# The Shorn Lamb/Chapter 18
### Chapter 18 THE MISSING DEED BOOK

"Uncle Spot, don't you think we ought to tell Grandfather what that terrible old woman said?" Rebecca asked as she drove home with her uncle.
"I think we should, although I am sure there is nothing in it. She was so drunk she didn't know what she was talking about."
"That's just it—she let it out. Couldn't you see that Mr. Bolling tried to stop her and Old Abe? Isn't she the most horrible old person you ever saw? I can't get over my giving her a lock of my hair. You see, Uncle Spot, when Aunt Myra and Aunt Evelyn cut off my hair I felt terrible bad because there wasn't a soul who wanted a lock of it. I am all the time reading about how people treasure the hair of those they love—how mothers treasure the locks of hair cut from the heads of their angel children—and it made me lonesome to think that I had all that great wad of long hair and nobody on earth cared what became of it. The first time I went to the Bollings' after my hair was shingled, old ​Aunt Peachy was real nice to me. She asked me what I had done with all my pretty hair and when she begged me for a lock of it I was right complimented. I never did like her at all but I thought it was real sweet of her to care about having some of my hair. I took over the whole plait that Aunt Pearly Gates had run through the hole in the top of my bonnet. I guess she's got enough to make hoodoo spells on the whole family."
Rebecca laughed a little uneasily.
"You surely don't believe any of that nonsense," Spot said severely.
"No-o, not exactly—"
"If you are afraid of her, you ought not to go to The Hedges," suggested Spottswood.
"I'm not truly afraid—just kind of squeamish. I like to shiver a little all up and down my backbone. That's the way Aunt Peachy makes me feel. I know she can't do anything to me just because she has my plait, but it's kind of fun to half way believe she might, although I know in my sane mind that she couldn't."
When Spottswood and Rebecca told Major Taylor of the remark the old negress had made concerning the hub factory he only laughed.
"Ridiculous!" he snorted. "It was taken on a hundred-year lease at first by my grandfather, ​but before I was born my father persuaded old Bolling, that was Rolfe's father, to sell it outright. He was a man who could be persuaded into anything. My father wanted more land than was mentioned in the lease and while he was buying it he easily bought the other. It wasn't supposed to be valuable land, but my father paid a good price for it. Old Peachy can't beat me remembering. I can remember what happened before I was born."
"I suppose you have the deed, or something with which to combat their evidence?" asked Spot.
"It must have been duly recorded, of course—but, by Jove, when the Yankees tried to burn the court house some of those deed books disappeared! If that particular one was among them then old Rolfe will give me some trouble. I am sure there is nothing among my father's papers in the way of proof."
Major Taylor looked worried.
"They never have been able to trace the deed books that were lost. It would hardly be likely that the Yankees would want to steal such useless treasures as old deed books. There were three of them I believe."
Investigation disclosed that the deed book in which the transaction between the owners of The ​Hedges and Mill House had been recorded was one of the three missing books. There was no evidence extant of the transaction. The fact that Major Taylor's father had told him of it would hardly stand in a court of law. Rolfe Bolling's old lease, found in his grandfather's desk, would certainly be more convincing than any traditional evidence Major Taylor might swear to.
That was the way the owner of Mill House began to look at the matter. He regretted exceedingly the recent improvements he had introduced into his factory. Wagon hubs being not so much in demand as formerly, owing to the increasing use of automobiles, he had determined to begin the manufacture of certain automobile parts and reduce the output of hubs. This had entailed a large outlay of funds. He had been sure the venture was a wise one, but if there were any danger of the lease on his land being terminated and the supposed owner not being willing to renew it, a grave loss might ensue.
At no time in his life had Robert Taylor so much wanted to make money. This wish was because of his little Rebecca. He felt that he would die happy if he could leave her an independent fortune. He had enough to provide amply for his daughters and son, but he wanted ​more money so that he would not have to take from the others to leave to her. Now if Rolfe Bolling had the law on his side and was able to do this mean, underhand thing, there would be little to leave to anyone.
