_Thirty-eight_
ATONEMENT
Three months had flown. It was Spring again, and Zora sat in thetransformed swamp--now a swamp in name only--beneath the great oak,dreaming. And what she dreamed there in the golden day she dared notformulate even to her own soul. She rose with a start, for there waswork to do. Aunt Rachel was ill, and Emma went daily to attend her;today, as she came back, she brought news that Colonel Cresswell, whohad been unwell for several days, was worse. She must send Emma up tohelp, and as she started toward the school she glanced toward theCresswell Oaks and saw the arm-chair of its master on the pillaredporch.
Colonel Cresswell sat in his chair on the porch, alone. As far as hecould see, there was no human soul. His eyes were blood-shot, his cheekssunken, and his breath came in painful gasps. A sort of terror shookhim until he heard the distant songs of black folk in the fields. Hesighed, and lying back, closed his eyes and the breath came easier. Whenhe opened them again a white figure was coming up the avenue of theOaks. He watched it greedily. It was Mary Cresswell, and she startedwhen she saw him.
"You are worse, father?" she asked.
"Worse and better," he replied, smiling cynically. Then suddenly heannounced: "I've made my will."
"Why--why--" she stammered.
"Why?" sharply. "Because I'm going to die."
She said nothing. He smiled and continued:
"I've got it all fixed. Harry was in a tight place--gambling asusual--and I gave him a lump sum in lieu of all claims. Then I gave JohnTaylor--you needn't look. I sent for him. He's a damned scoundrel; buthe won't lie, and I needed him. I willed his children all the restexcept two or three legacies. One was one hundred thousand dollars foryou--"
"Oh, father!" she cried. "I don't deserve it."
"I reckon two years with Harry was worth about that much," he returnedgrimly. "Then there's another gift of two hundred thousand dollars andthis house and plantation. Whom do you think that's for?"
"Helen?"
"Helen!" he raised his hand in threatening anger. "I might rot here forall she cares. No--no--but then--I'll not tell you--I--ah--" A spasm ofpain shot across his face, and he lay back white and still. Abruptly hesat up again and peered down the oaks. "Hush!" he gasped. "Who's that?"
"I don't know--it's a girl--I--"
He gripped her till she winced.
"My God--it walks--like my wife--I tell you--she held her head so--whois it?" He half rose.
"Oh, father, it's nobody but Emma--little Emma--Bertie's child--themulatto girl. She's a nurse now, and I asked to have her come and attendyou."
"Oh," he said, "oh--" He looked at the girl curiously. "Come here." Hepeered into her white young face. "Do you know me?"
The girl shrank away from him.
"Yes, sir."
"What do you do?"
"I teach and nurse at the school."
"Good! Well, I'm going to give you some money--do you know why?"
A flash of self-consciousness passed over the girl's face; she looked athim with her wide blue eyes.
"Yes, Grandfather," she faltered.
Mrs. Cresswell rose to her feet; but the old man slowly dropped thegirl's hand and lay back in his chair, with lips half smiling."Grandfather," he repeated softly. He closed his eyes a space and thenopened them. A tremor shivered in his limbs as he stared darkly at theswamp.
"Hark!" he cried harshly. "Do you hear the bodies creaking on the limbs?It's Rob and Johnson. I did it--I--"
Suddenly he rose and stood erect and his wild eyes stricken with deathstared full upon Emma. Slowly and thickly he spoke, working histrembling hands.
"Nell--Nell! Is it you, little wife, come back to accuse me? Ah, Nell,don't shrink! I know--I have sinned against the light and the blood ofyour poor black people is red on these old hands. No, don't put yourclean white hands upon me, Nell, till I wash mine. I'll do it, Nell;I'll atone. I'm a Cresswell yet, Nell, a Cresswell and a gen--" Heswayed. Vainly he struggled for the word. The shudder of death shook hissoul, and he passed.
A week after the funeral of Colonel Cresswell, John Taylor drove out tothe school and was closeted with Miss Smith. His sister, installed onceagain for a few days in her old room at the school, understood that hewas conferring about Emma's legacy, and she was glad. She was more andmore convinced that the marriage of Emma and Bles was the best possiblesolution of many difficulties. She had asked Emma once if she likedBles, and Emma had replied in her innocent way,
"Oh, so much."
As for Bles, he was often saying what a dear child Emma was. Neitherperhaps realized yet that this was love, but it needed, Mrs. Cresswellwas sure, only the lightning-flash, and they would know. And who couldfurnish that illumination better than Zora, the calm, methodical Zora,who knew them so well?
As for herself, once she had accomplished the marriage and paid themortgage on the school out of her legacy, she would go abroad and intravel seek forgetfulness and healing. There had been no formal divorce,and so far as she was concerned there never would be; but the separationfrom her husband and America would be forever.
Her brother came out of the office, nodded casually, for they had littleintercourse these days, and rode away. She rushed in to Miss Smith andfound her sitting there--straight, upright, composed in all save thatthe tears were streaming down her face and she was making no effort tostop them.
"Why--Miss Smith!" she faltered.
Miss Smith pointed to a paper. Mrs. Cresswell picked it up curiously. Itwas an official notification to the trustees of the Smith School of alegacy of two hundred thousand dollars together with the Cresswell houseand plantation. Mrs. Gresswell sat down in open-mouthed astonishment.Twice she tried to speak, but there were so many things to say that shecould not choose.
"Tell Zora," Miss Smith at last managed to say.
