Carolina Lee

Carolina clasped her hands to hide their trembling. She could have cried out in pity for the suffering in the face of the man she loved, but she dared not speak one word of the sympathy her heart ached to show, for fear of undoing her work. Blindly she steeled herself for the words she feared would pour forth. Dully she wondered if, when they came, they would end everything between them, and preclude any possible overtures on her part when the leaven should have worked. But the words, bitter or otherwise, did not come. Still he simply stood and looked at her.

Then, with a gesture both graceful and dignified, he bent and took her hand and kissed it.

"I understand," he said, simply, and Carolina, turning away, albeit sick at heart, felt a dawning thrill of pride-her first-that she had come to love this man.

CHAPTER XXI

THE LIGHT BREAKS

One afternoon, a few days later, there came an hour of stifling heat, and Carolina, sitting in her little cottage room with "Science and Health" on her knees, heard the rise and fall of voices in earnest discussion, which seemed to come from the back porch. When she appeared at the door to ascertain who it was, she found Aunt Calla, the cook at Whitehall, and Aunt Tempy, Flower's baby's mammy, in animated conversation with Rose Maud, her own cook.

"Dar she is now!" exclaimed Calla. "Miss Calline, I was jes' awn my way over hyah to ax yoh advice as to what I shall do wid dat no 'count Lily ob mine, when erlong come Sis Tempy in de Barnwells' cah'yall, sent by Miss Flower to say will you please come over to see de baby right away, en Sis Tempy done fetch me wid her."

"Is anything wrong with the baby?" asked Carolina, quickly.

"No'm! no'm!" cried Tempy. "Miss Flowah got somepin' mighty fine to show you. Miss Callina, de lill fellah kin see!"

"Oh, Tempy, how glad I am to hear it!"

"Well'm, I reckon you is de one what otto hyah it fust," said the old woman, with a shrewd glance.

"Why, what do you mean?" asked Carolina.

The three women settled themselves with such an air of having come to the point that Carolina felt reasonably sure that they had been discussing the affair, and that further concealment was no longer of any avail. She was surprised to see that, instead of the hostility she had feared, each old woman had the appearance of eager curiosity if not of real interest.

"I means, Miss Callina, dat I believes-we all believes-dat you done kunjered" (conjured) "de chile en kyored him," said Calla.

"I ain't a-saying dat," put in Tempy. "I ain't a-saying but what you is raised de spell what de voodoo done put awn de chile."

"En I tells um, Miss Callina," ventured Rose Maud, Carolina's own cook, "dat hit's yoh new religion what done it, en I tole em I believed dat you is de Lawd Jesus come down to yearth de secon' time, wid power to heal de sick, to cast out debbils, en to raise de dead."

"Rose Maud, Jesus was a man, and you know that He will never take the form of a woman," said Carolina, "so don't ever say such a foolish thing again. But He gave that power to His disciples, and this new religion of mine you are talking about gives that same power both to men and women."

"Miss Callina," cried Tempy and Calla at the same time, "has you got dat power?"

"Ask Rose Maud," said Carolina.

"I done tole 'em, Miss Callina," cried Rose Maud. "But dey is bofe doubtin' Thomases. Dey won't believe until dey sees."

"Miss Callina," pleaded Calla, "I cain't believe jis' caze I wants tuh so bad. Ef you kin mek me believe, I would fall down awn my face wid joy. I ain't never been satisfied wid no religion. Sis Tempy will tell you. Ise done jined de chutch en fell from grace mo' times den I kin count. But, missy, even niggers want a trufe dat dey kin cling tuh!"

"Dat's a fack, Miss Callina!" broke in Aunt Tempy. "En ef you will jis' put awn yoh hat en go wid us in de Barnwells' cah'yall, en 'splain t'ings to us lake Jesus done when He tuk de walk to Emyus" (Emmaus), "you will be talkin' to thirsty sinners what are des a-begging of you fur de water ob life!"

Carolina remembered the great number of intelligent coloured faces which were scattered through the congregations of the beautiful white marble church, with its splendour and glory of stained glass, in New York, and she wondered if here, in the pleadings of these three fat old coloured women in the pine forest of South Carolina lay the answer to the great and ever burning question of the white man's burden. As she debated swiftly, her heart leaped to the task. It was not for her to refuse to spread the truth when it was so humbly and earnestly desired.

