The Story of an African Farm

by Olive Schreiner

  Chapter 2.III. Gregory Rose Finds His Affinity.

  The new man, Gregory Rose, sat at the door of his dwelling, his armsfolded, his legs crossed, and a profound melancholy seeming to rest overhis soul. His house was a little square daub-and-wattle building, farout in the karoo, two miles from the homestead. It was covered outsidewith a sombre coating of brown mud, two little panes being let into thewalls for windows. Behind it were the sheep-kraals, and to the righta large dam, now principally containing baked mud. Far off the littlekopje concealed the homestead, and was not itself an object conspicuousenough to relieve the dreary monotony of the landscape.

  Before the door sat Gregory Rose in his shirt-sleeves, on a camp-stool,and ever and anon he sighed deeply. There was that in his countenancefor which even his depressing circumstances failed to account. Again andagain he looked at the little kopje, at the milk-pail at his side,and at the brown pony, who a short way off cropped the dry bushes--andsighed.

  Presently he rose and went into his house. It was one tiny room,the whitewashed walls profusely covered with prints cut from the"Illustrated London News", and in which there was a noticeablepreponderance of female faces and figures. A stretcher filled one endof the hut, and a rack for a gun and a little hanging looking-glassdiversified the gable opposite, while in the centre stood a chair andtable. All was scrupulously neat and clean, for Gregory kept a littleduster folded in the corner of his table-drawer, just as he had seen hismother do, and every morning before he went out he said his prayers, andmade his bed, and dusted the table and the legs of the chairs, and eventhe pictures on the wall and the gun-rack.

  On this hot afternoon he took from beneath his pillow a watch-bag madeby his sister Jemima, and took out the watch. Only half past four! Witha suppressed groan he dropped it back and sat down beside the table.Half-past four! Presently he roused himself. He would write to hissister Jemima. He always wrote to her when he was miserable. She was hissafety-valve. He forgot her when he was happy; but he used her when hewas wretched.

  He took out ink and paper. There was a family crest and motto on thelatter, for the Roses since coming to the colony had discovered thatthey were of distinguished lineage. Old Rose himself, an honest Englishfarmer, knew nothing of his noble descent; but his wife and daughterknew--especially his daughter. There were Roses in England who kept apark and dated from the Conquest. So the colonial "Rose Farm" became"Rose Manor" in remembrance of the ancestral domain, and the claim ofthe Roses to noble blood was established--in their own minds at least.

  Gregory took up one of the white, crested sheets; but on deeperreflection he determined to take a pink one, as more suitable to thestate of his feelings. He began:

  "Kopje Alone,

  "Monday afternoon.

  "My Dear Jemima--"

  Then he looked up into the little glass opposite. It was a youthful facereflected there, with curling brown beard and hair; but in the dark blueeyes there was a look of languid longing that touched him. He re-dippedhis pen and wrote:

  "When I look up into the little glass that hangs opposite me, I wonderif that changed and sad face--"

  Here he sat still and reflected. It sounded almost as if he might beconceited or unmanly to be looking at his own face in the glass. No,that would not do. So he looked for another pink sheet and began again.

  "Kopje Alone, "Monday afternoon.

  "Dear Sister,--It is hardly six months since I left you to come to thisspot, yet could you now see me I know what you would say, I know whatmother would say--'Can that be our Greg--that thing with the strangelook in his eyes?'

  "Yes, Jemima, it is your Greg, and the change has been coming over meever since I came here; but it is greatest since yesterday. You knowwhat sorrows I have passed through, Jemima; how unjustly I was alwaystreated at school, the masters keeping me back and calling me ablockhead, though, as they themselves allowed, I had the best memory ofany boy in the school, and could repeat whole books from beginning toend. You know how cruelly father always used me, calling me a noodle anda milksop, just because he couldn't understand my fine nature. You knowhow he has made a farmer of me instead of a minister, as I ought to havebeen; you know it all, Jemima; and how I have borne it all, not as awoman, who whines for every touch, but as a man should--in silence.

  "But there are things, there is a thing, which the soul longs to pourforth into a kindred ear.

  "Dear sister, have you ever known what it is to keep wanting and wantingand wanting to kiss some one's mouth, and you may not; to touch someone's hand, and you cannot? I am in love, Jemima.

