Oscar Micheaux - The Homesteader Epoch IV Chapter XV lyrics

Epoch the Fourth CHAPTER XV GRIM JUSTICE AGNES decided to visit Chicago and planned to be married there. Besides, since she was now engaged, the legacy in the bank at Rensselaer must be secured, and, according to her mother's will, consulted before she was married. She was curious to know what it was all about. Indeed, she was almost as anxious, if not more so to learn the contents of the legacy than she was to become the wife of the man she had consented to marry. Accordingly, before the train reached Chicago, she became very anxious. It gave her a peculiar and new thrill to recline in the luxurious Pullman, to have her needs answered and attended to by servants, and to be pointed out by curious people as the writer and composer of a song that had delighted the whole country. She was experiencing how very convenient life is when one has sufficient means to satisfy one's needs. This had been her privilege only a short time. A newsboy boarded the train and pa**ed hurriedly through the cars with the morning papers. She purchased one, and glanced through the headlines. In the index she saw an account of the suit of Jean Baptiste, versus his father-in-law. Curiously and anxiously she turned to the account and read the proceedings of the trial. She laid the paper aside when through and reviewed her acquaintance with him in retrospection. How strange it all seemed at this late date. Beside her, a long, narrow mirror fit between the double windows. In this she studied her face a moment. Some years had pa**ed since that day and the other day, too, at the sod house. She thought of the man that was to be her mate and of what he would think should he ever know that the only man who had ever touched her lips before him, was a Negro. She found herself comparing the two men, and she was rather surprised at the difference she could distinguish. She tried to estimate what true love was. The life she had so recently entered was the life she had aspired to. She had hopes for it. The life that could now be hers was the goal of her ambition and she had attained it! She should be satisfied. But was she? As the train with its luxurious appointments sped along, she felt after all that she was going out of the life that she really loved. Was it because she had always been so poor and unable to have the things she could now partake of at will, that such had become a habit, and indispensable to her happiness? For indeed she had a longing for the old life, the dash and open it afforded. She had a vision of Jean Baptiste and his honor. He had sacrificed her to be loyal to the race in which he belonged. Had it not been for this, she knew she would not be journeying to the great city to become the wife of another. But amid all these thoughts and introspectives and otherwise, there constantly recurred to her mind the man she was to marry and what he would think if he knew that she had once loved and would have married and even kissed a Negro. She was glad when at last the train drew into the outskirts of the city, and the excitement about drove such reminiscences out of her mind. She had wired him, and of course, she expected him to meet her. “Oh, here you are," he cried as she stood upon the platform a half hour later. On hearing him her eyes wandered toward where he stood, and regarded him keenly for a moment. A really handsome man, immaculately attired in the finest tailored clothes and in the fashion of the day. He caught her in his arms and she did not resist the hot kisses he planted upon her cheeks. Still, she was greatly confused, and feared that she would create a scene before she had become accustomed to the ways and dash of the city. He had her arm held it close, as they pa**ed through the station and crossed the walkway to where an inclosed auto stood. Into this he ushered her, attended to her luggage, and a moment later followed her inside. Through the city with all its bustle and excitement they sped. “I'm going to take you to my aunt's.' he said, when they had gotten started. “Oh," she chimed. At that moment she could think of nothing to say. It was all so confusing to her. She was so unaccustomed to any kind of a city that she was actually in a fear. She did not realize because of the distinction to which she had attained, that any awkwardness on her part would be looked upon as the eccentricity of a genius. She decided, however, to say as little as possible, to speak only when spoken to. In that way she would try not to cause him any embarra**ment or mortification. “You have certainly been a hard one to pull off the farm, dear," she heard now. “Oh, do you think so? “she said coyly. "Do I think so?" he laughed. "Well, say, now, there isn't one person in a thousand who, after writing the hit you have composed, wouldn't have been over all this old land by this time, letting people see them." “Oh, I could never wish that," she said quickly. “Oh, come, now! Get into the limelight." He eyed her artfully, winked playfully, and continued: “You'll like it when you get the modesty out of yourself." “I don't think so." He regarded her quickly out of the corner of his eye, and then looked ahead. "Ever heard of State Street?" he inquired. "Oh, yes. Is this it?" “This is State Street," he said, and she looked out and started. She didn't know just what she had expected to see, but what met her gaze and made her start was the sight of so many Negroes. “What's