FREE AND THRALL
"Sally, come here," called Dunwody to one of the row of grinning
negro servants who were loosely lined up in the hall, as much in
curiosity as deference, to give their master his only welcome home.
"Take this lady up to the room in the east part. See that she has
everything she wants. She is not to be disturbed there until
morning, do you hear, Sally? When you come down I want to see you
again. You others there, make your duty to this lady. Call her
Miss Josephine. When she wants anything, you jump and get it. Go
on, now."
They scattered grinning, all but the bent and grizzled old woman
Sally, who now came forward. She looked with blank brown eyes at
the new-comer, herself inscrutable as the Sphinx. If she commented
mentally on the droop of the young woman's mouth and eyes, at least
she said nothing. It was not her place to ask what white folk did,
or why. She took up the traveling-bags and led the way up the
narrow stairway which made out of the central hall.
"Sally," said Josephine, turning, when they reached the stairway,
"where's my own maid--the other--Jeanne?"
"I dunno, Ma'am," said Sally. "I reckon she's all right, though.
Dis heah's yuah room, Ma'am, if you please." She shuffled ahead,
into a tall and wide room, which overlooked the lawn and the
approaching road.
Once alone, Josephine flung herself face downward upon the bed and
burst into a storm of tears, her fine courage for once outworn.
She wept until utterly spent. Sally, after leaving the room, had
returned unnoticed, and when at last Josephine turned about she saw
the old woman standing there. A hard hand gently edged under her
heaving shoulder. "Thah now, honey, doan' cry! God A'mighty,
girl, doan' cry dat-a-way. What is wrong, tell me." Sympathy even
of this sort was balm to a woman wholly unnerved. Josephine found
her head on the old negro woman's shoulder.
[Illustration: Her fine courage for once outworn.]
"Now you jus' lay right quiet, Ma'am," went on Sally. "I'se gwine
to git you a little something warm to drink and something to eat
right soon, and den I'se gwine put you-all to bed nice and clean,
and in de mawnin' you'll feel like you was anotheh lady, you
suttinly will, Ma'am."
"Who are you?" demanded Josephine, turning to look into the old and
wrinkled face.
"I'se jus' Sally."
"I suppose you are keeper of the prison," commented Josephine
bitterly.
"Dis ain't no prisum, Ma'am, I'se bin heah a long time 'mong dese
triflin' niggahs. Dis ain't no prisum--but God knows, Ma'am, we
needs a lady heah to run things. Is you come foh dat?"
"No, no," said Josephine. "I'm just--I'm just--I'm going away as
soon as I can."
"Sho, now! Huc'cum you heah, Ma'am?"
"It was a mistake."
"I didn't know white folks evah done nothin' they didn't want to
do," commented Sally. "But doan' you mind. Ef you wants me, jes'
call for Sally."
"Tell me, Sally, isn't there any Mrs. Dunwody here?" demanded
Josephine suddenly.
The face of the old woman remained inscrutable, and Josephine could
see no sign except that a sort of film crossed her eyes, as though
veiling some inmost thought.
"Ef dey was, I doan' reckon you-all would have come heah, would
you? Now you lay down and git comf'table. Doan' you worry none,
Ma'am. You gwine be fine, by mawnin'. You suttinly is a right
handsome lady, Ma'am!"
The old woman shuffled from the room, to join her master at the
foot of the stairs.
"Where is she, Sally?" demanded Dunwody, "and how is she?"
"She's right tired, suh," said Sally non-committally. And then,
"Mighty fine lookin' lady, suh. An' she is a lady! Huc'cum her
here, Marse Warv'l? Whut you-all--"
"What did she say to you?"
"Nothin' 'cept she's gwine git away right soon. White folkes'
business ain't none o' my business."
"Well, never you mind about all that, Sally. Now listen. It's
your business to keep her there, in that room. When she wants
anything, get it. But don't you talk to her, you understand. I
reckon you do understand, don't you?"
"I reckon I does, suh."
"Well, all right then. If she goes to walk, keep her in sight.
She doesn't send out letters to any one, and doesn't talk to
strangers, do you understand?"
"I reckon I does, suh."
Old Sally stood looking at him for a time with her small brown eyes
half-covered under her gray brows. At last, with something of the
liberty of the old servant she said, "Marster, is you married to
that dere lady? Ef you isn't, is you gwine marry her?"
"If I told you you'd know too much, Sally. It's enough for you to
know that you're responsible for her. If she turns up missing any
time, you'll be missing yourself not long after."
"I reckon I will," said Sally chuckling; and then shuffled off
about her own duties.