The Homesteader: A Novel

by Oscar Micheaux

  CHAPTER XVII

  THE COWARD

  "Hello, Jean," cried a friend of his at Colome some days later, as hewas leading his horses into the livery barn, after loading the coal hewas hauling to the men who were breaking prairie on his sister's claimwith a steam tractor. "Were those your folks I seen driving into town awhile ago?"

  "My folks?"

  "Yeh. Three of them. A man and two women. One of the ladies appears tobe sick."

  "Oh," he echoed, and before he could or would have answered in hissudden surprise, the other passed on. It was some moments before herecovered from the shock the other's words had given him. He knewwithout stopping to think that the ones referred to were the Reverend,Ethel and his wife. He had written his wife a few days before that hewould be home the following Sunday, and when he would be caught up inhis hauling sufficiently and could spend a few days there.

  "So he moves without my consent or bid," he breathed, and for a time hewas listless from the feeling that overcame him. He attended to hishorses, mechanically, had supper and went to verify what he had heard.

  He had little difficulty in doing so, for the town was small, but thatnight, happened to be full of people, and the Reverend had found somedifficulty in securing lodging. The day had not been a beautiful one byany means. It was in early April and the month had borrowed one of thedreary days of the previous month. Light snow had fallen, which, alongtoward evening had turned into a dismal sleet. A bad day to say theleast, to be out, and a sick person of all things!

  He went directly to the preacher when he saw him. He was aroused, andthe insults he had suffered did not make him pleasant.

  "Now, look here, Reverend McCarthy," he said and his tone revealed hisfeelings, "what kind of a 'stunt' are you pulling off with my wife?" Andhe blocked his way where they stood upon the sidewalk.

  "Now, now, my son--"

  "Oh, don't 'son' me," said the other impatiently. "You and I might aswell come to an understanding right here tonight as any other time. Weare not friends and you know it. We have never since we have known eachother been in accord--not since we met--yes, twenty-two years ago. Oh,you remember it." The other started guiltily when Jean referred to hisyouth.

  "You remember how my mother licked me for letting Miss Self help me uponher lap and fed me, thereby disturbing your illegitimate flirtation...."The other's pious face darkened. But it was not his nature to meet andargue openly as men should and do. Always his counter was subtle. Sowhile Jean Baptiste was in the mood to come to an understanding, toadmit frankly to the other, that enemies they were, the Elder permitteda womanish smile to spread over his face and patted the other on theback, saying:

  "Now, now, Jean. You are my daughter's husband, and it is no time orplace to carry on like this. The girl lays sick over here and if youwould be a husband you would go to her. Now let's dispense with suchthings as you refer to and go forth to the indisposed." He appearedmore godly now than he had ever. Distrust was in the face of Baptiste.He knew the preacher was not sincere, but his wife, the girl he hadmarried, lay ill. He suspicioned that the Elder had intended stealingher away without his knowledge; he knew, moreover, that all his affectedtenderness was subtle; but he hushed the harsh words that were on histongue to say and followed the other.

  "Yes, my children," his pious face almost unable to veil the evil behindthe mask, "here we are together," he said when he entered the roomfollowed by Baptiste. Orlean was in bed and made no effort to greet herhusband; while Ethel sat sulkily in a chair nearby and kept her mouthclosed. Jean went to the bed and sat by his wife and regarded hermeditatively. She did not seem to recognize him, and he made no effortto arouse her to express her thoughts which seemed to come and go. Hewas lost in thoughts, strange and sinister. Verily his life was in aturmoil. The life he had come into through his marriage had revived somany old and unpleasant memories that he had forgotten, until he was ina sort of daze. He had virtually run away from those parts wherein hehad first seen the light of day, to escape the effect of dull indolence;the penurious evil that seemed to have gripped the populace, especiallya great portion of his race. In the years Jean Baptiste had spent in theWest, he had been able to follow, unhampered, his convictions. But now,the Reverend's presence seemed to have brought all this back.

