CHAPTER XIV.
BY AN OATH.
Pere Jerome, pausing on a street-corner in the last hour of sunlight,had wiped his brow and taken his cane down from under his arm to startagain, when somebody, coming noiselessly from he knew not where, asked,so suddenly as to startle him:
"_Miche, commin ye pelle la rie ici_?--how do they call this streethere?"
It was by the bonnet and dress, disordered though they were, rather thanby the haggard face which looked distractedly around, that he recognizedthe woman to whom he replied in her own _patois_:
"It is the Rue Burgundy. Where are you going, Madame Delphine?"
She almost leaped from the ground.
"Oh, Pere Jerome! _mo pas conne_,--I dunno. You know w'ere's dad 'ouseof Miche Jean Tomkin? _Mo courri 'ci, mo courri la,--mo pas capabe litrouve_. I go (run) here--there--I cannot find it," she gesticulated.
"I am going there myself," said he; "but why do you want to see JeanThompson, Madame Delphine?"
"I _'blige'_ to see 'im!" she replied, jerking herself half around away,one foot planted forward with an air of excited pre-occupation; "I goddsome' to tell 'im wad I _'blige'_ to tell 'im!"
"Madame Delphine"--
"Oh! Pere Jerome, fo' de love of de good God, show me dad way to de'ouse of Jean Tomkin!"
Her distressed smile implored pardon for her rudeness.
"What are you going to tell him?" asked the priest.
"Oh, Pere Jerome,"--in the Creole _patois_ again,--"I am going to put anend to all this trouble--only I pray you do not ask me about it now;every minute is precious!"
He could not withstand her look of entreaty.
"Come," he said, and they went.
* * * * *
Jean Thompson and Doctor Varrillat lived opposite each other on theBayou road, a little way beyond the town limits as then prescribed. Eachhad his large, white-columned, four-sided house among the magnolias,--his huge live-oak overshadowing either corner of the darkly shadedgarden, his broad, brick walk leading down to the tall, brick-pillaredgate, his square of bright, red pavement on the turf-covered sidewalk,and his railed platform spanning the draining-ditch, with a pair ofgreen benches, one on each edge, facing each other crosswise of thegutter. There, any sunset hour, you were sure to find the householdersitting beside his cool-robed matron, two or three slave nurses in whiteturbans standing at hand, and an excited throng of fair children, nearlyall of a size.
Sometimes, at a beckon or call, the parents on one side of the way wouldjoin those on the other, and the children and nurses of both familieswould be given the liberty of the opposite platform and an ice-creamfund! Generally the parents chose the Thompson platform, its outlookbeing more toward the sunset.
Such happened to be the arrangement this afternoon. The two husbands saton one bench and their wives on the other, both pairs very quiet,waiting respectfully for the day to die, and exchanging only occasionalcomments on matters of light moment as they passed through the memory.During one term of silence Madame Varrillat, a pale, thin-faced, butcheerful-looking lady, touched Madame Thompson, a person of two and ahalf times her weight, on her extensive and snowy bare elbow, directingher attention obliquely up and across the road.
About a hundred yards distant, in the direction of the river, was along, pleasantly shaded green strip of turf, destined in time for asidewalk. It had a deep ditch on the nearer side, and a fence of roughcypress palisades on the farther, and these were overhung, on the onehand, by a row of bitter-orange-trees inside the enclosure, and, on theother, by a line of slanting china-trees along the outer edge of theditch. Down this cool avenue two figures were approaching side by side.They had first attracted Madame Varrillat's notice by the bright play ofsunbeams which, as they walked, fell upon them in soft, golden flashesthrough the chinks between the palisades.
Madame Thompson elevated a pair of glasses which were no detraction fromher very good looks, and remarked, with the serenity of a reconnoitringgeneral.
"_Pere Jerome et cette milatraise_."
All eyes were bent toward them.
"She walks like a man," said Madame Varrillat, in the language withwhich the conversation had opened.
"No," said the physician, "like a woman in a state of high nervousexcitement."
Jean Thompson kept his eyes on the woman, and said:
"She must not forget to walk like a woman in the State ofLouisiana,"--as near as the pun can be translated. The company laughed.Jean Thompson looked at his wife, whose applause he prized, and sheanswered by an asseverative toss of the head, leaning back andcontriving, with some effort, to get her arms folded. Her laugh wasmusical and low, but enough to make the folded arms shake gently up anddown.
"Pere Jerome is talking to her," said one. The priest was at that momentendeavoring, in the interest of peace, to say a good word for the fourpeople who sat watching his approach. It was in the old strain:
"Blame them one part, Madame Delphine, and their fathers, mothers,brothers, and fellow-citizens the other ninety-nine."
But to every thing she had the one amiable answer which Pere Jeromeignored:
"I am going to arrange it to satisfy everybody, all together. _Tout afait_."
"They are coming here," said Madame Varrillat, half articulately.
"Well, of course," murmured another; and the four rose up, smilingcourteously, the doctor and attorney advancing and shaking hands withthe priest.
No--Pere Jerome thanked them--he could not sit down.
"This, I believe you know, Jean, is Madame Delphine"--
The quadroone courtesied.
"A friend of mine," he added, smiling kindly upon her, and turning, withsomething imperative in his eye, to the group. "She says she has animportant private matter to communicate."
"To me?" asked Jean Thompson.
"To all of you; so I will--Good-evening." He responded nothing to theexpressions of regret, but turned to Madame Delphine. She murmuredsomething.
