THE BLIND BABY
The same terrible suspicion which had entered Aunt Angie La Grange's
mind when she overheard Flower's innocent words had occurred to
Carolina, and as there seemed to be one of those sudden new-born bonds
of sympathy between the beautiful old woman and the beautiful young
girl, which sometimes spring into existence without warning, yet with
good reason, as afterwards transpires, Carolina was not surprised to
have Aunt Angie draw her aside after supper and say:
"Carolina, child, what did you think when you heard what Flower said
about little Arthur?"
"I thought just what you thought, Aunt Angie, at first, then--"
"Then what?"
"Nothing."
"Now, Carol, you were going to say something! What was it? I am sure
the thought that I am a comparative stranger to you stopped the words on
your lips."
"I am afraid that you wouldn't understand what I was going to say, Aunt
Angie, dear, and I don't want to antagonize you. I like you too much."
"Dear child, nothing that your silver tongue could utter could
antagonize me after your sweet generosity to my daughter this afternoon.
Oh, Carol, don't you think my mother-heart aches at not being able to
dress my pretty girl in such fairy fabrics as you showed us? And then
to think of your giving her that pink silk! Why, Peachie won't sleep a
wink for a week, and I doubt if her mother does, either! Now she can go
to the Valentine German in Savannah. You must go, too. I will arrange
it. I--but my tongue is running away with me. Tell me what you were
going to say."
"Well," said Carolina, hesitatingly, "you have heard that I am a
Christian Scientist, haven't you?"
"Yes, dear, I have, and I must say that I deeply regret it. Not that I
know anything about it, but--"
"That's the way every one feels who doesn't know about it," cried
Carolina, earnestly; "but that is nothing but prejudice which will wear
away. Indeed, indeed it will, Aunt Angie."
Mrs. La Grange shook her head.
"I am a dyed-in-the-wool Presbyterian, and I've fought, bled, and died
for my religion in a family who believe that God created the Church of
England first and then turned His attention to the creation of the
earth, so you can't expect me to welcome a new fad, can you, my dear?
But I beg your pardon, Carol. What were you going to say?"
"It was only this," said Carolina, gently. "That even if Flower's baby
is blind to mortal sight, he is not blind in God's eyes. There he is
perfect, for God, who is Incarnate Love, never created a blind or dumb
baby."
Tears rushed suddenly to the old woman's eyes.
"Are you thinking of poor little Teddy Fitzhugh?" she whispered.
"Yes, I was."
"Oh, Carolina! If you could have seen his mother's anguish all these
years! But you would have to be a mother yourself before you could even
apprehend it."
"Yes, I suppose I would."
"And now," said the older woman, with that patient tightening of the
lips with which so many Christian women prepare themselves to bear the
heart-breaking calamities which they believe a tender Heavenly Father
inflicts on those He loves, "I suppose I must steel my heart to see poor
Flower writhe under a worse agony. Indeed, Carol, God's ways are hard
to understand."
"Yes, God is such a peculiar sort of parent," observed Carolina. "He
seems to do things with impunity, which if an earthly father did, the
neighbours would lynch him."
Aunt Angie La Grange sat up with a spring of fright.
"Why, Carolina Lee! What sacrilege! You will certainly be punished by
an avenging God for such blasphemy. You shock me, Carolina. You really
do."
"Forgive me, Aunt Angie. I only meant to imply that the God I believe
in is a God of such love that He never sends anything but good to His
children."
"Then how do you get around that saying, 'Whom the Lord loveth He
chasteneth?'"
"There is authority for translating that word 'chasteneth,'
'instructeth.' But even if you leave it 'chasteneth,' it doesn't mean a
life-long disfigurement or crippling of innocent babies. Supposing
Peachie should disobey you, or even disgrace you, would you deliberately
infect her with smallpox to destroy her beauty or send her into a train
wreck to lame her or paralyze for life?"
Mrs. La Grange only looked into Carolina's eyes for reply, but her hands
gripped the arms of her chair until her nails were white.
"Yet you are only her earthly--her human--her finite mother. How much
greater capacity has the Infinite Heart for love!"
Mrs. La Grange stirred restlessly.
"It is beautiful," she breathed, "but--disquieting. It upsets all my old
beliefs."
"'And good riddance to bad rubbish,' as we children used to say," said
Carolina, smiling. Aunt Angie smiled in answer, but a trifle dubiously.
"Carolina," she said, "Moultrie told me--but of course you never said
such a thing and I told him then that he must have misunderstood
you--that Gladys Yancey was cured by Christian Science! Now, what _did_
you say?"
