_Thirty_
THE RETURN OF ZORA
"I never realized before just what a lie meant," said Zora.
The paper in Mrs. Vanderpool's hands fell quickly to her lap, and shegazed across the toilet-table.
As she gazed that odd mirage of other days haunted her again. She didnot seem to see her maid, nor the white and satin morning-room. She saw,with some long inner sight, a vast hall with mighty pillars; a smooth,marbled floor and a great throng whose silent eyes looked curiously uponher. Strange carven beasts gazed on from a setting of rich, barbaricsplendor and she herself--the Liar--lay in rags before the gold andivory of that lofty throne whereon sat Zora.
The foolish phantasy passed with the second of time that brought it, andMrs. Vanderpool's eyes dropped again to her paper, to those lines,--
"The President has sent the following nominations to the Senate ... Tobe ambassador to France, John Vanderpool, Esq."
The first feeling of triumph thrilled faintly again until the low voiceof Zora startled her. It was so low and calm, it came as thoughjourneying from great distances and weary with travel.
"I used to think a lie a little thing, a convenience; but now I see. Itis a great No and it kills things. You remember that day when Mr.Easterly called?"
"Yes," replied Mrs. Vanderpool, faintly.
"I heard all he said. I could not help it; my transom was open. Andthen, too, after he mentioned--Mr. Alwyn's name, I wanted to hear. Iknew that his appointment would cost you the embassy--unless Bles wastempted and should fall. So I came to you to say--to say you mustn't paythe price."
"And I lied," said Mrs. Vanderpool. "I told you that he should beappointed and remain a man. I meant to make him see that he could yieldwithout great cost. But I let you think I was giving up the embassy whenI never intended to."
She spoke coldly, yet Zora knew. She reached out and took the white,still hands in hers, and over the lady's face again flitted thatstricken look of age.
"I do not blame you," said Zora gently. "I blame the world."
"I am the world," Mrs. Vanderpool uttered harshly, then suddenlylaughed. But Zora went on:
"It bewildered me when I first read the news early this morning; theworld--everything--seemed wrong. You see, my plan was all so splendid.Just as I turned away from him, back to my people, I was to help him tothe highest. I was so afraid he would miss it and think that Rightdidn't win in Life, that I wrote him--"
"You wrote him? So did I."
Zora glanced at her quickly.
"Yes," said Mrs. Vanderpool. "I thought I knew him. He seemed anordinary, rather priggish, opinionated country boy, and I wrote andsaid--Oh, I said that the world is the world; take it as it is. Youwrote differently, and he obeyed you."
"No; he did not know it was I. I was just a Voice from nowhere callingto him. I thought I was right. I wrote each day, sometimes twice,sending bits of verse, quotations, references, all saying the samething: Right always triumphs. But it doesn't, does it?"
"No. It never does save by accident."
"I do not think that is quite so," Zora pondered aloud, "and I am alittle puzzled. I do not belong in this world where Right and Wrong getso mixed. With us yonder there is wrong, but we call it wrong--mostly.Oh, I don't know; even there things are mixed." She looked sadly at Mrs.Vanderpool, and the fear that had been hovering behind her mistress'seyes became visible.
"It was so beautiful," said Zora. "I expected a great thing of you--asacrifice. I do not blame you because you could not do it; and yet--yet,after this,--don't you see?--I cannot stay here."
Mrs. Vanderpool arose and walked over to her. She stood above her, inher silken morning-gown, her brown and gray sprinkled hair rising abovethe pale, strong-lined face.
"Zora," she faltered, "will you leave me?"
Zora answered, "Yes." It was a soft "yes," a "yes" full of pity andregret, but a "yes" that Mrs. Vanderpool knew in her soul to be final.
She sat down again on the lounge and her fingers crept along thecushions.
"Ambassadorships come--high," she said with a catch in her voice. Thenafter a pause: "When will you go, Zora?"
"When you leave for the summer."
Mrs. Vanderpool looked out upon the beautiful city. She was a littlesurprised at herself. She had found herself willing to sacrifice almostanything for Zora. No living soul had ever raised in her so deep anaffection, and yet she knew now that, although the cost was great, shewas willing to sacrifice Zora for Paris. After all, it was not toolate; a rapid ride even now might secure high office for Alwyn and makeCresswell ambassador. It would be difficult but possible. But she hadnot the slightest inclination to attempt it, and she said aloud, halfmockingly:
"You are right, Zora. I promised--and--I lied. Liars have no place inheaven and heaven is doubtless a beautiful place--but oh, Zora! youhaven't seen Paris!"
Two months later they parted simply, knowing well it was forever. Mrs.Vanderpool wrote a check.
"Use this in your work," she said. "Miss Smith asked for it long ago. Itis--my campaign contribution."
