The Quest of the Silver Fleece: A Novel

by W. E. B. Du Bois

  _Twenty-seven_

  THE VISION OF ZORA

  How Zora found the little church she never knew; but somehow, in thelong dark wanderings which she had fallen into the habit of taking atnightfall, she stood one evening before it. It looked warm, and she wascold. It was full of her people, and she was very, very lonely. She satin a back seat, and saw with unseeing eyes. She said again, as she hadsaid to herself a hundred times, that it was all right and just what shehad expected. What else could she have dreamed? That he should evermarry her was beyond possibility; that had been settled longsince--there where the tall, dark pines, wan with the shades of evening,cast their haunting shadows across the Silver Fleece and half hid theblood-washed west. After _that_ he would marry some one else, of course;some good and pure woman who would help and uplift and serve him.

  She had dreamed that she would help--unknown, unseen--and perhaps shehad helped a little through Mrs. Vanderpool. It was all right, and yetwhy so suddenly had the threads of life let go? Why was she drifting invast waters; in uncharted wastes of sea? Why was the puzzle of lifesuddenly so intricate when but a little week ago she was reading it, andits beauty and wisdom and power were thrilling her delighted hands?Could it be possible that all unconsciously she had dared dream aforbidden dream? No, she had always rejected it. When no one else hadthe right; when no one thought; when no one cared, she had hovered overhis soul as some dark guardian angel; but now, now somebody else wasreceiving his gratitude. It was all right, she supposed; but she, theoutcast child of the swamp, what was there for her to do in the greatworld--her, the burden of whose sin--

  But then came the voice of the preacher: _"Behold the Lamb of God, thattaketh away the sin of the world_."

  She found herself all at once intently listening. She had been to churchmany times before, but under the sermons and ceremonies she had alwayssat coldly inert. In the South the cries, contortions, and religiousfrenzy left her mind untouched; she did not laugh or mock, she simplysat and watched and wondered. At the North, in the white churches, sheenjoyed the beauty of wall, windows, and hymn, liked the voice andsurplice of the preacher; but his words had no reference to anything inwhich she was interested. Here suddenly came an earnest voice addressed,by singular chance, to her of all the world.

  She listened, bending forward, her eyes glued to the speaker's lips andletting no word drop. He had the build and look of the fanatic: thin toemancipation; brown; brilliant-eyed; his words snapped in nervous energyand rang in awful earnestness.

  "Life is sin, and sin is sorrow. Sorrow is born of selfishness andself-seeking--our own good, our own happiness, our own glory. As if anyone of us were worth a life! No, never. A single self as an end is, andought to be, disappointment; it is too low; it is nothing. Only in awhole world of selves, infinite, endless, eternal world on worlds ofselves--only in their vast good is true salvation. The good of othersis our true good; work for others; not for your salvation, but thesalvation of the world." The audience gave a low uneasy groan and theminister in whose pulpit the stranger preached stirred uneasily. But hewent on tensely, with flying words:

  "Unselfishness is sacrifice--Jesus was supreme sacrifice." ("Amen,"screamed a voice.) "In your dark lives," he cried, "_who_ is the King ofGlory? Sacrifice. Lift up your heads, then, ye gates of prejudice andhate, and let the King of Glory come in. Forget yourselves and yourpetty wants, and behold your starving people. The wail of black millionssweeps the air--east and west they cry, Help! Help! Are you dumb? Areyou blind? Do you dance and laugh, and hear and see not? The cry ofdeath is in the air; they murder, burn, and maim us!" ("Oh--oh--" moanedthe people swaying in their seats.) "When we cry they mock us; they ruinour women and debauch our children--what shall we do?

  "Behold the Lamb of God that taketh away sin. Behold the SupremeSacrifice that makes us clean. Give up your pleasures; give up yourwants; give up all to the weak and wretched of our people. Go down toPharaoh and smite him in God's name. Go down to the South where wewrithe. Strive--work--build--hew--lead--inspire! God calls. Will youhear? Come to Jesus. The harvest is waiting. Who will cry: 'Here am I,send me!'"

  Zora rose and walked up the aisle; she knelt before the altar andanswered the call: "Here am I--send me."

  And then she walked out. Above her sailed the same great stars; aroundher hummed the same hoarse city; but within her soul sang some new songof peace.

  "What is the matter, Zora?" Mrs. Vanderpool inquired, for she seemed tosee in the girl's face and carriage some subtle change; something thatseemed to tell how out of the dream had stepped the dreamer into therealness of things; how suddenly the seeker saw; how to the wanderer,the Way was opened.

