_Nine_
THE PLANTING
Zora looked down upon Bles, where he stood to his knees in mud. The toilwas beyond exhilaration--it was sickening weariness and panting despair.The great roots, twined in one unbroken snarl, clung frantically to theblack soil. The vines and bushes fought back with thorn and bramble.Zora stood wiping the blood from her hands and staring at Bles. She sawthe long gnarled fingers of the tough little trees and they looked likethe fingers of Elspeth down there beneath the earth pulling against theboy. Slowly Zora forgot her blood and pain. Who would win--the witch, orJason?
Bles looked up and saw the bleeding hands. With a bound he was besideher.
"Zora!" The cry seemed wrung from his heart by contrition. Why had henot known--not seen before! "Zora, come right out of this! Sit down hereand rest."
She looked at him unwaveringly; there was no flinching of her spirit.
"I sha'n't do it," she said. "You'se working, and I'se going to work."
"But--Zora--you're not used to such work, and I am. You're tired out."
"So is you," was her reply.
He looked himself over ruefully, and dropping his axe, sat down besideher on a great log. Silently they contemplated the land; it seemedindeed a hopeless task. Then they looked at each other in sudden,unspoken fear of failure.
"If we only had a mule!" he sighed. Immediately her face lighted and herlips parted, but she said nothing. He presently bounded to his feet.
"Never mind, Zora. To-morrow is Saturday, and I'll work all day. We just_will_ get it done--sometime." His mouth closed with determination.
"We won't work any more today, then?" cried Zora, her eagernessbetraying itself despite her efforts to hide it.
"_You_ won't," affirmed Bles. "But I've got to do just a little--"
But Zora was adamant: he was tired; she was tired; they would rest.To-morrow with the rising sun they would begin again.
"There'll be a bright moon tonight," ventured Bles.
"Then I'll come too," Zora announced positively, and he had to promisefor her sake to rest.
They went up the path together and parted diffidently, he watching herflit away with sorrowful eyes, a little disturbed and puzzled at theburden he had voluntarily assumed, but never dreaming of drawing back.
Zora did not go far. No sooner did she know herself well out of hissight than she dropped lightly down beside the path, listening intentlyuntil the last echo of his footsteps had died away. Then, leaving thecabin on her right, and the scene of their toil on her left, she cutstraight through the swamp, skirted the big road, and in a half-hourwas in the lower meadows of the Cresswell plantations, where the tiredstock was being turned out to graze for the night. Here, in the shadowof the wood, she lingered. Slowly, but with infinite patience, she brokeone strand after another of the barbed-wire fencing, watching, thewhile, the sun grow great and crimson, and die at last in mightysplendor behind the dimmer westward forests.
The voices of the hands and hostlers grew fainter and thinner in thedistance of purple twilight until the last of them disappeared. Silencefell, deep and soft; the silence of a day sinking to sleep. Not untilthen did Zora steal forth from her hiding-place.
She had chosen her mule long before--a big, black beast, snorting overhis pile of corn,--and gliding up to him, she gathered his supper intoher skirt, found a stout halter, and fed him sparingly as he followedher. Quickly she unfastened the pieces of the fence, led the animalthrough, and spliced them again; and then, with fox-like caution, sheguided her prize through the labyrinthine windings of the swamp. It wasdark and haunting, and ever and again rose lonely night cries. The girltrembled a little, but plodded resolutely on until the dim silver diskof the half-moon began to glimmer through the trees. Then she pressed onmore swiftly, and fed more scantily, until finally, with the moonlightpouring over them at the black lagoon, Zora attempted to drive theanimal into the still waters; but he gave a loud protesting snort andbalked. By subtle temptings she gave him to understand that plenty laybeyond the dark waters, and quickly swinging herself to his back shestarted to ride him up and down along the edge of the lagoon, pettingand whispering to him of good things beyond. Slowly her eyes grew wide;she seemed to be riding out of dreamland on some hobgoblin beast.
Deeper and deeper they penetrated into the dark waters. Now they enteredthe slime; now they stumbled on hidden roots; but deeper and deeper theywaded until at last, turning the animal's head with a jerk, and givinghim a sharp stroke of the whip, she headed straight for the island. Amoment the beast snorted and plunged; higher and higher the black stillwaters rose round the girl. They crept up her little limbs, swirledround her breasts and gleamed green and slimy along her shoulders. Awild terror gripped her. Maybe she was riding the devil's horse, andthese were the yawning gates of hell, black and sombre beneath the cold,dead radiance of the moon. She saw again the gnarled and black andclaw-like fingers of Elspeth gripping and dragging her down.
A scream struggled in her breast, her fingers relaxed, and the bigbeast, stretching his cramped neck, rose in one mighty plunge andplanted his feet on the sand of the island.