  In a conversation one day with that other he had occasion to mention thelate James J. Hill, in his eulogy of the northwest and was surprised tofind--and have the Reverend admit--that he had never even heard of him.Indeed, what the Elder knew about the big things in life would havefilled a very small book. But when it came to the virtues of the womenin the churches over which he presided, he knew everything. And wheneverthey had become agreeable in any way, it was sure to end with theReverend relating incidents regarding the social and moral conduct ofthe women in the churches over which he presided. Moreover, the Eldersought in his subtle manner, to dig into the past life of members ofBaptiste's family, of what any had committed that could be used as ameasure for gossip. And this night, as they sat over Jean's wife whosesentiment and convictions had been crushed, the Elder attempted to dwellon the subject again.

  "Yes, when your older sister taught in Murphysboro, and got herselftalked about because she drew a revolver on Professor Alexander, thatwas certainly too bad."

  "Looks as if she was able to take care of herself," suggested Baptiste,deciding to counter the old rascal at his own game.

  "But that's what I'm trying to show you, and you could see it if youwasn't inclined to be so hard headed," argued the Elder.

  "We'll leave personalities out of it, if you please," said Baptiste,coloring.

  "Oh, but if your sister had had protection, such a deplorable incidentwould not have happened. Now, for instance," argued the Elder, "my girlshave never had their good names embarrassed with such incidents."

  "Oh, they haven't," cried Baptiste, all patience gone.

  "Then what about their half brother in East St. Louis, eh? And the otherone who died--was stabbed to death. Those were yours, and you were nevermarried to their mother!"

  The other's face became terrible. The expression upon his face wasdreadful to behold. He started to rise, but Baptiste was not through.He was thoroughly aroused now, and all he had stood from this archsinner had come back to him. Therefore, before the other could deny ordo anything, said he:

  "Oh, you needn't try to become so upset over it. Your morals are commonknowledge to all the people of Illinois, and elsewhere. And let me tellyou, you can--as you have--in your family, force those who know it andcondemn it to keep quiet by making yourself so disagreeable that theywill honey you up to get along with you. But it is not because they, orall those who know you, are not aware of it! That's your reputation, andsome day you are going to suffer for it. You deliberately make peoplemiserable to satisfy your infernal vanity; your desire to be looked uponand called great. Now right here you are bent upon crucifying your owndaughter's happiness just because I haven't tickled your rotten vanity,and lied." He arose now, and pointed a threatening finger at the other.

  "You are out to injure me, and you are taking advantage of your ownchild's position as my wife to do so. I'm going to let you go ahead.Orlean's a good girl, but she's weak like the mother that you haveabused for thirty years! But remember this, N.J. McCarthy, and I'vecalled you Reverend for the last time. The evil that you do unto otherswill some day be done unto you and will drag your ornery heart in itsown blood. Mark my words!" And the next instant he was gone.

  The other looked after him uneasily. The truth had come so forcibly, soimpulsively, so abruptly, that it had for the time overcome hiscunningness; but only for a moment after the other had disappeared washe so. He regained his usual composure soon enough, and he turned tothe sick woman for succor--to her whom he was dragging down to thegutter of misery for his own self aggrandizement.

  "Did you hear how he abused your father?" he cried, the tears from hispiggish eyes falling on her cheeks. She reached and stroked his whitehair, and mumbled weak words.

>   "Oh, I never thought I would come to this--be brought to this throughthe daughter that I have loved so much. Oh, poor me, your poor oldfather," whereupon he wept bitterly.

  "You see, you see," cried Ethel, who had risen and stood over her,pointing her finger to Orlean as she lay upon the bed. "This is whatcomes of marrying that man! I tried, oh, I tried so hard to have you seethat no good could come of it, no good at all!" The other sighed. Shewas too weak from mortification to reply in the affirmative, or thenegative.

