CHAPTER XVII
HARVEST TIME AND WHAT CAME WITH IT
Harvest time, harvest time! When the harvest time is, all worries havepassed. When the harvest time is, all doubts, droughts, fears and tearsare no more. When the golden grain falls upon the canvas; when themeadow larks, the robins and all the birds of the land sing the song ofharvest time, the farmer is happy, is gay, and confident.
And harvest time was on in the country of our story.
Jean Baptiste pulled his new binder before the barn, jumped from theseat, and before he started to unhitch, he gazed out over a stretch ofland which two years before, had been a mass of unbroken prairie, butwas now a world of shocked grain. Thousands upon thousands of shocksstood over the field like a great army in the distance. His crop wasgood--the best. And no crops are like the crop on new land. Never, sincethe beginning of time had that soil tasted tamed plant life. It hadseemed to appreciate the change, and the countless shocks before himwere evidence to the fact.
From where he stood when he had unhitched, he gazed across countrytoward the southeast where lay his other land. Only a part of which hecould see. As it rose in the distance he could see the white toppedoats; and just beyond he could see the deep purple of the flaxseedblossoms. He sighed contentedly, unharnessed his horses, let them drink,and turned them toward the pasture. He was not tired; but he went tothe side of the house which the sun did not strike, and sat him down. Atthe furthest side of the field he observed Bill and George as theyshocked away to finish. He was at peace again, as he always was, andthereupon fell into deep thought.
"My crop of wheat will yield not less than thirty bushels to the acre,"he whispered to himself. "And one hundred and thirty acres should thenyield almost four thousand bushels. I should receive at least eightycents the bushel, and that would approximate about three thousanddollars, with seed left to sow the land again." He paused in hismeditation, and considered what even that alone would mean to him. Hecould pay the entire amount on the land he had purchased, and perhaps athousand or two more from the flax crop. That would leave him owing butfour hundred dollars on the land he had bought, and that amount he felthe would be able to squeeze out somewhere and have 520 acres clear!
He could not help being cheerful, perhaps somewhat vain over hisprospects. He was now just twenty-three and appreciated that most of hislife was yet before him. With, at the most, two or three more seasonslike the present one, he could own the coveted thousand acres and theexample would be completed.
That was the goal toward which he was working. If he or any other man ofthe black race could acquire one thousand acres of such land it wouldstand out with more credit to the Negro race than all the protestationsof a world of agitators in so far as the individual was concerned.
"It is things accomplished," he often said to himself.
"It is what is actually accomplished that will get notice--and credit!Damn excuses! The best an excuse can secure is dismissal, and positivelythat is no asset." He would then invariably think deeply into theconditions of his race, the race who protested loudly that they werebeing held down. Truly it was an intricate, delicate subject to try tosolve with prolific thinkings. He compared them with the Jew--went awayback to thousands of years before. Out of the past he could not solve iteither. All had begun together. The Jew was hated, but was a merchantenjoying a large portion of the world commerce and success. The Negrowas disliked because of his black skin--and sometimes seemingly fordaring to be human.
At such times he would live over again the life that had been his beforecoming West. He thought of the multitudes in the employment of a greatcorporation who monopolized the sleeping car trade. Indeed this companyafter all was said, afforded great opportunities to the men. Not so muchin what was collected in tips and in other devious ways, nor from thesmall salary, but from the great opportunity of observation that thatparticular form of travel afforded.
But so few made the proper effort to benefit themselves thereby. Hecontinued to think along these lines until his thoughts came back to apoint where in the past they were wont to come and stop. He could not inthat moment understand why they had not been coming back to thatselfsame point in recent months.... Since one cold day during the firstmonth of that year.... He gave a start when he realized why, thensighed. It seemed too much for his thoughts just then. He regarded Billand George at their task of trying to finish their work. Upon hearing asound, he turned. Behind him stood Agnes.
"My, how you frightened me!" he cried.