Zora smiled and thanked her. As she put the sealed envelope in her trunkher hand came in contact with a long untouched package. Zora took it outsilently and opened it and the beauty of it lightened the room.
"It is the Silver Fleece," said Zora, and Mrs. Vanderpool kissed her andwent.
Zora walked alone to the vaulted station. She did not try to buy aPullman ticket, although the journey was thirty-six hours. She knew itwould be difficult if not impossible and she preferred to share the lotof her people. Once on the foremost car, she leaned back and looked. Thecar seemed clean and comfortable but strangely short. Then she realizedthat half of it was cut off for the white smokers and as the door swungwhiffs of the smoke came in. But she was content for she was almostalone.
It was eighteen little months ago that she had ridden up to the worldwith widening eyes. In that time what had happened? Everything. How wellshe remembered her coming, the first reflection of yonder gilded domeand the soaring of the capitol; the swelling of her heart, withinarticulate wonder; the pain of the thirst to know and understand. Shedid not know much now but she had learned how to find things out. Shedid not understand all, but some things she--
"Ticket"--the tone was harsh and abrupt. Zora started. She had alwaysnoted how polite conductors were to her and Mrs. Vanderpool--was itsimply because Mrs. Vanderpool was evidently a great and rich lady? Sheheld up her ticket and he snatched it from her muttering some direction.
"I beg your pardon?" she said.
"Change at Charlotte," he snapped as he went on.
It seemed to Zora that his discourtesy was almost forced: that he wasafraid he might be betrayed into some show of consideration for a blackwoman. She felt no anger, she simply wondered what he feared. Theincreasing smell of tobacco smoke started her coughing. She turned. Tobe sure. Not only was the door to the smoker standing open, but a whitepassenger was in her car, sitting by the conductor and puffing heartily.As the black porter passed her she said gently:
"Is smoking allowed in here?"
"It ain't non o' my business," he flung back at her and moved away. Allday white men passed back and forward through the car as through athoroughfare. They talked loudly and laughed and joked, and if they didnot smoke they carried their lighted cigars. At her they stared and madecomments, and one of them came and lounged almost over her seat,inquiring where she was going.
She did not reply; she neither looked nor stirred, but kept whisperingto herself with something like awe: "This is what they must endure--mypoor people!"
At Lynchburg a newsboy boarded the train with his wares. The conductorhad already appropriated two seats for himself, and the newsboy routedout two colored passengers, and usurped two other seats. Then he beganto be especially annoying. He joked and wrestled with the porter, and onevery occasion pushed his wares at Zora, insisting on her buying.
"Ain't you got no money?" he asked. "Where you going?"
"Say," he
whispered another time, "don't you want to buy these goldspectacles? I found 'em and I dassen't sell 'em open, see? They'reworth ten dollars--take 'em for a dollar."
Zora sat still, keeping her eyes on the window; but her hands workednervously, and when he threw a book with a picture of a man andhalf-dressed woman directly under her eyes, she took it and dropped itout the window.
The boy started to storm and demanded pay, while the conductor glared ather; but a white man in the conductor's seat whispered something, andthe row suddenly stopped.
A gang of colored section hands got on, dirty and loud. They sprawledabout and smoked, drank, and bought candy and cheap gewgaws. They eyedher respectfully, and with one of them she talked a little as heawkwardly fingered his cap.
As the day wore on Zora found herself strangely weary. It was not simplythe unpleasant things that kept happening, but the continuedapprehension of unknown possibilities. Then, too, she began to realizethat she had had nothing to eat. Travelling with Mrs. Vanderpool therewas always a dainty lunch to be had at call. She did not expect this,but she asked the porter:
"Do you know where I can get a lunch?"
"Search me," he answered, lounging into a seat. "Ain't no chance betwixthere and Danville as I knows on."
Zora viewed her plight with a certain dismay--twelve hours without food!How foolish of her not to have thought of this. The hours passed. Sheturned desperately to the gruff conductor.
"Could I buy a lunch from the dining-car?" she inquired.
"No," was the curt reply.
She made herself as comfortable as she could, and tried to put thematter from her mind. She remembered how, forgotten years ago, she hadoften gone a day without eating and thought little of it. Night cameslowly, and she fell to dreaming until the cry came, "Charlotte! Changecars!" She scrambled out. There was no step to the platform, her bagwas heavy, and the porter was busy helping the white folks to alight.She saw a dingy lunchroom marked "Colored," but she had no time to go toit for her train was ready.
There was another colored porter on this, and he was very polite andaffable.
"Yes, Miss; certainly I'll fetch you a lunch--plenty of time." And hedid. It did not look clean but Zora was ravenous.