  Just how she sensed this Mrs. Vanderpool could not have explained, norcould Zora. Was there a change, sudden, cataclysmic? No. There were tocome in future days all the old doubts and shiverings, the old restlesscry: "It is all right--all right!" But more and more, above the doubtand beyond the unrest, rose the great end, the mighty ideal, thatflickered and wavered, but ever grew and waxed strong, until it becamepossible, and through it all things else were possible. Thus from thegrave of youth and love, amid the soft, low singing of dark and bowedworshippers, the Angel of the Resurrection rolled away the stone.

  "What is the matter, Zora?" Mrs. Vanderpool repeated.

  Zora looked up, almost happily--standing poised on her feet as if totell of strength and purpose.

  "I have found the Way," she cried joyously.

  Mrs. Vanderpool gave her a long searching look.

  "Where have you been?" she asked. "I've been waiting."

  "I'm sorry--but I've been--converted." And she told her story.

  "Pshaw, Zora!" Mrs. Vanderpool uttered impatiently. "He's a fakir."

  "Maybe," said Zora serenely and quietly; "but he brought the Word."

  "Zora, don't talk cant; it isn't worthy of your intelligence."

  "It was more than intelligent--it was true."

  "Zora--listen, child! You were wrought up tonight, nervous--wild. Youwere happy to meet your people, and where he said one word you suppliedtwo. What you attribute to him is the voice of your own soul."

  But Zora merely smiled. "All you say may be true. But what does itmatter? I know one thing, like the man in the Bible: 'Whereas I wasblind now I see.'"

  Mrs. Vanderpool gave a little helpless gesture. "And what shall you do?"she asked.

  "I'm going back South to work for my people."

  "When?" The old careworn look stole across Mrs. Vanderpool's features.

  Zora came gently forward and slipped her arms lovingly about the otherwoman's neck.

  "Not right off," she said gently; "not until I learn more. I hate toleave you, but--it calls!"

  Mrs. Vanderpool held the dark girl close and began craftily:

  "You see, Zora, the more you know the more you can do."

  "Yes."

  "And if you are determined I will see that you are taught. You must knowsettlement-work and reform movements; not simply here but--" shehesitated--"in England--in France."

  "Will it take long?" Zora asked, smoothing the lady's hair.

  Mrs. Vanderpool considered. "No--five years is not long; it is all tooshort."

  "Five years: it is very long; but there is a great deal to learn. Must Istudy five years?"

  Mrs. Vanderpool threw back her head.

  "Zora, I am selfish I know, but five years truly is none too long. Then,too, Zora, we have work to do in that time."

  "What?"

  "There is Alwyn's career," and Mrs. Vanderpool looked into Zora's eyes.

  The girl did not shrink, but she paused.

  "Yes," she said slowly, "we must help him."

  "And after he rises--"

  "He will marry."

  "Whom?"

  "The woman he loves," returned Zora, quietly.

  "Yes--that is best," sighed Mrs. Vanderpool. "But how shall we helphim?"

  "Make him Treasurer of the United States without sacrificing hismanhood or betraying his peo
ple."

  "I can do that," said Mrs. Vanderpool slowly.

  "It will cost something," said Zora.

  "I will do it," was the lady's firm assurance. Zora kissed her.

  The next afternoon Mrs. Cresswell went down to a white social settlementof which Congressman Todd had spoken, where a meeting of the Civic Clubwas to be held. She had come painfully to realize that if she was tohave a career she must make it for herself. The plain, unwelcome truthwas that her husband had no great interests in life in which she couldfind permanent pleasure. Companionship and love there was and, she toldherself, always would be; but in some respects their lives must flow intwo streams. Last night, for the second time, she had irritated him; hehad spoken almost harshly to her, and she knew she must brood or worktoday. And so she hunted work, eagerly.

  She felt the atmosphere the moment she entered. There were carelesslygowned women and men smart and shabby, but none of them were thinking ofclothes nor even of one another. They had great deeds in mind; they werescanning the earth; they were toiling for men. The same grim excitementthat sends smaller souls hunting for birds and rabbits and lions, hadsent them hunting the enemies of mankind: they were bent to the chase,scenting the game, knowing the infinite meaning of their hunt and theglory of victory. Mary Cresswell had listened but a half hour before herworld seemed so small and sordid and narrow, so trivial, that a sense ofshame spread over her. These people were not only earnest, but expert.They acknowledged the need of Mr. Todd's educational bill.

  "But the Republicans are going to side-track it; I have that on the bestauthority," said one.

  "True; but can't we force them to it?"

