At Fault (12 page)

They were laughing immoderately, and their whole bearing still
reflected their exuberant gaiety as they joined Thérèse and Fanny.

"What a 'Mater Dolorosa' Fanny looks!" exclaimed Melicent, throwing
herself into a picturesque attitude on the bench beside Thérèse, and
resting her feet on Hector's broad back.

Fanny offered no reply, but to look helplessly resigned; an expression
which Melicent knew of old, and which had always the effect of
irritating her. Not now, however, for the curve of the bench around
the great cedar tree removed her from the possibility of contemplating
Fanny's doleful visage, unless she made an effort to that end, which
she was certainly not inclined to do.

"No, Grégoire," she said, flinging a rose into his face when he would
have seated himself beside her, "go sit by Fanny and do something to
make her laugh; only don't tickle her; David mightn't like it. And
here's Mrs. Lafirme looking almost as glum. Now, if David would only
join us with that 'pale cast of thought' that he bears about usually,
what a merry go round we'd have."

"When Melicent looks at the world laughing, she wants it to laugh back
at her," said Thérèse, reflecting something of the girl's gaiety.

"As in a looking-glass, well isn't that square?" she returned, falling
into slang, in her recklessness of spirit.

Endeavoring to guard her treasure of flowers from Thérèse, who was
without ceremony making a critical selection among them of what
pleased her, Melicent slid around the bench, bringing herself close to
Grégoire and begging his protection against the Vandalism of his aunt.
She looked into his eyes for an instant as though asking him for love
instead of so slight a favor and he grasped her arm, pressing it till
she cried out from the pain: which act, on his side, served to drive
her again around to Thérèse.

"Guess what we are going to do to-morrow: you and I and all of us;
Grégoire and David and Fanny and everybody?"

"Going to Bedlam along with you?" Thérèse asked.

"Mrs. Lafirme is in need of a rebuke, which I shall proceed to
administer," thrusting a crumpled handful of rose leaves down the neck
of Thérèse's dress, and laughing joyously in her scuffle to accomplish
the punishment.

"No, madam; I don't go to Bedlam; I drive others there. Ask Grégoire
what we're going to do. Tell them, Grégoire."

"They ain't much to tell. We'a goin' hoss back ridin'."

"Not me; I can't ride," wailed Fanny.

"You can get up Torpedo for Mrs. Hosmer, can't you, Grégoire?" asked
Thérèse.

"Certainly. W'y you could ride ole Torpedo, Mrs. Hosma, if you nova
saw a hoss in yo' life. A li'l chile could manage him."

Fanny turned to Thérèse for further assurance and found all that she
looked for.

"We'll go up on the hill and see that dear old Morico, and I shall
take along a comb, and comb out that exquisite white hair of his and
then I shall focus him, seated in his low chair and making one of
those cute turkey fans."

"Ole Morico ain't goin' to let you try no monkeyshines on him; I tell
you that befo' han'," said Grégoire, rising and coming to Melicent to
rid him of his sylvan ornamentations, for it was time for him to leave
them. When he turned away, Melicent rose and flung all her flowery
wealth into Thérèse's lap, and following took his arm.

"Where are you going?" asked Thérèse.

"Going to help Grégoire feed the mules," she called back looking over
her shoulder; the sinking sun lighting her handsome mischievous face.

Thérèse proceeded to arrange the flowers with some regard to graceful
symmetry; and Fanny did not regain her talkative spirit that
Melicent's coming had put to flight, but sat looking silent and
listlessly into the distance.

As Thérèse glanced casually up into her face she saw it warmed by a
sudden faint glow—an unusual animation, and following her gaze, she
saw that Hosmer had returned and was entering the cottage.

"I guess I better be going," said Fanny rising, and this time Thérèse
no longer detained her.

