The Homesteader: A Novel

by Oscar Micheaux

  CHAPTER III

  MEMORIES--N. JUSTINE MCCARTHY

  "She will not be in tomorrow," said Baptiste, handing the letter to MissRankin.

  "Oh, is that so!" cried Miss Rankin in a tone of deep disappointment, asshe took the letter. "Now isn't that just too bad!"

  "It is," agreed Baptiste. "I will not get to see her, since I shall haveto return to the West not later than two or three days." He wasextremely disappointed. He sat down with a sigh and rested his chin inhis palm, looking before him thoughtfully.

  "I'm sure sorry, so sorry," mused Miss Rankin abstractedly. "And youcannot possibly wait until next week?" she asked, anxiously.

  He shook his head sadly.

  "Impossible, absolutely impossible."

  "It is certainly too bad. Miss Pitt was so anxious to meet you. And Iwas, too, because I think you and her would like each other. She's anawfully good girl, and willing to help a fellow. Just the kind of a girlyou need."

  He shifted his position now and was absorbed in his thoughts. He hadcome back to his purpose. He was sorry for Miss Pitt; but he had alsobeen sorry that Miss Grey had not answered his letter.... Theassociation with neither, true, had developed into a love affair, sowould not be hard to forget. He had agreed with himself that love wasto come later. He had exercised discretion. Any one of the three was adesirable mate from a practical point of view. After marriage he wasconfident that they could conform sufficiently to each other's views toget along, perhaps be happy. Miss McCarthy was, in his opinion, the mostintelligent of the three, as she had been to school and had graduatedfrom college. He had confidence in education uplifting people; it madethem more observing. It helped them morally. And with him this meantmuch. He was very critical when it came to morals. He had studied hisrace along this line, and he was very exacting; because, unfortunatelyas a whole their standard of morals were not so high as it should be. Ofcourse he understood that the same began back in the time of slavery.They had not been brought up to a regard of morality in a higher senseand they were possessed with certain weaknesses. He was aware that inthe days of slavery the Negro to begin with had had, as a rule only whathe could steal, therefore stealing became a virtue. When accused as henaturally was sure to be, he had resorted to the subtle art of lying. Solying became an expedient. So it had gone. Then he came down to thepoint of physical morality.

  The masters had so often the slave women, lustful by disposition, asconcubine. He had, in so doing of course, mixed the races, Jean Baptisteknew until not more than one half of the entire race in America arewithout some trait of Caucasian blood. There had been no defense then,and for some time after. There was no law that exacted punishment for amaster's cohabitation with slave women, so it had grown into a customand was practiced in the South in a measure still.

  So with freedom his race had not gotten away from these loose practices.They were given still to lustful, undependable habits, which he at timesbecame very impatient with. His version was that a race could not risehigher than their morals. So in his business procedure of choosing awife, one thing over all else was unalterable, she must be chaste and ofhigh morals.

  Orlean McCarthy, however she as yet appeared from a practicalstandpoint, could, he estimated rightly, boast of this virtue. No doubtshe was equally as high in all other perquisites. But strangely he didnot just wish to ask Miss McCarthy to become his wife. He could notunderstand it altogether. He was confident that no girl lived whoperhaps was likely, as likely, to conform to his desires as she; butplan, do as he would, that lurking aversion still remained--infinitelyworse, it grew to a fear.

  He sighed perceptibly, and Miss Rankin, catching the same, was deeplysympathetic because she thought it was due to the disappointment he feltin realizing that he was not to see Miss Pitt on the morrow. She placedher arm gently about his shoulders, leaned her small head close to his,and stroked his hair with her other hand.

  "Well," said he, after a time, and to himself, "I left the West to finda wife. I've lived out there alone long enough. I want a home, love andcomfort and only a wife can bring that." He paused briefly in hismutterings. His face became firm. That will that had asserted itself andmade him what he was today, became uppermost. He slowly let thesentiment out of him, which was at once mechanically replaced by a coldset purpose. He smiled then; not a sentimental smile, but one cold,hard, and singularly dry.

