The Quest of the Silver Fleece: A Novel Read online

  _Seven_

  THE PLACE OF DREAMS

  When she went South late in September, Mary Taylor had two definite butallied objects: she was to get all possible business informationconcerning the Cresswells, and she was to induce Miss Smith to preparefor Mrs. Grey's benevolence by interesting the local whites in her work.The programme attracted Miss Taylor. She felt in touch, even if dimlyand slightly, with great industrial movements, and she felt, too, like adiscerning pioneer in philanthropy. Both roles she liked. Besides, theyheld, each, certain promises of social prestige; and society, MissTaylor argued, one must have even in Alabama.

  Bles Alwyn met her at the train. He was growing to be a big fine bronzegiant, and Mary was glad to see him. She especially tried, in the firstfew weeks of opening school, to glean as much information as possibleconcerning the community, and particularly the Cresswells. She found theNegro youth quicker, surer, and more intelligent in his answers thanthose she questioned elsewhere, and she gained real enjoyment from herlong talks with him.

  "Isn't Bles developing splendidly?" she said to Miss Smith oneafternoon. There was an unmistakable note of enthusiasm in her voice.Miss Smith slowly closed her letter-file but did not look up.

  "Yes," she said crisply. "He's eighteen now--quite a man."

  "And most interesting to talk with."

  "H'm--very"--drily. Mary was busy with her own thoughts, and she did notnotice the other woman's manner.

  "Do you know," she pursued, "I'm a little afraid of one thing."

  "So am I."

  "Oh, you've noted it, too?--his friendship for that impossible girl,Zora?"

  Miss Smith gave her a searching look.

  "What of it?" she demanded.

  "She is so far beneath him."

  "How so?"

  "She is a bold, godless thing; I don't understand her."

  "The two are not quite the same."

  "Of course not; but she is unnaturally forward."

  "Too bright," Miss Smith amplified.

  "Yes; she knows quite too much. You surely remember that awful scarletdress? Well, all her clothes have arrived, or remained, at a simplicityand vividness that is--well--immodest."

  "Does she think them immodest?"

  "What she thinks is a problem."

  "_The_ problem, you mean?"

  "Well, yes."

  They paused a moment. Then Miss Smith said slowly: "What I don'tunderstand, I don't judge."

  "No, but you can't always help seeing and meeting it," laughed MissTaylor.

  "Certainly not. I don't try; I court the meeting and seeing. It is theonly way."

  "Well, perhaps, for us--but not for a boy like Bles, and a girl likeZora."

  "True; men and women must exercise judgment in their intercourseand"--she glanced sharply at Miss Taylor--"my dear, you yourself mustnot forget that Bles Alwyn is a man."

  Far up the road came a low, long, musical shouting; then with creakingand straining of wagons, four great black mules dashed into sight withtwelve bursting bales of yellowish cotton looming and swaying behind.The drivers and helpers were lolling and laughing and singing, but MissTaylor did not hear nor see. She had sat suddenly upright; her face hadflamed crimson, and then went dead white.

  "Miss--Miss Smith!" she gasped, overwhelmed with dismay, a picture ofwounded pride and consternation.

  Miss Smith turned around very methodically and took her hand; but whileshe spoke the girl merely stared at her in stony silence.

  "Now, dear, don't mean more than I do. I'm an old woman, and I've seenmany things. This is but a little corner of the world, and yet manypeople pass here in thirty years. The trouble with new teachers who comeis, that like you, they cannot see black folk as human. All to them areeither impossible Zoras, or else lovable Blessings. They forget thatZora is not to be annihilated, but studied and understood, and that Blesis a young man of eighteen and not a clod."

  "But that he should dare--" Mary began breathlessly.

  "He hasn't dared," Miss Smith went gently on. "No thought of you but asa teacher has yet entered his dear, simple head. But, my point is simplythis: he's a man, and a human one, and if you keep on making much overhim, and talking to him and petting him, he'll have the right tointerpret your manner in his own way--the same that any young manwould."

