Mrs. Carteret awoke, with a start, from a troubled dream. She had been
sailing across a sunlit sea, in a beautiful boat, her child lying on a
bright-colored cushion at her feet. Overhead the swelling sail served as
an awning to keep off the sun's rays, which far ahead were reflected
with dazzling brilliancy from the shores of a golden island. Her son,
she dreamed, was a fairy prince, and yonder lay his kingdom, to which he
was being borne, lying there at her feet, in this beautiful boat, across
the sunlit sea.
Suddenly and without warning the sky was overcast. A squall struck the
boat and tore away the sail. In the distance a huge billow--a great
white wall of water--came sweeping toward their frail craft, threatening
it with instant destruction. She clasped her child to her bosom, and a
moment later found herself struggling in the sea, holding the child's
head above the water. As she floated there, as though sustained by some
unseen force, she saw in the distance a small boat approaching over the
storm-tossed waves. Straight toward her it came, and she had reached out
her hand to grasp its side, when the rower looked back, and she saw that
it was her sister. The recognition had been mutual. With a sharp
movement of one oar the boat glided by, leaving her clutching at the
empty air. She felt her strength begin to fail. Despairingly she
signaled with her disengaged hand; but the rower, after one mute,
reproachful glance, rowed on. Mrs. Carteret's strength grew less and
less. The child became heavy as lead. Herself floating in the water, as
though it were her native element, she could no longer support the
child. Lower and lower it sank,--she was powerless to save it or to
accompany it,--until, gasping wildly for breath, it threw up its little
hands and sank, the cruel water gurgling over its head,--when she awoke
with a start and a chill, and lay there trembling for several minutes
before she heard little Dodie in his crib, breathing heavily.
She rose softly, went to the crib, and changed the child's position to
an easier one. He breathed more freely, and she went back to bed, but
not to sleep.
She had tried to put aside the distressing questions raised by the
discovery of her father's will and the papers accompanying it. Why
should she be burdened with such a responsibility, at this late day,
when the touch of time had well-nigh healed these old sores? Surely, God
had put his curse not alone upon the slave, but upon the stealer of men!
With other good people she had thanked Him that slavery was no more, and
that those who once had borne its burden upon their consciences could
stand erect and feel that they themselves were free. The weed had been
cut down, but its roots remained, deeply imbedded in the soil, to spring
up and trouble a new generation. Upon her weak shoulders was placed the
burden of her father's weakness, her father's folly. It was left to her
to acknowledge or not this shameful marriage and her sister's rights in
their father's estate.
Balancing one consideration against another, she had almost decided
that she might ignore this tie. To herself, Olivia Merkell,--Olivia
Carteret,--the stigma of base birth would have meant social ostracism,
social ruin, the averted face, the finger of pity or of scorn. All the
traditional weight of public disapproval would have fallen upon her as
the unhappy fruit of an unblessed union. To this other woman it could
have had no such significance,--it had been the lot of her race. To
them, twenty-five years before, sexual sin had never been imputed as
more than a fault. She had lost nothing by her supposed illegitimacy;
she would gain nothing by the acknowledgment of her mother's marriage.
On the other hand, what would be the effect of this revelation upon Mrs.
Carteret herself? To have it known that her father had married a negress
would only be less dreadful than to have it appear that he had committed
some terrible crime. It was a crime now, by the laws of every Southern
State, for white and colored persons to intermarry. She shuddered before
the possibility that at some time in the future some person, none too
well informed, might learn that her father had married a colored woman,
and might assume that she, Olivia Carteret, or her child, had sprung
from this shocking _mésalliance_,--a fate to which she would willingly
have preferred death. No, this marriage must never be made known; the
secret should remain buried forever in her own heart!
