by Kate Chopin
IV
Therese Crosses the River.
To shirk any serious duties of life would have been entirely foreignto Therese's methods or even instincts. But there did come to hermoments of rebellion--or repulsion, against the small demands thatpresented themselves with an unfailing recurrence; and from such, sheat times indulged herself with the privilege of running away. WhenFanny left her alone--a pathetic little droop took possession of thecorners of her mouth that might not have come there if she had notbeen alone. She laid the flowers, only half arranged, on the benchbeside her, as a child would put aside a toy that no longer interestedit. She looked towards the house and could see the servants going backand forth. She knew if she entered, she would be met by appeals fromone and the other. The overseer would soon be along, with his cribkeys, and stable keys; his account of the day's doings andconsultations for to-morrow's work, and for the moment, she would havenone of it.
"Come, Hector--come, old boy," she said rising abruptly; and crossingthe lawn she soon gained the gravel path that led to the outer road.This road brought her by a mild descent to the river bank. The water,seldom stationary for any long period, was at present running low andsluggishly between its red banks.
Tied to the landing was a huge flat-boat, that was managed by the aidof a stout cable reaching quite across the river; and beside itnestled a small light skiff. In this Therese seated herself, andproceeded to row across the stream, Hector plunging into the water andswimming in advance of her.
The banks on the opposite shore were almost perpendicular; and theirsummit to be reached only by the artificial road that had been cutinto them: broad and of easy ascent. This river front was a standingworry to Therese, for when the water was high and rapid, the bankscaved constantly, carrying away great sections from the land. Almostevery year, the fences in places had to be moved back, not only forsecurity, but to allow a margin for the road that on this sidefollowed the course of the small river.
High up and perilously near the edge, stood a small cabin. It had oncebeen far removed from the river, which had now, however, eaten its wayclose up to it--leaving no space for the road-way. The house wassomewhat more pretentious than others of its class, being fashioned ofplaned painted boards, and having a brick chimney that stood fullyexposed at one end. A great rose tree climbed and spread generouslyover one side, and the big red roses grew by hundreds amid the darkgreen setting of their leaves.
At the gate of this cabin Therese stopped, calling out, "_Grossetante!--oh, Grosse tante!_"
The sound of her voice brought to the door a negress--coal black andso enormously fat that she moved about with evident difficulty. Shewas dressed in a loosely hanging purple calico garment of the motherHubbard type--known as a _volante_ amongst Louisiana Creoles; and onher head was knotted and fantastically twisted a bright _tignon_. Herglistening good-natured countenance illumined at the sight of Therese.
"_Quo faire to pas woulez rentrer, Tite maitresse?_" and Thereseanswered in the same Creole dialect: "Not now, _Grosse tante_--I shallbe back in half an hour to drink a cup of coffee with you." No Englishwords can convey the soft music of that speech, seemingly made fortenderness and endearment.
As Therese turned away from the gate, the black woman re-entered thehouse, and as briskly as her cumbersome size would permit, beganpreparations for her mistress' visit. Milk and butter were taken fromthe safe; eggs, from the India rush basket that hung against the wall;and flour, from the half barrel that stood in convenient readiness inthe corner: for _Tite maitresse_ was to be treated to a dish of_croquignoles_. Coffee was always an accomplished fact at hand in thechimney corner.
_Grosse tante_, or more properly, Marie Louise, was a Creole--Therese'snurse and attendant from infancy, and the only one of the familyservants who had come with her mistress from New Orleans toPlace-du-Bois at that lady's marriage with Jerome Lafirme. But herever increasing weight had long since removed her from the possibilityof usefulness, otherwise than in supervising her small farm yard. Shehad little use for "_ces neges Americains_," as she called theplantation hands--a restless lot forever shifting about and changingquarters.
It was seldom now that she crossed the river; only two occasions beingconsidered of sufficient importance to induce her to such effort. Onewas in the event of her mistress' illness, when she would installherself at her bedside as a fixture, not to be dislodged by any lessinducement than Therese's full recovery. The other was when a dinnerof importance was to be given: then Marie Louise consented to act as_chef de cuisine_, for there was no more famous cook than she in theState; her instructor having been no less a personage than old LucienSantien--a _gourmet_ famed for his ultra Parisian tastes.
Seated at the base of a great China-berry on whose gnarled protrudingroots she rested an arm languidly, Therese looked out over the riverand gave herself up to doubts and misgivings. She first took exceptionwith herself for that constant interference in the concerns of otherpeople. Might not this propensity be carried too far at times? Did thegood accruing counterbalance the personal discomfort into which shewas often driven by her own agency? What reason had she to know that apolicy of non-interference in the affairs of others might not afterall be the judicious one? As much as she tried to vaguely generalize,she found her reasoning applying itself to her relation with Hosmer.
The look which she had surprised in Fanny's face had been a painfulrevelation to her. Yet could she have expected other, and should shehave hoped for less, than that Fanny should love her husband and he inturn should come to love his wife?