Major Taylor was not a person to await developments. As soon as he knew that the deed book, in which the purchase of the land must have been recorded, was missing, he determined to go and see Rolfe Bolling, after consulting a lawyer, whose opinion was that Bolling might have a good case, but the chances were fifty-fifty that the court of equity would decree otherwise.
Major Taylor regretted that he had been so unneighborly in his attitude towards Rolfe Bolling, now that he must have dealings with him. He could hardly think that the man meant to ruin him. All he had to go on was the drunken ravings of a vindictive old negress, no doubt in her second childhood, since her age was many years over a hundred. Spottswood and Rebecca had taken her remarks seriously, but the chances were they meant nothing. He hoped Philip Bolling had some influence over his father if he could be contemplating an attempt to oust the owner of the hub factory. He liked Philip and he was to be ever in his debt for the ​service the young man had rendered in bringing little Rebecca safe to Mill House.
It had been years since Robert Taylor had made a business call at The Hedges. Of course he had been told of the ravages time and carelessness and vandalism had made on the farm, once the show place of the county, and was prepared to find things in worse condition than they were. Already Philip's industry had righted sagging gates and fence posts. No longer were farming implements to be found rusting in the fields. Outhouses that had outlived their usefulness had been torn down and those that were left had been patched, propped up and whitewashed.
The negro quarters had undergone the greatest change. Philip had inaugurated a general cleaning up of their premises, which had been a disgrace to the neighborhood. This was the first improvement noted by Major Taylor as he left the main road and turned up the lane leading to the Bolling farm. The negro settlement known as The Quarters was on this lane and must be passed to reach The Hedges. This spot had been considered the most disreputable in the county. Few deviltries were committed that were not thought to have their origin at The Quarters. Rolfe Bolling owned the cabins, all ​of which he rented to the colored people, except the large one that stood in the center of the settlement. This building boasted of four rooms downstairs and two attic rooms, besides a passage running through the middle of the house that had originally been opened at both ends, but had afterwards been boarded up with a rude door and window cut in the front. This cabin had been built by the first Bolling settling at The Hedges and was occupied by two generations before the building of the mansion. Aunt Peachy's family had virtually owned this cabin, even in slave times. Her father before her had lived in it and now her descendants swarmed like bees around a rotting hive. She had always had a room at the great house, but until the last ten years, before she became so feeble, she had divided her time between the cabin and her room, which was off the kitchen at The Hedges.
Philip had been powerless to effect much change in Aunt Peachy's house. It was almost as filthy and unkempt as ever. But he had worked wonders on the rented cabins, sternly threatening to evict any tenants who did not comply with his regulations. His father had turned the collecting of rents over to his son. It made no difference to Rolfe Bolling in what condition the property was kept, providing he ​received his rents regularly. Up to this time Philip had been able to accomplish no improvements beyond a general cleaning and a wholesale whitewashing. Philip's dream was to make enough money on the farm, above what his father expected, to provide a surplus to be used in converting The Quarters into a model settlement. It could be done with time and energy and a little money. It was beautifully situated on a ledge on the side of a hill overlooking the busy little river. A fine spring furnished excellent water to its inhabitants, although to their minds water was one of the least of blessings.
As Robert Taylor passed The Quarters he encountered a little band of small darkeys on their way home from school. He was astonished to note the improvement in the children. He could hardly believe they belonged to The Quarters. He remembered them on a former visit he had paid the settlement on the business of getting extra labor for the hub factory as being mere ill-mannered tatterdemalions. Now they were a neatly dressed lot of children, carrying their books proudly and actually speaking to him politely.
"That Bolling boy is what I said, a throwback," he said to himself. "He must have worked to accomplish all this! He must have ​worked, and made others work, too. He seems to be capable of the constructive carrying out of plans."