the matter, dear?” he said, glancing at her quickly. "Why ah oh, nothing." “I wondered why you started," and he again looked ahead. They were across it now, and approaching Wabash Avenue. He turned into this, to where his aunt lived some distance out in the most exclusive part of its residence section. Agnes, sitting by his side, despite the excitement, the great buildings and fine streets, was thinking of the past, and of what she had just seen. Negroes, Negroes, and that would have been her life had she married Jean Baptiste. All such was foreign to her, but she could estimate what it would have meant. She was sure she could never have become accustomed to such an a**ociation, it wouldn't have seemed natural. And then she thought of Jean Baptiste, the man. Oh, of him, it was always so different. In her mind he was like no other person in the world. How strange, and singularly sweet had been her acquaintance with him. Never had she understood any one as she understood him. She tried to shut him out of her life, for the time had come, and she must. But could she? When she dared close her eyes she seemed to see him more clearly. The car had stopped now, and he was lifting her out before a large house that stood back from the street some distance in sumptuous splendor. As they went up the walk-way, the large front doors parted, and a handsome elderly woman came forth. Upon her face was written refinement and culture. “Oh, aunt, here we are." “I saw you coming because I was watching," said his aunt, coming forward, the personification of dignity. She held out her arms, and Agnes felt herself being embraced and kissed. Her head was in a whirl. How could she readily become accustomed to such without displaying awkwardness. Arm in arm they mounted the steps, were met by the butler, who took her bags, and a moment later she found herself in a large, richly furnished room. “Come now, dear," he said, and led her to a couch. She heard his aunt going upstairs to prepare her room, and the next moment she felt him draw her to him, and whatever difference there was in this convenient life, all men loved alike. Jean Baptiste lingered late at the Keystone bar. He was alone in the world, he felt, so company of the kind about seemed the best, and was, at least, diverting. It was twelve o'clock and after when he left. He still retained his room at the attorney's residence, and to this he strolled slowly. He attempted to formulate some plans in his mind, and after a time it occurred to him that he should go back West to Gregory. He had hired more than seven hundred fifty acres put into wheat. He hadn't heard how it was, or whether there was any wheat there or not. But he had seen in the papers that a drought had affected much of the crop in Kansas and Nebraska. He half heartedly a**umed that it would naturally hit his country also. If so, there was nothing left for him to do but leave that section. But he would depart from the city on the morrow and see what there was up there, and with this settled in his mind, he quickened his step, and hurried to his room. He turned into the right number, as he thought, but upon trying to insert the key in the lock he found that he had made a mistake. He glanced up in confusion and almost uttered a cry. It was not the attorney's home, but that of the Reverend McCarthy. “Chump!” he said to himself as he turned and started back down the steps. “I'll never sleep inside that house again," and laughed. Upon the walk he heard steps, and when he had reached the street, looked up to meet Glavis and a strange Negro just turning in. Glavis glared at him as if to say, “Well, what business have you here, now?" But Baptiste mumbled some word of apology about having turned in at the wrong number, went directly to his room, retired and forgot the incident. He had no idea how long he had been asleep or what time it was when he was awakened suddenly by a drumming on his door, and the attorney's voice, saying: “Heh! Heh! Baptiste, wake up, wake up, you're wanted! " He turned on his side and drew his hand to his forehead to a**ure himself that he was awake. Then, realizing that he was, he jumped from the bed and going forward, opened the door. Two officers, the attorney in a bath robe, and Glavis stood at the door. He regarded them curiously. “What is this? " he managed to say, as they came into the room. “Seems that they want you," said the attorney. "Me?” he chimed. “Yep.' said one of the officers.” Will you go along peacefully or shall we have to put the bracelets on. You're arrested for murder." “For murder! Me, for murder? " “Just go with the officers, Baptiste. If you'd been a little earlier you might have gotten away; but it so happened that I met you coming out just as I was going in." “But I don't understand what you're talking about all of you," persisted Baptiste. “Who has been murdered, and why am I accused?" The lawyer had been observing him keenly, and now he interposed. “Why, your wife and her father have just been found murdered, and Glavis here and another a**ert they met you coming out of the house at midnight or a little after." The incident of the night came back to him then, “Well," he muttered, and began to get into his clothes. When he was fully dressed he turned to the attorney and said: “Glaives is right in part, White." He was very calm. “I'll call you up when I need you." And then he turned to the officers and said. “I'm ready. The cuffs will not be necessary."