"I said just that. She _was_ cured by Christian Science."
"I don't believe it!" cried Aunt Angie. "Excuse me, dear child, for
saying so. I know that you are truthful and that you believe it, but
_I_ don't. I'd have to see it done."
"If you saw Teddy Fitzhugh taught to speak plainly, would you believe?"
"My dear, I'd leave the Presbyterian Church and join the Christian
Scientists so quickly my church letter would be torn by the way I'd
snatch it."
Carolina laughed and squeezed Aunt Angie's hand, who added with a smile:
"I suppose you think I am as good as caught already, don't you?"
"I hope you are. You can't imagine how much peace it brings."
"Peace! It's something I never have had, child."
"Nor I. But I have it now."
"What does your religion compel you to give up? Peachie absolutely
refuses to join the church because it won't allow dancing, and the child
loves to dance better than anything in the world. They tell me, too,
that she dances like a fairy." Aunt Angie pronounced it "fayry."
"Why, that is one of the best things about Christian Science. It
requires you to give up no innocent pleasure. It only cautions one
against indulging to excess in anything. Dancing, card-playing,
games,--why, some of the best card-players I know are Christian
Scientists, but they don't lose their tempers when they lose a game and
they don't cheat to win. In fact, one of the most graceful things I
have ever seen done was when two ladies tied for the prize--a beautiful
gold vase--at a bridge party Addie gave just before she closed her
house, and the lady who won had played coolly, well, and won by merit.
The other flung herself back in her chair with an exclamation, showing
by her suffused face and clenched hands every sign of ill-temper. My
sister-in-law brought the prize to the winner, who, with the prettiest
grace imaginable, thanked her and then presented it, by Addie's
permission, to the vexed lady who had lost. You should have seen the
recipient's face! Surprise, humiliation, and cupidity struggled almost
audibly for supremacy. She protested feebly, but ended by taking it. A
number of others gathered around, attracted by the unusual scene, and
suddenly the owner of the vase said to the giver of it: 'I would like to
know what church you go to.' 'Well, as none of you know, you may
guess,' she answered. They guessed Baptist, Methodist, Unitarian,
Episcopal, and finally the recipient of the vase said: 'No, you are all
wrong. I believe she is a Christian Scientist, because no one but a
Christian Scientist would give up a gold vase!'"
"I like that," said Aunt Angie, promptly. "And I think the churches
make a mistake in forbidding innocent pleasures. Oh, why don't they
dwell on the good instead of squabbling over the bad?"
"You have described one of the chief differences between the Christian
Science and the other churches," cried Carolina. "Why, Aunt Angie, you
are a ready-made Scientist!"
"Am I? Well, we shall see. Now tell me when you can go to see Flower.
Was Moultrie able to buy Araby for you?"
"No, Mr. Mazyck refused to sell her. But Moultrie has lent me Scintilla
until he can find another good horse for me."
"But you especially wanted Araby, didn't you?"
"Yes, because she is a direct descendant of the sire of my grandfather's
favourite saddle-horse. And she is simply perfect, Aunt Angie."
"I am afraid Barney Mazyck is hopeless. If he wants a thing, he wants
it and is going to keep it."
"I know; but I have not despaired of getting her yet. Perhaps I am just
as bent upon getting her as Mr. Barnwell Mazyck is upon keeping her."
"And in that case--"
"Well, I wouldn't put any money on Mr. Mazyck!" laughed Carolina.
In the slight pause which ensued, Carolina could see that Mrs. La Grange
was ill at ease. Suddenly she turned to the girl and said:
"My dear, doubtless you think it strange that I do not know beyond a
doubt the state of my own little grandson's sight, but--"
"I know," said Carolina, gently. "I have heard."
"Who told you? Some stranger?"
"No, Moultrie told me."
"Ah, then you have heard the truth! It is a terrible grief to us,
Carolina. Think of the child! I do not know who my own grandson is
descended from!"
"But you will know," said Carolina, earnestly. "And soon. I--we have a
right to expect God's harmony in our lives."
Mrs. La Grange looked at her curiously, but only said, with a sigh:
"I am sure I hope you may be right."
It was arranged that Carolina was to meet Mrs. La Grange at Flower's the
next afternoon at three o'clock.
"Can't you go in the morning?" asked Mrs. La Grange.
"I have an appointment with the architect from Charleston and the
builders at Guildford at ten. We wouldn't get through in time, I am
afraid, for there will be so much to discuss."
"Won't you be too tired?"
