Part 2 (2/2)
”The old liar!” said Joe.
There seemed to be nothing more for her to say. She could make no defense of an act which stood before her in all its ugly selfishness.
Joe sat still, staring at the wall beyond the stove; she crouched forward in her chair, as if to shrink out of his sight.
Between them the little gla.s.s lamp stood, a droning, slow-winged brown beetle blundering against its chimney. Outside, the distant chant of newly wakened frogs sounded; through the open door the warm air of the April night came straying, bearing the incense of the fields and woodlands, where fires smoldered like sleepers sending forth their dreams.
His silence was to her the heaviest rebuke that he could have administered. Her remorse gathered under it, her contrition broke its bounds.
”Oh, I sold you, my own flesh and blood!” she cried, springing to her feet, lifting her long arms above her head.
”You knew what he was, Mother; you knew what it meant to be bound out to him for two long years and more. It wasn't as if you didn't know.”
”I knew, I knew! But I done it, son, I done it! And I done it to save my own mis'able self. I ain't got no excuse, Joe, I ain't got no excuse at all.”
”Well, Mother, you'll be safe here, anyhow, and I can stand it,” said Joe, brightening a little, the tense severity of his face softening.
”Never mind; I can stand it, I guess.”
”I'll never let you go to him--I didn't mean to do it--it wasn't fair the way he drove me into it!” said she.
She laid her hand, almost timidly, on her son's shoulder, and looked into his face. ”I know you could take care of me and keep off of the county, even if Isom did put us out like he said he'd do, but I went and done it, anyhow. Isom led me into it, Joe; he wasn't fair.”
”Yes, and you bound me out for about half what I'm worth to any man and could demand for my services anywhere, Mother,” said Joe, the bitterness which he had fought down but a moment past surging up in him again.
”Lord forgive me!” she supplicated piteously. She turned suddenly to the table and s.n.a.t.c.hed the paper. ”It wasn't fair--he fooled me into it!”
she repeated. ”I'll tear it up, I'll burn it, and we'll leave this place and let him have it, and he can go on and do whatever he wants to with it--tear it down, burn it, knock it to pieces--for anything I care now!”
Joe restrained her as she went toward the stove, the doc.u.ment in her hand.
”Wait, Mother; it's a bargain. We're bound in honor to it, we can't back down now.”
”I'll never let you do it!” she declared, her voice rising beyond her control. ”I'll walk the roads and beg my bread first! I'll hoe in the fields, I'll wash folks' clothes for 'em like a n.i.g.g.e.r slave, I'll lay down my life, Joe, before I let you go into that murderin' man's hands!”
He took the paper from her hands gently.
”I've been thinking it over, Mother,” said he, ”and it might be worse--it might be a good deal worse. It gives me steady work, for one thing, and you can save most of my wages, counting on the eggs you'll sell, and the few turkeys and things. After a while you can get a cow and make b.u.t.ter, and we'll be better off, all around. We couldn't get out of it, anyway, Mother. He's paid you money, and you've signed your name to the contract along with Isom. If we were to pull out and leave here, Isom could send the sheriff after me and bring me back, I guess.
Even if he couldn't do that, he could sue you, Mother, and make no end of trouble. But we wouldn't leave if we could. It wouldn't be quite honorable, or like Newbolts at all, to break our contract that way.”
”But he'll drive you to the grave, Joe!”
A slow smile spread over his face. ”I don't think Isom would find me a good driving horse,” said he.
”He said if you done well,” she told him, brightening as she clutched at that small stay of justification, ”he'd let you work this place on shares till you paid off the loan. That was one reason----”
”Of course,” said Joe, a cheerfulness in his voice which his pale cheeks did not sustain, ”that was one thing I had in mind when I spoke. It'll all come out right. You've done the wisest thing there was to be done, Mother, and I'll fulfill your agreement to the last day.”
”You're a brave boy, Joe; you're a credit to the memory of your pap,”
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