  "Only by political power, and they've just won a campaign."

  "They won it by Negro votes, and the Negro who secured the votes iseager for this bill; he's a fine, honest fellow."

  "Very well; work with him; and when we can be of real service let usknow. Meantime, this Child Labor bill is different. It's bound to pass.Both parties are back of it, and public opinion is aroused. Now our workis to force amendments enough to make the bill effective."

  Discussion followed; not flamboyant and declamatory, but tense,staccato, pointed. Mrs. Cresswell found herself taking part. Someonementioned her name, and one or two glances of interest and evencuriosity were thrown her way. Congressmen's wives were rare at theCivic Club.

  Congressmen Todd urged Mrs. Cresswell to stay after the discussion andattend a meeting of the managers and workers of the Washington socialsettlements.

  "Have you many settlements?" she inquired.

  "Three in all--two white and one colored."

  "And will they all be represented?"

  "Yes, of course, Mrs. Cresswell. If you object to meeting the coloredpeople--"

  Mrs. Cresswell blushed.

  "No, indeed," she answered; "I used to teach colored people."

  She watched this new group gather: a business man, two fashionableladies, three college girls, a gray-haired colored woman, and a youngspectacled brown man, and then, to her surprise, Mrs. Vanderpool andZora.

  Zora was scarcely seated when that strange sixth sense of hers told herthat something had happened, and it needed but a side-glance from Mrs.Vanderpool to indicate what it was. She sat with folded hands and theold dreamy look in her eyes. In one moment she lived it all again--thered cabin, the moving oak, the sowing of the Fleece, and its fearfulreaping. And now, when she turned her head, she would see the woman whowas to marry Bles Alwyn. She had often dreamed of her, and had set ahigh ideal. She wanted her to be handsome, well dressed, earnest andgood. She felt a sort of person proprietorship in her, and when at lastthe quickened pulse died to its regular healthy beat, she turned andlooked and knew.

  Caroline Wynn deemed it a part of the white world's education toparticipate in meetings like this; doing so was not pleasant, but itappealed to her cynicism and mocking sense of pleasure. She alwaysroused hostility as she entered: her gown was too handsome, her glovestoo spotless, her air had hauteur enough to be almost impudent in theopinion of most white people. Then gradually her intelligence, her coolwit and self-possession, would conquer and she would go gracefully outleaving a rather bewildered audience behind. She sat today with her darkgold profile toward Zora, and the girl looked and was glad. She was sucha woman she would have Bles marry. She was glad, and she choked back thesob that struggled and fought in her throat.

  The meeting never got beyond a certain constraint. The Congressman madean excellent speech; there were various sets of figures read by theworkers; and Miss Wynn added a touch of spice by several pertinentquestions and comments. Then, as the meeting broke up and Mrs. Cresswellcame forward to speak to Zora, Mrs. Vanderpool managed to find herselfnear Miss Wynn and to be introduced. They exchanged a few politephrases, fencing delicately to test the other's wrist and interest. Theytouched on the weather, and settlement work; but Miss Wynn did notpropose to be stranded on the Negro problem.

  "I suppose the next bit of excitement will be in the inauguration," shesaid to Mrs. Vanderpool.

  "I understand it will be unusually elaborate," returned Mrs. Vanderpool,a little surprised at the turn. Then she added pleasantly: "I think Ishall see it through, from speech to ball."

  "Yes, I do usually," Miss Wynn asserted, adjusting her furs.

  Mrs. Vanderpool was further surprised. Did colored people attend theball?

  "We sorely need a national ball-room," she said. "Isn't the censusbuilding wretched?"

  "I do not know," smiled Miss Wynn.

  "Oh, I thought you said--"

  "I meant _our_ ball."

  "Oh!" said Mrs. Vanderpool in turn. "Oh!" Here a thought came. Ofcourse, the colored people had their own ball; she remembered havingheard about it. Why not send Zora? She plunged in:

  "Miss Wynn, I have a maid--such an intelligent girl; I do wish she couldattend your ball--" seeing her blunder, she paused. Miss Wynn was coollybuttoning her glove.

  "Yes," she acknowledged politely, "few of us can afford maids, andtherefore we do not usually arrange for them; but I think we can haveyour _protegee_ look on from the gallery. Good-afternoon."

  As Mrs. Vanderpool drove home she related the talk to Zora. Zora wassilent at first. Then she said deliberately:

  "Miss Wynn was right."

  "Why, Zora!"

  "Did Helene attend the ball four years ago?"

  "But, Zora, must you folk ape our nonsense as well as our sense?"

  "You force us to," said Zora.