The Homesteader: A Novel

by Oscar Micheaux

  CHAPTER XV

  COMPROMISED

  "Please don't go, Jean," she begged. "I don't want you to go. Stay withme."

  "Now, Orlean," he said gently. "I have such a lot of work to do. I willgo, tear down some of the old buildings on the homestead and be backbefore many days."

  She cried for a time while he held her in his arms. Crying was nothingnew with her. As the time for her delivery drew near, she was given tosuch spells. He was patient. After a few moments she dried her eyes andsaid:

  "Well, dear, you can go. But hurry back. I want you to be home then, youunderstand."

  "Of course I want to be home then, wifey, and sure want it to be a boy."

  "It _will_ be a boy, Jean," she said with a strange confidence. "Ibelieve it. I am sure it will."

  "I shall love you always then, my wife. All our cares and burdens willvanish into the air, and we shall be as happy as the angels."

  "Oh, Jean, you can make life seem so light."

  "Life should be made to appear light, sweetheart," he said, caressingher. "Grandmother will be here with you and if you need for anything,draw a check and have the neighbors below bring it out. It is only threemiles over the hill to Carter, you understand."

  "By the way, dear," she said suddenly, going into the bedroom, andreturning presently with a letter. "This is from mama. She writes thatthey have never told papa yet, and hopes that nothing serious willhappen for then she would never--we would never be forgiven by him."

  "Dear Little Mother Mary," he said fondly. "I hope nothing will happen,Orlean, for our sakes." And then he paused. He had started to say thathe was not worried about her father's forgiveness. He had lost whatlittle patience he had ever had with that one, and did not propose to beannoyed with his love, the love that he had to be continually makingexcuses and apologies to entertain. But before he had spoken he thoughtbetter of it, and decided to say nothing about it. His wife had beentrained to regard her father as a king, and because he had succeeded inletting her see that after all he was just a Negro preacher with themost that went with Negro preachers in him, she had at last ceased tobore him with telling him how great her father was.

  They were at her claim, and he was about to depart for his originalhomestead to clean up work preparatory to moving onto her claimpermanently as he had intended to do. Already his wagons with horseshitched thereto stood near, and he was only lingering for a few partingwords with her.

  "I am kind of sorry we placed mother in this position," he heard her sayas if talking more to herself than he.

  "In what position, Orlean?"

  "In keeping this a secret."

  "From your father, you mean?" said he, frowning.

  "Yes."

  "Well, Orlean, I have tried to be a husband to you."

  "And you have been, Jean."

  "Then it is our business if I chose to keep such a secret."

  "Yes, Jean," she said, lowering her eyes and thinking.

  "But the one burden of our married life has been your father. I neveranticipated that his love would be such a burden. Ever since we havebeen married we have had to waste our substance on fear over what hewill think. He seems to lose sight of a husband's sentiment or right. Ican fancy him in my position with regard to your mother before they hadbeen married long. My God, if any father or mother would have venturedany suggestion as to how they should live or what they should do I cansee him!"

  His wife laughed.

  "Have I spoken rightly?"

  "Yes," she agreed and was momentarily amused.

  "Yes. But he just makes our life a burden with his kind of love. Nowtake this matter for instance. Why should we be keeping this a secretfrom him--rather, why should I? It's just simply because I have too muchother cares to be annoyed with a whole lot of to-do on his part. If heknew you were going to become a mother, he would just make our lifeunbearable with his insistences and love. Your mother knows it, andEthel. Ethel who would have had you dispose of that innocent, knows itand keeps it from him, with fear all the while of what will come of it,should anything happen.

  "Now, I'll say this much. I don't propose to make any excuses to himabout anything I do or have you do hereafter. I'm going to be husbandand master, and have nothing to do with what he does with regard to yourmother. As long as I am good and kind to you, and don't neglect you,then I have a right, and positively will not be annoyed even by yourfather!"

  "Please hush, Jean," she begged, her arms about him. But he was aroused.He had made himself forget as he should have forgotten the punishmenthe had been given twenty-two years before. But he did not like the man'sconduct. Everywhere and with everybody back in Illinois who knew N.Justine McCarthy, he was regarded as an acknowledged rascal.

  "Just look how he treats your mother!" She pulled at him and tried tostill his voice; but speak he would. "If I was ever guilty of treatingyou as your father has treated your mother ever since he married her, Ihope the Christ will sink my soul into the bottom-most pit of hell!"

  "Jean, my God, please hush!"

  "But I speak the truth and you know it. Would you like to look forwardand feel that you had to go through all your life what your mother hasendured?"

  "Oh, no, no, no! But you must hush, Jean, in heaven's name, hush." Hedid then. The storm that had come over him had spent its force and hekissed her, turned then, went to where his teams stood, got into thefront wagon, and looking back, drove upon his way.

  "Poor Jean," murmured Orlean. "Father and he will never be friends andit makes it so hard for me." She continued to stand where he left her,looking after him until he had disappeared over the hills to the east.

