A Woman Named Smith

by Marie Conway Oemler

  CHAPTER XI

  THE JINNEE INTERVENES

  Just before he went back North, Luis Morenas good-naturedly agreedto exhibit his new sketches for the delectation of such folk as wecared to ask to view them--this to please Alicia, whom he calledFlower o' the Peach.

  Now an exhibit of Morenas sketches would have been an art event inthe Biggest City itself. But think of it in Hyndsville, where fewworth-while things ever happened; and imagine the politewire-pulling for invitations that ensued!

  It wasn't my fault that I couldn't ask the whole town to come to myhouse to see those brilliant sketches. I would have done so with allmy heart, but there was a section of Hyndsville I couldn't reach. Itwas locked up behind bars of pride and prejudice of its ownbuilding; and losing by it, of course, since one can't be exclusivewithout at the same time being excluded. To shut other folks out youhave first got to shut yourself in.

  For instance, figure to yourself Miss Martha Hopkins. She hadvisited as far north as Atlanta; and she had relatives inCharleston, as she would have condescendingly informed arch-angels,principalities, powers, thrones, and dominions. But she wasn'tblessed with much of this world's goods, and most of the time shestayed home and improved her mind. She took herself with profoundseriousness. She seemed to think that the better part of wisdomconsists in knowing who said this and who didn't say that--"as Mr.Arnold Bennett expresses it," "as Mr. H.G. Wells remarks," "as Mr.James Huneker writes,"--she was the only person in all Hyndsvillewho could write up music and art, and she wasn't even afraid to usethe word _sex_ in its most modern acceptance; though in SouthCarolina you refer to the ladies as "the fair sex" if you're agentleman, and to the gentlemen as "the stronger sex" if you're alady. You understand that "male and female created He them," and youlet it go at that. Miss Martha Hopkins, then, was daring; she wasalso exclusive.

  I suppose if I had been younger I could have smiled at Miss Martha,as Susy Gatchell and her graceless friends did, but somehow sheappeared to me a creature trying to peck at the world and peek atthe stars through the bars of a bird-cage. That's why, when I mether a morning or two before the Morenas exhibit, I asked her if shewouldn't like to see it. I knew that, once asked, she could be keptaway by nothing short of an earthquake or a deluge. Yet--

  "Thank you, Miss Smith, I shall be glad to look over the sketches."And she added blandly: "Four o'clock, did you say? Very well, I willcome. It is one's moral duty to encourage men of talent."

  "Whoop!" cried The Author, joyously, when I told him that. "Revengeyourself, Morenas: sketch her, man! sketch her!"

  Morenas laughed. "Put her in one of your books and make her talk,"he suggested slyly. "You have a genius for making a woman talk likean idiot."

  "That's because he does the talking for her, himself," said Alicia,impudently.

  "It pays, it pays!" smiled The Author. "I draw from life."

  "Nature-fakir!" Alicia mocked.

  "My dear fellow, _I_ draw. _You_ draw and quarter," said Morenas.

  The Author flung out his arms, grandiloquently.

  You may as well try to change the course Of yonder sun To north, and south, As to try to subdue by criticism This heart of verse, Or close this mouth!

  he cried, thumping his chest. "Come on, Johnson: let's leave theseknockers to fate--and Miss Martha Hopkins!"

  Miss Martha Hopkins came, she saw, and she had a perfectly beautifultime. As a matter of fact, everybody that could come, did come. Andthe very smartest and prettiest of the younger set served tea. Oh,yes, decidedly the tables were turning!

  Despite which, Alicia and I were not happy. It seemed to me that aveil had fallen between us, for we were shy with each other. Bothsuffered, and each dreaded that the other should know.

  I was grateful that The Author's mind was too taken up with HyndsHouse history to focus itself upon us. The Author spent his sparehours rummaging through such dusty and musty records as might throwsome light upon the Hyndses. In the old office were many fadedplantation and household books, and he was able to glean enough fromthese to confirm the methodical carefulness of Freeman Hynds. Therewere, too, dry receipts for "monies Paid by Mr. Rich. Hynds" forsome old slave; or a brief notice that "By Orders Mr. Richd. Hynds,no Women shall be Whipt"; or "Bought by Mr. R. Hynds & Charg'd tohis Acct., one Crippl'd Black Childe namd Scipio from Vanham's Sale,& Given to Sukey his Mother." Another time it would be a list ofChristmas gifts: "One Colour'd Head Kerchief for Nancy. One Flutefor Blind Sam. One Shoulder Cape for Kitty my Nurse. OneHorn-handl'd Knife for Agrippa. One Pckt. Tobacco & a Jorum of Rumfor Shooba."

