Part 28 (1/2)

”He's goin' to stay wif me! He's goin' to stay wif me!”

And even Aunt Cindy gave in. The spirit of Steve Earle had spoken in Steve Earle's child.

When they went back into the kitchen an oblivious diner sat at the kitchen table, bent over a plate, and still mopped up blackberry jam with b.u.t.tered biscuit.

That night the full moon, declining over the sheltering eaves of the mansion, sent its rays into the windows of the big upstairs bedroom.

First they fell on a bed where lay one boy asleep, as he had slept all his life, on soft mattresses, between white sheets. Then the silver light crept slowly over the bed, across the floor, where it seemed to linger a while on a pile of toys--an engine with three pa.s.senger cars, a red hook and ladder whose fiery horses galloped forever, a picture book open at the place where a man in s.h.a.ggy skins, with a s.h.a.ggy umbrella, stared with bulging eyes at a track in the sand. And last this gentle light climbed upon another bed and embraced a swarthy little figure lying on its side, one arm stretched out, one fist closed tight, as if to keep fast hold on this chance life had thrown his way.

Never before had this child slept on a soft mattress, never before in a clean nightgown; never before that night had he seen a tiled bathroom and a white tub where water ran. On one st.u.r.dy leg that braced the body as it lay on the side the moonlight revealed a ridged place, a scar, purple and hard. But the hard grin was gone now, the face in repose; and the peering moon, which so silently inspected that room and its inmates, might have had a hard time deciding, so serene were the two small faces, which, in the years to come, would be, please G.o.d, the gentleman, and which, G.o.d forbid, the ruffian!

The two were up at sunrise. Jennie, the maid, dressed them in clothes just alike--all except shoes--Joe drew the line there. They ate breakfast in the dining room, Tommy in his own chair, the visitor elevated to the proper height by a dictionary. They ate oatmeal and cream, waffles and syrup. While the dew still sparkled on the lawn and on the thousands of tiny morning spiderwebs stretched along the hedges, they went out into the yard, where old Frank came running to meet them with his morning welcome of wagging tail.

But the grin had come back to the visitor's face now. He was afraid of Aunt Cindy, of the maid, of Jake, of all grown folks. In vain Tommy tried to play with him: he did not know how to play--a wagon was a wagon to him, nothing more; a stick a stick, and not a horse to be ridden.

Tommy gave it up. They walked around inspecting things, like little old men. Now and then the visitor swore, the oaths coming naturally, like any other talk. He did not even know he was swearing. Tommy, listening, grinned now and then, looking at his visitor with comprehending eyes.

The little shrill oaths fascinated him; as for the child who uttered them, G.o.d had never entered his garden in the cool of the evening, and he didn't know he was naked.

Meanwhile, in the kitchen, an old black woman, seeing them saunter about, followed by old Frank, and noting that they did not play but talked, shook her wise head.

”I wish Mr. Steve would come,” she said. ”He teachin' dat chile things he ought not to know.”

He came early in the afternoon. Tommy saw the long s.h.i.+ning car turn in at the end of the avenue and Frank race to meet it. At the boy's cry that yonder came Papa, Joe turned and started toward the barn.

”Where you goin'?” demanded Tommy.

”He'll beat me up,” said Joe.

While the car hummed up the avenue the two stood close together, Tommy's face earnest as he argued and rea.s.sured.

The car stopped near the garage. A tall, clean-shaved man in palm beach clothes and panama hat came toward them. ”h.e.l.lo, old man,” he said and stooped down and kissed one boy; then straightening up: ”Who's this you've got with you?”

”Joe,” said Tommy simply.

He saw the keen look in the gray eyes, the smile that caused the fine wrinkles to gather about their corners way up there under the panama hat.

”Well, Joe--where did you drop from?”

Then Aunt Cindy called the master of Freedom Hill aside, and Tommy saw the old woman talking earnestly up into his face. His father nodded, then came toward them, smiling.

”All right, boys,” he said. ”Come up on the porch where it's cool, and tell me all about it.”

But Joe would not tell. He drew away and looked at the man with that sc.r.a.ppy grin. Silence, secretiveness where grown people were, had been beaten into his small brain. Out behind the house, the conference finished, Tommy rea.s.sured his guest again and again, sometimes laughing, sometimes very earnest.

”Oh, he won't hurt you, Joe!”

But Joe's chest was rising and falling. He was afraid of Steve Earle, afraid of those powerful arms, even of those kind gray eyes.

An hour later Steve Earle called Tommy to him.

”Keep him with you, son,” he said. ”I'm going to Greenville.”

He came back in the afternoon. From the orchard they saw him get out of the car and go up on the porch. Joe would not come back to the house. He did consent, though, to venture into the yard, near the barn. They were sitting on the concrete base of the windmill when from around the house Tommy saw Mr. John Davis and his wife drive up the avenue and get out near the porch. They lived across the creek and were neighbours. They did not have a car, but drove an old white horse named Charlie, who was always p.r.i.c.king up his ears at you, hoping you would give him an apple.