Gabriel Tolliver: A Story of Reconstruction

by Joel Chandler Harris

Mrs. Absalom's explanation of her change of views in the subject of matrimony was very simple and reasonable. "Why, a single 'oman," she said, "can't cut no caper at all; she can't hardly turn around wi'out bein' plumb tore to pieces by folks's tongues. But now—you see Ab over there? Well, he ain't purty enough for a centre-piece, nor light enough for to be set on the mantel-shelf, but it's a comfort to see him in that cheer there, knowin' all the time that you can do as you please, and nobody dastin to say anything out of the way. Why, I could put on Ab's old boots an' take his old buggy umbrell, an' go an' jine the muster. The men might snicker behind the'r han's, but all they could say would be, 'Well, ef that kind of a dido suits Ab Goodlett, it ain't nobody else's business.'"

It happened that Mr. Sanders was the person to whom Mrs. Absalom was addressing her remarks, and he inquired if such an unheard of proceeding would be likely to suit Mr. Goodlett.

"To a t!" she exclaimed. "Why, he wouldn't bat his eye. He mought grunt an' groan a little jest to let you know that he's alive, but that'd be all. An' that's the trouble: ef Ab has any fault in the world that you can put your finger on, it's in bein' too good. You know, William—anyhow, you'd know it ef you belonged to my seck—that there's lots of times and occasions when it'd make the wimmen folks feel lots better ef they had somethin' or other to rip and rare about. My old cat goes about purrin', the very spit and image of innocence; but she'd die ef she didn't show her claws sometimes. Once in awhile I try my level best for to pick a quarrel wi' Ab, but before I say a dozen words, I look at him an' have to laugh. Why the way that man sets there an' says nothin' is enough to make a saint ashamed of hisself."

It was the general opinion that Mr. Goodlett, who was shrewd and far-seeing beyond the average, had an eye to strengthening his relations with Dr. Dorrington, when he "popped the question" to Margaret Rorick. But such was not the case. His relations needed no strengthening. He managed Dorrington's agricultural interests with uncommon ability, and brought rare prosperity to the plantation. Unlettered, and, to all appearances, taking no interest in public affairs, he not only foresaw the end of the Civil War, but looked forward to the time when the Confederate Government, pressed for supplies, would urge upon the States the necessity of limiting the raising of cotton.

He gave both Meriwether Clopton and Neighbour Tomlin the benefit of these views; and then, when the rumours of Sherman's march through Georgia grew rifer he made a shrewd guess as to the route, and succeeded in hiding out and saving, not only all the cotton the three plantations had grown, but also all the livestock. Having an ingrained suspicion of the negroes, and entertaining against them the prejudices of his class, Mr. Goodlett employed a number of white boys from the country districts to aid him with his refugee train. And he left them in charge of the camp he had selected, knowing full well that they would be glad to remain in hiding as long as the Federal soldiers were about.

The window of the dining-room at Dorringtons' commanded a view of the street for a considerable distance toward town, and it was at this window that Mrs. Absalom had her favourite seat. She explained her preference for it by saying that she wanted to know what was going on in the world. She looked out from this window one day while she was talking to Gabriel Tolliver, whose visits to Dorringtons' had come to be coincident with Nan's absence, and suddenly exclaimed:

"Well, my gracious! Ef yonder ain't old Picayune Pauper! I wonder what we have done out this way that old Picayune should be sneakin' around here? I'll tell you what—ef Ab has borried arry thrip from old Silas Tomlin, I'll quit him; I won't live wi' a man that'll have anything to do wi' that old scamp. As I'm a livin' human, he's comin' here!"

Now, Silas Tomlin was Neighbour Tomlin's elder brother, but the two men were as different in character and disposition as a warm bright day is different from a bitter black night. Pulaski Tomlin gave his services freely to all who needed them, and he was happy and prosperous; whereas Silas was a miserly money-lender and note-shaver, and always appeared to be in the clutches of adversity. To parsimony he added the sting—yes, and the stain—of a peevish and an irritable temper. It was as Mrs. Absalom had said—"a picayunish man is a pauper, I don't care how much money he's got."

"I'll go see ef Johnny is in the house," said Mrs. Absalom. "Johnny" was Mrs. Dorrington, who, in turn, called Mrs. Absalom "Nonny," which was Nan's pet name for the woman who had raised her—"I'll go see, but I lay she's gone to see Nan; I never before seed a step-mammy so wropped up in her husband's daughter." Nan, as has been said, was spending a few days with poor Margaret Bridalbin, whose mother had just been buried.

Mrs. Absalom called Mrs. Dorrington, and then looked for her, but she was not to be found at the moment. "I reckon you'll have to go to the door, Gabe," said Mrs. Absalom, as the knocker sounded. "Sence freedom, we ain't got as many niggers lazyin' around an' doin' nothin' as we use to have."