  "I tried, and I tried to have you desist, but you would! When I had atlast gotten you to quit him, and you swore you had, no sooner did hecome and place his arm about you and whisper fool things in your ear,than did you but up and consent to this. This, this, do you hear? Thisthat has brought your poor father to that!" and she stopped to point towhere that one lay stretched across the bed, sobbing.

  The night was one long, miserable, quarrelsome night. Ethel and theElder wore themselves out abusing Baptiste, and along toward morning allfell into a troubled sleep.

  Baptiste met them the next morning as they came from the rooms, andhelped his wife across the street to a restaurant. When they hadfinished the meal, he said to her as they came from the restaurant,

  "Now, dear, I'll step into the bank here and get you some money--"

  "No, no, no, Jean," she said quickly, cutting him off before hecompleted what he had started to say.

  "Well," and he started toward the bank again as if he had not understoodher.

  "No, no, no, Jean," she repeated, and caught his arm nervously. "No,don't!"

  "But you are going away, dear, and will surely need money?" he insisted.

  "Yes, but--Jean--Jean--I have money."

  "You have money?" repeated the other uncomprehendingly. "But how cameyou with money? That much money?"

  "I--I had--a--check cashed. That is--papa had one cashed for me."

  "Oh, so that was it. M-m. _Your father_ had it cashed for you?" heunderstood then, and his suspicion that the Elder had intended takingher to Chicago without letting him know it was confirmed. They walkeddown the street toward the depot, and while she held nervously to hisarm, his mind was concerned with his thoughts. It occurred to him thathe should take his wife back to the claim right then. He felt that ifshe went to Chicago there would be trouble. He began slowly toappreciate that in dealing with Reverend McCarthy he was not dealingwith a man; nor a near man. He was not dealing with a mere liar, or athief, even--he was dealing with the lowest of all reptiles, a snake!Then why did not he, Jean Baptiste, act?

  Perhaps if he had, we should never have had this story to tell. JeanBaptiste did not act. He decided to let her go. Beyond that he had nodecision. It seemed that his mind would not work beyond the immediatepresent. Soon she heard him, as she clung to his arm, allowing her bodyto rest against his shoulder:

  "How much for, Orlean?"

  "Two--two--hundred dollars."

  "Why--two hundred dollars!" he cried. "Why, Orlean, what has come overyou?" She burst into tears then, and clung appealingly to him. And inthat moment she was again his God-given mate.

  "Besides," he went on, "I haven't such an amount in the bank, even." Helooked up. A half a block in their lead walked Reverend McCarthy,carrying the luggage.

  "Papa, p-a-pa!" called Orlean at the top of her voice. "Pa-p-a," shecalled again and again until she fell into a fit of coughing. He halted,and was uneasy, Baptiste could see. They came up to him. Orlean wasrunning despite her husband's effort to hold her back.

  "Papa, papa! My God, give Jean back that money. Give it back, I say! Oh,I didn't want to do this, oh, I didn't want to! It was you who had mesign that check, you, you, you!" She was overcome then, and fell into aswoon in her husband's arms. He stood firmly, bravely, then like theRock of Gibraltar. His face was very hard, it was very firm. His eyesspoke. It told the one before him the truth, the truth that was.

  And as the other ran his hand to his inside vest pocket and drew forththe money, he kept saying in a low, cowardly voice:

  "_It was her, it was her. She did it, she did it!_"

  Baptiste took the money. He looked at it. He took fifty dollars from itand handed the amount to the other. He spoke then, in a voice that wassingularly dry:

  "I will not keep her from going. She can go; but you know I ought notlet her."

  They carried her to where the cars stood, and made her comfortable whenonce inside. She opened her eyes when he was about to leave uponhearing the conductor's call. She looked up into his eyes. He bent andkissed her. She looked after him as he turned, and called: "Jean!"

  "Yes, Orlean!"

  "Goodby!"

  He stood on the platform of the small western station as the trainpulled down the track. A few moments later it disappeared from view, andshe was gone.

  EPOCH THE THIRD

  EPOCH THE THIRD