  "Oh, by the way, Miss Rankin," he essayed, rising, apparently cheerful."Do you happen to be acquainted with a family here by the name ofMcCarthy?"

  "McCarthy?"

  "Yes. I think the man's a preacher. A Rev. N.J. McCarthy, if I remembercorrectly." She looked up at him. Her face took on an expression ofdefined contempt as she grunted a reply.

  "Humph!"

  "Well...."

  "Who doesn't know that old rascal!"

  "Indeed!" he echoed, in affected surprise; but in the same instant hehad a feeling that he was to hear just this. Still, he maintained hisexpression of surprise.

  "The worst old rascal in the state of Illinois," she pursued with equalcontempt.

  "Oh, really!"

  "Really--yes, _positively_!"

  "I cannot understand?"

  "Oh well," she emitted, vindictively. "You won't have to inquire far toget the record of N.J. McCarthy. Lordy, no! But now," she started with aheightening of color, "He's got a nice family. Two fine girls, Orleanand Ethel, and his wife is a good little soul, rather helpless andwithout the force a woman should have; but very nice. But thathusband--forget him!"

  "This is--er--rather unusual, don't you think?"

  "Well, it is," she said. "One would naturally suppose that a man withsuch a family of moral girls as he has, would not be so--not because heis a preacher." She paused thoughtfully. "Because you know that does notcount for a high morality always in our society.... But N.J. McCarthyhas been like he is ever since I knew him. He's a rascal of the deepwater if the Lord ever made one. And such a hypocrite--there neverlived! Added to it, he is the most pious old saint you ever saw! Looksjust as innocent as the Christ--and treats his wife like a dog!"

  "Oh, no!"

  "No!" disdainfully. "Well, you'd better hush!" She paused again, andthen as if having reconsidered she turned and said: "I'll not say anymore about him. Indeed, I don't like to discuss the man even. He is thevery embodiment of rascalism, deceit and hypocrisy. Now, I've saidenough. Be a good boy, go out and buy me some cream." And smilingly shegot his hat and ushered him outside.

  "Well, now what do you think of that," he kept repeating to himself, ashe went for the ice cream, "_what do you think of that?_" Suddenly hehalted, and raised his hands to his head. He was thinking, thinking,thinking deeply, reflectively. His mind was going back, back, away backinto his youth, his earliest youth--no! It was going--had gone back tohis childhood!

  "N.J. McCarthy, _N.J. McCarthy_? Where did I _know you_! Where, where,_where_!" His head was throbbing, his brain was struggling withsomething that happened a long time before. A saloon was just to hisleft, and into it he turned. He wanted to think; but he _didn't_ want tothink too fast. He took a glass of beer. It was late September, butrather warm, and when the cold beverage struck his throat, his mind wentback into its yesterdays.

  It had happened in the extremely southern portion of the state, in thatpart commonly referred to as "Egypt," where he then lived. He recalledthe incident as it occurred about twenty years before, for he was justfive years of age at the time. His mother's baby boy they called him,because he was the youngest of four boys in a large family of children.It was a day in the autumn. He was sure of this because his olderbrothers had been hunting; they had caught several rabbits and shot afew partridges. He had been allowed to follow for the first time, andhad carried the game.... How distinctly it came back to him now.

  He had picked the feathers from the quail, and had held the rabbitswhile his brothers skinned them. And, later, they had placed the game incold water from their deep well, and had thereupon placed the panholding the same upon the roof of
the summer kitchen, and that night thefrost had come. And when morning was again, the ice cold water had drawnthe blood from the meat of the game, and the same was clear and white.

  "Now, young man," his mother said to him the following morning, "youwill get into clean clothes and stay clean, do you understand?"

  "Yes, mama, I understand," he answered. "But, mama, why?" he inquired.Jean Baptiste had always asked such questions and for his doing so hismother had always rebuked him.

  "You will ask the questions, my son," she said, raising his child bodyin her arms and kissing him fondly. "But I don't mind telling you." Shestood him on the ground then, and pointed to him with her forefinger."Because we are going to have company from town. Big people. Thepreachers. Lots of them, so little boys should be good, and clean, andbe scarce when the preachers are around. They are big men with no time,or care, to waste with little boys!"

