Chapter XVI Evil Genius (Epoch The Second): The Homesteader

"JEAN," breathed Orlean, from the bed, "where

have you been ? "



He had come unto the house then, and the

man in him was much downcast. He was, and had cause to

feel discouraged, sorrowful and sad. So he explained to

the one who lay upon the bed where he had been, and what

had happened to him, and why he had been delayed.



She sighed when he was through and was sorry. For

a long time he was on his knees at the bedside, and when

an hour had passed, she reached and placed her arm about

his neck, and was thankful that he was spared to her, and

they would live on hopeful ; but both felt their loss deeply.



" I sent papa a telegram," she said presently. Because he

knew he made no answer. He knew the other would come,

and he was resigned as to what would follow. She sighed

again. Perhaps it was because she knew and also feared

what was to follow. . . . She had not known her father

her lifetime without knowing what must happen. But she

loved her husband, and now in the weak state the delivery

had left her she was struggling to withstand the subtle at-

tack her father was sure to make.



Two days passed, and she was progressing toward health

as well as could be expected. Since her marriage her

health on the whole had improved wonderfully. The petty

aches and pains of which she complained formerly had gradually disappeared, and the western air had brought

health and vigor to her.



And then on the third day he arrived. Moreover, he

brought Ethel with him. They rode over the hill that led

to the claim in a hired rig, and Baptiste espied them as

soon as they were in sight.



Our pen cannot describe what Jean Baptiste read in the

eyes of N. J. McCarthy when he alighted from the buggy

and went into the house. But suffice to say, that what had

passed twenty-two years before had come back. There was

to be war between them and as it had been then Baptiste was

at a disadvantage, and must necessarily accept the inevitable.



Ethel was crying, and her tears meant more than words.

She had never cried for love. It had always been some-

thing to the contrary. But we must turn to the one in bed

and helpless !



She saw her father when he stepped from the buggy,

and understood what he carried behind his masklike face.

He did not allow his eyes to rest on Jean Baptiste, and she

noted this. She settled back upon the pillow, and tried

to compose herself for the event that was to be. Her husband was compromised, and could not defend himself. . . .

Therefore it fell upon her and from the sick bed to defend

him.



He was inside the house now, and came toward her, and

she was frightened when he was near and saw his face and

what it held. Hatred within was there and she shuddered

audibly. She closed her eyes to shut it out. Oh, the

agony that came over her. She opened her eyes when his

lips touched hers, and then began the struggle that was

to be hers.



"Papa," she whispered, and in her voice there was a great

appeal. " Don't blame Jean. Jean has burdens, he has responsibilities he's all tied up! He's good to me, he loves

me, he gives me all he has." But before she had finished,

she knew that her appeal had fallen upon deaf ears. Her

father had come and he had brought a purpose to be ful-

filled.



He caressed her; he said many foolish things, and she

pretended to believe him; she made as if his coming had

meant the saving of her life ; but she knew behind all he

pretended was the evil, the evil that was his nature, and

the fear that filled her breast made her weaker; made her

sick.



The doctor had said that she would be able to leave the

bed in ten days, probably a week; but now with grim realization of what was before her she became weak, weaker,

weakest. And all the time she saw that it was being

charged to Jean Baptiste, and to his neglect.



We should perhaps try to make clear at this point in this

story that Jean Baptiste could have settled matters in a

very simple manner. . . . True, the manner in which he

could have settled it, would be the manner in which wars

could be avoided by sacrificing principle. He could have

gone to his Majesty and played a traitor to his nature by

pretending to believe the Elder had been right and justified

in everything; whereas, he, Jean Baptiste, had been as duly

wrong. He could have acted in such a manner as to have

his Majesty feel that he was a great man, that he had been

honored by even knowing him, much less in being privileged

to marry his daughter. This, in view of the fact that having been absent from her bedside at that crucial time, he was

compromised, would have satisfied the Elder, and Baptiste

would not have been compelled to forego all that later came

to pass in their relations. But Jean Baptiste had a principle, and was not a liar, nor a coward, nor a thief. And, although, he had been so unfortunte as not to have been by

the bedside of his wife during that hour, he could have sentimentally appeased his father-in-law, but Jean Baptiste had not nor will he ever in the development of this story, sink

so low. Of what was to come and the most is in this

story, Jean Baptiste at no time sacrificed his manhood for

any cause.



N. Justine McCarthy, and this is true of too many of

his race and to this cause may be attributed many of their

failures, was not a reader. He never read anything but the

newspapers briefly" and the Bible a little. He was, there-

fore, not an informed man. As a result he took little interest in, and appreciated less, what the world is thinking

and doing. He had never understood because he had not

tried, what the people around where Jean Baptiste had come

were doing for posterity. Yet he claimed very loudly to be

an apostle of the race to be willing and was sacrificing his very soul for the cause of Ethiopia. He took

great pride in telling and retelling how he had sacrificed for

his family wife included. As he was heard by others,

he had no faults; could do no wrong, and would surely

reach heaven in the end!