To shirk any serious duties of life would have been entirely foreign
to Thérèse's methods or even instincts. But there did come to her
moments of rebellion—or repulsion, against the small demands that
presented themselves with an unfailing recurrence; and from such, she
at times indulged herself with the privilege of running away. When
Fanny left her alone—a pathetic little droop took possession of the
corners of her mouth that might not have come there if she had not
been alone. She laid the flowers, only half arranged, on the bench
beside her, as a child would put aside a toy that no longer interested
it. She looked towards the house and could see the servants going back
and forth. She knew if she entered, she would be met by appeals from
one and the other. The overseer would soon be along, with his crib
keys, and stable keys; his account of the day's doings and
consultations for to-morrow's work, and for the moment, she would have
none of it.

"Come, Hector—come, old boy," she said rising abruptly; and crossing
the lawn she soon gained the gravel path that led to the outer road.
This road brought her by a mild descent to the river bank. The water,
seldom stationary for any long period, was at present running low and
sluggishly between its red banks.

Tied to the landing was a huge flat-boat, that was managed by the aid
of a stout cable reaching quite across the river; and beside it
nestled a small light skiff. In this Thérèse seated herself, and
proceeded to row across the stream, Hector plunging into the water and
swimming in advance of her.

The banks on the opposite shore were almost perpendicular; and their
summit to be reached only by the artificial road that had been cut
into them: broad and of easy ascent. This river front was a standing
worry to Thérèse, for when the water was high and rapid, the banks
caved constantly, carrying away great sections from the land. Almost
every year, the fences in places had to be moved back, not only for
security, but to allow a margin for the road that on this side
followed the course of the small river.

High up and perilously near the edge, stood a small cabin. It had once
been far removed from the river, which had now, however, eaten its way
close up to it—leaving no space for the road-way. The house was
somewhat more pretentious than others of its class, being fashioned of
planed painted boards, and having a brick chimney that stood fully
exposed at one end. A great rose tree climbed and spread generously
over one side, and the big red roses grew by hundreds amid the dark
green setting of their leaves.

At the gate of this cabin Thérèse stopped, calling out, "
Grosse
tante!—oh, Grosse tante!
"

The sound of her voice brought to the door a negress—coal black and
so enormously fat that she moved about with evident difficulty. She
was dressed in a loosely hanging purple calico garment of the mother
Hubbard type—known as a
volante
amongst Louisiana Creoles; and on
her head was knotted and fantastically twisted a bright
tignon
. Her
glistening good-natured countenance illumined at the sight of Thérèse.

"
Quo faire to pas woulez rentrer, Tite maîtresse?
" and Thérèse
answered in the same Creole dialect: "Not now,
Grosse tante
—I shall
be back in half an hour to drink a cup of coffee with you." No English
words can convey the soft music of that speech, seemingly made for
tenderness and endearment.

As Thérèse turned away from the gate, the black woman re-entered the
house, and as briskly as her cumbersome size would permit, began
preparations for her mistress' visit. Milk and butter were taken from
the safe; eggs, from the India rush basket that hung against the wall;
and flour, from the half barrel that stood in convenient readiness in
the corner: for
Tite maîtresse
was to be treated to a dish of
croquignoles
. Coffee was always an accomplished fact at hand in the
chimney corner.

Grosse tante
, or more properly, Marie Louise, was a Creole—Thérèse's
nurse and attendant from infancy, and the only one of the family
servants who had come with her mistress from New Orleans to
Place-du-Bois at that lady's marriage with Jérôme Lafirme. But her
ever increasing weight had long since removed her from the possibility
of usefulness, otherwise than in supervising her small farm yard. She
had little use for "
ces néges Américains
," as she called the
plantation hands—a restless lot forever shifting about and changing
quarters.

It was seldom now that she crossed the river; only two occasions being
considered of sufficient importance to induce her to such effort. One
was in the event of her mistress' illness, when she would install
herself at her bedside as a fixture, not to be dislodged by any less
inducement than Thérèse's full recovery. The other was when a dinner
of importance was to be given: then Marie Louise consented to act as
chef de cuisine
, for there was no more famous cook than she in the
State; her instructor having been no less a personage than old Lucien
Santien—a
gourmet
famed for his ultra Parisian tastes.