She held in her hand a basket containing lunch for him and her brothers.This she had brought every day, but he had been so absorbed in histhoughts that he had quite forgotten that she was coming on this day aswell. As she stood quietly before him, she seemed rather shorter thanshe really was, also more slender, and appeared withal more girlish thanusual. Her eyes twinkled and her heavy hair drawn together at the backof her head, hung over her shoulders. Her sunkist skin was a bit tanned;her arms almost to the elbows were bare, brown and were very round. Andas Jean Baptiste regarded her there in the bright golden sunlight sheappeared to him like the Virgin Mary.
"You are tired," he cried, and pointed to a crude bench that reposedagainst the sod house, which he had just left in his prolific thinkingof a moment before.
"Sit down, please, and rest yourself," he commanded. She obeyed himmodestly, with a smile still upon her pleasant face.
"I judge that Bill and George will finish in a few minutes, so I'llwait, that we may all dine together. You'll be so kind as to wait untilthen, will you not?" he asked graciously, and bowed.
"Until then, my lord," she smiled, coquettishly.
"Thanks!" he laughed, good humoredly. Suddenly she cried:
"Oh, isn't it beautiful!" And swept her hands toward the field ofshocked wheat. He had been looking away, but as she spoke he turned andsmiled with satisfaction.
"It is."
"Just lovely," she cried, her eyes sparkling.
"And all safe, that's the best part about it," he said.
"Grand. I'm so glad you have saved it," she said with feeling.
"Thank you."
"You have earned it."
"I hope so. Still I thank you."
"It will bring you lots of money."
"I am hoping it will."
"Oh, it will."
"I was thinking of it before you came up."
"I knew it."
"You knew it!"
"I saw you from a distance."
"Oh...."
"And I knew you were thinking."
"Oh, come now."
"Why shouldn't I? You're always thinking. The only time when you are notis when you are sleeping."
"You can say such wonderful things," he said, standing before her, thesun shining on his tanned features.
"Won't--ah--won't you be seated?" she invited. He colored unseen. Shemade room for him and he hesitatingly took a seat, at a conventionaldistance, on the bench beside her.
"Your other crops are fine, too," she said, sociably.
"I'm going over to look at them this afternoon."
"You should."
"Where is your father today?"
"Gone to town."
"Wish I'd known he was going; I'd had him bring out some twine for me. Ithink the oats will be ready to cut over on the other place right away,and I don't want to miss any time."
"No, indeed. A hail storm might come up." He glanced at her quickly. Shewas gazing across the field to where her halfwitted brothers worked,while he was thinking how thoughtful she was. Presently he heard heragain.
"Why, if it is urgent--you are out, I--I could go to town and get thetwine for you." She was looking at him now and he was confused. Heroffer was so like her, so natural. Why was it that they understood eachother so well?
"Oh, why, Agnes," he stammered, "that would be asking too much of you!"
"Why so? I shall be glad--glad to oblige you in any way. And it is nottoo much if one takes into consideration what you have done fo
r--I'll beglad to go...."
"Done for what?" he said, catching up where she had broken off, andeyeing her inquiringly.
She was confused and the same showed in her face. She blushed. She hadnot meant to say what she did. But he was regarding her curiously. Hehadn't thought about the note. She turned then and regarded him out oftender eyes. She played with the bonnet she held in her lap. She lookedaway and then back up into his face, and her eyes were more tenderstill. In her expression there was almost an appeal.
"What did you mean by what you started to say, Agnes," he repeated,evenly, but kindly.
"I--I--mean what you did for papa. What--you--you did aboutthat--that--note." It was out at last and she lowered her eyes andstruggled to hold back the tears with great effort.
"Oh," he laughed lowly, relievedly. "That was nothing." And he laughedagain as if to dismiss it.
"But it _was_ something," she cried, protestingly. "It _was_ something.It was _everything_ to us." She ended with great emotion apparent inher shaking voice. He shifted. It was awkward, and he was a trifleconfused.
"Please don't think of it, Agnes."
"But how can I keep from thinking of it when I know that had it not beenyour graciousness; your wonderful thoughtfulness, your great kindness,we would have been sold out--bankrupted, disgraced, oh, me!" She coveredher face with her hands, but he could see the tears now raining down herface and dropping upon her lap.