  "But--but, he's a--a--"

  "A Negro. To be sure, he is; and a man in addition. Now, dear, don'ttake this too much to heart; this is not a rebuke, but a clumsy warning.I am simply trying to make clear to you _why_ you should be careful.Treat poor Zora a little more lovingly, and Bles a little less warmly.They are just human--but, oh! so human."

  Mary Taylor rose up stiffly and mumbled a brief good-night. She went toher room, and sat down in the dark. The mere mention of the thing was toher so preposterous--no, loathsome, she kept repeating.

  She slowly undressed in the dark, and heard the rumbling of the cottonwagons as they swayed toward town. The cry of the Naked was sweeping theworld, and yonder in the night black men were answering the call. Theyknew not what or why they answered, but obeyed the irresistible call,with hearts light and song upon their lips--the Song of Service. Theylashed their mules and drank their whiskey, and all night the piledfleece swept by Mary Taylor's window, flying--flying to that far cry.Miss Taylor turned uneasily in her bed and jerked the bed-clothes abouther ears.

  "Mrs. Vanderpool is right," she confided to the night, with something ofthe awe with which one suddenly comprehends a hidden oracle; "there mustbe a difference, always, always! That impudent Negro!"

  All night she dreamed, and all day,--especially when trim and immaculateshe sat in her chair and looked down upon fifty dark faces--and uponZora.

  Zora sat thinking. She saw neither Miss Taylor nor the long straightrows of desks and faces. She heard neither the drone of the spellers nordid she hear Miss Taylor say, "Zora!" She heard and saw none of this.She only heard the prattle of the birds in the wood, far down where theSilver Fleece would be planted.

  For the time of cotton-planting was coming; the gray and drizzle ofDecember was past and the hesitation, of January. Already a certainwarmth and glow had stolen into the air, and the Swamp was calling itschild with low, seductive voice. She knew where the first leaves werebursting, where tiny flowers nestled, and where young living thingslooked upward to the light and cried and crawled. A wistful longing wasstealing into her heart. She wanted to be free. She wanted to run anddance and sing, but Bles wanted--

  "Zora!"

  This time she heard the call, but did not heed it. Miss Taylor was verytiresome, and was forever doing and saying silly things. So Zora paid noattention, but sat still and thought. Yes, she would show Bles the placethat very night; she had kept it secret from him until now, out ofperverseness, out of her love of mystery and secrets. But tonight, afterschool, when he met her on the big road with the clothes, she would takehim and show him the chosen spot.

  Soon she was aware that school had been dismissed, and she leisurelygathered up her books and rose. Mary Taylor regarded her in perplexeddespair. Oh, these people! Mrs. Vanderpool was right: culture and--somemasses, at least--were not to be linked; and, too, culture andwork--were they incompatible? At any rate, culture and _this_ work were.

  Now, there was Mrs. Vanderpool--she toiled not, neither did she spin,and yet! If all these folk were like poor, stupid, docile Jennie itwould be simpler, but what earthly sense was there in trying do toanything with a girl like Zora, so stupid in some matters, sostartlingly bright in others, and so stubborn in everything? Here, shewas doing some work twice as well and twice as fast as the class, andother work she would not touch because she "didn't like it." Herclassification in school was nearly as difficult as her classificationin the world, and Miss Taylor reached up impatiently and removed thegold pin from her stock to adjust it more comfortably when Zorasauntered past unseeing, unheeding, with that curious gliding walk whichMiss Taylor called stealthy. She laid the pin on the desk and on suddenimpulse spoke again to the girl as she ar
ranged her neck trimmings.

  "Zora," she said evenly, "why didn't you come to class when I called?"

  "I didn't hear you," said Zora, looking at her full-eyed and telling thehalf-truth easily.

