The Marrow of Tradition Page 4

  IV

  THEODORE FELIX

  The young heir of the Carterets had thriven apace, and at six months oldwas, according to Mammy Jane, whose experience qualified her to speakwith authority, the largest, finest, smartest, and altogether mostremarkable baby that had ever lived in Wellington. Mammy Jane hadrecently suffered from an attack of inflammatory rheumatism, as theresult of which she had returned to her own home. She nevertheless camenow and then to see Mrs. Carteret. A younger nurse had been procured totake her place, but it was understood that Jane would come whenever shemight be needed.

  "You really mean that about Dodie, do you, Mammy Jane?" asked thedelighted mother, who never tired of hearing her own opinion confirmedconcerning this wonderful child, which had come to her like an angelfrom heaven.

  "Does I mean it!" exclaimed Mammy Jane, with a tone and an expressionwhich spoke volumes of reproach. "Now, Mis' 'Livy, what is I everuttered er said er spoke er done dat would make you s'pose I could tellyou a lie 'bout yo' own chile?"

  "No, Mammy Jane, I'm sure you wouldn't."

  "'Deed, ma'am, I'm tellin' you de Lawd's truf. I don' haf ter tell nolies ner strain no p'ints 'bout my ole mist'ess's gran'chile. Dis yerboy is de ve'y spit an' image er yo' brother, young Mars Alick, w'atdied w'en he wuz 'bout eight mont's ole, w'iles I wuz laid off havin' ababy er my own, an' couldn' be roun' ter look after 'im. An' dis chileis a rale quality chile, he is,--I never seed a baby wid sech fine hairfer his age, ner sech blue eyes, ner sech a grip, ner sech a heft. W'y,dat chile mus' weigh 'bout twenty-fo' poun's, an' he not but six mont'sole. Does dat gal w'at does de nussin' w'iles I'm gone ten' ter dischile right, Mis' 'Livy?"

  "She does fairly well, Mammy Jane, but I could hardly expect her to lovethe baby as you do. There's no one like you, Mammy Jane."

  "'Deed dere ain't, honey; you is talkin' de gospel truf now! None erdese yer young folks ain' got de trainin' my ole mist'ess give me. Deseyer new-fangle' schools don' l'arn 'em nothin' ter compare wid it. I'mjes' gwine ter give dat gal a piece er my min', befo' I go, so she'llten' ter dis chile right."

  The nurse came in shortly afterwards, a neat-looking brown girl, dressedin a clean calico gown, with a nurse's cap and apron.

  "Look a-here, gal," said Mammy Jane sternly, "I wants you ter understan'dat you got ter take good keer er dis chile; fer I nussed his mammydere, an' his gran'mammy befo' 'im, an' you is got a priv'lege dat mos'lackly you don' 'preciate. I wants you to 'member, in yo' incomin's an'outgoin's, dat I got my eye on you, an' am gwine ter see dat you doesyo' wo'k right."

  "Do you need me for anything, ma'am?" asked the young nurse, who hadstood before Mrs. Carteret, giving Mammy Jane a mere passing glance, andlistening impassively to her harangue. The nurse belonged to theyounger generation of colored people. She had graduated from the missionschool, and had received some instruction in Dr. Miller's class fornurses. Standing, like most young people of her race, on the border linebetween two irreconcilable states of life, she had neither thepicturesqueness of the slave, nor the unconscious dignity of those ofwhom freedom has been the immemorial birthright; she was in what mightbe called the chip-on-the-shoulder stage, through which races as well asindividuals must pass in climbing the ladder of life,--not aninteresting, at least not an agreeable stage, but an inevitable one, andfor that reason entitled to a paragraph in a story of Southern life,which, with its as yet imperfect blending of old with new, of race withrace, of slavery with freedom, is like no other life under the sun.