Had she married Hosmer herself! Here she smiled to think of the stormof indignation that such a marriage would have roused in the parish.Yet, even facing the impossibility of such contingency, it pleased herto indulge in a short dream of what might have been.
If it were her right instead of another's to watch for his coming andrejoice at it! Hers to call him husband and lavish on him the lovethat awoke so strongly when she permitted herself, as she was doingnow, to invoke it! She felt what capability lay within her of rousingthe man to new interests in life. She pictured the dawn of anunsuspected happiness coming to him: broadening; illuminating; growingin him to answer to her own big-heartedness.
Were Fanny, and her own prejudices, worth the sacrifice which she andHosmer had made? This was the doubt that bade fair to unsettle her;that called for a sharp, strong out-putting of the will before shecould bring herself to face the situation without its accessions ofpersonalities. Such communing with herself could not be condemned as aweakness with Therese, for the effect which it left upon her strongnature was one of added courage and determination.
When she reached Marie Louise's cabin again, twilight, which is sobrief in the South, was giving place to the night.
Within the cabin, the lamp had already been lighted, and Marie Louisewas growing restless at Therese's long delay.
"Ah _Grosse tante_, I'm so tired," she said, falling into a chair nearthe door; not relishing the warmth of the room after her quick walk,and wishing to delay as long as possible the necessity of sitting attable. At another time she might have found the dish of golden brown_croquignoles_ very tempting with its accessory of fragrant coffee;but not to-day.
"Why do you run about so much, _Tite maitresse_? You are always goingthis way and that way; on horseback, on foot--through the house. Makethose lazy niggers work more. You spoil them. I tell you if it was oldmistress that had to deal with them, they would see somethingdifferent."
She had taken all the pins from Therese's hair which fell in agleaming, heavy mass; and with her big soft hands she was stroking herhead as gently as if those hands had been of the whitest and mostdelicate.
"I know that look in your eyes, it means headache. It's time for me tomake you some more _eau sedative_--I am sure you haven't any more;you've given it away as you give away every thing."
"_Grosse tante_," said Therese seated at table and sipping her coffee;_Grosse tante_ also drinking her cup--but seated apart, "I am going toinsist
on having your cabin moved back; it is silly to be so stubbornabout such a small matter. Some day you will find yourself out in themiddle of the river--and what am I going to do then?--no one to nurseme when I am sick--no one to scold me--nobody to love me."
"Don't say that, _Tite maitresse_, all the world loves you--it isn'tonly Marie Louise. But no. You must remember the last time poorMonsieur Jerome moved me, and said with a laugh that I can neverforget, 'well, _Grosse tante_, I know we have got you far enough thistime out of danger,' away back in Dumont's field you recollect? I saidthen, Marie Louise will move no more; she's too old. If the good Goddoes not want to take care of me, then it's time for me to go."
"Ah but, _Grosse tante_, remember--God does not want all the troubleon his own shoulders," Therese answered humoring the woman, in herconception of the Deity. "He wants us to do our share, too."
"Well, I have done my share. Nothing is going to harm Marie Louise. Ithought about all that, do not fret. So the last time Pere Antoinepassed in the road--going down to see that poor Pierre Pardou at theMouth--I called him in, and he blessed the whole house inside and out,with holy water--notice how the roses have bloomed since then--andgave me medals of the holy Virgin to hang about. Look over the door,_Tite maitresse_, how it shines, like a silver star."
"If you will not have your cabin removed, _Grosse tante_, then comelive with me. Old Hatton has wanted work at Place-du-Bois, the longesttime. We will have him build you a room wherever you choose, a prettylittle house like those in the city."
"_Non--non, Tite maitresse, Marie Louise 'pre crever icite ave tousson butin, si faut_" (no, no, _Tite maitresse_, Marie Louise will diehere with all her belongings if it must be).
The servants were instructed that when their mistress was not at homeat a given hour, her absence should cause no delay in the householdarrangements. She did not choose that her humor or her movements behampered by a necessity of regularity which she owed to no one. Whenshe reached home supper had long been over.
Nearing the house she heard the scraping of Nathan's violin, the noiseof shuffling feet and unconstrained laughter. These festive soundscame from the back veranda. She entered the dining-room, and from itsobscurity looked out on a curious scene. The veranda was lighted by alamp suspended from one of its pillars. In a corner sat Nathan;serious, dignified, scraping out a monotonous but rhythmic minorstrain to which two young negroes from the lower quarters--famousdancers--were keeping time in marvelous shuffling and pigeon-wings;twisting their supple joints into astonishing contortions and thesweat rolling from their black visages. A crowd of darkies stood at arespectful distance an appreciative and encouraging audience. Andseated on the broad rail of the veranda were Melicent and Gregoire,patting Juba and singing a loud accompaniment to the breakdown.
Was this the Gregoire who had only yesterday wept such bitter tears onhis aunt's bosom?
Therese turning away from the scene, the doubt assailed her whether itwere after all worth while to strive against the sorrows of life thatcan be so readily put aside.