  Miss Taylor was sure Zora was lying, and she knew that she had lied toher on other occasions. Indeed, she had found lying customary in thiscommunity, and she had a New England horror of it. She looked at Zoradisapprovingly, while Zora looked at her quite impersonally, butsteadily. Then Miss Taylor braced herself, mentally, and took the warinto Africa.

  "Do you ever tell lies, Zora?"

  "Yes."

  "Don't you know that is a wicked, bad habit?"

  "Why?"

  "Because God hates them."

  "How does _you_ know He does?" Zora's tone was still impersonal.

  "He hates all evil."

  "But why is lies evil?"

  "Because they make us deceive each other."

  "Is that wrong?"

  "Yes."

  Zora bent forward and looked squarely into Miss Taylor's blue eyes. MissTaylor looked into the velvet blackness of hers and wondered what theyveiled.

  "Is it wrong," asked Zora, "to make believe you likes people when youdon't, when you'se afeared of them and thinks they may rub off and dirtyyou?"

  "Why--why--yes, if you--if you, deceive."

  "Then you lies sometimes, don't you?"

  Miss Taylor stared helplessly at the solemn eyes that seemed to look sodeeply into her.

  "Perhaps--I do, Zora; I'm sure I don't mean to, and--I hope God willforgive me."

  Zora softened.

  "Oh, I reckon He will if He's a good God, because He'd know that lieslike that are heaps better than blabbing the truth right out. Only," sheadded severely, "you mustn't keep saying it's wicked to lie 'cause itain't. Sometimes I lies," she reflected pensively, "and sometimes Idon't--it depends."

  Miss Taylor forgot her collar, and fingered the pin on the desk. Shefelt at once a desperate desire to know this girl better and toestablish her own authority. Yet how should she do it? She kept toyingwith the pin, and Zora watched her. Then Miss Taylor said, absently:

  "Zora, what do you propose to do when you grow up?"

  Zora considered.

  "Think and walk--and rest," she concluded.

  "I mean, what work?"

  "Work? Oh, I sha'n't work. I don't like work--do you?"

  Miss Taylor winced, wondering if the girl were lying again. She saidquickly:

  "Why, yes--that is, I like some kinds of work."

  "What kinds?"

  But Miss Taylor refused to have the matter made personal, as Zora had adisconcerting way of pointing all their discussions.

  "Everybody likes some kinds of work," she insisted.

  "If you likes it, it ain't work," declared Zora; but Mary Taylorproceeded around her circumscribed circle:

  "You might make a good cook, or a maid."

  "I hate cooking. What's a maid?"

  "Why, a woman who helps others."

  "Helps folks that they love? I'd like that."

  "It is not a question of affection," said Miss Taylor, firmly: "one ispaid for it."

  "I wouldn't work for pay."

  "But you'll have to, child; you'll have to earn a living."

  "Do you work for pay?"

  "I work to earn a living."

  "Same thing, I reckon, and it ain't true. Living just comes free,like--like sunshine."

  "Stuff! Zora, your people must learn to work and work steadily and workhard--" She stopped, for she was sure Zora was not listening; the faraway look was in her eyes and they were shining. She was beautiful asshe stood there--strangely, almost uncannily, but startlingly beautifulwith her rich dark skin, softly moulded features, and wonderful eyes.

  "My people?--my people?" she murmured, half to herself. "Do you know mypeople? They don't never work; they plays. They is all little, funnydark people. They flies and creeps and crawls, slippery-like; and theycries and calls. Ah, my people! my poor little people! they misses methese days, because they is shadowy things that sing and smell and bloomin dark and terrible nights--"

  Miss Taylor started up. "Zora, I believe you're crazy!" she cried. ButZora was looking at her calmly again.

  "We'se both crazy, ain't we?" she returned, with a simplicity that leftthe teacher helpless.

  Miss Taylor hurried out, forgetting her pin. Zora looked it overleisurely, and tried it on. She decided that she liked it, and puttingit in her pocket, went out too.