  "M-um!" he had chimed.

  "And, why, mama, do the preachers have no time for little boys? Werethey not little boys once themselves?"

  "Now, Jean!" she had admonished thereupon, "you are entirely tooinquisitive for a little boy. There will be other company, also.Teachers, and Mrs. Winston, do you understand! So be good." With thatshe went about her dinner, cooking the rabbits and the quail that he hadbrought home the day before.

  It had seemed an age before, in their spring wagon followed by thelumber wagon, the dignitaries of the occasion wheeled into the yard. Hecould not recall now how many preachers there were, except that therewere many. He was in the way, he recalled, however, because, unlike hisother brothers, he was not bashful. But the preachers did not seem tosee him. They were all large and tall and stout, he could well remember.But the teachers took notice of him. One had caught him up fondly,kissed him and thereupon carried him into the house in her arms. Shetalked with him and he with her. And he could well recall that shelistened intently to all he told her regarding his adventures of the daybefore in the big woods that was at their back. How beautiful and sweethe had thought she was. When she smiled she showed a golden tooth,something new to him, and he did not understand except that it wasdifferent from anything he had ever seen before.

  After a long time, he thought, dinner was called, and, as was thecustom, he was expected to wait. He had very often tried to reason withhis mother that he could sit at the corner of the table in a high chairand eat out of a saucer. He had promised always to be good, just as goodas he could be, and he would not talk. But his mother would not trusthim, and it was understood that he should wait.

  At the call of dinner he slid from the teacher's lap upon the floor andwent outside. He peeped through the window from where he stood on ablock. He saw them eat, and eat, and eat. He saw the quail the boys hadshot disappear one after another into the mouths of the big preachers,and since he had counted and knew how many quail there were, he hadwatched with a growing fear. "Will they not leave one?" he cried.

  At last, when he could endure it no longer, he ran into the house,walked into the dining room unseen, and stood looking on. Now, theteacher who had the golden tooth happened to turn and espy him andthereupon she cried:

  "Oh, there is my little man, and I know he is hungry! Where did you go,sweet one? Come, now, quick to me," whereupon she held out loving armsinto which he went and he had great difficulty in keeping back thetears. But he was hungry, and he had seen the last quail taken from theplate by a preacher who had previously taken two.

  Upon her knee she had sat him, and he looked up into all the facesabout. He then looked down into her plate and saw a half of quail. Hisanxious eyes found hers, and then went back to the plate and the half ofquail thereon.

  "That is for you, sweetness," she cried, and began to take from thetable other good things, while he fell to eating, feeding his mouth withboth hands for he was never before so hungry.

  After a few moments he happened to lift his eyes from the plate. Just tothe side of the beloved teacher, he observed a large, tall and stoutpreacher. He wore a jet black suit and around his throat a clerical vestfit closely; while around his neck he wore a white collar hind partbefore. The preacher's eyes had found Jean's and he gave a start. Theeyes of the other were upon him, and they were angry eyes. He paused inhis eats and gazed not understanding, into the eyes that were upon him.Then suddenly he recalled that he had observed that the preacher hadbeen smiling upon the teacher. He had laughed and joked; and said manythings that little Jean had not understood. As far as he could see, itappeared as if the teacher had not wished it; but the flirtation hadbeen kept up.

  At last, in his child mind he had understood. His crawling upon theteacher's lap had spoiled it all! The preacher was angry, therefore theexpression in his eyes.

  From across the table his mother stood observing him. She seemed not toknow what to say or do, for it had always been so very hard to keep thisone out of grown people's way. So she continued to stand hesitatingly.

  "Didn't your mother say that you were to wait," growled the preacher,and his face was darker by the anger that was in it. This frightenedJean. He could find no answer in the moment to such words. His littleeyes had then sought those of the teacher, who in reply drew him closelyto her.