  "The old Dutchwoman from whom I hire this place has a littlestepdaughter, and her name begins with 'E'.

  "She is English. I do not know how her father came to marry aBoer-woman. It makes me feel so strange to put down that letter, that Ican hardly go on writing 'E'. I've loved her ever since I came here. Forweeks I have not been able to eat or drink; my very tobacco when I smokehas no taste; and I can remain for no more than five minutes in oneplace, and sometimes feel as though I were really going mad.

  "Every evening I go there to fetch my milk. Yesterday she gave me somecoffee. The spoon fell on the ground. She picked it up; when she gaveit me her finger touched mine. Jemima, I do not know if I fancied it--Ishivered hot, and she shivered too! I thought, 'It is all right; shewill be mine; she loves me!' Just then, Jemima, in came a fellow, agreat, coarse fellow, a German--a ridiculous fellow, with curls rightdown to his shoulders; it makes one sick to look at him. He's only aservant of the Boer-woman's, and a low, vulgar, uneducated thing; that'snever been to boarding-school in his life. He had been to the next farmseeking sheep. When he came in she said, 'Good evening, Waldo. Have somecoffee!' AND SHE KISSED HIM.

  "All last night I heard nothing else but 'Have some coffee; have somecoffee.' If I went to sleep for a moment I dreamed that her fingerwas pressing mine; but when I woke with a start I heard her say, 'Goodevening, Waldo. Have some coffee!'

  "Is this madness?

  "I have not eaten a mouthful today. This evening I go and propose toher. If she refuses me I shall go and kill myself tomorrow. There is adam of water close by. The sheep have drunk most of it up, but there isstill enough if I tie a stone to my neck.

  "It is a choice between death and madness. I can endure no more. If thisshould be the last letter you ever get from me, think of me tenderly,and forgive me. Without her, life would be a howling wilderness, a longtribulation. She is my affinity; the one love of my life, of my youth,of my manhood; my sunshine; my God-given blossom.

  "'They never loved who dreamed that they loved once, And who saith, 'I loved once'?-- Not angels, whose deep eyes look down through realms of light!'

  "Your disconsolate brother, on what is, in all probability, the last anddistracted night of his life.

  "Gregory Nazianzen Rose.

  "P.S.--Tell mother to take care of my pearl studs. I left them in thewash-hand-stand drawer. Don't let the children get hold of them.

  "P.P.S.--I shall take this letter with me to the farm. If I turn downone corner you may know I have been accepted; if not, you may know it isall up with your heartbroken brother,

  "G.N.R."

  Gregory having finished this letter, read it over with much approval,put it in an envelope, addressed it, and sat contemplating the inkpot,somewhat relieved in mind.

  The evening turned out chilly and very windy after the day's heat. Fromafar off, as Gregory neared the homestead on the brown pony, he coulddistinguish a little figure in a little red cloak at the door of thecow-kraal. Em leaned over the poles that barred the gate, and watchedthe frothing milk run through the black fingers of the herdsman, whilethe unwilling cows stood with tethered heads by the milking poles. Shehad thrown the red cloak over her own head, and held it under her chinwith a little hand, to keep from her ears the wind, that playfully shookit, and tossed the little fringe of yellow hair into her eyes.

  "Is it not too cold for you to be standing here?" said Gregory, comingsoftly close to her
.

  "Oh, no; it is so nice. I always come to watch the milking. That red cowwith the short horns is bringing up the calf of the white cow that died.She loves it so--just as if it were her own. It is so nice to see herlick its little ears. Just look!"

  "The clouds are black. I think it is going to rain tonight," saidGregory.

  "Yes," answered Em, looking up as well as she could for the littleyellow fringe.

  "But I'm sure you must be cold," said Gregory, and put his hand underthe cloak, and found there a small fist doubled up, soft, and very warm.He held it fast in his hand.

  "Oh, Em, I love you better than all the world besides! Tell me, do youlove me a little?"

  "Yes, I do," said Em, hesitating, and trying softly to free her hand.

  "Better than everything; better than all the world, darling?" he asked,bending down so low that the yellow hair was blown into his eyes.

  "I don't know," said Em, gravely. "I do love you very much; but I lovemy cousin who is at school, and Waldo, very much. You see I have knownthem so long!"

