Thomas Dixon
The Sins of the Father: A Romance of the South
CHAPTER X
THE BEST LAID PLANS
Andy's plans for a speedy conquest of Cleo were destined to an interruption. Minerva had decided that he was the best man in sight for a husband, and made up her mind to claim her own. She had noticed of late a disposition on his part to dally with Cleo, and determined to act immediately. Breakfast was well under way and she had heard Andy's unctous laugh in the library with Tom.
She put on her sweeping apron, took up a broom and entered under the pretense of cleaning the room.
Andy was still chuckling with joy over the brilliant plan of escape suggested by Tom. He had just put the finishing touches on his necktie, and was trying on an old silk hat when Minerva's voice caused him to suddenly collapse.
"Say, man, is dat a hat er a bee-gum?" she cried, with a laugh so jolly it would have been contagious but for Andy's terror.
He looked at her, dropped the hat, picked it up and stammered:
"W-w-why – Miss Minerva, is dat you?"
Minerva beamed on him tenderly, placed her broom in the corner and advanced quickly to meet him:
"I knowed ye wuz 'spectin me frum de way yer wuz gettin' ready." She laughed and chuckled with obvious coquetry, adding coyly:
"I knows how yer feel – "
Andy looked for a way of escape. But Minerva was too quick for him. She was a woman of enormous size, fat, jolly and extremely agile for her weight. She carried her two hundred and fifty pounds without apparent effort. She walked with a nervous, snappy energy and could waltz with the grace of a girl of sixteen.
She had reached Andy's side before his dull brain could think of an excuse for going. Her shining coal-black face was aglow with tenderness and the determination to make things easy for him in the declaration of love she had planned that he should make.
"I know how yer feels, Brer Andy," she repeated.
The victim mopped his perspiring brow and stammered:
"Yassam – yassam."
"Yer needn't be so 'barrassed, Mr. Andy," Minerva went on in the most insinuating tones. "Yer kin say what's on yer mind."
"Yassam."
"Come right here and set down er minute."
She seized his hand and drew him with a kittenish skip toward a settee, tripped on a bear rug and would have fallen had not Andy grabbed her.
"De Lord save us!" he gasped. He was trying desperately in his new suit to play the gentleman under difficulties.
Minerva was in ecstasy over his gallantry:
"Yer sho wuz terrified less I git hurt, Mr. Andy," she laughed. "I thought dat bar had me sho."
Andy mopped his brow again and glanced longingly at the door:
"Yassam, I sho wuz terrified – I'm sorry m'am, you'll hatter 'scuse me. Mister Tom's out dar waitin' fer me, an' I hatter go – "
Minerva smilingly but firmly pulled him down on the seat beside her:
"Set right down, Mr. Andy, an' make yoself at home. We got er whole half hour yet 'fore de odder folks come down stairs. Man, don't be so 'barrassed! I knows 'zactly how yer feels. I understand what's de matter wid yer" – she paused, glanced at him out of the corners of her eye, touched him slyly with her elbow, and whispered:
"Why don't yer say what's on yer mind?"
Andy cleared his throat and began to stammer. He had the habit of stammering under excitement, and Tom's plan of escape had just popped into his benumbed brain. He saw the way out:
"Y-y-yas'm – cose, m'am. I got sumfin ter tell ye, Miss M-m-Minerva."
Minerva moved a little closer.
"Yas, honey, I knows what 'tis, but I'se jes' waitin' ter hear it."
He cleared his throat and tried to begin his speech in a friendly business-like way:
"Yassam, I gwine tell yer sho – "
He turned to face her and to his horror found her lips so close she had evidently placed them in position for the first kiss.
He stopped appalled, fidgeted, looked the other way and stammered:
"H-hit sho is powful warm ter-day, m'am!"
"Tain't so much de heat, Brer Andy," she responded tenderly, "as 'tis de humility dat's in de air!"
