Читать книгу The Oscar Micheaux Omnibus - Micheaux Oscar - Страница 55

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Jean Baptiste slept soundly all the night through, snoring loudly at times, turning frequently, but never awakening. And while he slept, unconscious of how near he had come to freezing to death upon the prairie, but for the strange coincidence of Agnes Stewart's having gotten lost and finding him, she sat near, listening to the dull roar of the storm outside at times; at other times casting furtive, anxious and apprehensive glances toward the bed, half in fear. More because the position she realized herself to be in was awkward, not to say embarrassing.

Her eyes became heavy as the night wore on, and she arose and walked about over the dirt floor in an attempt to shake off the inertia. And in the meantime, the man she had saved slept on, apparently disturbed by nothing. Presently she approached him shyly, and, taking the coat he had worn and which lay near, she spread it carefully over him, then tiptoed away and regarded him curiously. Her life had never afforded character study in a broad sense; but for some reason, which she could not account for, she strangely trusted the sleeping man. And because she did, she was not in fear lest he awaken and take advantage of the compromising circumstances. But in her life she had met and known no colored people, and knew directly little about the Negro race beyond what she had read. Therefore to find herself lost on the wide plains, in a house alone with one, a bachelor Homesteader, with a terrific storm without, gave her a peculiar sensation.

When the hand of the little clock upon the table pointed to two o'clock a.m., she put coal on the fire, became seated in a crude rocking chair that proved notwithstanding, to be comfortable, and before she was aware of it, had fallen asleep. Worn out by the night's vigil, and the unusual circumstances in which she found herself, she slept soundly and all sense of flying time was lost upon her. The storm subsided with the approach of morn, and the sun was peeping out of a clear sky in the east when she awakened with a start. She jumped to her feet. Quickly her eyes sought the bed. It was empty. The man had arisen. She looked out through the little window. The blizzard had left the country gray and streaked. Buttoning her coat collar about her throat, she adjusted her cap by pulling it well down over her head, and ventured outside.

Never had she looked upon such a scene as met her eyes! Everywhere, as far as she could see, was a mantle of snow and ice. Here the snow had been swept into huge drifts or long ridges; while there it sparkled in the sun, one endless, unbroken sheet of white frost and ice. Here and there over the wide expanse a lonesome claim shack reposed as if lost; while to the northwest, she could see the little town to which she had gone the afternoon before, rising heroically out of the snow. Upon hearing a sound, she turned to find The Homesteader leading her horse, saddled and bridled from the barn. She turned her eyes away to hide the confusion with which she was suddenly overcome, and at the same time to try to find words with which to greet him.

"Good morning," she heard from his lips, and turned her face to see him touch the cap he wore.

"Good morning, sir," she returned, smiling with ease, notwithstanding her confusion of a moment before.

"I judge that you must have become lost, the why you happened along," said he pleasantly, courteously.

"I did," she acknowledged, marveled at finding herself so much at ease in his presence, and him conscious. In the same instance she took quick note of his speech and manner, and was strangely pleased.

"I see," she heard him mutter. She had cast her eyes away as if to think, but now turned again toward him to find him regarding her intently. She saw him give a quick start, and catch his breath as if in surprise, whereupon she turned her eyes away. But she did not understand the cause of his start; she did not understand that while he had recognized her as his dream girl, that only then had he realized that she was white, while he had naturally supposed his dream girl would be of his own blood, Ethiopian.

