Feminist fiction; Historical fiction; Southern States -- Fiction; Women -- Southern States -- Fiction; Women authors -- Fiction
But the Colonel grew violently angry. "You are all lying!--a man's
family conspiring against him! That woman's my daughter-in-law--my
son's wife, dependent on me for her bread and shelter and setting
up her will against mine! And now she's all for keeping from me my
grandchild--she's hiding Gipsy in closets and under the stairs--You
have no right. It's not your child, it's Medway's child! That's law.
You ought to be whipped!"
"Grandfather," said Hagar, "do you remember Alexandria and the mosques
and the Place Mahomet Ali?"
"Why, exactly," said the Colonel. "Well, Gipsy, we always wanted to
travel, didn't we? That dragoman seems to know his business--we're
going down to Cairo to-day and out to see the pyramids. Want to come
along?"
Day followed day at Gilead Balm. Sometimes the Colonel's mind wandered
over the seas of creation, with the pilot asleep at the helm; sometimes
the pilot suddenly awoke, though it was not apt to be for long. It was
eerie when the pilot awoke; when he suddenly sat there, gaunt, with a
parchment face and beak-like nose and straying white hair, and in a
cool, drawling voice asked intelligent questions about the hour and the
season and the plantation happenings.
At such times, if Hagar were not already in the room, he demanded to
see her. She came, sat by him in the great chair, offered to read to
him. He was not infrequently willing for her to do this. She read
both prose and verse to him this winter. Sometimes he did not wish
her to read; he wanted to talk. When this was the case--the pilot
being awake--it was her life away from Gilead Balm that he oftenest
chose to comment upon. That he knew the content of her life hardly
at all mattered, as little to the Colonel as it mattered to Old Miss
and Miss Serena. They were going to let fly their arrows; if there
was no target in the direction in which they shot, at least they
were in sublime ignorance of the fact. Hagar let them talk. Not only
the Colonel--Gilead Balm was dying.... In the middle of a sarcastic
sentence the pilot would drop asleep again; in a moment the barque
was at the mercy of every wandering wind. Hagar became Maria and he
gibbered at her.
Young Dr. Bude came and went. February grew old and passed into March;
March, cold and sunny, with high winds, wheeled by; April came with
tender light, with Judas trees and bloodroot, and the white cherry
trees in a mist of bloom; and still the Colonel lay there, and now the
pilot waked and now the pilot slept.
May came. Dr. Bude stayed in the house. One evening at dusk the
Colonel suddenly opened his eyes upon his family gathered about his
bed. Old Miss was sitting, upright and still, in the great chair at
the bed-head. Miss Serena had a low chair at the foot, and Captain Bob
was near, his old, grey head buried in his hands. There was also an
Ashendyne close kinsman, and a Coltsworth--not Ralph. Dr. Bude waited
in the background. Hagar stood behind Miss Serena.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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