  Over against these items were others: "By Orders Mr. Freeman Hynds,Juba to Receive Twenty light Lashes for Malingering; Black Tom to beShipt to River Bottom Plantation for the Chastning of his Spiritt;Bread & Water & Irons 3 Dayes & Nights for Shooba for Frighting ofhis Fellowes & other Evil Behaviour."

  This was interesting enough, but not conclusive. All that The Authorcould find only deepened his uncertainty, and this made himabominably cross, an ill temper increased by the presence of Mr.Nicholas Jelnik, who came and went, unruffled, aloof, withinscrutable eyes and a gently mocking smile.

  The Harrison-Gores came shortly after Morenas left. The Englishmanwas a pink-faced old gentleman in a shabby Norfolk suit and with thevery thinnest legs on record--"mocking-bird legs," Fernolia calledthem. His daughter was a gray-eyed Minerva with the skin of a babyand the walk of a Highland piper. They found Carolina peoplecharming, and they secured some valuable data for their book, "TheBeginnings of American History." Everything in Hynds House pleasedthem, even The Author.

  Other people who do not enter into this story came and went duringthat winter. But they were merely millionaires--people who motoredaround the lovely country, ate Mary Magdalen's hot biscuit and friedchicken, slept in our four-posters, paid their stiff billsthankfully, and went about their business as good millionairesshould, and generally do. Only one out of them all was disagreeable;he wanted to buy Hynds House out of hand for a proposed club ofwhich he was to be founder and president.

  "It'd be just what the bunch would like," he told me. "All we'd haveto do would be to paint these wooden walls a nice cheerful lightcolor, change one room into a smoker, another into a billiard-room,and a third into a grill, add some gun-racks and leatherwing-chairs, and we'd be right up to the minute in club-houses!"

  When I explained that I couldn't sell he offered to compromise ontwo of the carved marble mantels, the library tiles, and two inlaidtables, "at double what you'd get from anybody else." And when Iwouldn't even let him have these trifles, he was disgusted and tookno pains to conceal it. He was rude to Alicia, who snubbed him withterrible thoroughness, a proceeding which made him call loudly forhis "bill" and his car. The last we heard of him was his bullyingvoice bawling at his sullen chauffeur.

  "That pig," said The Author to me, with fury, "is undoubtedly thelineal descendant of the one Gadarene swine that hadn't decencyenough to rush down the slope with the rest of the herd and drownhimself."

  Busy as I was, it wasn't over easy for me to find time to revisitthat brown and sweet-smelling spot in the Forest of Arden where on agray afternoon, I had met Nicholas Jelnik and received from him akiss on the palm, and a broken coin. And I wanted to go back there,as ghosts may desire to revisit the glimpses of the moon.

  That is why, on the first free afternoon I had, I changed into theselfsame brown frock, put on the brown hat with the yellow quill init, and slipped out of Hynds House alone. It wasn't a gray afternoonthis time, but a clear, bright, sun-shiny one, all blue and gold andgreen, and with the pleasantest of friendly winds a-frolicking, anda pine-scented air with a pungent and a vital bite to it.

  I went along the highroad for a while, crossed the weedy, fernyditch that separated it from the fallow fields beyond, and struckinto the deserted foot-path that leads to the Enchanted Wood.

  It was very lonesome, very peaceful. I could see the pine-trees Ilove swaying and rocking
against the blue, blue sky; I could catchthe low-hummed tune they crooned to themselves and the winds; Icould sniff a thousand woodsy odors. Spears of sunlight made brightblobs on the brown grass; and every littlest bush and shrub wore ashimmering halo, as you see the blessed ones backgrounded in oldpictures. There was a bird twittering somewhere; occasionally a twigsnapped with a quick, secret sharpness; and once a thin brown rabbittook to his heels, right under my feet.

  I stopped from time to time to sense the feel of the afternoon, todrink the air and be healed. In a few minutes I should be within theforest and hear the little brook giggling to itself as it scurriedover its brown pathway. And then I heard--something--and turned.