Andy turned, looked into her smiling face for a moment and they both broke into a loud laugh while he repeated:
"Yassam, de humility – dat's hit! De humility dat's in de air!"
The expression had caught his fancy enormously.
"Yassir, de humility – dat's hit!" Minerva murmured.
When the laughter had slowly died down she moved a little closer and said reassuringly:
"And now, Brer Andy, ez dey's des you an' me here tergedder – ef hits suits yo' circumstantial convenience, hab no reprehenshun, sah, des say what's on yo' min'."
Andy glanced at her quickly, bowed grandiloquently and catching the spirit of her high-flown language decided to spring his confession and ask her help to win Cleo.
"Yassam, Miss Minerva, dat's so. An' ez I allays sez dat honesty is de bes' policy, I'se gwine ter ré-cede ter yo' invitation!"
Minerva laughed with joyous admiration:
"Des listen at dat nigger now! You sho is er talkin' man when yer gits started – "
"Yassam, I bin er tryin' ter tell ye fer de longest kind er time an' ax ye ter help me – "
Minerva moved her massive figure close against him:
"Cose I help you."
Andy edged as far away as possible, but the arm of the settee had caught him and he couldn't get far. He smiled wanly and tried to assume a purely platonic tone:
"Wuz yer ebber in love, Miss Minerva?"
Minerva nudged him slyly:
"Wuz I?"
Andy tried to ignore the hint, lifted his eyes to the ceiling and in far-away tones put the hypothetical case of the friend who needed help:
"Well, des 'spose m'am dat a po' man wuz ter fall in love wid er beautiful lady, fur above him, wid eyes dat shine lak de stars – "
"Oh, g'way frum here, man!" Minerva cried entranced as she broke into a peal of joyous laughter, nudging him again.
The insinuating touch of her elbow brought Andy to a sharp realization that his plan had not only failed to work, but was about to compromise him beyond hope. He hurried to correct her mistake.
"But listen, Miss Minerva – yer don't understand. Would yer be his friend an' help him to win her?"
With a cry of joy she threw her huge arms around his neck:
"Would I – Lordy – man!"
Andy tried to dodge her strangle hold, but was too slow and she had him.
He struggled and grasped her arms, but she laughed and held on.
"B-b-but – yer – yer," he stammered.
"Yer needn't say annudder word – "
"Yassam, but wait des er minute," he pleaded, struggling to lower her arms.
"Hush, man," Minerva said good-naturedly. "Cose I knows yer bin er bad nigger – but ye needn't tell me 'bout it now – "
"For Gawd's sake!" Andy gasped, wrenching her arms away at last, "will yer des lemme say one word?"
"Nasah!" she said generously. "I ain't gwine ter let ye say no harsh words ergin yoself. I sho do admire de indelicate way dat yer tells me of yo' love!"
"B-but yer don't understand – "
"Cose I does, chile!" Minerva exclaimed with a tender smile.
Andy made a gesture of despair:
"B-b-but I tries ter 'splain – "
"Yer don't hatter 'splain nuttin' ter me, man – I ain't no spring chicken – I knowed what ye means befo' ye opens yer mouf. Yer tells me dat ye lubs me an' I done say dat I lubs you – an' dat's all dey is to it."
Minerva enfolded him in her ample arms and he collapsed with feeble assent:
"Yassam – yassam."
CHAPTER XI
A RECONNOITRE
Norton slept at last from sheer physical exhaustion and waked at eleven o'clock refreshed and alert, his faculties again strung for action.
He wondered in the clear light of noon at the folly of his panic the night before. The fighting instinct in him had always been the dominant one. He smiled now at his silly collapse and his quick brain began to plan his line of defense.
The girl was in his house, yes. But she had been here in spirit, a living, breathing threat over his life, every moment the past twenty years. No scene of pain or struggle could come but that he had already lived it a thousand times. There was a kind of relief in facing these phantoms for the first time in flesh and blood. They couldn't be more formidable than the ghosts he had fought.