"I never get tired. There is rest in action for me."
Mrs. La Grange shook her head, but not in disapproval.
"I hope I am going to like it. If I like all of it as well as I do the
sample bits you have fed me with, I think, as you say, you may find that
I have been a Scientist all my life without knowing it."
Mrs. La Grange looked into the girl's pure, beautiful face
scrutinizingly, as if to learn her secret of happiness, and, as she did
so, she was surprised to see it suffused by a blush which rose in
delicate waves to her hair. Looking about in surprise for a cause, Mrs.
La Grange saw her son Moultrie approaching. Could Carolina have
recognized his step without seeing him, and was that blush for Moultrie?
The question could not be answered at once, nor did she see them
together the next day, for Carolina was late in keeping her appointment,
and, by the time she arrived, the awful truth was known. Mrs. La Grange
had been so overcome that Moultrie was obliged to take her home.
The moment Carolina rode up to the house, she knew that something had
happened. The house, a mere cabin, was ominously quiet, and no one came
to meet her.
She dismounted hurriedly, fastened Scintilla to the fence, and ran up
the steps. No one answered her knock. She pushed open the door and
entered.
At first she saw no one, but presently she heard heavy breathing, and,
crouching on the floor, in the darkest corner of the room, she saw
Flower, holding the still form of her baby in her arms. Her posture and
the glare in her eyes were tigerish.
With a low cry, Carolina sprang to her side.
"Oh, Flower, darling! What is the matter with your baby?"
"You may take him," said Flower, dully. "You care! You cared
yesterday. I can tell. She only cares because Arthur is a La Grange.
You will care just because he a helpless little blind baby. Oh! oh!"
"Not blind, Flower! Don't say it. Don't think it. Your baby sees."
"No, Cousin Carol. You are good and kind, but Mrs. La Grange made me
see for myself. We took a candle and held it so close to his eyes we
nearly burned his little face--"
"You?" cried Carolina. "Were you in the room?"
"That's what Moultrie said, but you don't either of you know. When you
have a child of your own, you will both understand that a mother can't
keep away. She must know the worst, and she must be there when it
happens."
"Oh, poor Flower! Poor child!" cried Carolina, weeping unrestrainedly.
She cuddled the baby's face in her neck, and Flower watched her
apathetically. Flower's face was suffused from stormy weeping, but she
had wept herself out.
"And you had to bear this all alone, poor lamb!"
"I wanted to be alone! I wanted her to go. They meant to be kind, but
they don't love me, and they don't love my little baby. I would rather
be alone. Who could I send for--the priest? When he predicted it?"
"What did he predict?" asked Carolina, quickly.
"He was very angry because we went to New York to be married. He lost
fifty dollars by it. That is what he charges even poor people like me.
And because I married a heretic, and because I was not married by a
priest, he cursed me and my offspring. Then--" she broke off suddenly
and cried: "Oh, why do I tell it all? Why do I trust even you?"
"Because you know that I can help you," said Carolina, gravely.
"No one can help me--not even God!"
"Say what you were going to," urged Carolina.
"Well, the child is bewitched. Every time there is a thunder-storm, or
if I am even left alone with the baby, like to-day, when I let Aunt
Tempy have her afternoon--there she is now!"
With a shriek of terror she pointed to the window, and Carolina looked
just in time to see a dark face disappear from view. She ran to the
door, but nothing could be seen. Not a sound could be heard.
"It is the voodoo!" whispered Flower. "That face always comes. Once I
saw it in the room, bending over the cradle when the baby was asleep.
But I never can catch her. Aunt Tempy has seen her, so has Winfield.
She has cast an evil spirit over my baby."
"Her face looked kind--it even looked worried," thought Carolina to
herself, but she said nothing to Flower. She only sat rocking the
sleeping baby, wiping the tears which rolled down her cheeks at the
sight of the mother's anguish.
"Flower," she said, suddenly, "did you ever see Gladys Yancey before
Miss Sue took her North?"
"Heaps of times."
"Did you ever hear how she was cured?"
"Why, Moultrie told Winfield that it was a new kind of religion that did
it, and Winfield just hollered and laughed."
"Well, if I could prove to you that your baby could be made to see,
would you holler and laugh?"
"I reckon I wouldn't. I'd kiss your feet."
"The only trouble," murmured Carolina, half to herself, "is that you are
a Roman Catholic. We do not like to interfere with them."