"Oh, Agnes," he cried. "I wish you wouldn't do that! Please don't. Ithurts me. Besides, how did you know it? I told Brookings that yourfather was not to know it. I did not want it known." He paused and hisvoice shook slightly. They had drawn closer and now she reached out andplaced her small hand upon his arm.
"Brookings didn't tell. He didn't tell papa; but I knew." She waslooking down at the earth.
"I don't understand," she heard him say wonderingly.
"But didn't you think, Jean, that I understood! I understood the veryday--a few minutes after papa returned home, brought the old note andtold me about the extension." She paused and looked thoughtfully awayacross the field. "I understood when you drove by a few minutes later.You had forgotten about it, I could see, and your mind was on otherthings; but the moment you came into my sight, and I looked out upon youfrom the window, I knew you had saved us."
Her hand still rested lightly upon his arm. She was not aware of it, butdeeply concerned with what she was saying. Presently, when he did notspeak, she went on. "I understood and knew that you had forgottenit--that you were too much of a man to let us know what you had done. Ican't forget it! I have wanted to tell you how I felt--I felt that Iowed it to you to tell you, but I couldn't before."
"Please let's forget it, Agnes," she heard him whisper.
"I can keep from speaking of it, but forget it--never! It was so muchlike you, like the man that's in you!" and the tears fell again.
"Agnes, Agnes, if you don't hush, almost I will forget myself...."
"I had to tell you, I _had_ to!" she sobbed.
"But it is only a small return for what you did for me. Do you realize,Agnes, had it not been for you, I--I--would not be sitting here now? Oh,think of that and then you will see how little I have done--how verylittle I can ever do to repay!" His voice was brave, albeit emotional.He leaned toward her, and the passion was in his face. She grasped hisarm tighter as she looked up again into his face out of her tearbedimmed eyes and cried brokenly:
"But Jean, the cases are not parallel. What I did for you I would havedone for anybody. It was merely an act of providence; but yours--oh,Jean, _can't you understand_!" He was silent.
"Yours was the act of kindness," she went on again, "the act of a man;and you would have kept it secret; because you would never have had itknown, because you would not have us feel under obligation to you. Oh,that is what makes me--oh, it makes me cry when I think of it." Thetears flowed freely while her slender shoulders shook with emotion.
From a painting by W.M. Farrow.
"BUT, JEAN, THE CASES ARE NOT PARALLEL. WHAT I DID FOR YOU I WOULD HAVEDONE FOR ANY ONE; BUT YOURS--OH, JEAN, _CAN'T_ YOU UNDERSTAND!"]
And when she had concluded, the man beside her had forgotten _the customof the country, and its law_ had passed beyond him. He was as a mantoward the maid now. Beside him wept the one he had loved as a dreamgirl. Behind him was the house with the bed she had laid him uponwhen she saved his life. And when he had awakened, before beingconscious of where he was or what had happened to him, he had lookedinto her eyes and had seen therein his dream girl. She was his by theright of God; he forgot now that she was white while he was black. Heonly remembered that she was his, and he loved her.
His voice was husky when he answered:
"Agnes, oh, Agnes, I begged you not to. I almost beseeched you,because--oh, don't you understand what is in me, that I am as all men,weak? To have seen you that night--the night I can never forget, thenight when you stood over me and I came back to life and saw you. Youdidn't know then and understand that I had dreamed of you these twoyears since I had come here: that out of my vision I had seen you, hadtalked with you, oh, Agnes!" She straightened perceptibly; she looked upat him with that peculiarity in her eyes that even she had never come tounderstand. They became oblivious to all that was about them, and hadunconsciously drawn closer together now and regarded each other as if insome enchanted garden. She sang to him then the music that was in her,and the words were:
"Jean, oh, Jean Baptiste, you have spoken and now at last _I_understand. And do you know that before I left back there from where Icame, I _saw_ you: I dreamed of you and that I would know you, and thenI came and so strangely met and have known you now for the man you are,oh, Jean!"
Gradually as the composure that had been theirs passed momentarily intooblivion, and the harvest birds twittered gayly about them, his man'sarm went out, and into the embrace her slender body found its way. Hislips found hers, and all else was forgotten.
EPOCH THE SECOND
EPOCH THE SECOND