  "Why, Reverend," she cried, amazed, "he's a little boy, a nice child,and hungry!" Whereupon she caressed him again. He was pacified then, andhis eyes held some fire when he found the preacher's again. The others,too, had grown more evil. The preacher's lips parted. He leaned slightlyforward as he said lowly, angrily:

  "You're an impudent, ill mannered little boy, and you need a spanking!"

  Then suddenly the child grew strangely angry. He couldn't understand.Perhaps it was because he had helped secure the quail, all of which thepreachers were eating, and felt that in view of this he was entitled toa piece of one. He could not understand afterward how he had said it,but he extended his little face forward, close to the preacher's, as hepoured:

  "I ain't no impudent 'ittle boy, either! I went to hunt with my brothersyistidy and I carried all the game, and now you goin' eat it all andleave me none when I'm hungry. You're mean man and make me mad!"

  As he spoke everything seemed to grow dark around him. He recalled thathe was suddenly snatched from the teacher's lap, and carried to thesummer kitchen which was all closed and dark inside. He recalled thatswitches were there, and that soon he felt them. As a rule he cried andbegged before he was ever touched; but strangely then he never cried,and he never begged. He just kept his mouth shut tightly, and had borneall the pain inflicted by his mother, and she had punished him longerthan she had ever done before. Perhaps it was because she felt she hadto make him cry; felt that he _must_ cry else he had not repented. Aftera time he felt terribly dazed, became sleepy, and gradually fell into aslumber while the blows continued to fall.

  How long he slept he could not remember, but gradually he came out ofit. There were no more blows then. Yet, his little body felt sore allover. When he looked up (for he was lying on his back in the summerkitchen), his mother sat near and was crying and wiping the tears withher apron, while over him bent the teacher, and she was crying also. Andas the tears had fallen unchecked upon his face he had heard the teachersaying:

  "It's a shame, an awful shame! The poor, poor little fellow! He washungry and had helped to get the game. And to be punished so severelybecause he wanted to eat is a shame! Oh, Mrs. Baptiste, you must pray toyour God for forgiveness!" And his mother had cried more than ever then.

  Presently he heard a heavy footfall, and peeped upward to see his fatherstanding over him. His father was fair of complexion, and unlike hismother, never said much and was not commonly emotional. But when he wasangry he was terrible, and he was angry now. His blue eyes shone likefire.

  "What is this, Belle," he cried in a terrible voice, "you've killed myboy about that d--n preacher!" His father stooped and looked closelyinto his face. In fear he had opened his eyes. "Jean!" he heard hisfather breathe, "God, but it's a blessing you are alive, or there wouldbe a dead preacher in that
house."

  "Oh, Fawn," his mother cried and fell on him, weeping. The teacherjoined in to pacify him, and in that moment Jean was forgotten. Stifflyhe had slipped from the room, and had gone around near the kitchen stepof the big house to a place where the dogs had their bed. Here he kept aheavy green stick, a short club. He passed before the door, and observedthe preacher still sitting at the table, talking with Mrs. Winston. Heglared at him a moment and his little eyes narrowed to mere slits. Thenhe thought of something else.... It was Mose Allen, Mose Allen, a hermitwho lived in the woods. It was miles--in his mind--to where Mose lived,through heavy forests and timber; but he was going there, he was goingthere to stay with old Mose and live in the woods. He had done nothingwrong, yet had been severely punished. Before this he had thoughtseveral times that when he became a man he would like to be a preacher,a big preacher, and be admired; but, now--never! He would go to old MoseAllen's, live in the woods--and hate preachers forever!