"Come then," she said, "ask me questions, and I will tell you the answers that my new religion teaches. You may come, too, Rose Maud."

The Barnwells' carryall went slowly out through the great avenue of live-oaks from Carolina's little cottage at Guildford into the "big road" which led to Sunnymede. But no one thought of the incongruity of the three old coloured women and Jake, letting the horses drive themselves, while he listened with pathetic eagerness to the clear, earnest tones of the white young lady, who simply and sincerely answered the questions all four asked of her with such painful anxiety and eager understanding.

Meanwhile the storm, which the intense heat presaged, gathered, and they hurried the horses in order to reach Sunnymede before it broke.

"Dat's all I ask," cried Aunt Tempy. "I don' need to ax no mo' questions. Miss Callina done fixed t'ings for old Tempy."

"I allus knowed dat I was a worshipper ob de unknown God," cried Calla. "Ef I had 'a' knowed de right One, does y'all reckon He would 'a' let me get away? No, suh! De Lawd hol's awn tuh His own!"

The storm broke just as they reached Flower's little cabin in the dreary stump-filled waste which had once been the handsome estate of the La Granges. Flower met them at the door and welcomed them in.

"Hurry, Jake, and get the horses safe before the rain comes. Aunt Tempy, take Calla and Rose Maud to the kitchen and give them some sassafras tea. Oh, Cousin Carolina, dearest, did Tempy tell you? Oh, the blessed, blessed news! For two nights now, the lamb has turned over in his crib because the light hurt his eyes. I didn't send for you the first time because I wanted to be sure. I was reading the fourteenth of John, and when I came to the verse, 'And if ye shall ask anything in my name, I will do it,' I just threw the Bible down and fell on my face on the floor and begged God for my baby's eyesight. And, when I looked, he had turned over. Oh, Cousin Carol, Cousin Carol, I think I shall go mad with joy!"

"Let me see him," cried Carolina, rushing past Flower and snatching up the baby. "Oh, yes, dearest, I can see even a different expression in his eyes. And see how he blinks in the light! Flower, your baby is healed!"

"I know it," said Flower, reverently. "And I shall thank God for it on my knees every day of my life."

A terrific flash of lightning at that moment almost blinded them. It was followed instantaneously by a clap of thunder which nearly rent the cabin in twain. Flower immediately seized her baby, with a face made ashen by fear, and looking apprehensively at windows and doors, she whispered:

"The voodoo! Watch for her! She always comes in a thunder-storm!"

At the same time the three old women, with Jake, and Flower's black cook, old Eloise Lu, stumbled into the room, crying:

"Foh de Lawd's sake, Miss Flower, honey, let us in hyah! De Day of Judgment sho has come!"

"Nonsense!" cried Carolina, with a sternness none of them had ever suspected her of possessing. "For shame, you Tempy and Rose Maud and Calla! Where is your new religion? Where is your understanding of the truth? Is God going to punish you for coming to Him as you just told me you had come? Oh, faithless disciples! Now see if I am afraid of a little thunder and lightning!"

They straightened up under her words, and, with rapidly clearing faces, they watched her go toward the open door. The rain was coming straight down with a terrific tropical downpour, and, as Carolina stepped suddenly to the open door, she saw the same figure she had seen before, in the act of leaving a little clump of pine-trees to come nearer to the cabin. The figure spied Carolina at the same time, and, lifting a hand, beckoned to the girl. Without a thought of fear, but with rather a wild questioning hope in her heart, Carolina, to the amazement of the cabin inmates, and later on no less to her own, stepped out into the pouring rain and ran toward the shelter of the trees.

They all crowded into the doorway to see her go, and, when they recognized the other figure, they were speechless with awe.

Miss Carolina had deliberately gone to meet the voodoo and lift the curse! Then she was indeed a chosen one of God!

CHAPTER XXII

IN THE VOODOO'S CAVE

As Carolina felt the rain drenching her to the skin, the thought came to her, "This is the first time in all my life that I ever was thoroughly wet with rain, yet to how many of the less favoured ones of earth this must be no unusual occurrence. How sheltered my life has been!"

And the thought of God's protection went with her as she approached the motionless figure under the pines.

