The Quest of the Silver Fleece: A Novel

  _Twenty-three_

  THE TRAINING OF ZORA

  "I did not know the world was so large," remarked Zora as she and Mrs.Vanderpool flew east and northward on the New York-New Orleans limited.For a long time the girl had given herself up to the sheer delight ofmotion. Gazing from the window, she compared the lands she passed withthe lands she knew: noting the formation of the cotton; the kind andgrowth of the trees; the state of the roads. Then the comparisons becameinfinite, endless; the world stretched on and on until it seemed meredistance, and she suddenly realized how vast a thing it was and spoke.

  Mrs. Vanderpool was amused. "It's much smaller than one would think,"she responded.

  When they came to Atlanta Zora stared and wrinkled her brows. It was herfirst large city. The other towns were replicas of Toomsville; strangein number, not in kind; but this was different, and she could notunderstand it. It seemed senseless and unreasonable, and yet sostrangely so that she was at a loss to ask questions. She was verysolemn as they rode on and night came down with dreams.

  She awoke in Washington to new fairylands and wonders; the endless goingand coming of men; great piles that challenged heaven, and homes crowdedon homes till one could not believe that they were full of livingthings. They rolled by Baltimore and Philadelphia, and she talked ofevery-day matters: of the sky which alone stood steadfast amid whirlingchange; of bits of empty earth that shook themselves here and thereloose from their burden of men, and lay naked in the cold shiningsunlight.

  All the while the greater questions were beating and curling andbuilding themselves back in her brain, and above all she was wonderingwhy no one had told her before of all this mighty world. Mrs.Vanderpool, to whom it seemed too familiar for comment, had said noword; or, if she had spoken, Zora's ears had not been tuned tounderstand; and as they flew toward the towering ramparts of New York,she sat up big with the terror of a new thought: suppose this world werefull yet of things she did not know nor dream of? How could she findout? She must know.

  When finally they were settled in New York and sat high up on the FifthAvenue front of the hotel, gradually the inarticulate questioning foundwords, albeit strange ones.

  "It reminds me of the swamp," she said.

  Mrs. Vanderpool, just returned from a shopping tour, burst intolaughter.

  "It is--but I marvel at your penetration."

  "I mean, it is moving--always moving."

  "The swamp seemed to me unearthly still."

  "Yes--yes," cried Zora, eagerly, brushing back the rumpled hair; "and sodid the city, at first, to me."

  "Still! New York?"

  "Yes. You see, I saw the buildings and forgot the men; and thebuildings were so tall and silent against Heaven. And then I came to seethe people, and suddenly I knew the city was like the swamp, alwaysrestless and changing."

  "And more beautiful?" suggested Mrs. Vanderpool, slipping her arms intoher lounging-robe.

  "Oh, no; not nearly so beautiful. And yet--more interesting." Then witha puzzled look: "I wonder why?"

  "Perhaps because it's people and not things."

  "It's people in the swamp," asserted Zora, dreamily, smoothing out thepillows of the couch, "'little people,' I call them. The difference is,I think, that there I know how the story will come out; everything ischanging, but I know how and why and from what and to what. Now here,_every_thing seems to be happening; but what is it that is happening?"

  "You must know what has happened, to know what may happen," said Mrs.Vanderpool.

  "But how can I know?"

  "I'll get you some books to-morrow."

  "I'd like to know what it means," wistfully.

  "It is meaningless." The woman's cynicism was lost upon Zora, of course,but it possessed the salutary effect of stimulating the girl's thoughts,encouraging her to discover for herself.

  "I think not; so much must mean something," she protested.

  Zora gathered up the clothes and things and shaded the windows, glancingthe while down on the street.

  "Everybody is going, going," she murmured. "I wonder where. Don't theyever get there?"

  "Few arrive," said Mrs. Vanderpool. Zora softly bent and passed her coolsoft hand over her forehead.

  "Then why do they go?"

