The Conquest: The Story of a Negro PioneerMicheaux, Oscar
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The Conquest: The Story of a Negro Pioneer
Micheaux, Oscar
African American pioneers -- Fiction; Autobiographical fiction; South Dakota -- Fiction; Western stories
His very expression seemed jubilant. He had longed for some chance to
get me and now it had arrived. He did not speak to me, but bounded into
the room where my wife was, and she must have read the same thing in his
expression, for, as he talked about it later, I learned the first thing
she said was:
"Now, papa. You must not abuse Oscar. He loves me and is kind and doing
the best he can, but he is all tied up with debt."
He would tell this every few hours but I could see the evil of his heart
in the expression of his eyes, leering at me, with hatred and malice in
every look. He and Ethel turned loose in about an hour. From that time
on, it was the same as being in the house with two human devils. They
nearly raised the roof with their quarreling. Of the two, the Reverend
was the worst, for he was cunning and deceitful, pretending in one
sentence to love, and in the next taking a thrust at my emotions and
home. I shall never forget his evil eyes.
Ethel would cry out in her ringing voice:
"You're practical! You're practical! You and your Booker T. Washington
ideas!"
Then she would tear into a string of abusive words. One day, after the
doctor had been to the house, he called me aside and said:
"Oscar, your wife is physically well enough, but is mentally sick.
Something should be done so that she may be more quiet."
"Is she quite out of danger?" I asked.
He replied that she was. That night I told my wife of our conversation
and the next day I left for Megory county.
CHAPTER XXXVIII
SANCTIMONIOUS HYPOCRISY
I was preparing to seed the biggest crop I had ever sown. With Orlean
helping me, by bringing the dinner to the field and doing some chores,
during the fall we had put the farm into winter wheat and I had rented
the other Megory county farm. I hired a steam rig, to break two hundred
acres of prairie on the Tipp county homesteads, for which I was to pay
three dollars an acre and haul the coal from Colone, a distance of
thirty-five miles, the track having been laid to that point on the
extension west from Calias.
I intended to break one hundred acres with my horses and put it into
flax. I had figured, that with a good crop, it would go a long way
toward helping me get out of debt. I worked away feverishly, for I had
gotten deeper into debt by helping my folks get the land in Tipp county.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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