He lowered his eyes as this fact played in his mind, and as he hesitated, she again turned her eyes upon him and regarded him wonderingly. And in that moment the instance of the night before when he had awakened and looked up into her eyes for the first time when she stood over him, and had uttered the words she would never as long as she lived, forget, came back. "It is you, Agnes. You have come and, oh, I am glad, for I have waited for you so long." "How did he know my name and come to say what he did?" was the question she now again, as she had been doing all the night through, asked herself. She prayed that she might find a way to ask him—how deeply her curiosity to know was aroused. And then, while she was so deeply engrossed, abruptly he raised his head, and his eyes fell searchingly again upon her. He saw and wondered at the curious intentness he saw there, and as he did so, he caught that something in her eyes; he saw what she had seen before leaving Indiana; and as she had been when she had seen it, he too, was strangely moved and could not understand. Apparently he forgot all else as the changing color of her eyes held him, and while so, unconsciously he advanced a step nearer her. She did not move away, but stood as if in a thraldom, with a feeling stealing over her that somewhere she had seen and known him once.... But where—where, where! She had never known an Ethiopian, she full well recalled; but she was positive that she had seen this man somewhere before. Then where—where, where!

As for the man, Jean Baptiste, he seemed to relax after a time, and looked away. He had seen her at last; she had been his dream girl; had come in a dream and as she stood before him she was all his wondrous vision had portrayed. Her face was flushed by the cold air, and red roses in full bloom were in her cheeks; while her beautiful hair, spread over her shoulders, and fanned by a light breeze, made her in his eyes a picture of enchantment. When he observed her again and saw that her eyes were blue and then again were brown, he was still mystified; but what was come over Jean Baptiste now was the fact, the Great fact: The fact that between him and his dream girl was a chasm so deep socially that bridging was impossible. Because she was white while he was black, according to the custom of the country and its law, she could never be anything to him....

Her back was to the rising sun, and neither had observed that it was mounting higher in the eastern skies. She suppressed the question that was on her lips to ask him, the eternal question, and in that instant he came out of his trance. He turned to her, and said:

"It was sure fortunate for me that you lost your way," and so saying his eyes went toward the place she had found him, and she understood. She could not repress a happy smile that overspread her face. He saw it and was pleased.

"It was rather providential; but I would forget it. To think that you might have frozen to death out there makes me shudder when I recall it."

"I cannot seem to understand what came over me—that I was in the act of freezing while I walked."

"It was a terrible night," she commented. "I, too, might have frozen, but for the good fortune of my horse finding your house."

"Isn't it strange," he muttered abstractedly.

"I hadn't the least idea where I was," said she, musingly.

"Such a coincidence."

"Indeed it was——, but please, shall we forget it," and she shuddered slightly.

"Yes," he replied readily. "Where do you live?"

She pointed to where the smoke curled from the chimney of their home, a mile and a half away.

"The Watson place? I see. You are perhaps, then, newcomers here?"

"We are," and she smiled easily. He did also. He handed her the bridle reins then, and said:

"I trust you will pardon my forgetfulness. Indeed I was so absorbed in the fact that I had been saved, that I forgot to—to be courteous."

"Oh, no, sir!" she cried quickly. "You did not. You—" and then she broke off in her speech. It occurred to her that she was saying too much. But strangely she wanted to go on, strangely she wanted to know more of him: from where he had come; of his life, for already she could see that he was a gentleman; an unusual person—but he was speaking again.

"You have become chilled standing there—it is severely cold. Step back into the house and warm yourself before you start. I will hold your horse while you do so." And he reached for the bridle reins.

She looked up into his face, and again trusted him; again she experienced a peculiar gratitude, and turning she obeyed him. As she stood inside over the little monkey stove a moment later, she could see him, and appreciated how thoughtful he was.

She returned after a few minutes, stood beside the animal he had brought and was ready to go. Suddenly she vaulted into the saddle. She regarded him again intently, while he returned the same a bit abstractedly. She started to urge the mare forward, and then she drew her to a stop before she had gotten fully started. Impulsively she leaned forward and stretched her hand toward him. Mechanically he took it. She unconsciously gripped his, as she said:

"I'm glad it happened.... That I became lost and—and—you were saved." His dark face colored with gratitude, and he had an effort to keep from choking when he tried to reply. In the meantime, she bestowed upon him a happy smile, and the next moment her horse had found the trail and was dashing along it toward the place she lived.

And as she went homeward over the hill, the man in whose life she was later to play such a strange and intimate part, stood looking after her long and silently.