Rena had found her task not a difficult one so far as discipline was
concerned. Her pupils were of a docile race, and school to them had
all the charm of novelty. The teacher commanded some awe because she
was a stranger, and some, perhaps, because she was white; for the
theory of blackness as propounded by Plato could not quite
counter-balance in the young African mind the evidence of their own
senses. She combined gentleness with firmness; and if these had not
been sufficient, she had reserves of character which would have given
her the mastery over much less plastic material than these ignorant but
eager young people. The work of instruction was simple enough, for most
of the pupils began with the alphabet, which they acquired from
Webster's blue-backed spelling-book, the palladium of Southern
education at that epoch. The much abused carpet-baggers had put the
spelling-book within reach of every child of school age in North
Carolina,--a fact which is often overlooked when the carpet-baggers are
held up to public odium. Even the devil should have his due, and is
not so black as he is painted.
At the time when she learned that Tryon lived in the neighborhood, Rena
had already been subjected for several weeks to a trying ordeal. Wain
had begun to persecute her with marked attentions. She had at first
gone to board at his house,--or, by courtesy, with his mother. For a
week or two she had considered his attentions in no other light than
those of a member of the school committee sharing her own zeal and
interested in seeing the school successfully carried on. In this
character Wain had driven her to the town for her examination; he had
busied himself about putting the schoolhouse in order, and in various
matters affecting the conduct of the school. He had jocularly offered
to come and whip the children for her, and had found it convenient to
drop in occasionally, ostensibly to see what progress the work was
making.
"Dese child'en," he would observe sonorously, in the presence of the
school, "oughter be monst'ous glad ter have de chance er settin' under
yo' instruction, Miss Rena. I'm sho' eve'body in dis neighbo'hood
'preciates de priv'lege er havin' you in ou' mids'."
Though slightly embarrassing to the teacher, these public
demonstrations were endurable so long as they could be regarded as mere
official appreciation of her work. Sincerely in earnest about her
undertaking, she had plunged into it with all the intensity of a
serious nature which love had stirred to activity. A pessimist might
have sighed sadly or smiled cynically at the notion that a poor, weak
girl, with a dangerous beauty and a sensitive soul, and troubles enough
of her own, should hope to accomplish anything appreciable toward
lifting the black mass still floundering in the mud where slavery had
left it, and where emancipation had found it,--the mud in which, for
aught that could be seen to the contrary, her little feet, too, were
hopelessly entangled. It might have seemed like expecting a man to
lift himself by his boot-straps.
But Rena was no philosopher, either sad or cheerful. She could not
even have replied to this argument, that races must lift themselves,
and the most that can be done by others is to give them opportunity and
fair play. Hers was a simpler reasoning,--the logic by which the world
is kept going onward and upward when philosophers are at odds and
reformers are not forthcoming. She knew that for every child she
taught to read and write she opened, if ever so little, the door of
opportunity, and she was happy in the consciousness of performing a
duty which seemed all the more imperative because newly discovered.
Her zeal, indeed, for the time being was like that of an early
Christian, who was more willing than not to die for his faith. Rena
had fully and firmly made up her mind to sacrifice her life upon this
altar. Her absorption in the work had not been without its reward, for
thereby she had been able to keep at a distance the spectre of her lost
love. Her dreams she could not control, but she banished Tryon as far
as possible from her waking thoughts.
When Wain's attentions became obviously personal, Rena's new vestal
instinct took alarm, and she began to apprehend his character more
clearly. She had long ago learned that his pretensions to wealth were a
sham. He was nominal owner of a large plantation, it is true; but the
land was worn out, and mortgaged to the limit of its security value.
His reputed droves of cattle and hogs had dwindled to a mere handful of
lean and listless brutes.