  "Oh, Em, do not talk to me so coldly!" Gregory cried, seizing the littlearm that rested on the gate, and pressing it till she was half afraid.The herdsman had moved away to the other end of the kraal now, and thecows, busy with their calves, took no notice of the little human farce."Em, if you talk so to me I will go mad! You must love me, love mebetter than all! You must give yourself to me. I have loved you sincethat first moment when I saw you walking by the stone wall with the jugin your hands. You were made for me, created for me! I will love youtill I die! Oh, Em, do not be so cold, so cruel to me!"

  He held her arm so tightly that her fingers relaxed their hold, and thecloak fluttered down on to the ground, and the wind played more roughlythan ever with the little yellow head.

  "I do love you very much," she said; "but I do not know if I want tomarry you. I love you better than Waldo, but I can't tell if I love youbetter than Lyndall. If you would let me wait for a week I think perhapsI could tell you."

  Gregory picked up the cloak and wrapped it round her.

  "If you could but love me as I love you," he said; "but no woman canlove as a man can. I will wait till Saturday. I will not once come nearyou till then. Good-bye! Oh, Em," he said, turning again, and twininghis arm about her, and kissing her surprised little mouth, "if you arenot my wife I cannot live. I have never loved another woman, and I nevershall!--never, never!"

  "You make me afraid," said Em. "Come, let us go, and I will fill yourpail."

  "I want no milk. Good-bye! You will not see me again till Saturday."

  Late that night, when every one else had gone to bed, the yellow-hairedlittle woman stood alone in the kitchen. She had come to fill the kettlefor the next morning's coffee, and now stood before the fire. The warmreflection lit the grave old-womanish little face, that was so unusuallythoughtful this evening.

  "Better than all the world; better than everything; he loves me betterthan everything!" She said the words aloud, as if they were more easyto believe if she spoke them so. She had given out so much love in herlittle life, and had got none of it back with interest. Now one said, "Ilove you better than all the world." One loved her better than she lovedhim. How suddenly rich she was. She kept clasping and unclasping herhands. So a beggar feels who falls asleep on the pavement wet andhungry, and who wakes in a palace-hall with servants and lights, and afeast before him. Of course the beggar's is only a dream, and he wakesfrom it; and this was real.

  Gregory had said to her, "I will love you as long as I live." She saidthe words over and over to herself like a song.

  "I will send for him tomorrow, and I will tell him how I love him back,"she said.

  But Em needed not to send for him. Gregory discovered on reaching homethat Jemima's letter was still in his pocket. And, therefore, much as hedisliked the appearance of vacillation and weakness, he was obliged tobe at the farmhouse before sunrise to post it.

  "If I see her," Gregory said, "I shall only bow to her. She shall seethat I am a man, one who keeps his word."

  As to Jemima's letter, he had turned down one corner of the page, andthen turned it back, leaving a deep crease. That would show that he wasneither accepted nor rejected, but that matters were in an intermediatecondition. It was a more poetical way then putting it in plain words.

  Gregory was barely in time with his letter, for Waldo was starting whenhe reached the homestead, and Em was on the doorstep to see him off.When he had given the letter, and Waldo had gone, Gregory bowed stifflyand prepared to remount his own pony, but somewhat slowly. It was stillearly; none of the servants were about. Em came up close to him and puther little hand softly on his arm as he stood by his horse.

  "I do love you best of all," she said. She was not frightened now,however much he kissed her. "I wish I was beautiful and nice," sheadded, looking up into his eyes as he held her against his breast.

  "My darling, to me you are more beautiful than all the women in theworld; dearer to me than everything it holds. If you were in hell Iwould go after you to find you there! If you were dead, though my bodymoved, my soul would be under the ground with you. All life as I passwith you in my arms will be perfect to me. It will pass, pass like a rayof sunshine."

  Em thought how beautiful and grand his face was as she looked up intoit. She raised her hand gently and put it on his forehead.

  "You are so silent, so cold, my Em," he cried. "Have you nothing to sayto me?"

  A little shade of wonder filled her eyes.

  "I will do everything you tell me," she said.

  "What else could she say? Her idea of love was only service.