The white smoker now had few occupants, but the white train crewproceeded to use the colored coach as a lounging-room and sleeping-car.There was no passenger except Zora. They took off their coats, stretchedthemselves on the seats, and exchanged jokes; but Zora was too tired tonotice much, and she was dozing wearily when she felt a touch on the armand found the porter in the seat beside her with his arm thrownfamiliarly behind her along the top of the back. She rose abruptly toher feet and he started up.
"I beg pardon," he said, grinning.
Zora sat slowly down as he got up and left. She determined to sleep nomore. Yet a vast vision sank on her weary spirit--the vision of a darkcloud that dropped and dropped upon her, and lay as lead along herstraining shoulders. She must lift it, she knew, though it were big as aworld, and she put her strength to it and groaned as the porter cried inthe ghostly morning light:
"Atlanta! All change!"
Away yonder at the school near Toomsville, Miss Smith sat waiting forthe coming of Zora, absently attending the duties of the office. Darklittle heads and hands bobbed by and soft voices called:
"Miss Smith, I wants a penny pencil."
"Miss Smith, is yo' got a speller fo' ten cents?"
"Miss Smith, mammy say please lemme come to school this week and she'llsho' pay Sata'day."
Yet the little voices that summoned her back to earth were lessclamorous than in other years, for the school was far from full, andMiss Smith observed the falling off with grave eyes. This condition waspatently the result of the cotton corner and the subsequentmanipulation. When cotton rose, the tenants had already sold theircotton; when cotton fell the landlords squeezed the rations and loweredthe wages. When cotton rose again, up went the new Spring rentcontracts. So it was that the bewildered black serf dawdled in listlessinability to understand. The Cresswells in their new wealth, theMaxwells and Tollivers in the new pinch of poverty, stretched long armsto gather in the tenants and their children. Excuse after excuse came tothe school.
"I can't send the chilluns dis term, Miss Smith; dey has to work."
"Mr. Cresswell won't allow Will to go to school this term."
"Mr. Tolliver done put Sam in the field."
And so Miss Smith contemplated many empty desks.
Slowly a sort of fatal inaction seized her. The school went on; dailythe dark little cloud of scholars rose up from hill and vale and settledin the white buildings; the hum of voices and the busy movements ofindustrious teachers filled the day; the office work went onmethodically; but back of it all Miss Smith sat half hopeless. It costfive thousand a year to run the school, and this sum she raised withincreasingly greater difficulty. Extra and heart-straining effort hadbeen needed to raise the eight hundred dollars additional for interestmoney on the mortgage last year. Next year it might have to come out ofthe regular income and thus cut off two teachers. Beyond all this theraising of ten thousand dollars to satisfy the mortgage seemed simplyimpossible, and Miss Smith sat in fatal resignation, awaiting the comingday.
"It's the Lord's work. I've done what I could. I guess if He wants it togo on, He'll find a way. And if He doesn't--" She looked off across theswamp and was silent.
Then came Zora's letter, simple and brief, but breathing youth andstrength of purpose. Miss Smith seized upon it as an omen of salvation.In vain her shrewd New England reason asked: "What can a half-taughtblack girl do in this wilderness?" Her heart answered back: "What isimpossible to youth and resolution?" Let the shabbiness increase; letthe debts pile up; let the boarders complain and the teachersgossip--Zora was coming. And somehow she and Zora would find a way.
And Zora came just as the sun threw its last crimson through the blackswamp; came and gathered the frail and white-haired woman in her arms;and they wept together. Long and low they talked, far into the softSouthern night; sitting shaded beneath the stars, while nearby blinkedthe drowsy lights of the girls' dormitory. At last Miss Smith said,rising stiffly:
"I forgot to ask about Mrs. Vanderpool. How is she, and where?"
Zora murmured some answer; but as she went to bed in her little whiteroom she sat wondering sadly. Where was the poor spoiled woman? Who wasputting her to bed and smoothing the pillow? Who was caring for her, andwhat was she doing? And Zora strained her eyes Northward through thenight.
At this moment, Mrs. Vanderpool, rising from a gala dinner in thebrilliant drawing-room of her Lake George mansion, was reading theevening paper which her husband had put into her hands. With startledeyes she caught the impudent headlines:
VANDERPOOL DROPPED
Senate Refuses to Confirm
Todd Insurgents Muster Enough Votes to Defeat
Confirmation of President's Nominee
Rumored Revenge for Machine's Defeat of Child Labor
Bill Amendment.
The paper trembled in her jewelled hands. She glanced down the column.
"Todd asks: Who is Vanderpool, anyhow? What did he ever do? He is knownonly as a selfish millionaire who thinks more of horses than of men."
Carelessly Mrs. Vanderpool threw the paper to the floor and bit her lipsas the angry blood dyed her face.
"They _shall_ confirm him," she whispered, "if I have to mortgage myimmortal soul!" And she rang up long distance on the telephone.