* * * * *
Bles, hurrying down in the morning with new tools and new determination,stopped and stared in blank amazement. Zora was perched in a treesinging softly and beneath a fat black mule was finishing his breakfast.
"Zora--" he gasped, "how--how did you do it?"
She only smiled and sang a happier measure, pausing only to whisper:
"Dreams--dreams--it's all dreams here, I tells you."
Bles frowned and stood irresolute. The song proceeded with lessassurance, slower and lower, till it stopped, and the singer dropped tothe ground, watching him with wide eyes. He looked down at her, slight,tired, scratched, but undaunted, striving blindly toward the light withstanch, unfaltering faith. A pity surged in his heart. He put his armabout her shoulders and murmured:
"You poor, brave child."
And she shivered with joy.
All day Saturday and part of Sunday they worked feverishly. The treescrashed and the stumps groaned and crept up into the air, the bramblesblazed and smoked; little frightened animals fled for shelter; and awide black patch of rich loam broadened and broadened till it kissed,on every side but the sheltered east, the black waters of the lagoon.Late Sunday night the mule again swam the slimy lagoon, and disappearedtoward the Cresswell fields. Then Bles sat down beside Zora, facing thefields, and gravely took her hand. She looked at him in quick,breathless fear.
"Zora," he said, "sometimes you tell lies, don't you?"
"Yes," she said slowly; "sometimes."
"And, Zora, sometimes you steal--you stole the pin from Miss Taylor, andwe stole Mr. Cresswell's mule for two days."
"Yes," she said faintly, with a perplexed wrinkle in her brows, "I stoleit."
"Well, Zora, I don't want you ever to tell another lie, or ever to takeanything that doesn't belong to you."
She looked at him silently with the shadow of something like terror farback in the depths of her deep eyes.
"Always--tell--the truth?" she repeated slowly.
"Yes."
Her fingers worked nervously.
"All the truth?" she asked.
He thought a while.
"No," said he finally, "it is not necessary always to tell all thetruth; but never tell anything that isn't the truth."
"Never?"
"Never."
"Even if it hurts me?"
"Even if it hurts. God is good, He will not let it hurt much."
"He's a fair God, ain't He?" she mused, scanning the evening sky.
"Yes--He's fair, He wouldn't take advantage of a little girl that didwrong, when she didn't know it was wrong."
Her face lightened and she held his hands in both hers, and saidsolemnly as though saying a prayer:
"I won't lie any more, and I won't steal--and--" she looked at him instartled wistfulness--he remembered it in after years; but he felt heh
ad preached enough.
"And now for the seed!" he interrupted joyously. "And then--the SilverFleece!"
That night, for the first time, Bles entered Zora's home. It was asingle low, black room, smoke-shadowed and dirty, with two dingy bedsand a gaping fire-place. On one side of the fire-place sat the yellowwoman, young, with traces of beauty, holding the white child in herarms; on the other, hugging the blaze, huddled a formless heap, wreathedin coils of tobacco smoke--Elspeth, Zora's mother.
Zora said nothing, but glided in and stood in the shadows.
"Good-evening," said Bles cheerily. The woman with the baby aloneresponded.
"I came for the seed you promised us--the cotton-seed."
The hag wheeled and approached him swiftly, grasping his shoulders andtwisting her face into his. She was a horrible thing--filthy of breath,dirty, with dribbling mouth and red eyes. Her few long black teeth hungloosely like tusks and the folds of fat on her chin curled down on hergreat neck. Bles shuddered and stepped back.
"Is you afeared, honey?" she whispered.
"No," he said sturdily.
She chuckled drily. "Yes, you is--everybody's 'feared of old Elspeth;but she won't hurt you--you's got the spell;" and wheeling again, shewas back at the fire.
"But the seed?" he ventured.
She pointed impressively roofward. "The dark of the moon, boy, the darkof the moon--the first dark--at midnight." Bles could not wring anotherword from her; nor did the ancient witch, by word or look, again givethe slightest indication that she was aware of his presence.
With reluctant farewell, Bles turned home. For a space Zora watched him,and once she started after him, but came slowly back, and sat by thefire-place.
Out of the night came voices and laughter, and the sound of wheels andgalloping horses. It was not the soft, rollicking laughter of black men,but the keener, more metallic sound of white men's cries, and Bles Alwynpaused at the edge of the wood, looked back and hesitated, but decidedafter a moment to go home and to bed.
Zora, however, leapt to her feet and fled into the night, while the hagscreamed after her and cursed. There was tramping of feet on the cabinfloor, and loud voices and singing and cursing.
"Where's Zora?" some one yelled, with an oath. "Damn it! where is she? Ihaven't seen her for a year, you old devil."
The hag whimpered and snarled. Far down in the field of the Fleece, Zoralay curled beneath a tall dark tree asleep. All night there was comingand going in the cabin; the talk and laughter grew loud and boisterous,and the red fire glared in the night.