At first Carolina took the woman to be a quadroon, but, on a nearer view, she saw that none of the features was African. Rather the high cheekbones and sombre eyes suggested the Indian.

The woman held out her hand, and, as Carolina yielded hers, the woman said, in a voice whose tones vibrated with a resemblance to Flower's:

"You must come with me. You will not be afraid. You are a Lee. I have been waiting a long, long time to get speech with you, but your wet clothes must be dried. Will you follow me?"

"Willingly," said Carolina, gently.

The woman did not smile, but her face lighted.

"You will not be sorry," she said, tersely. Then she turned and led the way.

The rain still came down in torrents, but, as Carolina was already wet through, she thoroughly enjoyed the novel sensation. She remembered how often, as a child, she had begged to be allowed to go out and get sopping wet-just once! – and had been denied.

Suddenly the woman paused.

"Do you know where we are?" she said.

Carolina looked around, but could see no possible place of concealment. The ground was flat and somewhat rocky. The river made a sudden bend here, and in this clearing lay huge pieces of rock half-embedded in the soil. The timber had been cut, and now a second growth of scrubby trees had grown up, hedging the spot in a thicket of underbrush.

"No," said Carolina. "I never was here before."

"But you will come many times again," said the woman. "Look!"

She knelt in the sand and scratched away with both hands at the base of a great rock, until she came to its edge. Then with one hand she pushed, and the great boulder was balanced so neatly on its fellow that it slid back, revealing a natural cave.

The cool, underground air came in a wave to Carolina's nostrils, laden with mystery. Only one moment she hesitated.

"You are sure we can get out?" she said.

"I am sure. From where I stand I can see through this underground passage the sail of a ship on the ocean. But this rock will not slip. Watch me."

She was already in the cave, and she reached out, and, with apparently little effort, pulled the boulder into place, closing herself in. Carolina put her hand under the rock and felt its perfect balance give. She herself opened the cave again.

"I will come," said Carolina. "Have you a light?"

Never could she forget the hour which followed. She sat in this cavern, wrapped in an Indian blanket, watching her thin clothes dry before the fire the woman had kindled and listening to the following story:

"I have watched you," said the Indian, "ever since you came, and when I found that you were the one to cause my daughter to take her rightful place in the La Grange family-you start. Flower is my own daughter. I am a half-breed Indian. My name is Onteora. Both my grandfather and his father were chiefs of the Cherokee tribe. I am a direct descendant of the great chief Attakullakulla, friendly to your people, who, in 1761, made peace between the Cherokees and the great war governor, Bull. My father married a white woman of good family, named Janet Christopher. I, too, married white blood. I was married by Father Hennessey, the Jesuit priest, to a Frenchman named Pierre Pellisier, who died in Charleston in 1889. I have the documents to prove all these things. Here, I will show them to you.

"I am educated beyond my class. I speak French. I can read and write, but no one knows what I can do, because I have lived as an Indian woman in order to avert suspicion from my child. All my children died except Flower. She was my baby, – pure white, as you see, and so pretty! Miss Le Moyne, who educated Flower, knew the truth. We agreed upon terms. Miss Le Moyne would have gone to the poorhouse if it had not been for the money I gave her every week for the care of Flower. And yet she would have betrayed the secret she swore by her crucifix to keep, if death had not struck her dumb just in time!"

"But why," interrupted Carolina, "did you not come forward after Flower's marriage and tell the La Granges of her honourable birth? It is a proud heritage to have the blood of kings run in her veins."

Onteora shook her head.

"The time was not ripe. It needed you to open their eyes. Now they will listen because Fleur-de-lys has found a friend! You have rescued her from their contempt. You have rescued my grandson from blindness-a blindness I knew the moment I looked at him. And for that reason I have a gift for the daughter of the Lees-a gift she will not despise!"

Onteora disappeared and when she came back she held in one hand two silver coasters, beautifully carved and inscribed in French, "From the Marquis de La Fayette to his friend Moultrie Lee, Esquire, of Guildford, 1784." And in the other a large silver tankard engraved, "To Major-General Gadsden Lee, of Guildford, from his obliged friend, George Washington, 1791."

Carolina's shining eyes were lifted from the massive silver pieces to Onteora's face. The woman nodded.