  "The zest of the search, perhaps."

  "No," said Zora as she noiselessly left the room and closed the door;"no, they are searching for something they have lost. Perhaps they, too,are searching for the Way," and the tears blinded her eyes.

  Mrs. Vanderpool lay in the quiet darkened room with a puzzled smile onher lips. A month ago she had not dreamed that human interest in anybodywould take so strong a hold upon her as her liking for Zora had done.She was a woman of unusual personal charm, but her own interest andaffections were seldom stirred. Had she been compelled to earn a livingshe would have made a successful teacher or manipulator of men. As itwas, she viewed the human scene with detached and cynical interest. Shehad no children, few near relations, a husband who went his way andstill was a gentleman.

  Essentially Mrs. Vanderpool was unmoral. She held the code of her socialset with sportsmanlike honor; but even beyond this she stooped to nointrigue, because none interested her. She had all the elements of powersave the motive for doing anything in particular. For the first time,perhaps, Zora gave her life a peculiar human interest. She did not lovethe girl, but she was intensely interested in her; some of the interestwas selfish, for Zora was going to be a perfect maid. The girl'slanguage came to be more and more like Mrs. Vanderpool's; her dress andtaste in adornment had been Mrs. Vanderpool's first care, and it led toa curious training in art and sense of beauty until the lady now andthen found herself learner before the quick suggestiveness of Zora'smind.

  When Mrs. Harry Cresswell called a month or so later the talk naturallyincluded mention of Zora. Mary was happy and vivacious, and noted thegirl's rapid development.

  "I wonder what I shall make out of her?" queried Mrs. Vanderpool. "Doyou know, I believe I could mould her into a lady if she were notblack."

  Mary Cresswell laughed. "With that hair?"

  "It has artistic possibilities. You should have seen my hair-dresser'sface when I told her to do it up. Her face and Zora's were a pantomimefor the gods. Yet it was done. It lay in some great twisted cloud and inthat black net gown of mine Zora was simply magnificent. Her form isperfect, her height is regal, her skin is satin, and my jewels found aresting place at last. Jewels, you know, dear, were never meant forwhite folk. I was tempted to take her to the box at the opera and letNew York break its impudent neck."

  Mary was shocked.

  "But, Mrs. Vanderpool," she protested, "is it right? Is it fair? Whyshould you spoil this black girl and put impossible ideas into her head?You can make her a perfect maid, but she can never be much more inAmerica."

  "She is a perfect maid now; that's the miracle of it--she's that deftand quick and quiet and thoughtful! The hotel employees think herperfect; my friends rave--really, I'm the most blessed of women. But doyou know I like the girl? I--well, I think of her future."

  "It's wrong to treat her as you do. You make her an equal. Her room isone of the best and filled with books and bric-a-brac. She sometimeseats with you--is your companion, in fact."

  "What of it? She loves to read, and I guide her while she keeps me up onthe latest stuff. She can talk much better than many of my friends andthen she piques my curiosity: she's a sort of intellectual sauce thatstirs my rapidly failing mental appetite. I think that as soon as I canmake up my mind to spare her, I'll take her to France and marry her offin the colonies."

  "Well, that's possible; but one doesn't easily give up good servants. Bythe way, I learn from Miss Smith that the boy, Bles Alwyn, in whom Zorawas so interested, is a clerk in the Treasury Department at Washington."

  "Indeed! I'm going to Washington this winter; I'll look him over and seeif he's worth Zora--which I greatly doubt."

  Mrs. Cresswell pursed her lips and changed the subject.

  "Have yo
u seen the Easterlys?"

  "The ladies left their cards--they are quite impossible. Mr. Easterlycalls this afternoon. I can't imagine why, but he asked for anappointment. Will you go South with Mr. Cresswell? I'm glad to hear he'sentering politics."

  "No, I shall do some early house hunting in Washington," said Mrs.Cresswell, rising as Mr. Easterly was announced.