  Arriving at Gregory late that afternoon, Jean found a Lyceum concert,the number consisting of Negroes, one of whom, a girl, he had known someyears before, for she had lived next door to where he then roomed.

  He attended and afterward renewed their acquaintance. It so happenedthat a lumber company was going out of business in the next town eastfrom Gregory, and some coal sheds there were for sale. Desiringsomething of the kind to use as a granary on his wife's claim, Baptistejourneyed hither the following day to look the same over. Now it alsohappened that the same concerters were billed for the same town for anevening performance of that day. The day after being Sunday, and thecompany laying over until Monday, the days were passed together, withBaptiste scheduled to go out to his old place Sunday night.

  It was a cheer to revive old acquaintances; to talk of Chicago and oldendays with those who still lived there. It was a cheer to all, but JeanBaptiste had cause to regret it as we shall later see. In the meantime,he went to his old place as per schedule, returning to the little townthe following morning, where he purchased a hundred foot shed andprepared to move it to his wife's claim forthwith.

  A few miles only had been traversed before an intermittent thaw set in,the soft uncertain surface of the earth making it hazardous to pull aheavy load over. So when he reached his old place, he decided to leaveit there, tear down his old granary and haul the lumber instead.

  While in this act, his sister, who had been on a visit to Kansas,returned, and worried with regards to his wife, alone with his grandmaout on the homestead, he hurried her therewith at once. The next day hewas relieved to receive a letter from Orlean, advising that she waswell, but to come home as soon as possible.

  A week had passed and Saturday was upon him again before he was ready tomake a start. Now there often comes in the springtime in the West,severe winds that may blow unchecked for days. And one came up just asJean Baptiste had set out, and blew a terrific gale. It almost upset hiswagons, and made driving very difficult. This was augmented further,because the wind was right in his face, and there was no way to avoidit. However, he finally reached a town about eleven miles west ofDallas, by the name of Colome that day. The next morning the wind hadgone down and the day was beautiful, and he was cheered to think hecould reach home that day, by getting started early. But bad luck waswith Jean Baptiste that day, which was Sunday, and when
he was goingdown a hill, the wagon struck a rocky place, bounced, and the rightfront wheel rolled out ahead of him. The axle had broken, and his loadwent down with a crash.

  He went to a house he saw near, secured a wagon, and there met a man whohad known his father, and had lived and run a newspaper in the same townnear where he was born twenty-six years before. He wasted hours gettinghis load transferred to another wagon, and finally got started again.But not two miles had been covered before the coupling pole snapped, andhis loads almost went down again. What trick of fate was playing him, hewondered, and swore viciously. Hours it took before the break wasrepaired, and he pulled into Winner, eighteen miles from home, late thatnight.

  Early morning found him, however, resolutely on the way. He had coveredabout half the distance when he met a man who lived neighbor to him onhis wife's claim, who told him he had tried to get him on the 'phoneSaturday, at Gregory and again at Dallas; that his wife had given birthto a baby which had come into the world dead, on a Saturday.

  He almost tumbled from the wagon when he heard this. "Dead!" herepeated. Finally he heard himself speaking, and in a voice that seemedto come from far away:

  "Ah--well--did my wife have--attention?"

  "Oh, yes," said the other. "Your sister, and two doctors. Yes, she hadall the attention necessary. But I'm sorry for you, old man. It was surea big, fine kid. She couldn't give it birth, so they had to kill it inorder to save her life."

  He started to resume his journey East, while Baptiste, now with unstrungnerves, started to resume his way West. But before his horses had gonemany steps he suddenly drew them down to a halt, and, turning, heard theother call out: "I went to Carter and sent her father a telegram as pera request of hers. I suppose it was all right," and continued on hisway.

  "To him!" cried Baptiste inaudibly. "_To_ him!" he repeated. "To him nodoubt, that the baby--which he had not known was to be, had comeand--dead!"

  Mechanically he drove upon his way. He did not think, he did not speak.He said nothing for a long, long time; but down in his heart _JeanBaptiste knew that he was coming nearer to the parting of the ways_.

  Back in old Illinois N. Justine McCarthy, upon receiving the telegram,he realized would in all probability depart at the earliest conveniencefor the West. And when he arrived, would learn still more than themessage had told; would learn that he had been absent when his wife hadgiven birth to the dead baby. Oh, his child, why could it not havelived.... Yes, she had had all the attention that was possible; but suchwould not be credited by N. Justine McCarthy. The fact that not everyman had found it possible to be present at the bedside of their wiveswhen children came, would not be considered by N. Justine McCarthy. _Thefact that he himself had been absent when his own Orlean came into theworld_ would be no counter here. Jean Baptiste's absence at the criticaltime would serve as an excuse for the Reverend to vent his spite, and hewould demand a toll. Jean Baptiste was compromised, and would have tomake a sacrifice....