The Homesteader - Epoch I Chapter IV: She Could Never Be Anything to Him
JEAN BAPTISTE slept soundly all the night through,
snoring loudly at times, turning frequently, but never
awakening. And while he slept, unconscious of how
near he had come to freezing to death upon the prairie, but
for the strange coincidence of Agnes Stewart's having got-
ten lost and finding him, she sat near, listening to the dull
roar of the storm outside at times; at other times casting
furtive, anxious and apprehensive glances toward the bed,
half in fear. More because the position she realized herself
to be in was awkward, not to say embarrassing.
Her eyes became heavy as the night wore on, and she
arose and walked about over the dirt floor in an attempt to
shake off the inertia. And in the meantime, the man she
had saved slept on, apparently disturbed by nothing. Pres-
ently she approached him shyly, and, taking the coat he had
worn and which lay near, she spread it carefully over him,
then tiptoed away and regarded him curiously. Her life
had never afforded character study in a broad sense; but
for some reason, which she could not account for, she
strangely trusted the sleeping man. And because she did,
she was not in fear lest he awaken and take advantage of
the compromising circumstances. But in her life she had
met and known no colored people, and knew directly little
about the Negro race beyond what she had read. There-
fore to find herself lost on the wide plains, in a house alone
with one, a bachelor Homesteader, with a terrific storm
without, gave her a peculiar sensation.
When the hand of the little clock upon the table pointed
to two o'clock a. m., she put coal on the fire, became seated
in a crude rocking chair that proved notwithstanding, to be
comfortable, and before she was aware of it, had fallen
asleep. Worn out by the night's vigil, and the unusual cir-
cumstances in which she found herself, she slept soundly
and all sense of flying time was lost upon her. The storm
subsided with the approach of morn, and the sun was peep-
ing out of a clear sky in the east when she awakened with a
start. She jumped to her feet. Quickly her eyes sought
the bed. It was empty. The man had arisen. She looked
out through the little window. The blizzard had left the
country gray and streaked. Buttoning her coat collar about
her throat, she adjusted her cap by pulling it well down over
her head, and ventured outside.
Never had she looked upon such a scene as met her eyes !
Everywhere, as far as she could see, was a mantle of snow
and ice. Here the snow had been swept into huge drifts
or long ridges; while there it sparkled in the sun, one end-
less, unbroken sheet of white frost and ice. Here and there
over the wide expanse a lonesome claim shack reposed as if
lost; while to the northwest, she could see the little town
to which she had gone the afternoon before, rising heroically
out of the snow. Upon hearing a sound, she turned to find
The Homesteader leading her horse, saddled and bridled
from the barn. She turned her eyes away to hide the con-
fusion with which she was suddenly overcome, and at the
same time to try to find words with which to greet him.
"Good morning," she heard from his lips, and turned her
face to see him touch the cap he wore.
"Good morning, sir,” she returned, smiling with ease,
notwithstanding her confusion of a moment before.
"I judge that you must have become lost, the why you
happened along," said he pleasantly, courteously.
"I did," she acknowledged, marveled at finding herself
so much at ease in his presence, and him conscious. In the
same instance she took quick note of his speech and manner,
and was strangely pleased.
"I see," she heard him mutter. She had cast her eyes
away as if to think, but now turned again toward him to find
him regarding her intently. She saw him give a quick
start, and catch his breath as if in surprise, whereupon she
turned her eyes away. But she did not understand the
cause of his start; she did not understand that while he had
recognized her as his dream girl, that only then had he
realized that she was white, while he had naturally supposed
his dream girl would be of his own blood, Ethiopian.
He lowered his eyes as this fact played in his mind, and
as he hesitated, she again turned her eyes upon him and re-
garded him wonderingly. And in that moment the instance
of the night before when he had awakened and looked up
into her eyes for the first time when she stood over him,
and had uttered the words she would never as long as she
lived, forget, came back. "It is you, Agnes. You have
come and, oh, I am glad, for I have waited for you so long."