  Had this old woman, who had no authority over her, been a little morepolite, or a little less offensive, the nurse might have returned her apleasant answer. These old-time negroes, she said to herself, made hersick with their slavering over the white folks, who, she supposed,favored them and made much of them because they had once belonged tothem,--much the same reason why they fondled their cats and dogs. Forher own part, they gave her nothing but her wages, and small wages atthat, and she owed them nothing more than equivalent service. It waspurely a matter of business; she sold her time for their money. Therewas no question of love between them.

  Receiving a negative answer from Mrs. Carteret, she left the roomwithout a word, ignoring Mammy Jane completely, and leaving thatvenerable relic of ante-bellum times gasping in helpless astonishment.

  "Well, I nevuh!" she ejaculated, as soon as she could get her breath,"ef dat ain' de beatinis' pe'fo'mance I ever seed er heared of! Dese yeryoung niggers ain' got de manners dey wuz bawned wid! I don' know w'atdey're comin' to, w'en dey ain' got no mo' rispec' fer ole age--I don'know--I don' know!"

  "Now what are you croaking about, Jane?" asked Major Carteret, who cameinto the room and took the child into his arms.

  Mammy Jane hobbled to her feet and bobbed a curtsy. She was neverlacking in respect to white people of proper quality; but MajorCarteret, the quintessence of aristocracy, called out all her reservesof deference. The major was always kind and considerate to these oldfamily retainers, brought up in the feudal atmosphere now so rapidlypassing away. Mammy Jane loved Mrs. Carteret; toward the major sheentertained a feeling bordering upon awe.

  "Well, Jane," returned the major sadly, when the old nurse had relatedher grievance, "the old times have vanished, the old ties have beenruptured. The old relations of dependence and loyal obedience on thepart of the colored people, the responsibility of protection andkindness upon that of the whites, have passed away forever. The youngnegroes are too self-assertive. Education is spoiling them, Jane; theyhave been badly taught. They are not content with their station in life.Some time they will overstep the mark. The white people are patient, butthere is a limit to their endurance."

  "Dat's w'at I tells dese young niggers," groaned Mammy Jane, with aportentous shake of her turbaned head, "w'en I hears 'em gwine on widdeir foolishniss; but dey don' min' me. Dey 'lows dey knows mo' d'n Idoes, 'ca'se dey be'n l'arnt ter look in a book. But, pshuh! my olemist'ess showed me mo' d'n dem niggers 'll l'arn in a thousan' years! I's fetch' my gran'son' Jerry up ter be 'umble, an' keep in 'is place.An' I tells dese other niggers dat ef dey'd do de same, an' not crowdde w'ite folks, dey'd git ernuff ter eat, an' live out deir days inpeace an' comfo't. But dey don' min' me--dey don' min' me!"

  "If all the colored people were like you and Jerry, Jane," rejoined themajor kindly, "there would never be any trouble. You have friends uponwhom, in time of need, you can rely implicitly for protection andsuccor. You served your mistress faithfully before the war; you remainedby her when the other negroes were running hither and thither like sheepwithout a shepherd; and you have transferred your allegiance to my wifeand her child. We think a great deal of you, Jane."

  "Yes, indeed, Mammy Jane," assented Mrs. Carteret, with sincereaffection, glancing with moist eyes from the child in her husband's armsto the old nurse, whose dark face was glowing with happiness at theseexpressions of appreciation, "you shall never want so long as we haveanything. We would share our last crust with you."

  "Thank y', Mis' 'Livy," said Jane with reciprocal emotion, "I knows whomy frien's is, an' I ain' gwine ter let nothin' worry me. But fer deLawd's sake, Mars Philip, gimme dat chile, an' lemme pat 'im on de back,er he'll choke hisse'f ter death!"

  The old nurse had been the first to observe that little Dodie, for somereason, was gasping for breath. Catching the child from the major'sarms, she patted it on the back, and shook it gently. After a moment ofthis treatment, the child ceased to gasp, but still breathed heavily,with a strange, whistling noise.

  "Oh, my child!" exclaimed the mother, in great alarm, taking the baby inher own arms, "what can be the matter with him, Mammy Jane?"