It was a late afternoon in early March. The wheat was showing green in patches through a light snow that had fallen the night before, and which was melting wherever the sun could reach it. The red clay road wound around the rolling hills, cutting the wheat field in two and then dipping suddenly to the straggling hedge that enclosed the yard surrounding the Bolling house.
As soon as the early potatoes had been dug Philip had begun the process of getting the lawn grassed. It would take some time to accomplish a greensward, but a beginning had been made. The stumps of the great trees that had been felled the year before he had dynamited and in their places had planted young trees selected with great care. The hedge around the sunken garden had been trimmed and it was no longer horse high, although it was still hog strong, but the hogs had been removed to a suitable pen made for them at the foot of the hill, far from the house. The fountain had been repaired and the little bronze boy was standing firmly and gracefully on his sturdy legs, holding up the shell to catch the drops as ​of old. Again the sun-dial pointed the hour, but its fluted column no longer was used as a back scratcher for fat hogs or razor-backs. The walks had been graveled and flower beds had been spaded and an occasional green shoot was peeping up, in evidence that bulbs had been planted there and the early March sunshine was tempting them to cast off the light snow with which they had been covered.
Could it be the garden would bloom again with violets and daffodil, iris, purple and white, cornflowers and love-in-the-mist! Perhaps Elizabeth again might find time to bring her sewing and sit on the stone bench by the great box bush. Again she might find time to open the little blue leather Shelleys, with their delicate gold tooling, and read "The Skylark" and "The Sensitive Plant."
"Yi! Yi! Yonder that ol' dried up Bob Taylor a comin' in he buggy!" cried Aunt Peachy, peering through the kitchen window, from which a portion of the red road could be seen as it dipped from the hill.
"How you know it's Bob Taylor?" asked Rolfe Bolling.
"Know by my nose an' my two big toes, ter say nothin' er seein' him jes' as plain as I kin see you, my baby. He air settin' up thar ​mighty proudified. I been a 'lowin' we'd be hearin' from him 'fo' long, ever sence that day you an' me wa' a leetle bit happy, owin' ter Abe's havin' fetched over the new jug. I done talked too free befo' that thar Spot. But it ain't no harm done. We 'lowed we'd worry them highfalutin' Taylors some, an' I reckon we done did it."
"What you reckon he air comin' over here fur, Mam' Peachy? I ain't got no business with him. My haid ain't none too clar right this minute, so's p'r'aps yo an' me'd better have a dram befo' he gits here. Th'ain't nothin' like a dram fer settin' folks up."
Accordingly the cupboard was opened and the jug tipped by the two. Then Rolfe awaited the arrival of his neighbor in the sitting room, while Aunt Peachy sat crouching in her arm chair in the kitchen, chattering to herself vague snatches of sentences:
"Mill folks on they knees! Done got even wif ol' Pearly Gates! Look down on my baby! Ol Bob Taylor been too bumptious! Yi! Yi! Break they stiff necks! Mam' Peachy done weave a spell what'll cha'm they luck away!"
Philip had driven his mother to the Court House to do some shopping and Rolfe and the old woman were alone in the house. This ​compelled Rolfe Bolling to answer Major Taylor's knock. His feet in woolen socks, with no shoes, he padded to the front door and opened it to his visitor.
As the two old men entered the sitting room Aunt Peachy crept from the kitchen, slid along the hall, taking her stand at the half-closed door, where she stood in the shadow, eagerly listening to the conversation between her master and Major Taylor.
The master of Mill House immediately stated the cause of his visit, explaining that his son had told him what he had heard when he had driven over to The Hedges to get Rebecca.
"I am sure my father bought the property later on from your father, when he decided to enlarge the plant—that was before either one of us was born. I believe we are about the same age. My father told me of the transaction. I will be frank with you and tell you that as far as I know there is no record extant of the transaction, owing to the fact that when the Yankees attempted to burn the court house some of the deed books disappeared. On investigation, I find that the very one that must have held the deed conveying the land where my hub factory stands is missing. My father's papers were not carefully filed and I do not remember seeing ​a record of the deed among them. At any rate I cannot find it. Of course, it never entered Father's head that there ever would be any trouble about it. The land has been paid for once, but whenever the one hundred years which would mark the expiration of the original lease, is up, I will be willing to pay for it again, if no record of the deed is found in the meantime."