"How did he know my name and come to say what he
did?" was the question she now again, as she had been
doing all the night through, asked herself. She prayed that
she might find a way to ask him how deeply her curiosity
to know was aroused. And then, while she was so deeply
engrossed, abruptly he raised his head, and his eyes fell
searchingly again upon her. He saw and wondered at the
curious intentness he saw there, and as he did so, he caught
that something in her eyes; he saw what she had seen before
leaving Indiana; and as she had been when she had seen it,
he too, was strangely moved and could not understand.
Apparently he forgot all else as the changing color of her
eyes held him, and while so, unconsciously he advanced a
step nearer her. She did not move away, but stood as if in
a thraldom, with a feeling stealing over her that somewhere
she had seen and known him once. . . . But where
where, where! She had never known an Ethiopian, she
full well recalled; but she was positive that she had seen this
man somewhere before. Then where, where, where!
As for the man, Jean Baptiste, he seemed to relax after a
time, and looked away. He had seen her at last; she had
been his dream girl; had come in a dream and as she stood
before him she was all his wondrous vision had portrayed.
Her face was flushed by the cold air, and red roses in full
bloom were in her cheeks; while her beautiful hair, spread
over her shoulders, and fanned by a light breeze, made her
in his eyes a picture of enchantment. When he observed
her again and saw that her eyes were blue and then again
were brown, he was still mystified; but what was come over
Jean Baptiste now was the fact, the great fact: The
fact that between him and his dream girl was a chasm
so deep socially that bridging was impossible. Because
she was white while he was black, according to the custom
of the country and its law f she could never be anything to
him. . . .
Her back was to the rising sun, and neither had observed
that it was mounting higher in the eastern skies. She sup-
pressed the question that was on her lips to ask him, the
eternal question, and in that instant he came out of his
trance. He turned to her, and said:
"It was sure fortunate for me that you lost your way,"
and so saying his eyes went toward the place she had found
him, and she understood. She could not repress a happy
smile that overspread her face. He saw it and was pleased.
"It was rather providential; but I would forget it. To
think that you might have frozen to death out there makes
me shudder when I recall it."
"I cannot seem to understand what came over me that
I was in the act of freezing while I walked."
"It was a terrible night," she commented. "I, too,
might have frozen, but for the good fortune of my horse
finding your house."
"Isn't it strange," he muttered abstractedly.
"I hadn't the least idea where I was," said she, musingly.
"Such a coincidence."
"Indeed it was, but please, shall we forget it," and she shuddered slightly.
"Yes," he replied readily. " Where do you live?"
She pointed to where the smoke curled from the chimney
of their home, a mile and a half away.
"The Watson place? I see. You are perhaps, then,
newcomers here?"
"We are," and she smiled easily. He did also. He
handed her the bridle reins then, and said:
"I trust you will pardon my forgetfulness. Indeed I
was so absorbed in the fact that I had been saved, that I
forgot to be courteous."
"Oh, no, sir!" she cried quickly. "You did not.
You -" and then she broke off in her speech. It occurred
to her that she was saying too much. But strangely she
wanted to go on, strangely she wanted to know more of
him: from where he had come; of his life, for already she
could see that he was a gentleman; an unusual person
but he was speaking again.
"You have become chilled standing there it is severely
cold. Step back into the house and warm yourself before
you start. I will hold your horse while you do so." And
he reached for the bridle reins.
She looked up into his face, and again trusted him; again
she experienced a peculiar gratitude, and turning she obeyed
him. As she stood inside over the little monkey stove a mo-
ment later, she could see him, and appreciated how thought-
ful he was.
She returned after a few minutes, stood beside the animal
he had brought and was ready to go. Suddenly she vaulted
into the saddle. She regarded him again intently, while he
returned the same a bit abstractedly. She started to urge
the mare forward, and then she drew her to a stop before
she had gotten fully started. Impulsively she leaned for-
ward and stretched her hand toward him. Mechanically he
took it. She unconsciously gripped his, as she said:
"I'm glad it happened. . . . That I became lost and -
And - you were saved." His dark face colored with grati-
tude, and he had an effort to keep from choking when he
tried to reply. In the meantime, she bestowed upon him a
happy smile, and the next moment her horse had found the
trail and was dashing along it toward the place she lived.
And as she went homeward over the hill, the man in
whose life she was later to play such a strange and intimate
part, stood looking after her long and silently.