"The famous Lee silver! I have it all! It was I who removed it and hid it here. It was in 1866, before I was married. I tracked 'Polyte and her husband to its hiding-place and took it away. No one ever knew-not even my husband! I never knew why I kept it secret. I saw the rewards offered. I could have been rich. I could have dowered Fleur-de-lys so that even the La Granges would have welcomed her. But something told me to wait. Wait! Wait! Now, I know why. It was to give it to you in return for my child's happiness! If I had returned it for the money, that money would have gone to help ruin the La Granges, and I should have come to you empty-handed!"

The woman was barbaric in this speech. She showed her Indian blood, her Indian power, her Indian patience.

Carolina reached out her hand and Onteora took it in both of hers.

"What do you wish me to do?" Carolina asked, gently.

"Take these," said Onteora with sudden passion, thrusting the documents toward Carolina, "and show them to the La Granges!"

She sprang to her feet and folded her arms in a matchless pride.

She was, in truth, an Indian.

The rain had ceased and Carolina's things were dried. Onteora helped her to dress, her eyes shining with delight at Carolina's beauty, but she expressed nothing in words.

"Come and see your silver," she said.

She led Carolina to a smaller cavern, where, by the light of a candle, Carolina could see the black shapes of all the silver Cousin De Courcey had described to her. But so cunningly was this cavern concealed, that even one who discovered the cave wherein they stood would never have found the cavern.

"It reminds me of Monte Cristo!" she said to herself in the breathless delight every one feels at the touch of the romantic and mysterious in a humdrum daily life.

Then, as she realized the boundless Source of Supply whence this precious silver and thrice precious information had come, Carolina turned and put her arms around Onteora.

At this sign of human love, tears filled the eyes of the Indian.

CHAPTER XXIII

LOOSE THREADS

Mrs. Goddard alone knew of Carolina's discouragements, disappointments, and dangers, as the summer came and went. To all others the girl turned a smiling face, and Mrs. La Grange often wondered at her courage. How could she know that there were times when that sorely tried courage ebbed so low that many a cipher telegram winged its soft way to her practitioner for help, and that the battle with tears and disheartenment was fought out alone in the silence and sanctuary of her closet?

Often things went very wrong. She was cheated by men because she was a woman. She was hated by the rural doctors because she healed diseases. She was an object of suspicion among the neighbours because she was not "orthodox." She was accused of inciting the negroes to an idea of social equality because she taught them. Father Hennessey gave her all the trouble he could, but Carolina's constant and unvarying kindness to the poor in his parish finally drove him to an armed neutrality. He hated her, but dared not show it too openly, because she had powerful influence back of her. The La Granges rose to her defence en masse, and carried all their enormous relationship with them. Carolina had removed the largest blot from their escutcheon, and no price was too great to pay. Flower became the pet of the whole family, and, in their gratitude, they even endeavoured to provide for Onteora, but that wise woman, having seen justice meted out to her child, silently disappeared, and, beyond knowing that she lived and wanted for nothing, they could discover no more about her.

She was not too far away, however, to keep the unruly negroes in order, and many a warning went out from the voodoo when Carolina's interests were jeopardized.

'Polyte's surveillance was something Carolina had not bargained for. At first his devotion was engendered by gratitude for the trust she placed in him, and fear, for he knew that she actually held over him the power of life and death. Even if she were ignorant of the true significance of that meeting in the woods, at what moment might not some stray anecdote bring home to her its meaning? 'Polyte was no fool, and there were times when he writhed in a hell of fear.

Then gradually Carolina's personality began to gain ascendency over him, as it had over Tempy and Calla and Rose Maud, and even flighty ones like Lily and her kind, and he worshipped her as a superior being. Carolina embodied to the negroes the old times of prosperity and the patriarchal protection of the whites. They liked the idea of the restoration of the old Guildford mansion. Aged negroes, who had known the place in its prime, heard of its rebuilding and journeyed back many weary miles to see "old mahstah's" granddaughter, and to test her hospitality. Several of these Carolina annexed and housed in the clean and shining new quarters, and she was amply repaid by their real knowledge of past events and their idolatry of herself as the last of the Lees.

'Polyte studied her every whim, and carried it out with the zeal of a fetich.

The mare Araby became her property almost by magic. 'Polyte would never say one word concerning it, but one day Barnwell Mazyck sent word to Carolina that she could have the mare on her own terms, only he felt obliged to warn her that Araby had turned vicious.