  Later, deep into the forest he plodded. Deep, deeper, until all abouthim he was surrounded with overgrowth, but resolutely he struggledonward. He crossed a branch presently, and knew where he was. The branchdivided their land with Eppencamp's, the German. From there the forestgrew deeper, the trees larger, and the underbrush more tangled. But hewas going to Mose Allen and remembered that that was the way. He graspedhis green club tighter and felt like a hunter in the bear stories hisbig brothers had read to him. He crossed a raise between the branch andthe creek where the water flowed deeply, and where they always wentfishing. He paused upon reaching the creek, for there a footlog lay. Forthe first time he experienced a slight fear. He didn't like foot logs,and had never crossed one alone. He had always been carried across byhis brothers; but his brothers were not near, and he was running away!So he took courage, and approached the treacherous bridge. He lookeddown at the whirling waters below with some awe; but finally with agrimace, he set his foot on the slick trunk of the fallen tree andstarted across. He recalled then that if one looked straight ahead andnot down at the water, it was easy; but his mind was so much on thewaters below. He kept his eyes elsewhere with great effort, and finallyreached the middle. Now it seemed that he could not go one step furtherunless he saw what was below him. He hesitated, closed his eyes, andthought of the whipping he had received and the preacher he hated,opened them, and with calm determination born of anger, crossed safelyto the other side.

  He sighed long and deeply when he reached the other side. He looked backat the muddy waters whirling below, and with another sigh plunged intothe forest again and on toward Mose Allen's.

  He gained the other side of the forest in due time, and came into theclearing. A cornfield was between him and another forest, and almost tothe other side of this Mose Allen lived. The sun was getting low, andthe large oaks behind him cast great shadows that stretched before himand far out into the cornfield. He thought of ghosts and hurried on. Hemust reach Mose Allen's before night, that was sure.

  It was a long way he thought when he reached the other side, and theforest before him appeared ominous. He was inclined to be frightened,but when he looked toward the west and home he saw that the sun had sunkand he plunged grimly again into the deep woodland before him.

  Now the people of the neighborhood had made complaints, and it wascommon talk about the country, that chickens, and young pigs, and calveshad been attacked and destroyed by something evil in the forests. Atnight this evil spirit had stolen out and ravaged the stock and thechickens.

  Accordingly, those interested had planned a hunt for what was thought tobe a catamount. It was not until he had gone deeply into the woods, andthe darkness was everywhere about him, that he remembered the catamount.He stopped and tried to pick the briers out of his bleeding hands, andas he did so, he heard a terrible cry. He went cold with fear. He hardlydared breathe, and crouched in a hole he had found where only hisshoulders and head were exposed. He awaited with abated breath for someminutes and was about to venture out when again the night air anddarkness was rent by the terrible cry. He crouched deeper into the holeand trembled, for the noise was drawing nearer. On and on it came. Hethought of a thousand things in one minute, and again he heard the cry.It was very near now, and he could hear the crunch of the animal's feetupon the dry leaves. And still on and on it came. Presently it was soclose that he could see it. The body of the beast became dimly outlinedbefore him and he could see the eyes plainly, as it swung its head backand forth, and its red eyes shone like coals of fire. Again the varmintrent the night air with its yell, as it espied its prey crouching in thehole.

  By watching the eyes he observed the head sink lower and lower until italmost touched the earth. And thereupon he became suddenly calm andapprehensive. He held his breath and met it calmly, face to face. Hisclub was drawn, his eyes were keen and intense. He waited. Suddenly theair was rent with another death rendering cry, and the beast sprung.

  It had reckoned well, but so had he. He had, moreover, struck direct.The blow caught the beast on the point of its nose and muffled andspoiled its directed spring. He quickly came out of the hole and then,before the animal could get out of his reach, he struck it again withsuch force at the back of the head, that the beast was stunned. Againand again he struck until the head was like a bag of bones. When hisstrength was gone, and all was quiet, he became conscious of adrowsiness. He sank down and laid his head upon the body of the deadanimal, and fell into a deep sleep.

  And there they found him during the early hours of the morning and tookhim and the dead catamount home.

  "Another beer, Cap'n?" he heard from the bartender. He quickly stooderect and gazed about in some confusion.

  "Yes," he replied, throwing a coin upon the bar. He drank the beerquickly, went out, bought Miss Rankin the cream and after delivering itto her, went outside again and up State Street.

  He was overcome with memories, was Jean Baptiste. He had a task toaccomplish. He was going to Vernon Avenue where Miss McCarthy lived toask her to become his wife.

  And the preacher who had been the cause of his severe punishment twentyyears before was her father, the Rev. N.J. McCarthy.