Seated at the base of a great China-berry on whose gnarled protruding
roots she rested an arm languidly, Thérèse looked out over the river
and gave herself up to doubts and misgivings. She first took exception
with herself for that constant interference in the concerns of other
people. Might not this propensity be carried too far at times? Did the
good accruing counterbalance the personal discomfort into which she
was often driven by her own agency? What reason had she to know that a
policy of non-interference in the affairs of others might not after
all be the judicious one? As much as she tried to vaguely generalize,
she found her reasoning applying itself to her relation with Hosmer.

The look which she had surprised in Fanny's face had been a painful
revelation to her. Yet could she have expected other, and should she
have hoped for less, than that Fanny should love her husband and he in
turn should come to love his wife?

Had she married Hosmer herself! Here she smiled to think of the storm
of indignation that such a marriage would have roused in the parish.
Yet, even facing the impossibility of such contingency, it pleased her
to indulge in a short dream of what might have been.

If it were her right instead of another's to watch for his coming and
rejoice at it! Hers to call him husband and lavish on him the love
that awoke so strongly when she permitted herself, as she was doing
now, to invoke it! She felt what capability lay within her of rousing
the man to new interests in life. She pictured the dawn of an
unsuspected happiness coming to him: broadening; illuminating; growing
in him to answer to her own big-heartedness.

Were Fanny, and her own prejudices, worth the sacrifice which she and
Hosmer had made? This was the doubt that bade fair to unsettle her;
that called for a sharp, strong out-putting of the will before she
could bring herself to face the situation without its accessions of
personalities. Such communing with herself could not be condemned as a
weakness with Thérèse, for the effect which it left upon her strong
nature was one of added courage and determination.

When she reached Marie Louise's cabin again, twilight, which is so
brief in the South, was giving place to the night.

Within the cabin, the lamp had already been lighted, and Marie Louise
was growing restless at Thérèse's long delay.

"Ah
Grosse tante
, I'm so tired," she said, falling into a chair near
the door; not relishing the warmth of the room after her quick walk,
and wishing to delay as long as possible the necessity of sitting at
table. At another time she might have found the dish of golden brown
croquignoles
very tempting with its accessory of fragrant coffee;
but not to-day.

"Why do you run about so much,
Tite maîtresse
? You are always going
this way and that way; on horseback, on foot—through the house. Make
those lazy niggers work more. You spoil them. I tell you if it was old
mistress that had to deal with them, they would see something
different."

She had taken all the pins from Thérèse's hair which fell in a
gleaming, heavy mass; and with her big soft hands she was stroking her
head as gently as if those hands had been of the whitest and most
delicate.

"I know that look in your eyes, it means headache. It's time for me to
make you some more
eau sédative
—I am sure you haven't any more;
you've given it away as you give away every thing."

"
Grosse tante
," said Thérèse seated at table and sipping her coffee;
Grosse tante
also drinking her cup—but seated apart, "I am going to
insist on having your cabin moved back; it is silly to be so stubborn
about such a small matter. Some day you will find yourself out in the
middle of the river—and what am I going to do then?—no one to nurse
me when I am sick—no one to scold me—nobody to love me."

"Don't say that,
Tite maîtresse
, all the world loves you—it isn't
only Marie Louise. But no. You must remember the last time poor
Monsieur Jérôme moved me, and said with a laugh that I can never
forget, 'well,
Grosse tante
, I know we have got you far enough this
time out of danger,' away back in Dumont's field you recollect? I said
then, Marie Louise will move no more; she's too old. If the good God
does not want to take care of me, then it's time for me to go."

"Ah but,
Grosse tante
, remember—God does not want all the trouble
on his own shoulders," Thérèse answered humoring the woman, in her
conception of the Deity. "He wants us to do our share, too."