He shaved and dressed with deliberation – dressed with unusual care – his brain on fire now with the determination to fight and win. The instincts of the soldier were again in command. And the first thing a true soldier did when driven to desperation and surrounded by an overwhelming foe was to reconnoitre, find the strength of his enemy, and strike at their weakest spot.
He must avoid Cleo and find the exact situation of Tom and Helen. His safest way was again to cultivate Andy's knowledge of the house in his absence.
He rang for him and waited in vain for his appearance. He rang again and, getting no response, walked down stairs to the door and searched the lawn. He saw Cleo beside a flower bed talking to Helen. He caught a glimpse of the lovely young face as she lifted her eyes and saw him. He turned back quickly into the house to avoid her, and hurried to the library.
Andy had been watching carefully until Norton went through the front door. Sure that he had strolled out on the lawn to see Helen, with a sigh of relief the negro hurried back to the mirror to take another admiring glance at his fine appearance in the new suit.
Norton's sudden entrance completely upset him. He tried to laugh and the effort froze on his lips. He saw that Norton had recognized the stolen suit, but was too excited to see the amusement lurking behind his frown:
"Where were you a while ago, when I was calling?"
"I been right here all mornin', sah," Andy answered with forced surprise.
"You didn't hear that bell?"
"Nasah, nebber hear a thing, sah."
Norton looked at him severely:
"There's a bigger bell going to ring for you one of these days. You like to go to funerals, don't you?"
Andy laughed:
"Yassah – odder folk's funerals – but dey's one I ain't in no hurry to git to – "
"That's the one – where were you when I rang just now?"
The negro looked at his master, hesitated, and a broad grin overspread his black face. He bowed and chuckled and walked straight up to Norton:
"Yassah, major, I gwine tell yer de honest truf now, cose honesty is de bes' policy. I wuz des embellishin' mysef wid dis here ole suit er close dat ye gimme, sah, an' I wants ter specify my 'preciation, sah, at de generosity wid which yer always treats me, sah. I had a mos' particular reason fer puttin' dis suit on dis mornin' – "
Norton examined the lapel of the coat, his lips twitching to suppress a smile:
"My suit of broadcloth – "
Andy rubbed his hands over the coat in profound amazement:
"Is dis de broadcloth? De Lawd er mussy!"
Norton shook his head:
"You old black hound – "
Andy broke into a loud laugh:
"Yassah, yassah! Dat's me. But, major, I couldn't find the vest!"
"Too bad – shall I get it for you?"
"Nasah – des tell me whar yer put it!"
Norton smiled:
"Did you look in my big cedar box?"
"Thankee, sah – thankee, sah. Yer sho is good ter me, major, an' yer can always 'pend on me, sah."
"Yes, I'm going to send you to the penitentiary for this – "
Andy roared with laughter:
"Yassah – yassah – cose, sah! I kin see myse'f in dat suit er stripes now, but I sho is gwine ter blossom out in dat double-breasted vest fust!"
When the laughter had died away Norton asked in good-natured tones:
"You say I can depend on you, Andy?"
"Dat yer kin, sah – every day in the year – you'se de bes frien' I ebber had in de world, sah."
"Then I want to ask you a question."
"Yassah, I tells yer anything I know, sah."
"I'm just a little worried about Tom. He's too young to get married. Do you think he's been really making love to Miss Helen?"
Norton watched the negro keenly. He knew that a boy would easily trust his secrets to such a servant, and that his sense of loyalty to the young would be strong. He was relieved at the quick reply which came without guile:
"Lawdy, major, he ain't got dat far, sah. I bin er watchin' 'em putty close. He des kinder skimmin' 'round de edges."
"You think so?"
"Yassah!" was the confident reply. "He 'minds me er one er dese here minnows when ye go fishin'. He ain't swallowed de hook yit – he des nibblin'."
