweed and life-everlasting; over the rotting bridge
across Gooseneck Creek, where the dragon-flies swarmed above the partly
dried stream; up the rutted track through last year's corn stubble; and
past the broken fences of the farmyard to the group of indifferent
farmers gathered on benches, chairs, and upturned cracker boxes, under
the fine old oaks. All through the drive something invisible was
whipping her on, as if the memory of wet branches stung her face in the
blue August weather. A question was beating unanswered at the back of
her brain. Why, since she neither loved nor hated Jason, should she long
so passionately to own the place where he lived? Was it merely that the
possession of Five Oaks would complete her victory and his degradation?
Or was it simply that feeling like hers never died, that it returned
again and again, in some changed form, to the place where it had first
taken root?
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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