'Polyte spoke only one sentence.

"Ef you tek her, missy, she won't trick you!"

"Oh, 'Polyte!" cried Carolina, "what have you been doing?"

"Not a t'ing, Miss Callina. Honest! Only I raised dat mah, en I knows huh!"

Carolina still hesitated until Moultrie brought word that Araby had nipped at Barney's hand, and in a rage he had kicked her. After that, the mare would not allow him to approach, but even at the sight of him she would rear, bite, and kick, so that, being quite useless to her owner, he proposed to sell her, – if not to Carolina, then to some one else.

Hearing that decided the girl. She bought Araby, and sent 'Polyte to fetch her.

The beautiful creature proved as gentle as a lamb, and, even on the day when 'Polyte led her up for Carolina to see, she nosed her new mistress lovingly.

"Why, she seems just as usual," said Carolina, but she did not see 'Polyte's heaving shoulders and convulsed face.

Thus, for the most part, the negroes were Carolina's friends. They not only stood in awe of her body-guard, 'Polyte, who knew them root and branch, good and bad alike, but their childish vanity was tickled by the beauty of the small white marble chapel Carolina built on the estate, which had an organ and stained-glass windows and a gallery for negroes.

This had been Mr. Howard's gift to the little band of Christian Scientists which he had found on his first trip down South, meeting every Sunday on Carolina's cottage porch, which, vine-shaded and screened and furnished daintily, was as large as the cottage itself. He took infinite pleasure in furnishing the finest material and in rushing the work with Northern energy, and personally supervising the building.

He well knew that he could please Carolina in no better way, and, when Rosemary Goddard's husband, the Honourable Lionel Spencer, became president of the turpentine company, which was organized on the basis of Carolina's investigations, and confirmed by Mr. Howard's agents, and it became necessary for the Spencers to live in South Carolina, Rosemary was elected first reader of the little church, and Carolina offered them the use of her cottage until they could build, while she and Cousin Lois took possession of the now completed Guildford mansion.

Things were prospering with the La Grange family. Peachie had become engaged to Sir Hubert Wemyss, who, urged by the example of his friend Lionel Spencer, and the enormous profits of the turpentine company, had invested largely, and, after taking Peachie to England to meet his family and make her bow as Lady Wemyss to the king and queen, he promised to return to America for half of the year.

Carolina went to New York twice during the summer, and visited Sherman and Addie at their camp in the Adirondacks.

To her surprise, she found Colonel Yancey there. He had paid one or two mysterious visits to his sisters at Whitehall, and had been deeply pleased to discover that they were both members of the little Christian Science church there. He even went so far as to ask Carolina to organize a Sunday school, which had not then been done, and to enroll Emmeline and Gladys as its first members.

He also took this opportunity, let it be said, to offer himself to Carolina again, but promised her, if she refused him this time, after he had declared himself a believer in the new thought, that he would never trouble her again.

Mr. Howard viewed Colonel Yancey's conversion to Christian Science with amused toleration, but Carolina, who knew why, held steadfastly to the thought that there can be no dishonesty in the perfect man, and so firmly did she cling to this affirmation that, when Colonel Yancey, in the Adirondacks, announced that the old oil wells had again begun to yield, and that all the money which she and Sherman had considered lost was by way of being restored to them, Carolina resolutely closed her eyes to any investigations which might unearth disagreeable discoveries, even opposing her best friend, Mr. Howard, in this decision, and simply opened her arms to her reappearing fortune and her heart in gratitude therefor.

Neither she nor Mrs. Goddard was even surprised.

"From the moment I knew that the man's change of heart was sincere and that he was a true Christian Scientist, I knew this restoration must come," she said, "otherwise no blessing of peace nor untroubled night's sleep could come to him. Christian Science lays bare the very root of error, and when error is recognized in the light of day, it must disappear from the heart of an honest man."

But Carolina only said in the depths of her own soul:

"See what Divine Love hath wrought!"

There were changes, too, going on in Moultrie. He had never repeated his declaration of love to Carolina, but in every unobtrusive way he made her feel that she was surrounded by it, while as to the lesson she had conveyed to him in that one stinging sentence, which was never absent from the minds of either of them, it was his mother who brought word of its effect.