  The deep and weedy ditch, crowded with high stalks of last year'sgoldenrod and fennel, edged all that pathway, draining the entirefield. Crawling snakelike through it he had followed me. And nowhere he was, suddenly erect on the path behind me, looking at mewith narrowed eyes under his flat forehead.

  I wasn't afraid--at first. Nothing like him had ever crossed mypath, and I stared at him with more of disgust and aversion thanterror.

  He was tall and bony, immensely powerful, and his black skin showedwith a grayish shine upon it through the rents in his rags. Hisgray-black, horny toes protruded through what once had been shoes,and a shapeless, colorless felt hat covered his bullet head. Hiscorded black arms emerged from the torn sleeves of his checkedshirt, and his hairy chest was naked. There came from him anindescribable reek of tobacco, whisky, filthy clothes, and thebeastlike odor of an unclean body. He was beardless, and hisgorilla-like nostrils twitched, his forehead wrinkled. His eyes weremere pin-points, with a sort of red glare far back in them; hismouth was like a dirty red muzzle. He was a prowling tramp, of theworst sort.

  Involuntarily he stopped in his tracks as I faced him, his handshanging loosely at his sides. His eyes swept greedily overme--silver mesh-purse, wrist-watch, the brooch at my throat, therings on my fingers.

  "Whut yuh doin' hyuh, w'ite lady?" he asked in a thick voice, andgrinned. And quite suddenly such a fear as I had not dreamed couldbe felt by a mortal took me by the heart and squeezed it as with aniron hand.

  "Whut foh yuh come by mah field, lil w'ite lady?" he purred. "Ah'mtakin' lil snooze in de ditch grass, an' dey yuh comes, wakin' meup! Whut yuh wake me up for, w'ite gal?" Leering, he began with agliding, stealthy movement to advance.

  "Stop!" cried I, in a voice that wasn't mine, it was so sharp andthin and reedy. "Go back--where you came from! Don't you dare totake another step! Go back!"

  The hands hooked into outstretched claws. His head sunk between hisshoulders. Of the eyes, only red pin-points showed in the twitchingface. I stood stone-still, struck into utter immobility. My brainwas trying to urge me to fly, fly! This is the Black Death, Sophy!the Black Death!

  He, too, stood of a sudden stone-still, as if rooted to the ground.His eyes widened, and stared, as if he saw something over and beyondme. I didn't dare turn my head. It might be a trick, to divertattention for a fatal second.

  The claws clenched into balled fists, the lips drew back, showingblackened and decayed teeth. Bristling like an aroused beast, hisforehead wrinkling, his nostrils twitching, he made an inarticulate,growling, brute-like noise in his throat. His head twisted sideways.Of a sudden the sweat burst out upon his face, and he began to backaway, warily.

  And then something swift and dark sped by, bounding on light andflying feet; something that must have come from my forest. It wasThe Jinnee! God be praised, it was The Jinnee, his dark robe givingan odd effect of flying, his eyes living vengeance, his face likeFate carved in ebony.

  I saw him leap, and close in upon the horror; I heard a sort ofwolfish yapping. The Black Death disappeared. And then I, too, wasfalling, falling into infinite blackness and blankness, with one redflash when I struck my head.

  Half-conscious, half-hearing, altogether unseeing, I thought therewere two Voices near me. I couldn't understand what they said. Oneof the Voices was gently and persistently applying cold and soothingapplications to my forehead. Another Voice chafed my hands. Ithought one said, "Achmet," and the other replied, "Sahib." I knew Imust be dreaming. But it was a pleasant dream enough.

  Quite suddenly somebody said in good, anxious English:

  "Thank God! you are better!"

  I had opened my eyes. There was the whish-whish-whishing littlebrook, the good brown pines, with their heavenly odor. And there wasthe face of Nicholas Jelnik, bent over me. And beside him, gravelyconcerned and troubled, Boris.

  I looked from one to the other, both so clear-eyed, so kind, so_safe_; and then I remembered.

  "Sophy! Sophy!" He had his arms around me, in a close, protectingclasp, while Boris pawed my skirts, and cried over me in loving,honest dog fashion, and licked my wet cheek with his affectionatetongue. I slipped my arm around the big dog's neck, and clung to thetwo of them. And it seemed to me that while I clung thus, with myhead bent and my face hidden, one of them kissed my hair.

