The Homesteader: A Novel

by Oscar Micheaux

  CHAPTER XX

  AS IT WAS IN THE BEGINNING

  It was in the autumn time, after the wheat and the oats, the rye, thebarley and the flaxseed had all been gathered, and threshed, and alsoafter the corn had been husked. Wheat, he had raised, thousands andthousands of bushels. And because there was war over all the old world,and the great powers of the land were in the grim struggle of trying tocrush each other from the face of the earth, the power under which helived was struggling with the task of feeding a portion of those engagedin the struggle. And because Black Rust had impaired the spring wheatyield those thousands of bushels he raised, he had sold at a price sohigh that he had sufficient to redeem at last the land he was about tolose and money left for future development into the bargain.

  He sat alone at this moment in a stateroom aboard a great continentallimited, just out of Omaha and speeding westward to the Pacific coast.As was his customary wont, his thoughts were prolific. But for once--andmaybe for the first time, on the whole, he was satisfied,--he wascontented--and last, but not least, he was happy.

  Being happy, however, is not quite possible alone. No, and Jean Baptistewas _not_ alone. And here is what had happened.

  Jack Stewart had told him the story. And in the story told, one greatmystery was solved. He now understood why Agnes' eyes had been sobaffling. Simple, too, in a measure. To begin with, her mother hadpossessed rare brown eyes, he had seen by her picture, because Agnes'mother had not been a white woman at all, but in truth was of Ethiopianextraction. This was a part of the story Jack Stewart had told him. Hehad met and married her mother on a trip from the West Indies where shehad lived, to Glasgow; the marriage being decided upon quickly, for intruth the woman was fleeing. In London some years before, she had beenthe pupil of a learned minister, who had become an infidel, and alsounscrupulous. But we know the story--at least a part of it--of AugustusM. Barr, alias, Isaac M. Barr; alias--but it does not matter. We areconcerned with Agnes' mother. Her mother had inherited a small fortunefrom Agnes' grandma and this Barr had sought to secure. To do so, he hadfollowed Jack Stewart and his wife, Agnes' mother to Jerusalem. There hehad met Isaac Syfe, the Jew, whom he later brought to America. He didnot find the woman he had followed there, but on his return to Englandhe _did_ find Peter Kaden who was married to Christine. Kaden wasinvolved in a murder case, was accused, and had been sentenced toAustralia for the rest of his natural life. It was Barr who saved him,and the fee Kaden paid was Christine. Barr accommodated him by bringinghim to America where he placed all three, including himself, onhomesteads. Syfe settled with him in cash by taking a large loan on hishomestead and giving Barr the proceeds.

  But Kaden was in the way. He had never been comfortable in the newcountry with Christine the wife of another and living so near, so Barrsent Christine away and drove Kaden to suicide. Later at Lincoln,Nebraska she left him and went out of his life forever. Barr had securedKaden's homestead, and all this Jack Stewart knew, but had neverdisclosed. Barr lost track of Agnes' mother, but knew that somewhere inthe world there was a treasure but not as great as he had thought itwas--about ten thousand dollars in all.

  While Jean Baptiste was absorbed in these thoughts, the door was openedquietly, and closed. Some one had entered the stateroom and his earscaught the light rustle of a skirt. His eyes were upon the landscape,but suddenly they saw nothing, for his eyes had been covered by a pairof soft hands.

  "I knew it was you," he said, happily, as he drew her into the seatbeside him, between himself and the window.

  "What are you thinking of, my Jean," she said then.

  "Of what I have been thinking ever since the day when we understood thatyou and I after all are of the same blood."

  "Oh, you have," she chimed, and drawing his face close with her hands,she kissed him ardently.

  "Isn't it beautiful, Agnes? Just grand!"

  "Oh, Jean, you make me so happy."

  "You are _honestly_ happy, dear?" he inquired for the hundredth time.

  "I _couldn't_ be happier," and she reposed in his arms.

  "Have truly forgotten that you are _an Ethiopian_, and _must share_ whatis Ethiopia's?"

  "Will share what is _yours_, my Jean."

  "Always so beautifully have you said that."

  "Have I, now, really?"

  "Do you recall the day when I forgot, dear, _The Custom of theCountry--and its law_?"

  "How could I forget it?"

  "And what followed?"

  "I cannot forget that, either. But Jean, do you want me to?"

  "Agnes, we must both forget what followed. Still, when we think how kindfate has been to us, after all, we must feel grateful."

  "Oh, how much I do. But, Jean--it was _such_ a sacrifice...."

  He was thoughtful for a time, and from the expression on his face, thepresent was far away.

  "Please, dear," she said, taking his hand and fondling it. "When youhappen to think of it; will you try never to allow yourself to resumethat expression--_that_ expression again?"

  He looked down at her.

  "Expression?"

  "Like you wore just then."

  "Oh."

  "You see, it seems to bring back events in your life that we want toforget."

  "You mean, I--"

  "Yes," she said slowly, "you--we understand each other and everythingthat has concerned each other, don't we, Jean?"

  "Of course we do, Agnes. We have always--but there, now!" and hesmothered the rest of it in a fond caress.

  "Wasn't it strange," she mused after a time. "I could never understandit. I saw it in my eyes before we left Indiana. And then I had thatstrange dream and saw you." She paused and played with his fingers. "ButI never felt the same afterwards. Somehow I felt that something strange,something unusual was going to happen in my life, and now when I lookback upon it and am so happy," whereupon she grasped tightly the fingersshe held--"I feel it just had to be."

  "Do you reckon your father understood the love that was between us?"

  "I think he did. And he started more than once about that time to tellme something. He went so far once as to say that if you liked me, and Icut him off. Afterwards I could see that it worried you and my heartwent out to you more than ever. And then you reached your decision. Isaw it, and it seems that I liked you more for the man you were."

  "Did you love the man you were engaged to?"

  "Jean!"

  He laughed sheepishly, and patted her shoulder. He was sorry, that hehad asked her such a question, and he resolved thereupon never to do soagain. Something dark passed before him--terrible years when he hadsuffered much. She was speaking again.

  "You know I never loved any one in the world but you."

  THE END

  TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE:

  Obvious typos and printer errors have been corrected without comment.

  With the exception of obvious printer errors, the following changes havebeen made in this text:

  1. Page 321: "truck" changed to "struck" in the phrase, "hope it hasn't struck...."

  2. Page 442: "We'll" changed to "He'll" in the phrase, "He'll get them tomorrow morning...."

  Inconsistencies in the author's spelling, punctuation, and use ofhyphens have been retained as in the original book.

  Unconventional spelling has been retained in words such as (but notlimited to) the following:

  weazened, page 44 uproarously, page 48 flustrated, page 64 glabbed, page 332 aimiably, page 440 counciled, page 477