  "Fer de Lawd's sake, ma'am, I don' know, 'less he's swalleredsomethin'; an' he ain' had nothin' in his han's but de rattle Mis' Pollygive 'im."

  Mrs. Carteret caught up the ivory rattle, which hung suspended by aribbon from the baby's neck.

  "He has swallowed the little piece off the end of the handle," shecried, turning pale with fear, "and it has lodged in his throat.Telephone Dr. Price to
come immediately, Philip, before my baby chokesto death! Oh, my baby, my precious baby!"

  An anxious half hour passed, during which the child lay quiet, exceptfor its labored breathing. The suspense was relieved by the arrival ofDr. Price, who examined the child carefully.

  "It's a curious accident," he announced at the close of his inspection."So far as I can discover, the piece of ivory has been drawn into thetrachea, or windpipe, and has lodged in the mouth of the right bronchus.I'll try to get it out without an operation, but I can't guarantee theresult."

  At the end of another half hour Dr. Price announced his inability toremove the obstruction without resorting to more serious measures.

  "I do not see," he declared, "how an operation can be avoided."

  "Will it be dangerous?" inquired the major anxiously, while Mrs.Carteret shivered at the thought.

  "It will be necessary to cut into his throat from the outside. All suchoperations are more or less dangerous, especially on small children. Ifthis were some other child, I might undertake the operation unassisted;but I know how you value this one, major, and I should prefer to sharethe responsibility with a specialist."

  "Is there one in town?" asked the major.

  "No, but we can get one from out of town."

  "Send for the best one in the country," said the major, "who can be gothere in time. Spare no expense, Dr. Price. We value this child above anyearthly thing."

  "The best is the safest," replied Dr. Price. "I will send for Dr. Burns,of Philadelphia, the best surgeon in that line in America. If he canstart at once, he can reach here in sixteen or eighteen hours, and thecase can wait even longer, if inflammation does not set in."

  The message was dispatched forthwith. By rare good fortune the eminentspecialist was able to start within an hour or two after the receipt ofDr. Price's telegram. Meanwhile the baby remained restless and uneasy,the doctor spending most of his time by its side. Mrs. Carteret, who hadnever been quite strong since the child's birth, was a prey to the mostagonizing apprehensions.

  Mammy Jane, while not presuming to question the opinion of Dr. Price,and not wishing to add to her mistress's distress, was secretlyoppressed by forebodings which she was unable to shake off. The childwas born for bad luck. The mole under its ear, just at the point wherethe hangman's knot would strike, had foreshadowed dire misfortune. Shehad already observed several little things which had rendered hervaguely anxious.

  For instance, upon one occasion, on entering the room where the baby hadbeen left alone, asleep in his crib, she had met a strange cat hurryingfrom the nursery, and, upon examining closely the pillow upon which thechild lay, had found a depression which had undoubtedly been due to theweight of the cat's body. The child was restless and uneasy, and Janehad ever since believed that the cat had been sucking little Dodie'sbreath, with what might have been fatal results had she not appearedjust in the nick of time.

  This untimely accident of the rattle, a fatality for which no one couldbe held responsible, had confirmed the unlucky omen. Jane's duties inthe nursery did not permit her to visit her friend the conjure woman;but she did find time to go out in the back yard at dusk, and to dig upthe charm which she had planted there. It had protected the child sofar; but perhaps its potency had become exhausted. She picked up thebottle, shook it vigorously, and then laid it back, with the other sideup. Refilling the hole, she made a cross over the top with the thumb ofher left hand, and walked three times around it.

  What this strange symbolism meant, or whence it derived its origin, AuntJane did not know. The cross was there, and the Trinity, though Jane wasscarcely conscious of these, at this moment, as religious emblems. Butshe hoped, on general principles, that this performance would strengthenthe charm and restore little Dodie's luck. It certainly had its moraleffect upon Jane's own mind, for she was able to sleep better, andcontrived to impress Mrs. Carteret with her own hopefulness.