Part 14 (1/2)
”But I want to work,” the white girl insisted. ”I don't want you two to do everything.”
”It ain't much we kin do,” the old woman went on as though apologizing for the house, ”not much fer an Ogilvie. Miss Hertha Ogilvie, dat's what dey'll call yer. Miss Hertha Ogilvie! Oh, my Lawd!”
Hertha rose from the seat into which she had been pushed and began to set the table. But while handling the knives and forks and smoothing the tablecloth into place, she found herself repeating, ”Miss Hertha Ogilvie, _Miss_ Hertha Ogilvie, _Miss_”!
How the white people had steadily refused to give her that t.i.tle! No matter how refined she was, how well educated, since she had colored blood she must always hear her first name. But Lee Merryvale had said, ”Miss Hertha,” and Miss Witherspoon had said, ”Miss Ogilvie.”
”Sister,” she said, turning to Ellen with attempted gaiety, ”can't we have sugared sweet potatoes to-night to celebrate? You cook them so well. Just think, I'm going to have two thousand dollars. Isn't that rich?”
”It depends on how you use it,” replied the always practical Ellen. ”If you want you can get rid of it quickly enough; but I do hope, Hertha, you'll use some of it for your education.”
”What do you want me to study?”
”You know what I told you the other day, but now you'll have a better chance of success.”
”You mean dressmaking. I think myself I'll try stenography.”
It was a wild statement, an exciting jump into an unknown business world.
”Why, Hertha,” Ellen said in surprise, ”I didn't know you had any bent that way.”
”I haven't, but I believe I should like it. Stenographers work in offices, and have short hours and good wages.”
”Not colored ones. Oh, I forgot.” Ellen lost her composure, and to cover her slip went into the kitchen.
There was a knock and Mammy went outside to admit Mr. John Merryvale. He at once entered the room and seeing Hertha walked up to her and took her hand. ”My dear,” he said, ”we have done you a great injustice.”
”Yes?” Hertha said, questioning.
She was angry at his coming, but his kindly manner made it difficult for her to maintain her anger. He crossed over to where her mammy stood, saying gravely: ”Aunt Maggie, it seems like you were the only one who did the right thing in all this tangle. You and your husband opened your hearts and brought up this forsaken child. You surely deserve your reward.”
”I don' want no reward,” the colored woman replied. ”I had my reward ebery day dis chile lib. Wat you t'ink a lil' bread an' a shelterin'
roof mean to yer when yer hab a lily like dis by you' side? An' oh, how is I eber ter git on wid her away?”
”I haven't gone yet, Mammy,” Hertha said with an attempt at a laugh.
”I'm right here.”
”No, but I can't keep you no longer; you's crossed de line when you is Miss Hertha Ogilvie. You's gone across.”
”Well, I'm Hertha Williams just at present, and I'm going to see how Ellen's sweet potatoes are getting on,” and she left the room.
When she returned a few minutes later she found Mr. Merryvale seated in the rocker while Aunt Maggie stood by the table. He rose as she entered, a tribute he had never paid her before. The girl felt it acutely as the old woman had remained standing while the man sat. ”White, white, white,” she said to herself. ”That's the way the people treat you when you're white. I'm white now, and they'll rise when I enter the room, and they'll serve me instead of my serving them.”
”Supper is most ready, Mammy,” she called out. ”Ellen will bring in the potatoes as soon as you tell her to.”
She tried to ignore their visitor, but he was oblivious of her attempt.
”Your mammy and I have been talking things over,” he said, ”and we think, Hertha, that it would be well for you to go home with me. I came to reiterate Miss Patty's invitation. Come and visit with us until you decide what you will do and whether you desire to go away to complete your education.”