Norton smiled, lighted a cigar, and quietly said:
"Go down to the office and tell Mr. Tom that I'm up and wish to see him."
"Yassah – yassah – right away, sah."
Andy bowed and grinned and hurried from the house.
Norton seated himself in an armchair facing the portrait of the little mother. His memory lingered tenderly over the last beautiful days they had spent together. He recalled every smile with which she had looked her forgiveness and her love. He felt the presence of her spirit and took courage.
He lifted his eyes to the sweet, tender face bending over her baby and breathed a prayer for guidance. He wondered if she could see and know in the dim world beyond. Without trying to reason about it, he had grown to believe that she did, and that her soul was near in this hour of his trial.
How like this mother the boy had grown the past year – just her age when he was born. The color of his blonde hair was almost an exact reproduction of hers. And this beautiful hair lent a peculiar distinction to the boy's fine face. He had developed, too, a lot of little ways strikingly like the mother's when a laughing school girl. He smiled in the same flashing way, like a sudden burst of sunlight from behind a cloud. His temper was quick like hers, and his voice more and more seemed to develop the peculiar tones he had loved.
That this boy, around whose form every desire of life had centered, should be in peril was a thought that set his heart to beating with new energy.
He heard his quick step in the hall, rose and laid down his cigar. With a rush Tom was in the room grasping the outstretched hand:
"Glad to see you back, Dad!" he cried, "but we had no idea you were coming so soon."
"I got a little homesick," the father replied, "and decided to come in for a day or two."
"I was awfully surprised at Miss Helen's popping in on us so unexpectedly – I suppose you forgot to tell me about it in the rush of getting away."
"I really didn't expect her to come before my return," was the vague answer.
"But you wrote her to come at once."
"Did I?" he replied carelessly.
"Why, yes, she showed me your letter. I didn't write you about her arrival because you told me under no circumstances, except of life or death, to tell you of anything here and I obeyed orders."
"I'm glad you've made that a principle of your life – stick to it."
"I'm sorry you're away in this dangerous campaign so much, Dad," the boy said with feeling. "It may end your career."
The father smiled and a far-away look stole into his eyes:
"I have no career, my boy! I gave that up years ago and I had to lead this campaign."
"Why?"
The look in the brown eyes deepened:
"Because I am the man to whom our danger has been revealed. I am the man to whom God has given a message – I who have been tried in the fires of hell and fought my way up and out of the pit – only the man who has no ambitions can tell the truth!"
The boy nodded and smiled:
"Yes, I know your hobby – "
"The big tragic truth, that the physical contact of the black race with the white is a menace to our life" – his voice had dropped to a passionate whisper as if he were talking to himself.
A laugh from Tom roused him to the consciousness of time and place:
"But that isn't a speech you meant for me, Dad!"
The father caught his bantering tone with a light reply:
"No."
And then his tall form confronted the boy with a look of deep seriousness:
"To-morrow I enter on the last phase of this campaign. At any moment a fool or a madman may blow my brains out."
Tom gave a start:
"Dad – "
"Over every mile of that long drive home last night, I was brooding and thinking of you – "
"Of me?"
"Wondering if I had done my level best to carry out the dying commands of your mother – "
He paused, drew a deep breath, looked up tenderly and continued:
"I wish you were settled in life."
The boy turned slightly away and the father watched him keenly and furtively for a moment, and took a step toward him:
"You have never been in love?"
With a shrug and a laugh, Tom dropped carelessly on the settee and crossed his legs:
"Love – hardly!"
The father held his breath until the light answer brought relief and then smiled:
"It will come some day, my boy, and when it hits you, I think it's going to hit hard."
The handsome young head was poised on one side with a serious judicial expression:
"Yes, I think it will – but I guess my ideal's too high, though."
The father spoke with deep emotion:
"A man's ideal can't be too high, my boy!"
Tom didn't hear. His mind was busy with his ideal.