* * * * *
The days flew by and the moon darkened. In the swamp, the hidden islandlay spaded and bedded, and Bles was throwing up a dyke around the edge;Zora helped him until he came to the black oak at the western edge. Itwas a large twisted thing with one low flying limb that curled outacross another tree and made a mighty seat above the waters.
"Don't throw the dirt too high there," she begged; "it'll bring my seattoo near the earth."
He looked up.
"Why, it's a throne," he laughed.
"It needs a roof," he whimsically told her when his day's work was done.Deftly twisting and intertwining the branches of tree and bush, he wovea canopy of living green that shadowed the curious nest and warded itsnugly from wind and water.
Early next morning Bles slipped down and improved the nest; addingfoot-rests to make the climbing easy, peep-holes east and west, a bitof carpet over the bark, and on the rough main trunk, a little picturein blue and gold of Bougereau's Madonna. Zora sat hidden and alone insilent ecstasy. Bles peeped in--there was not room to enter: the girlwas staring silently at the Madonna. She seemed to feel rather than hearhis presence, and she inquired softly:
"Who's it, Bles?"
"The mother of God," he answered reverently.
"And why does she hold a lily?"
"It stands for purity--she was a good woman."
"With a baby," Zora added slowly.
"Yes--" said Bles, and then more quickly--"It is the Christ Child--God'sbaby."
"God is the father of all the little babies, ain't He, Bles?"
"Why, yes--yes, of course; only this little baby didn't have any otherfather."
"Yes, I know one like that," she said,--and then she added softly: "Poorlittle Christ-baby."
Bles hesitated, and before he found words Zora was saying:
"How white she is; she's as white as the lily, Bles; but--I'm sorryshe's white--Bles, what's purity--just whiteness?"
Bles glanced at her awkwardly but she was still staring wide-eyed at thepicture, and her voice was earnest. She was now so old and again so mucha child, an eager questioning child, that there seemed about herinnocence something holy.
"It means," he stammered, groping for meanings--"it means beinggood--just as good as a woman knows how."
She wheeled quickly toward him and asked him eagerly:
"Not better--not better than she knows, but just as good, in--lying andstealing and--and everything?"
Bles smiled.
"No--not better than she knows, but just as good."
She trembled happily.
"I'm--pure," she said, with a strange little breaking voice andgesture. A sob struggled in his throat.
"Of course you are," he whispered tenderly, hiding her little hands inhis.
"I--I was so afraid--sometimes--that I wasn't," she whispered, liftingup to him her eyes streaming with tears. Silently he kissed her lips.
From that day on they walked together in a new world. No revealing wordwas spoken; no vows were given, none asked for; but a new bond heldthem. She grew older, quieter, taller, he humbler, more tender andreverent, as they toiled together.
So the days passed. The sun burned in the heavens; but the silveredglory of the moon grew fainter and fainter and each night it rose laterthan the night before. Then one day Zora whispered:
"Tonight!"
Bles came to the cabin, and he and Zora and Elspeth sat silently aroundthe fire-place with its meagre embers. The night was balmy and still;only occasionally a wandering breeze searching the hidden places of theswamp, or the call and song of night birds, jarred the stillness. Longthey sat, until the silence crept into Bles's flesh, and stretching outhis hand, he touched Zora's, clasping it.
After a time the old woman rose and hobbled to a big black chest. Out ofit she brought an old bag of cotton seed--not the white-green seed whichBles had always known, but small, smooth black seeds, which she handledcarefully, dipping her hands deep down and letting them drop through hergnarled fingers. And so again they sat and waited and waited, saying noword.
Not until the stars of midnight had swung to the zenith did they startdown through the swamp. Bles sought to guide the old woman, but he foundshe knew the way better than he did. Her shadowy figure darting in andout among the trunks till they crossed the tree bridge, moved evernoiselessly ahead.
She motioned the boy and girl away to the thicket at the edge, andstood still and black in the midst of the cleared island. Bles slippedhis arm protectingly around Zora, glancing fearfully about in thedarkness. Slowly a great cry rose and swept the island. It struck madlyand sharply, and then died away to uneasy murmuring. From afar thereseemed to come the echo or the answer to the call. The form of Elspethblurred the night dimly far off, almost disappearing, and then growingblacker and larger. They heard the whispering "_swish-swish_" of fallingseed; they felt the heavy tread of a great coming body. The form of theold woman suddenly loomed black above them, hovering a moment formlessand vast then fading again away, and the "_swish-swish_" of the fallingseed alone rose in the silence of the night.
At last all was still. A long silence. Then again the air seemedsuddenly filled with that great and awful cry; its echoing answerscreamed afar and they heard the raucous voice of Elspeth beating intheir ears:
_"De seed done sowed! De seed done sowed!"_