go. But she had no choice. Closing her mouth in a grim tight line, she prepared to leave. He had won this time, but her time would come. She would put up with him until she could get away. She wouldn’t let him have the children. Where the children went, she would go.
4
I T WAS DUSK OF A long spring day when they finally arrived at the railroad station where Professor Taylor was to meet them. The train pulled to a stop beside a dilapidated wooden platform. Mrs. Taylor and the children peered through the windows.
Across a level patch of yellow mud stood a false-fronted general store. In lieu of a porch there were two wooden benches on which sat several long-haired white men, clad in faded and patched blue denim overalls, leaning back against the wall. They sat slumped in an indolent mobility, their faces rock red in the strange yellow light, still eyes staring balefully at the resting train, like figures of a long forgotten race carved by a demented sculptor in bas-relief. Two rickety wagons with teams of bony mules, both mules and wagons caught, it seemed, in attitudes of utter lethargy, were hitched to the slanting posts. A single hack with a team of fat gray mules, incongruous with the surrounding scene, was tied to the station platform.
There was no sign of her husband. Her heart sank. At that moment she felt as close to defeat as she ever had. Slowly she began collecting their luggage.
The brakeman came into the Jim-Crow coach to hurry them. And suddenly Professor Taylor was there, smiling at the brakeman to soothe his feelings, and trying to quiet Mrs. Taylor’s alarms.
“Now, honey, now, honey, just let me handle things.”
The baby boys rushed up and hugged him about the legs.
“My boys, my boys,” he said, patting them fondly on their heads and lifting each in turn to kiss him. “My little boys.”
They had been frightened but now they were reassured.
The brakeman recognized him as one of the teachers from the Negro college by the fact he wore a suit with a collar and tie. “Thass all right, fess,” he said indulgently.
Professor Taylor shook hands with Tom, patting him on the shoulder. And then he turned after an instant of hesitation and kissed his wife. At that moment Mrs. Taylor wanted him to kiss her. She had been without sleep for two days and was exhausted and dispirited. If only for the moment, she had to put her trust in him; she couldn’t carry on without help any longer.
In a short time he had them off the train. Tom helped with the luggage. The brakeman waved. The train began to move. They piled the luggage in the hack. Across the street the row of lookers moved, leaned forward, but only the ears of the drooping mules flickered with brief life.
The hack contained three hard wooden seats, one behind the other, covered by a crude wooden top. Professor Taylor sat in the front seat, flanked by the two baby boys, while Mrs. Taylor and Tom sat behind. He picked up the reins and flipped them lightly across the dull gray backs of the mules. The team turned in the dirt square and headed away from town.
Beside the road were fields of corn already at full height, like rows of dark green sentinels in the soft dusk. No one spoke. They could hear the gentle rustle of the cornstalks in the faint breeze. Beyond a grove of white pines a purple-orange cloud hung in the darkening sky. It had rained recently and the hoofs of the mules made suction sounds in the muddy road. The iron-tired wheels swished faintly in the mud.
An atmosphere of serenity enveloped them. Mrs. Taylor dozed, too tired to take notice. Tom stared about him with bewilderment. He felt a vague sense of foreboding. William was soothed by the peaceful scene. But Charles was enthralled. The strange quiet beauty of the long green fields drew him into a state of enchantment. He loved each new sight passionately, the smell of the mud and the mules, the pine spires in the purple sky, the softly sighing corn. It was as tangible and friendly
4
I T WAS DUSK OF A long spring day when they finally arrived at the railroad station where Professor Taylor was to meet them. The train pulled to a stop beside a dilapidated wooden platform. Mrs. Taylor and the children peered through the windows.
Across a level patch of yellow mud stood a false-fronted general store. In lieu of a porch there were two wooden benches on which sat several long-haired white men, clad in faded and patched blue denim overalls, leaning back against the wall. They sat slumped in an indolent mobility, their faces rock red in the strange yellow light, still eyes staring balefully at the resting train, like figures of a long forgotten race carved by a demented sculptor in bas-relief. Two rickety wagons with teams of bony mules, both mules and wagons caught, it seemed, in attitudes of utter lethargy, were hitched to the slanting posts. A single hack with a team of fat gray mules, incongruous with the surrounding scene, was tied to the station platform.
There was no sign of her husband. Her heart sank. At that moment she felt as close to defeat as she ever had. Slowly she began collecting their luggage.
The brakeman came into the Jim-Crow coach to hurry them. And suddenly Professor Taylor was there, smiling at the brakeman to soothe his feelings, and trying to quiet Mrs. Taylor’s alarms.
“Now, honey, now, honey, just let me handle things.”
The baby boys rushed up and hugged him about the legs.
“My boys, my boys,” he said, patting them fondly on their heads and lifting each in turn to kiss him. “My little boys.”
They had been frightened but now they were reassured.
The brakeman recognized him as one of the teachers from the Negro college by the fact he wore a suit with a collar and tie. “Thass all right, fess,” he said indulgently.
Professor Taylor shook hands with Tom, patting him on the shoulder. And then he turned after an instant of hesitation and kissed his wife. At that moment Mrs. Taylor wanted him to kiss her. She had been without sleep for two days and was exhausted and dispirited. If only for the moment, she had to put her trust in him; she couldn’t carry on without help any longer.
In a short time he had them off the train. Tom helped with the luggage. The brakeman waved. The train began to move. They piled the luggage in the hack. Across the street the row of lookers moved, leaned forward, but only the ears of the drooping mules flickered with brief life.
The hack contained three hard wooden seats, one behind the other, covered by a crude wooden top. Professor Taylor sat in the front seat, flanked by the two baby boys, while Mrs. Taylor and Tom sat behind. He picked up the reins and flipped them lightly across the dull gray backs of the mules. The team turned in the dirt square and headed away from town.
Beside the road were fields of corn already at full height, like rows of dark green sentinels in the soft dusk. No one spoke. They could hear the gentle rustle of the cornstalks in the faint breeze. Beyond a grove of white pines a purple-orange cloud hung in the darkening sky. It had rained recently and the hoofs of the mules made suction sounds in the muddy road. The iron-tired wheels swished faintly in the mud.
An atmosphere of serenity enveloped them. Mrs. Taylor dozed, too tired to take notice. Tom stared about him with bewilderment. He felt a vague sense of foreboding. William was soothed by the peaceful scene. But Charles was enthralled. The strange quiet beauty of the long green fields drew him into a state of enchantment. He loved each new sight passionately, the smell of the mud and the mules, the pine spires in the purple sky, the softly sighing corn. It was as tangible and friendly
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