"Yi! Yi! Ol' foxy Bob Taylor done come a beggin' favors from the Bollin's!" squealed Aunt Peachy, sidling into the room. "No, us-all ain't a gwine ter let yer have nothin' er ourn. I'm here ter tell yer my baby ain't a gwine ter listen ter yo' pleadin.' Tell it ter him, my baby, tell it yerse'f! Tell him how he's allus been a holdin' up his haid too high fer us-all on this side er the ribber! Tell him how he done been onneighborlylike ter us, him an' his paw befo' him, an' his grampaw befo' his paw. Tell him how his niggers looks down on yo' niggers an' it air a gonter stop!"
Major Taylor looked at the old negress with a frown.
"Excuse me, Mr. Bolling, but would it be possible for us to have a few moments of uninterrupted conversation?"
His host grinned a rather sickly grin.
​"’Tain't nobody but ol' Mam' Peachy," he said apologetically. "You kin go on talkin' jes' the same befo' Mam' Peachy."
For a moment the old woman straightened up her bent back and stood before Major Taylor with an air of defiance. There was for a flash something almost queenly in her bearing, but she could hold the position for only a moment, and then sank back into the crooked state that her great age entailed on her.
"Yi! Yi! Nobody but ol' Mam' Peachy; but me'n my baby air o' one min' consarnin' all the Mill folks! You kin tell that thar big yaller-haided son er yo's that 'tain't no use'n him a makin' eyes at our Betsy. We ain't a gonter put up with no foolishness with us's young lady. She air too good fer the likes er him, but we knows moughty well that Taylor men air allus a seekin' something higher'n what they is, an' Taylors air got a way er lookin' down on Bollin's."
Major Taylor ignored the old woman's tirade, but he felt the blood boiling in his veins and was conscious that his face was red and the hand that held his hat trembled a little.
"I asked you, Mr. Bolling to discuss with me the selling for the second time the hub factory site."
​"My baby ain't a-gonter sell nothin'!" screamed Aunt Peachy.
"I ain't a-gonter sell it,' agreed Rolfe Bolling.
"Well, then renew the lease that you hold," urged Major Taylor, with a note of pleading in his voice. He was thinking of Rebecca and trying to keep down his temper, which was almost getting the better of him.
"Yi! Yi! Or Bob Taylor a arskin' favors! No, us ain't a gonter rent ter yer, neither. The lan' air ourn an' the things what is built on the lan' air ourn. That's what the l'yer done tol' my baby. Yer ain't got much mo'n two months ter git, neither, yer ol' scrumdudgeon!"
The visitor arose in a fury. Without a word to Rolfe Bolling he walked out of the room.
"Don't fergit ter gib my message ter that there big yaller-haided Spot," Aunt Peachy called out as he pulled the front door open with an anger that was blinding him. The last thing he heard as he climbed into his buggy was the old woman's high, shrill cackle.
"Now, Mam' Peachy, yer oughtn't ter a spoke so roughlike ter Maje Taylor," whined Rolfe Bolling as he turned from the window from which he had been viewing the back of his infuriated neighbor.
​"Oh, shet yo' mouf!" she shouted. "I air got mo' sense in my wool than you has in yo' haid. I tells you ter let ol' Mam' Peachy git the reins an' she'll drive over that ol' Bob Taylor till he's so flattened out he won't have no mo' thickness ter him than a inyon peel. Ain't the l'yer done tol' you what yo' rights air?"
"Yes, but he done said ter lay low about it!"
"Well, I wa' a layin' low, as low as a snake's hips. You'd better not be a bossin' er me. I ain't takin' no bossin' from you nor no other white man. Do yer understand'?" panted Aunt Peachy hoarsely.