  "It never occurred to me--that there might be danger for you," hewas whispering. "To have that horror come near you--oh, my God! Oh,my God!"

  I was terrified at sight of his face, dead-white, with eyes ofsteel, and straight lips, and pinched nostrils; the terrible face ofthe avenging white man, a face as inexorable as judgment. I hid myown before it, and trembled; and yet was glad that I had seen it.

  I stammered: "There was--a devil--and then a Jinnee came. And Iheard--sounds. Then I fell. Did--did The Jinnee--" My voice died inmy throat.

  His eyes were ice, his mouth a grim, pale line.

  "That has been attended to," he said composedly.

  He blamed himself for having been thoughtless. "But I was so glad tohave you come here, that afternoon, that I could think of nothingelse!" And it seemed that this particular bit of woodland was his,bought because its quiet beauty pleased him. He was in the habit ofcoming here frequently; it had never occurred to him that dangercould lurk near it.

  "I thought I heard--somebody calling somebody else 'Achmet.'" I toldhim, confusedly. "And there was a Jinnee, really there was. And twoVoices. Who brought me here? Did you find me, over there?"

  "You were not hard to carry," he said evasively.

  "But The Jinnee?"

  "The Jinnee did exactly what a good Jinnee always does, his duty.Having done it, he disappeared. Didn't I tell you you're not tothink of what's happened? It is finished," said Mr. Jelnik,peremptorily.

  I asked no more questions.

  "Do you think you are able to walk now?" he asked.

  I tried to, with shaking knees. At the edge of the field I grewfaint again, and staggered, and was unpleasantly sick.

  "You simply cannot appear in Hynds House in this shape, and invitecomment and question," said Mr. Jelnik, anxiously. His fine browswrinkled. "I have it: you will stop at my house for a few minutes,and I'll give you a cordial, that will put you to rights."

  I went staggering along beside him, making desperate efforts to holdmyself erect. The pathway squirmed and wriggled like a snake, thetrees and bushes bowed, the sky bobbed up and down.

  He took me by by-paths so cunningly hidden that you might pass upand down the highroad daily and never suspect their existence. Wewent between cassenas and cedars and young laurels, branchy to theroots. And then I was walking down a path bordered with Lombardypoplars; and then I was sitting on a couch in Mr. Jelnik'sliving-room, while he bathed my face with scented water, andafterward held a small glass to my lips. The fluid I swallowed wenttingling through my whole body like friendly fire.

  I stole a woman-glance around the room that The Author had been soanxious to investigate. It was altogether a man's room, the scouredfloor partly covered with a handsome rug, and the divan on which Iwas sitting covered with another. On both sides of the big fireplacewere crowded book-shelves, above which hung weapons gathered fromthe four corners of the earth. There were two or three deep,comfortable arm-chairs, a square table, a couple of Winchesters in acorner, and near the window a
flat, old-fashioned desk, above whichhung two small portraits, evidently his parents, for the gentlemanwith stars and crosses on his braided uniform, a sword at his side,and a plumed hat in his hand, bore a striking resemblance to Mr.Jelnik; and the stately blond lady had a family resemblance toDoctor Richard Geddes.

  Mr. Jelnik touched a bell near the door, and a tall, copper-coloredman in spotless white appeared. At the merest gesture of an upliftedfinger the copper-colored one bowed, vanished, and returned tenminutes later with a tiny cup of black coffee and a couple of thinwafers.

  "I shall have to insist upon the coffee; and I advise the wafers,"said Mr. Jelnik, pleasantly. So I drank the coffee, nibbled thewafers, and felt better.

  The copper-colored man, standing still as a statue, waited until Ihad finished, took the cup, bowed, and disappeared. He was a statelyimpressive person, rather like a shah in disguise. Mr. Jelnikaddressed him as "Daoud."

  I had risen. I was trying to straighten my sadly flattened brownhat, and to smooth my frock, stained with damp earth, and water. Aquick step sounded on the porch, somebody knocked, and withoutwaiting for an answer, opened the door, impatiently, and strode intothe room. With a fold of my disheveled frock in my hand, I looked upand met the angry and astonished eyes of The Author.