  Mr. Easterly was not at home in Mrs. Vanderpool's presence. She spoke alanguage different from his, and she had shown a disconcerting way, inthe few times when he had spoken with her, of letting the weight of theconversation rest on him. He felt very distinctly that Mrs. Vanderpoolwas not particularly desirous of his company, nor that of his family.Nevertheless, he needed Mrs. Vanderpool's influence just now, and he waswilling to pay considerable for it. Once under obligation to him herservices would be very valuable. He was glad to find Mrs. Cresswellthere. It showed that the Cresswells were still intimate, and theCresswells were bound to him and his interests by strong ties. He bowedas Mrs. Cresswell left, and then did not beat around the bush because,in this case, he did not know how.

  "Mrs. Vanderpool, I need your aid."

  Mrs. Vanderpool smiled politely, and murmured something.

  "We are, you know, in the midst of a rather warm presidential campaign,"continued Mr. Easterly.

  "Yes?" with polite interest.

  "We are going to win easily, but our majority in Congress for certainmatters will depend on the attitude of Southerners and you usually spendthe winters in Washington. If, now, you could drop a word here andthere--"

  "But why should I?" asked Mrs. Vanderpool.

  "Mrs. Vanderpool, to be frank, I know some excellent investments thatyour influence in this line would help. I take it you're not so rich butthat--"

  Mrs. Vanderpool smiled faintly.

  "Really, Mr. Easterly, I know little about such matters and care less. Ihave food and clothes. Why worry with more?"

  Mr. Easterly half expected this and he determined to deliver his lastshot on the run. He arose with a disappointed air.

  "Of course, Mrs. Vanderpool, I see how it is: you have plenty and onecan't expect your services or influence for nothing. It had occurred tome that your husband might like something political; but I presume not."

  "Something political?"

  "Yes. You see, it's barely possible, for instance, that there will be achange in the French ambassadorship. The present ambassador is oldand--well, I don't know, but as I say, it's possible. Of course though,that may not appeal to you, and I can only beg your good offices incharity if--if you see your way to help us. Well, I must be going."

  "What is--I thought the President appointed ambassadors."

  "To be sure, but we appoint Presidents," laughed Mr. Easterly."Good-day. I shall hope to see you in Washington."

  "Good-day," Mrs. Vanderpool returned absently.

  After he had gone she walked slowly to Zora's room and opened the door.For a long time she stood quietly looking in. Zora was curled in a chairwith a book. She was in dreamland; in a world of books buildedthoughtfully for her by Mrs. Vanderpool, and before that by Miss Smith.Her work took but little of her time and left hours for reading andthinking. In that thought-life, more and more her real living centred.

  Hour after hour, day after day, she lay buried, deaf and dumb to allelse. Her heart cried, up on the World's four corners of the Way, and toit came the Vision Splendid. She gossiped with old Herodotus across theearth to the black and blameless Ethiopians; she saw the sculpturedglories of Phidias marbled amid the splendor of the swamp; she listenedto Demosthenes and walked the Appian Way with Cornelia--while all NewYork streamed beneath her window.

  She saw the drunken Goths reel upon Rome and heard the careless Negroesyodle as they galloped to Toomsville. Paris, she knew,--wonderful,haunting Paris: the Paris of Clovis, and St. Louis; of Louis the Great,and Napoleon III; of Balzac, and her own Dumas. She tasted the mud andcomfort of thick old London, and the while wept with Jeremiah and sangwith Deborah, Semiramis, and Atala. Mary of Scotland and Joan of Archeld her dark hands in theirs, and Kings lifted up their sceptres.

  She walked on worlds, and worlds of worlds, and heard there in herlittle room the tread of armies, the paeans of victory, the breaking ofhearts, and the music of the spheres.

  Mrs. Vanderpool watched her a while.

  "Zora," she presently broke into the girl's absorption, "how would youlike to be Ambassador to France?"