  School was out but the sun was still high, as Bles hurried from the barnup the big road beside the soft shadows of the swamp. His head was busywith new thoughts and his lips were whistling merrily, for today Zorawas to show him the long dreamed of spot for the planting of the SilverFleece. He hastened toward the Cresswell mansion, and glanced anxiouslyup the road. At last he saw her coming, swinging down the road, litheand dark, with the big white basket of clothes poised on her head.

  "Zora," he yodled, and she waved her apron.

  He eased her burden to the ground and they sat down together, henervous and eager; she silent, passive, but her eyes restless. Bles wasfull of his plans.

  "Zora," he said, "we'll make it the finest bale ever raised in Tooms;we'll just work it to the inch--just love it into life."

  She considered the matter intently.

  "But,"--presently,--"how can we sell it without the Cresswells knowing?"

  "We won't try; we'll just take it to them and give them half, like theother tenants."

  "But the swamp is mortal thick and hard to clear."

  "We can do it."

  Zora had sat still, listening; but now, suddenly, she leapt to her feet.

  "Come," she said, "I'll take the clothes home, then we'll go"--sheglanced at him--"down where the dreams are." And laughing, they hurriedon.

  Elspeth stood in the path that wound down to the cottage, and without aword Zora dropped the basket at her feet. She turned back; but Bles,struck by a thought, paused. The old woman was short, broad, black andwrinkled, with yellow fangs, red hanging lips, and wicked eyes. Sheleered at them; the boy shrank before it, but stood his ground.

  "Aunt Elspeth," he began, "Zora and I are going to plant and tend somecotton to pay for her schooling--just the very best cotton we canfind--and I heard"--he hesitated,--"I heard you had some wonderfulseed."

  "Yes," she mumbled, "I'se got the seed--I'se got it--wonder seed, sowedwid the three spells of Obi in the old land ten tousand moons ago. Butyou couldn't plant it," with a sudden shrillness, "it would kill you."

  "But--" Bles tried to object, but she waved him away.

  "Git the ground--git the ground; dig it--pet it, and we'll see whatwe'll see." And she disappeared.

  Zora was not sure that it had been wise to tell their secret.

  "I was going to steal the seed," she said. "I knows where it is, and Idon't fear conjure."

  "You mustn't steal, Zora," said Bles, gravely.

  "Why?" Zora quickly asked.

  But before he answered, they both forgot; for their faces were turnedtoward the wonder of the swamp. The golden sun was pouring floods ofglory through the slim black trees, and the mystic sombre pools caughtand tossed back the glow in darker, duller crimson. Long echoing criesleapt to and fro; silent footsteps crept hither and yonder; and thegirl's eyes gleamed with a wild new joy.

  "The dreams!" she cried. "The dreams!" And leaping ahead, she dancedalong the shadowed path. He hastened after her, but she flew fast andfaster; he followed, laughing, calling, pleading. He saw her twinklinglimbs a-dancing as once he saw them dance in a halo of firelight; butnow the fire was the fire of the world. Her garments twined and flew inshadowy drapings about the perfect moulding of her young and darkhalf-naked figure. Her heavy hair had burst its fastenings and lay instiffened, straggling masses, bending reluctantly to the breeze, likecurled smoke; while all about, the mad, wild singing rose and fell andtrembled, till his head whirled. He paused uncertainly at a parting ofthe paths, cr
ying:

  "Zora! Zora!" as for some lost soul. "Zora! Zora!" echoed the cry,faintly.

  Abruptly the music fell; there came a long slow-growing silence; andthen, with a flutter, she was beside him again, laughing in his ears andcrying with mocking voice:

  "Is you afeared, honey?"

  He saw in her eyes sweet yearnings, but could speak nothing. He couldonly clasp her hand tightly, and again down they raced through the wood.

  All at once the swamp changed and chilled to a dull grayness; tall,dull trees started down upon the murky waters; and long pendentstreamings of moss-like tears dripped from tree to earth. Slowly andwarily they threaded their way.