"Ah! yes, certainly." He addressed the company "She wishes me to speakfor her veracity; it is unimpeachable. Well, good-evening." He shookhands and departed.
The four resumed their seats, and turned their eyes upon the standingfigure.
"Have you something to say to us?" asked Jean Thompson, frowning at herlaw-defying bonnet.
"Oui," replied the woman, shrinking to one side, and laying hold of oneof the benches, "_mo oule di' tou' c'ose_"--I want to tell every thing."_Miche Vignevielle la plis bon homme di moune_"--the best man in theworld; "_mo pas capabe li fe tracas_"--I cannot give him trouble. "_Mopas capable, non; m'ole di' tous c'ose_." She attempted to fan herself,her face turned away from the attorney, and her eyes rested on theground.
"Take a seat," said Doctor Varrillat, with some suddenness, startingfrom his place and gently guiding her sinking form into the corner ofthe bench. The ladies rose up; somebody had to stand; the two racescould not both sit down at once--at least not in that public manner.
"Your salts," said the physician to his wife. She handed the vial.Madame Delphine stood up again.
"We will all go inside," said Madame Thompson, and they passed throughthe gate and up the walk, mounted the steps, and entered the deep, cooldrawing-room.
Madame Thompson herself bade the quadroone be seated.
"Well?" said Jean Thompson, as the rest took chairs.
"_C'est drole_"--it's funny--said Madame Delphine, with a piteous effortto smile, "that nobody thought of it. It is so plain. You have only tolook and see. I mean about Olive." She loosed a button in the front ofher dress and passed her hand into her bosom. "And yet, Olive herselfnever thought of it. She does not know a word."
The hand came out holding a miniature. Madame Varrillat passed it toJean Thompson.
"_Ouala so popa_," said Madame Delphine. "That is her father."
It went from one to another, exciting admiration and murmured praise.
"She is the image of him," said Madame Thompson, in an austereunderton
e, returning it to her husband.
Doctor Varrillat was watching Madame Delphine. She was very pale. Shehad passed a trembling hand into a pocket of her skirt, and now drew outanother picture, in a case the counterpart of the first. He reached outfor it, and she handed it to him. He looked at it a moment, when hiseyes suddenly lighted up and he passed it to the attorney.
"_Et la_"--Madame Delphine's utterance failed--"_et la ouala sa moman_.That is her mother."
The three others instantly gathered around Jean Thompson's chair. Theywere much impressed.
"It is true beyond a doubt!" muttered Madame Thompson.
Madame Varrillat looked at her with astonishment.
"The proof is right there in the faces," said Madame Thompson.
"Yes! yes!" said Madame Delphine, excitedly; "the proof is there! You donot want any better! I am willing to swear to it! But you want no betterproof! That is all anybody could want! My God! you cannot help but seeit!"
Her manner was wild.
Jean Thompson looked at her sternly.
"Nevertheless you say you are willing to take your solemn oath to this."
"Certainly"--
"You will have to do it."
"Certainly, Miche Thompson, _of course_ I shall; you will make out thepaper and I will swear before God that it is true! Only"--turning to theladies--"do not tell Olive; she will never believe it. It will break herheart! It"--
A servant came and spoke privately to Madame Thompson, who rose quicklyand went to the hall Madame Delphine continued, rising unconsciously:
"You see, I have had her with me from a baby. She knows no better. Hebrought her to me only two months old. Her mother had died in the ship,coming out here. He did not come straight from home here. His peoplenever knew he was married!"
The speaker looked around suddenly with a startled glance. There was anoise of excited speaking in the hall.
"It is not true, Madame Thompson!" cried a girl's voice.
Madame Delphine's look became one of wildest distress and alarm, and sheopened her lips in a vain attempt to utter some request, when Oliveappeared a moment in the door, and then flew into her arms.
"My mother! my mother! my mother!"
Madame Thompson, with tears in her eyes, tenderly drew them apart andlet Madame Delphine down into her chair, while Olive threw herself uponher knees, continuing to cry:
"Oh, my mother! Say you are my mother!"
Madame Delphine looked an instant into the upturned face, and thenturned her own away, with a long, low cry of pain, looked again, andlaying both hands upon the suppliant's head, said:
"_Oh, chere piti a moin, to pa' ma fie_!"--Oh, my darling little one,you are not my daughter!--Her eyes closed, and her head sank back; thetwo gentlemen sprang to her assistance, and laid her upon a sofaunconscious.
When they brought her to herself, Olive was kneeling at her headsilently weeping.
"_Maman, chere maman_!" said the girl softly, kissing her lips.
"_Ma courri c'ez moin_"--I will go home--said the mother, drearily.
"You will go home with me," said Madame Varrillat, with great kindnessof manner--"just across the street here; I will take care of you tillyou feel better. And Olive will stay here with Madame Thompson. You willbe only the width of the street apart."
But Madame Delphine would go nowhere but to her home. Olive she wouldnot allow to go with her. Then they wanted to send a servant or two tosleep in the house with her for aid and protection; but all she wouldaccept was the transient service of a messenger to invite two of herkinspeople--man and wife--to come and make their dwelling with her.
In course of time these two--a poor, timid, helpless pair--fell heir tothe premises. Their children had it after them; but, whether in thosehands or these, the house had its habits and continued in them; and tothis day the neighbors, as has already been said, rightly explain itsclose-sealed, uninhabited look by the all-sufficient statement that theinmates "is quadroons."
Old Creole Days: A Story of Creole Life Page 14