  "Then, my own precious one, promise never to kiss that fellow again. Icannot bear that you should love any one but me. You must not! I willnot have it! If every relation I had in the world were to die tomorrow,I would be quite happy if I still only had you! My darling, my love, whyare you so cold? Promise me not to love him any more. If you asked me todo anything for you, I would do it, though it cost my life."

  Em put her hand very gravely round his neck.

  "I will never kiss him," she said, "and I will try not to love any oneelse. But I do not know if I will be able."

  "Oh, my darling, I think of you all night, all day. I think of nothingelse, love, nothing else," he said, folding his arms about her.

  Em was a little conscience stricken; even that morning she had foundtime to remember that in six months her cousin would come back fromschool, and she had thought to remind Waldo of the lozenges for hiscough, even when she saw Gregory coming.

  "I do not know how it is," she said humbly, nestling to him, "but Icannot love you so much as you love me. Perhaps it is because I am onlya woman; but I do love you as much as I can."

  Now the Kaffer maids were coming from the huts. He kissed her again,eyes and mouth and hands, and left her.

  Tant Sannie was well satisfied when told of the betrothment. She herselfcontemplated marriage within the year with one or other of her numerousvrijers, and she suggested that the weddings might take place together.

  Em set to work busily to prepare her own household linen and weddinggarments. Gregory was with her daily, almost hourly, and the six monthswhich elapsed before Lyndall's return passed, as he felicitously phrasedit, "like a summer night, when you are dreaming of some one you love."

  Late one evening, Gregory sat by his little love, turning the handleof her machine as she drew her work through it, and they talked ofthe changes they would make when the Boer-woman was gone, and the farmbelonged to them alone. There should be a new room here, and a kraalthere. So they chatted on. Suddenly Gregory dropped the handle, andimpressed a fervent kiss on the fat hand that guided the linen.

  "You are so beautiful, Em," said the lover. "It comes over me in a floodsuddenly how I love you."

  Em smiled.

  "Tant Sannie says when I am her age no one will look at me; and it istrue. My hands are as short and broad as a duck's foot, and my foreheadis so low, and I haven't any
nose. I can't be pretty."

  She laughed softly. It was so nice to think he should be so blind.

  "When my cousin comes tomorrow you will see a beautiful woman, Gregory,"she added presently. "She is like a little queen: her shoulders are soupright, and her head looks as though it ought to have a little crownupon it. You must come to see her tomorrow as soon as she comes. I amsure you will love her."

  "Of course I shall come to see her, since she is your cousin; but do youthink I could ever think any woman as lovely as I think you?"

  He fixed his seething eyes upon her.

  "You could not help seeing that she is prettier," said Em, slipping herright hand into his; "but you will never be able to like any one so muchas you like me."

  Afterward, when she wished her lover good night, she stood upon thedoorstep to call a greeting after him; and she waited, as she alwaysdid, till the brown pony's hoofs became inaudible behind the kopje.

  Then she passed through the room where Tant Sannie lay snoring, andthrough the little room that was all draped in white, waiting for hercousin's return, on to her own room.

  She went to the chest of drawers to put away the work she had finished,and sat down on the floor before the lowest drawer. In it were thethings she was preparing for her marriage. Piles of white linen, andsome aprons and quilts; and in a little box in the corner a spray oforange-blossom which she had bought from a smouse. There, too, was aring Gregory had given her, and a veil his sister had sent, and therewas a little roll of fine embroidered work which Trana had given her. Itwas too fine and good even for Gregory's wife--just right for somethingvery small and soft. She would keep it. And she touched it gently withher forefinger, smiling; and then she blushed and hid it far behind theother things. She knew so well all that was in that drawer, and yet sheturned them all over as though she saw them for the first time, packedthem all out, and packed them all in, without one fold or crumple; andthen sat down and looked at them.

  Tomorrow evening when Lyndall came she would bring her here, and showit her all. Lyndall would so like to see it--the little wreath, and thering, and the white veil! It would be so nice! Then Em fell to seeingpictures. Lyndall should live with them till she herself got marriedsome day.

  Every day when Gregory came home, tired from his work, he would lookabout and say, "Where is my wife? Has no one seen my wife? Wife, somecoffee!" and she would give him some.

  Em's little face grew very grave at last, and she knelt up and extendedher hands over the drawer of linen.

  "Oh, God!" she said, "I am so glad! I do not know what I have done thatI should be so glad. Thank you!"