So while they lingered at the bedside of Orlean, he and

Ethel, as a pastime argued with each other, and involved

everybody but themselves with wrongs. For instance, the

Reverend, affecting much piety, would in discussing his

wife, whom he ever did in terms regarding her faults, find

occasion to remark in a burst of self pity and of self pity

he had an abundant supply:



"After all I have done for that woman; after all I have

sacrificed for her ; after all the patience I have endured while

she has held me down kept me from being what I would

have been and should, she is ever bursting out with:



"You're the meanest man in the world! You're the meanest

man in the world!" Whereupon he would affect a look of

deep self pity and eternal mortification.



Unless we lengthen the story unnecessarily, we would not

have the space to relate all he said in reference to his son-

in-law in subtle ways during these days. But Jean Baptiste

was too busy building a barn and other buildings to listen to

these compliments the Elder was bestowing upon his wife

with regard to him. "Yes, my dear," he said time and

again, "If Jean was like your father, you would not be

here now with your child lying dead in the grave. No,

no. You would be in the best hospital in Chicago, with

nurses and attendants all about you and your darling baby

at your side," and, so saying, he would affect another sigh of

self pity.



At first she had struggled to protest, but after a few days

she gave up entirely and became resigned to the inevitable.

She received an occasional diversion, however, when the

Elder and Ethel entered into a controversy. Unlike Orlean,

Ethel was not afraid of her father, especially when he had

something to say about Glavis. The truth was, that while he

so pretended, N. J. McCarthy had no more love for Glavis

than he had for Baptiste; but he could tolerate Glavis because Glavis endeavored to satisfy his vanity. Baptiste, on

the other hand, while he now accepted all his father-in-law

chose to pour upon him in the way of rebuke for what he had

done and should not have, and what he had not done and

should have, he never told the Elder that he was a great

man.



The first few days the Elder had held the usual prayer;

but after some days he dispensed with this, and turned all his

energy to rebuking Jean Baptiste, when he was out of sight.



"Now, don't you talk about Glavis," cried Ethel one day

when his Majesty had tired of abusing Baptiste and sought

a diversion by remarking that Glavis had come from a

stumpy farm in the woodlands of Tennessee. "No, you

don't! Glavis is my husband and you can't abuse him to his

back like you are doing Baptiste!"



"Just listen how she treats her father, Orlean," cried the

Elder, overcome with self pity. Orlean then rebuked Ethel

and chided her father. But the part which escaped her,

was that Ethel defended her mate, while Orlean suffered to

have hers rebuked at will. The greatest reason why Ethel

and her father could not agree, as was well known, was that

they were too much alike.



When Jean Baptiste had completed his barn, and his wife

was out of danger, according to the doctor but would

never be according to the Elder who insisted that the only

cure would be for her to return to Chicago with them,

he was ready to go to work. His wife wanted to go to

Chicago, for what the Reverend had done to her in the

days he had sat by her and professed his great love, would

have made her wish to go anywhere to appease him for

even a day.



"Now, after the expense we have been to," said Baptiste,

"I hardly know whether I can let you go to Chicago or

not."



The Elder sighed, and said to her low enough for her

husband's ears not to hear:" Just listen to that. After all

I have done! Then I will have to pay your way to Chicago

where I shall endeavor to save your life, your dear life

which this man is trying to grind out of you to get rich."



"But I'll think it over," said Baptiste." We have lots of

work this summer, and will try to get caught up," and the

next moment he was gone.



"Did you hear that, daughter?" said the Reverend, now aloud, when the



other's back was turned. " Oh, it's awful,

the man you have married! Just crazy, crazy to get rich!

And puts you after his work; after his horses; after his

everything! And after all your poor old father has done

for you," whereupon he let escape another sigh, and fell into

tears of self pity.



Orlean stroked his head and swallowed what she would

have offered in defense of the man she had married. It

was useless to offer defense, he had broken this down long

since.



"Yes, he is wanting to kill, to kill my poor daughter after

all she has sacrificed," he sobbed," and when you are dead

and in your grave like your baby is out in this wild

'country," his voice was breaking now with sobs," he will up

and marry another woman to enjoy the fruits of your sacrifice!" He was lost in his own tears then, and could say

no more.



"Now, dear," she suddenly heard her husband, and looked

up to find that he had returned. He stooped and kissed her

fondly, and then went on : "I am going up to my sister's

homestead to start the men to work with the engine breaking the land and I must haul them the coal, which I will

get at Colome. Now I will not be back for several days,

but will make up my mind in the meantime as to whether I

can let you go to Chicago or not."



"All right, dear," she said, raising from the bed and

caressing him long and lingeringly. She could not under-

stand how much she wanted him then, it seemed that she

could hold him so forever. She kissed him again and again,

and as he passed out of the room she looked after him long

and lingeringly, and upon her face was a heavenly smile as he

passed out of sight and disappeared over the hill. As he did

so, the Elder got from his position at the other side of the

bed, went to the door, and also watched him out sight. As

he turned away, Baptiste's grandmother who had fed many

a preacher back there in old Illinois, the Reverend included,

started. She had seen his face, and what she had seen

therein had frightened her. When he went back into the

room and to the bed where Orlean lay, she dropped by the

table and buried her face in her old arms and sobbed, long

and silently. And a close observer could have heard these

shaken words:



"Poor Jean, poor Jean, poor Orlean, oh, poor Orlean!

You made all the fight you could but you were weak. You

were doomed before you started, for he knew you and knew

you were weak. But would to God that the world could end

today, for it will end tomorrow for you two. Poor Orlean,

poor Jean!"