  "Are you sure of the path, Zora?" he once inquired anxiously.

  "I could find it asleep," she answered, skipping sure-footed onward. Hecontinued to hold her hand tightly, and his own pace never slackened.Around them the gray and death-like wilderness darkened. They felt andsaw the cold white mist rising slowly from the ground, and watersgrowing blacker and broader.

  At last they came to what seemed the end. Silently and dismally thehalf-dead forest, with its ghostly moss, lowered and darkened, and theblack waters spread into a great silent lake of slimy ooze. The deadtrunk of a fallen tree lay straight in front, torn and twisted, its tophidden yonder and mingled with impenetrable undergrowth.

  "Where now, Zora?" he cried.

  In a moment she had slipped her hand away and was scrambling upon thetree trunk. The waters yawned murkily below.

  "Careful! careful!" he warned, struggling after her until shedisappeared amid the leaves. He followed eagerly, but cautiously; andall at once found himself confronting a paradise.

  Before them lay a long island, opening to the south, on the black lake,but sheltered north and east by the dense undergrowth of the black swampand the rampart of dead and living trees. The soil was virgin and black,thickly covered over with a tangle of bushes, vines, and smaller growthall brilliant with early leaves and wild flowers.

  "A pretty tough proposition for clearing and ploughing," said Bles, withpractised eye. But Zora eagerly surveyed the prospect.

  "It's where the Dreams lives," she whispered.

  Meantime Miss Taylor had missed her brooch and searched for it in vain.In the midst of this pursuit the truth occurred to her--Zora had stolenit. Negroes would steal, everybody said. Well, she must and would havethe pin, and she started for Elspeth's cabin.

  On the way she met the old woman in the path, but got littlesatisfaction. Elspeth merely grunted ungraciously while eyeing the whitewoman with suspicion.

  Mary Taylor, again alone, sat down at a turn in the path, just out ofsight of the house, and waited. Soon she saw, with a certain grimsatisfaction, Zora and Bles emerging from the swamp engaged in earnestconversation. Here was an opportunity to overwhelm both with anunforgettable reprimand. She rose before them like a spectral vengeance.

  "Zora, I want my pin."

  Bles started and stared; but Zora eyed her calmly with something likedisdain.

  "What pin?" she returned, unmoved.

  "Zora, don't deny that you took my pin from the desk this afternoon,"the teacher commanded severely.

  "I didn't say I didn't take no pin."

  "Persons who will lie and steal will do anything."

  "Why shouldn't people do anything they wants to?"

  "And you knew the pin was mine."

  "I saw you a-wearing of it," admitted Zora easily.

  "Then you have stolen it, and you are a thief."

  Still Zora appeared to be unimpressed with the heinousness of her fault.

  "Did you make that pin?" she asked.

  "No, but it is mine."

  "Why is it yours?"

  "Because it was given to me."

  "But you don't need it; you've got four other prettier ones--I counted."

  "That makes no difference."

  "Yes it does--folks ain't got no right to things they don't need."

  "That makes no difference, Zora, and you know it. The pin is mine. Youstole it. If you had wanted a pin and asked me I might have given you--"

  The girl blazed.

  "I don't want your old gifts," she almost hissed. "You don't own whatyou don't need and can't use. God owns it and I'm going to send it backto Him."

  With a swift motion she whipped the pin from her pocket and raised herarm to hurl it into the swamp. Bles caught her hand. He caught itlightly and smiled sorrowfully into her eyes. She wavered a moment, thenthe answering light sprang to her face. Dropping the brooch into hishand, she wheeled and fled toward the cabin.

  Bles handed it silently to Miss Taylor. Mary Taylor was beside herselfwith impatient anger--and anger intensified by a conviction of utterhelplessness to cope with any strained or unusual situations betweenherself and these two.

  "Alwyn," she said sharply, "I shall report Zora for stealing. And youmay report yourself to Miss Smith tonight for disrespect toward ateacher."