Zora was dreaming again. Somehow, the old dream-life, with its gloriousphantasies, had come silently back, richer and sweeter than ever. Therewas no tangible reason why, and yet today she had shut herself in herden. Searching down in the depths of her trunk, she drew forth thatfilmy cloud of white--silk-bordered and half finished to a gown. Whywere her eyes wet today and her mind on the Silver Fleece? It was ananniversary, and perhaps she still remembered that moment, that suprememoment before the mob. She half slipped on, half wound about her, thewhite cloud of cloth, standing with parted lips, looking into the longmirror and gleaming in the fading day like midnight gowned in mists andstars. Abruptly there came a peremptory knocking at the door.
"Zora! Zora!" sounded Mrs. Cresswell's voice. Forgetting her informalattire, she opened the door, fearing some mishap. Mrs. Cresswell pouredout the news. Zora received it in such motionless silence that Marywondered at her want of feeling. At last, however, she said happily toZora:
"Well, the battle's over, isn't it?"
"No, it's just begun."
"Just begun?" echoed Mary in amazement.
"Think of the servile black folk, the half awakened restless whites, thefat land waiting for the harvest, the masses panting to know--why, thebattle is scarcely even begun."
"Yes, I guess that's so," Mary began to comprehend. "We'll thank God ithas begun, though."
"Thank God!" Zora reverently repeated.
"Come, let's go back to poor, dear Miss Smith," suggested Mary.
"I can't come just now--but pretty soon."
"Why? Oh, I see; you're trying on something--how pretty and becoming!Well, hurry."
As they stood together, the white woman deemed the moment opportune; sheslipped her arm about the black woman's waist and began:
"Zora, I've had something on my mind for a long time, and I shouldn'twonder if you had thought of the same thing."
"What is it?"
"Bles and Emma."
"What of them?"
"Their liking for each other."
Zora bent a moment and caught up the folds of the Fleece.
"I hadn't noticed it," she said in a low voice.
"Well, you're busy,
you see. They've been very much together--his takingher to her charges, bringing her back, and all that. I know they loveeach other; yet something holds them apart, afraid to show their love.Do you know--I've wondered if--quite unconciously, it is you? You knowBles used to imagine himself in love with you, just as he did afterwardwith Miss Wynn."
"Miss--Wynn?"
"Yes, the Washington girl. But he got over that and you straightened himout finally. Still, Emma probably thinks yours is the prior claim,knowing, of course, nothing of facts. And Bles knows she thinks of himand you, and I'm convinced if you say the word, they'd love and marry."
Zora walked silently with her to the door, where, looking out, she sawBles and Emma coming from Aunt Rachel's. He was helping her from thecarriage with smiling eyes, and her innocent blue eyes were fastened onhim.
Zora looked long and searchingly.
"Please run and tell them of the legacy," she begged. "I--I willcome--in a moment." And Mrs. Cresswell hurried out.
Zora turned back steadily to her room, and locked herself in. After all,why shouldn't it be? Why had it not occurred to her before in herblindness? If she had wanted him--and ah, God! was not all her lifesimply the want of him?--why had she not bound him to her when he hadoffered himself? Why had she not bound him to her? She knew as sheasked--because she had wanted all, not a part--everything, love, respectand perfect faith--not one thing could she spare then--not one thing.And now, oh, God! she had dreamed that it was all hers, since that nightof death and circling flame when they looked at each other soul to soul.But he had not meant anything. It was pity she had seen there, not love;and she rose and walked the room slowly, fast and faster.
With trembling hands she drew the Silver Fleece round her. Her head swamagain and the blood flashed in her eyes. She heard a calling in theswamp, and the shadow of Elspeth seemed to hover over her, claiming herfor her own, dragging her down, down.... She rushed through the swamp.The lagoon lay there before her presently, gleaming in thedarkness--cold and still, and in it swam an awful shape.
She held her burning head--was not everything plain? Was not everythingclear? This was Sacrifice! This was the Atonement for the unforgivensin. Emma's was the pure soul which she must offer up to God; for it wasGod, a cold and mighty God, who had given it to Bles--her Bles. It waswell; God willed it. But could she live? Must she live? Did God askthat, too?
All at once she stood straight; her whole body grew tense, alert. Sheheard no sound behind her, but knew he was there, and braced herself.She must be true. She must be just. She must pay the uttermost farthing.
"Bles," she called faintly, but did not turn her head.
"Zora!"
"Bles," she choked, but her voice came stronger, "I know--all. Emma is agood girl. I helped bring her up myself and did all I could for her andshe--she is pure; marry her."
His voice came slow and firm:
"Emma? But I don't love Emma. I love--some one else."
Her heart bounded and again was still. It was that Washington girl then.She answered dully, groping for words, for she was tired:
"Who is it?"
"The best woman in all the world, Zora."
"And is"--she struggled at the word madly--"is she pure?"
"She is more than pure."
"Then you must marry her, Bles."
"I am not worthy of her," he answered, sinking before her.
Then at last illumination dawned upon her blindness. She stood verystill and lifted up her eyes. The swamp was living, vibrant, tremulous.There where the first long note of night lay shot with burning crimson,burst in sudden radiance the wide beauty of the moon. There pulsed aglory in the air. Her little hands groped and wandered over hisclose-curled hair, and she sobbed, deep voiced:
"Will you--marry me, Bles?"
L'ENVOI
Lend me thine ears, O God the Reader, whose Fathers aforetime sent mine down into the land of Egypt, into this House of Bondage. Lay not these words aside for a moment's phantasy, but lift up thine eyes upon the Horror in this land;--the maiming and mocking and murdering of my people, and the prisonment of their souls. Let my people go, O Infinite One, lest the world shudder at
The End
The Quest of the Silver Fleece: A Novel Page 39