Her clear eye, when once set to take Wain's measure, soon fathomed his
shallow, selfish soul, and detected, or at least divined, behind his
mask of good-nature a lurking brutality which filled her with vague
distrust, needing only occasion to develop it into active
apprehension,--occasion which was not long wanting. She avoided being
alone with him at home by keeping carefully with the women of the
house. If she were left alone,--and they soon showed a tendency to
leave her on any pretext whenever Wain came near,--she would seek her
own room and lock the door. She preferred not to offend Wain; she was
far away from home and in a measure in his power, but she dreaded his
compliments and sickened at his smile. She was also compelled to hear
his relations sing his praises.
"My son Jeff," old Mrs. Wain would say, "is de bes' man you ever seed.
His fus' wife had de easies' time an' de happies' time er ary woman in
dis settlement. He's grieve' fer her a long time, but I reckon he's
gittin' over it, an' de nex' 'oman w'at marries him'll git a box er
pyo' gol', ef I does say it as is his own mammy."
Rena had thought Wain rather harsh with his household, except in her
immediate presence. His mother and sister seemed more or less afraid
of him, and the children often anxious to avoid him.
One day, he timed his visit to the schoolhouse so as to walk home with
Rena through the woods. When she became aware of his purpose, she
called to one of the children who was loitering behind the others,
"Wait a minute, Jenny. I'm going your way, and you can walk along with
me."
Wain with difficulty hid a scowl behind a smiling front. When they had
gone a little distance along the road through the woods, he clapped his
hand upon his pocket.
"I declare ter goodness," he exclaimed, "ef I ain't dropped my
pocket-knife! I thought I felt somethin' slip th'ough dat hole in my
pocket jes' by the big pine stump in the schoolhouse ya'd. Jinny,
chile, run back an' hunt fer my knife, an' I'll give yer five cents ef
yer find it. Me an' Miss Rena'll walk on slow 'tel you ketches us."
Rena did not dare to object, though she was afraid to be alone with
this man. If she could have had a moment to think, she would have
volunteered to go back with Jenny and look for the knife, which,
although a palpable subterfuge on her part, would have been one to
which Wain could not object; but the child, dazzled by the prospect of
reward, had darted back so quickly that this way of escape was cut off.
She was evidently in for a declaration of love, which she had taken
infinite pains to avoid. Just the form it would assume, she could not
foresee. She was not long left in suspense. No sooner was the child
well out of sight than Wain threw his arms suddenly about her waist and
smilingly attempted to kiss her.
Speechless with fear and indignation, she tore herself from his grasp
with totally unexpected force, and fled incontinently along the forest
path. Wain--who, to do him justice, had merely meant to declare his
passion in what he had hoped might prove a not unacceptable
fashion--followed in some alarm, expostulating and apologizing as he
went. But he was heavy and Rena was light, and fear lent wings to her
feet. He followed her until he saw her enter the house of Elder
Johnson, the father of several of her pupils, after which he sneaked
uneasily homeward, somewhat apprehensive of the consequences of his
abrupt wooing, which was evidently open to an unfavorable construction.
When, an hour later, Rena sent one of the Johnson children for some of
her things, with a message explaining that the teacher had been invited
to spend a few days at Elder Johnson's, Wain felt a pronounced measure
of relief. For an hour he had even thought it might be better to
relinquish his pursuit. With a fatuousness born of vanity, however, no
sooner had she sent her excuse than he began to look upon her visit to
Johnson's as a mere exhibition of coyness, which, together with her
conduct in the woods, was merely intended to lure him on.
Right upon the heels of the perturbation caused by Wain's conduct, Rena
discovered that Tryon lived in the neighborhood; that not only might
she meet him any day upon the highway, but that he had actually driven
by the schoolhouse. That he knew or would know of her proximity there
could be no possible doubt, since she had freely told his mother her
name and her home. A hot wave of shame swept over her at the thought
that George Tryon might imagine she were following him, throwing
herself in his way, and at the thought of the construction which he
might place upon her actions. Caught thus between two emotional fires,
at the very time when her school duties, owing to the approaching
exhibition, demanded all her energies, Rena was subjected to a physical
and mental strain that only youth and health could have resisted, and
then only for a short time.