"I am not a Roman Catholic," said Flower. "The lady who brought me up,
and whom I was taught to believe was my aunt, was a Catholic, but I
never was baptized. I believe Father Hennessey knows who I am, and
that, if he would, he could clear up the mystery of my birth and give me
back my happiness. But he never will until I join his church. He told
me so."
"Is he an old man?" asked Carolina.
"Oh, a very old man. He must be over eighty,"
A slight pause ensued. Then Carolina said: "Would you like to hear of
this new religion?"
"If it will give my baby eyes, Cousin Carolina, how can you even stop to
ask?"
"Oh, my dear, it is only because we are taught to go cautiously,--to be
sure our help is wanted before we offer."
"Well, offer it to me. I want your help with all my soul!"
She rose from her corner and came and sat at Carolina's feet. Something
of Carolina's sincerity, which always appealed to people, moved her to
believe that Carolina could help her. Flower's mind, too, though it may
sound like an anomaly, had been trained by her aunt's Catholicism to
believe in signs and wonders, and her superstitions had been carefully
educated. Therefore, when a more analytical mind might have hesitated
to believe that material help for a supposed hopeless affliction could
come from religion, instead of from a knife or a drug, which even the
most skeptical may see and handle and thus believe, Flower, by her very
childishness, held up a receptive mind for the planting of the seed of
an immortal truth.
The gravity of the situation caused Carolina a moment's wrestle with
error. The burning eyes of the young mother fastened on Carolina's face
with such agonizing belief,--the feeble flutterings of the sleeping baby
in her arms terrified her for a brief second. Then she lifted her heart
to the boundless source of supply for every human need, and in a moment
she felt quieted and could begin.
"Flower," she said, "do you believe in God?"
"Of course I do."
"Did you ever read your Bible?"
"No."
"Have you one?"
"No."
"Will you promise to read it if I will give you one?"
"I will do whatever you want me to."
Carolina hesitated a moment.
"Will your husband object to your trying Christian Science with the
baby?"
"I don't know--yes, I suppose he will. What shall we do?"
"What will he want to do when he first learns that the baby is blind?"
"I reckon he'll want to have Doctor Dodge see him."
"There is no objection to that. Then what will he do?"
"There isn't anything we can do just now, Cousin Carol. We have had a
dreadful time even to live since we were married. And look what a
shanty we live in! Not fit for a negro. And Winfield a La Grange! Of
course, if the crops are better next year we might be able to take him
away to consult some big doctor, but this winter we can't do anything at
all."
"I don't know what to do," said Carolina. "You ought to get your
husband's consent first."
"Well, what do you want me to do? Does your treatment commence right
away?"
"It is already begun."
"Why, how? You haven't done anything that I could see. Do you pray?"
"Not to any virgin or saint, Flower."
"No, I know that Protestants pray to God. Is that what you want me to
do?"
"I want you first to have a talk with Winfield and Moultrie--"
"Moultrie will help me!" interrupted Flower. "I'll ask him to talk to
Winfield."
"Well, do that. Then if he says you may try it, I want you not to tell
another soul, especially don't let Aunt Tempy or any of the negroes know
a word about it. I want you to get up about twelve o'clock every night
and light your candle, and put it where it shines directly in the baby's
eyes. It can't hurt him. Then read the whole of the New
Testament,--just as much every night as you can for one hour, believing
that everything which was true of Jesus and His disciples then, can be
and is true of His disciples on earth to-day, and that, if any one of us
could ever be as pure and holy as He was, that we could do the one thing
which is denied us yet,--that is, raise the dead! Will you?"
"Indeed, I will."
"Then every night I will treat your baby's eyes by mind-healing, which I
will explain to you a little later. In the meantime, you watch very
closely to see the first indication which Arthur's eyes give of the
light's making him stir, for that will show that his darkness is lifting
and that he is beginning to see."
Flower raised herself up and clung to Carolina's knees and buried her
face in her dress, weeping bitterly.
"Oh, oh! Don't think I am unhappy. I am crying because I think you can
do it. How long will it take?"
"No one can say. It may only take one treatment, or it may take years.
'According to your faith be it unto you.'"
Just then, as Carolina rose to go, the baby wakened, and Flower reached
for him and pressed him to her bosom in a passion of grief and hope.
"Look!" she whispered to Carolina, "you can tell from the very
expression of his little eyes that he can't see. I remember now that
once the sun was shining right into his eyes, and he kept them open, but
I didn't notice it at the time."
"Remember this, Flower. We think that he can't see. But in God's eyes
he is perfect. With Him there is no blindness nor sickness nor sin nor
sorrow. He will take away your grief. He will wipe away all tears from
your eyes."