"But if I ever find her," he went on dreamily, "do you know what I'll want?"
"No."
"The strength of Samson!"
"What for?"
He shook his head with a smile:
"To reach over in California, tear one of those big trees up by the roots, dip it in the crater of Vesuvius and write her name in letters of fire across the sky!"
He ended with a wide, sweeping gesture, showing just how he would inscribe it.
"Really!" the father laughed.
"That's how I feel!" he cried, springing to his feet with an emphatic gesture, a smile playing about his firm mouth.
The father slipped his arm around him:
"Well, if you should happen to do it, be sure to stand in the ocean, because otherwise, you know, if the grass should be dry you might set the world on fire."
The boy broke into a hearty laugh, crossed to the table, and threw his leg carelessly over the corner, a habit he had gotten from his father. When the laugh had died away, he picked up a magazine and said carelessly:
"I guess there's no danger, after all. I'm afraid that the big thing poets sing about is only a myth after all" – he paused, raised his eyes and they rested on his mother's portrait, and his voice became a reverent whisper – "except your love for my mother, Dad – that was the real thing!"
He was looking the other way and couldn't see the cloud of anguish that suddenly darkened his father's face.
"You'll know its meaning some day, my son," was the even reply that came after a pause, "and I only demand of you one thing – "
He laid his hand on the boy's shoulder:
"That the woman you ask to be your wife bear a name without shadow. Good blood is the noblest inheritance that any father or mother ever gave to a child."
"I'm proud of mine, sir!" the boy said, drawing his form erect.
The father's arm stole around the young shoulders and his voice was very low:
"Fools sometimes say, my son, that a man can sow his wild oats and be all the better for it. It's a lie. The smallest deed takes hold on eternity for it may start a train of events that even God can't stop – "
He paused and fought back a cry from the depths of his soul.
"I did something that hurt your mother once" – his voice dropped – "and for twenty years my soul in anguish has begged for forgiveness – "
The boy looked at him in startled sympathy and his own arm instinctively slipped around his father's form as he lifted his face to the shining figure over the mantel:
"But you believe that she sees and understands now?"
Norton turned his head away to hide the mists that clouded his eyes. His answer was uttered with the reverence of a prayer:
"Yes! I've seen her in dreams sometimes so vividly and heard her voice so plainly, I couldn't believe that I was asleep" – his voice stopped before it broke, his arm tightening its hold – "and I know that her spirit broods and watches over you – "
And then he suddenly decided to do the most cruel thing to which his mind had ever given assent. But he believed it necessary and did not hesitate. Only the vague intensity of his eyes showed his deep feeling as he said evenly:
"Ask Miss Helen to come here. You'll find her on the lawn with Cleo."
The boy left the room to summon Helen, and Norton seated himself with grim determination.
CHAPTER XII
THE FIRST WHISPER
When Tom reached the lawn Helen was nowhere to be seen. He searched every nook and corner which they had been accustomed to haunt, looked through the rose garden and finally knocked timidly on the door of her room. He was sure at first that he heard a sound within. He dared not open her door and so hurried down town to see if he could find her in one of the stores.
Helen shivering inside had held her breath until his his footsteps died away on the stairs.
With heavy heart but swift hands she was packing her trunk. In spite of Cleo's assurances she had been startled and frightened beyond measure by the certainty that Norton had purposely avoided her. She had expected the most hearty welcome. Her keen intuition had scented his hostility though not a word had been spoken.
Cleo, who had avoided Tom, again rapped on her door:
"Just a minute, Miss Helen!"
There was no answer and the woman strained her ear to hear what was happening inside. It couldn't be possible that the girl was really going to leave! Such an act of madness would upset her plans just as they were coming out exactly as she had hoped.