But there still remained the question of her father's property and her
father's will. This woman was her father's child,--of that there could
be no doubt, it was written in her features no less than in her father's
will. As his lawful child,--of which, alas! there could also be no
question,--she was entitled by law to half his estate. Mrs. Carteret's
problem had sunk from the realm of sentiment to that of material things,
which, curiously enough, she found much more difficult. For, while the
negro, by the traditions of her people, was barred from the world of
sentiment, his rights of property were recognized. The question had
become, with Mrs. Carteret, a question of _meum_ and _tuum_. Had the
girl Janet been poor, ignorant, or degraded, as might well have been her
fate, Mrs. Carteret might have felt a vicarious remorse for her aunt's
suppression of the papers; but fate had compensated Janet for the loss;
she had been educated, she had married well; she had not suffered for
lack of the money of which she had been defrauded, and did not need it
now. She had a child, it is true, but this child's career would be so
circumscribed by the accident of color that too much wealth would only
be a source of unhappiness; to her own child, on the contrary, it would
open every door of life.
It would be too lengthy a task to follow the mind and conscience of this
much-tried lady in their intricate workings upon this difficult problem;
for she had a mind as logical as any woman's, and a conscience which she
wished to keep void of offense. She had to confront a situation
involving the element of race, upon which the moral standards of her
people were hopelessly confused. Mrs. Carteret reached the conclusion,
ere daylight dawned, that she would be silent upon the subject of her
father's second marriage. Neither party had wished it known,--neither
Julia nor her father,--and she would respect her father's wishes. To act
otherwise would be to defeat his will, to make known what he had
carefully concealed, and to give Janet a claim of title to one half her
father's estate, while he had only meant her to have the ten thousand
dollars named in the will.
By the same reasoning, she must carry out her father's will in respect
to this bequest. Here there was another difficulty. The mining
investment into which they had entered shortly after the birth of little
Dodie had tied up so much of her property that it would have been
difficult to procure ten thousand dollars immediately; while a demand
for half the property at once would mean bankruptcy and ruin. Moreover,
upon what ground could she offer her sister any sum of money whatever?
So sudden a change of heart, after so many years of silence, would raise
the presumption of some right on the part of Janet in her father's
estate. Suspicion once aroused, it might be possible to trace this
hidden marriage, and establish it by legal proof. The marriage once
verified, the claim for half the estate could not be denied. She could
not plead her father's will to the contrary, for this would be to
acknowledge the suppression of the will, in itself a criminal act.
There was, however, a way of escape. This hospital which had recently
been opened was the personal property of her sister's husband. Some time
in the future, when their investments matured, she would present to the
hospital a sum of money equal to the amount her father had meant his
colored daughter to have. Thus indirectly both her father's will and her
own conscience would be satisfied.
Mrs. Carteret had reached this comfortable conclusion, and was falling
asleep, when her attention was again drawn by her child's breathing. She
took it in her own arms and soon fell asleep.
"By the way, Olivia," said the major, when leaving the house next
morning for the office, "if you have any business down town to-day,
transact it this forenoon. Under no circumstances must you or Clara or
the baby leave the house after midday."
"Why, what's the matter, Phil?"
"Nothing to alarm you, except that there may be a little political
demonstration which may render the streets unsafe. You are not to say
anything about it where the servants might hear."
"Will there be any danger for you, Phil?" she demanded with alarm.
"Not the slightest, Olivia dear. No one will be harmed; but it is best
for ladies and children to stay indoors."
Mrs. Carteret's nerves were still more or less unstrung from her mental
struggles of the night, and the memory of her dream came to her like a
dim foreboding of misfortune. As though in sympathy with its mother's
feelings, the baby did not seem as well as usual. The new nurse was by
no means an ideal nurse,--Mammy Jane understood the child much better.
If there should be any trouble with the negroes, toward which her
husband's remark seemed to point,--she knew the general political
situation, though not informed in regard to her husband's plans,--she
would like to have Mammy Jane near her, where the old nurse might be
protected from danger or alarm.
With this end in view she dispatched the nurse, shortly after breakfast,
to Mammy Jane's house in the negro settlement on the other side of the
town, with a message asking the old woman to come immediately to Mrs.
Carteret's. Unfortunately, Mammy Jane had gone to visit a sick woman in
the country, and was not expected to return for several hours.