"She can't mean it!" Cleo muttered under her breath. "It's only a fit of petulance!" She didn't dare to give Helen a hint of her clouded birth. That might send her flying. Yet if necessary she must excite her curiosity by a whisper about her parentage. She had already guessed from hints the girl had dropped that her one passionate desire was to know the names of her father and mother. She would be careful, but it was necessary to hold her at all hazards.
She rapped again:
"Please, Miss Helen, may I come in just a minute?"
Her voice was full of pleading. A step was heard, a pause and the door opened. Cleo quickly entered, turned the key and in earnest tones, her eyes dancing excitedly, asked:
"You are really packing your trunk?"
"It's already packed," was the firm answer.
"But you can't mean this – "
"I do."
"I tell you, child, the major didn't see you – "
"He did see me. I caught his eye in a straight, clear look. And he turned quickly to avoid me."
"You have his letter of invitation. You can't think it a forgery?" she asked with impatience.
The girl's color deepened:
"He has evidently changed his mind for some reason."
"Nonsense!"
"I was just ready to rush to meet him and thank him with the deepest gratitude for his invitation. The look on his face when he turned was like a blow."
"It's only your imagination!" Cleo urged eagerly. "He's worried over politics."
"I'm not in politics. No, it's something else – I must go."
Cleo put her hand appealingly on Helen's arm:
"Don't be foolish, child!"
The girl drew away suddenly with instinctive aversion. The act was slight and quick, but not too slight or quick for the woman's sharp eye. She threw Helen a look of resentment:
"Why do you draw away from me like that?"
The girl flushed with embarrassment and stammered:
"Why – you see, I've lived up North all my life, shut up in a convent most of the time and I'm not used – to – colored people – "
"Well, I'm not a negro, please remember that. I'm a nurse and housekeeper, if you please, and there happens to be a trace of negro blood in my veins, but a white soul throbs beneath this yellow skin. I'd strip it off inch by inch if I could change its color" – her voice broke with assumed emotion – it was a pose for the moment, but its apparent genuineness deceived the girl and roused her sympathy.
"I'm sorry if I hurt you," she said contritely.
"Oh, it's no matter."
Helen snapped the lid of her trunk:
"I'm leaving on the first train."
"Oh, come now," Cleo urged impatiently. "You'll do nothing of the kind – the major will be himself to-morrow."
"I am going at once – "
"You're not going!" the woman declared firmly, laying her hand again on the girl's arm.
With a shudder Helen drew quickly away.
"Please – please don't touch me again!" she cried with anger. "I'm sorry, but I can't help it."
With an effort Cleo suppressed her rage:
"Well, I won't. I understand – but you can't go like this. The major will be furious."
"I'm going," the girl replied, picking up the odds and ends she had left and placing them in her travelling bag.
Cleo watched her furtively:
"I – I – ought to tell you something that I know about your life – "
Helen dropped a brush from her hand and quickly crossed the room, a bright color rushing to her cheeks:
"About my birth?"
"You believe," Cleo began cautiously, "that the major is the agent of your guardian who lives abroad. Well, he's not the agent – he is your guardian."
"Why should he deceive me?"
"He had reasons, no doubt," Cleo replied with a smile.
"You mean that he knows the truth? That he knows the full history of my birth and the names of my father and mother?"
"Yes."
"He has assured me again and again that he does not – "
"I know that he has deceived you."
Helen looked at her with a queer expression of angry repulsion that she should possess this secret of her unhappy life.
"You know?" she asked faintly.
"No," was the quick reply, "not about your birth; but I assure you the major does. Demand that he tell you."
"He'll refuse – "
"Ask him again, and stay until he does."
"But I'm intruding!" Helen cried, brushing a tear from her eyes.
"No matter, you're here, you're of age, you have the right to know the truth – stay until you learn it. If he slights you, pay no attention to it – stay until you know."
The girl's form suddenly stiffened and her eyes flashed:
"Yes, I will – I'll know at any cost."
With a soft laugh which Helen couldn't hear Cleo hurried from the room.
