Mrs. Loving (Too absorbed to hear): We were not asleep—your father and I. They broke down the front door and made their way to our bedroom. Your father kissed me—and took up his revolver. It was always loaded. They broke down the door. (A silence. She continues slowly and quietly) I tried to shut my eyes—I could not. Four masked men fell—they did not move any more—after a little. (Pauses). Your father was finally overpowered and dragged out. In the hall—my little seventeen-year-old George tried to rescue him. Your father begged him not to interfere. He paid no attention. It ended in their dragging them both out. (Pauses). My little George—was—a man! (Controls herself with an effort). He never made an outcry. His last words to me were: “Ma, I am glad to go with Father.” I could only nod to him. (Pauses). While they were dragging them down the steps, I crept into the room where you were. You were both asleep. Rachel, I remember, was smiling. I knelt down by you—and covered my ears with my hands—and waited. I could not pray—I couldn’t for a long time—afterwards. (A silence). It was very still when I finally uncovered my ears. The only sounds were the faint rustle of leaves and the “tap-tapping of the twig of a tree” against the window. I hear it still—sometimes in my dreams. It was the tree—where they were. (A silence). While I had knelt there waiting—I had made up my mind what to do. I dressed myself and then I woke you both up and dressed you. (Pauses). We set forth. It was a black, still night. Alternately dragging you along and carrying you—I walked five miles to the house of some friends. They took us in, and we remained there until I had seen my dead laid comfortably at rest. They lent me money to come North—I couldn’t bring you up—in the South. (A silence). Always remember this: There never lived anywhere—or at any time—any two whiter or more beautiful souls. God gave me one for a husband and one for a son and I am proud. (Brokenly) You—must—be—proud—too. (A long silence. Mrs. Loving bows her head in her hands. Tom controls himself with an effort. Rachel creeps softly to her mother, kneels beside her and lifts the hem of her dress to her lips. She does not dare touch her. She adores her with her eyes).
Mrs. Loving (Presently raising her head and glancing at the clock): Tom, it’s time, now, for you to go to work. Rachel and I will finish up here.
Tom (Still laboring under great emotion goes out into the entryway and comes back and stands in the doorway with his cap. He twirls it around and around nervously): I want you to know, Ma, before I go—how—how proud I am. Why, I didn’t believe two people could be like that—and live. And then to find out that one—was your own father—and one—your own brother.—It’s wonderful! I’m—not much yet, Ma, but—I’ve—I’ve just got to be something now. (Breaks off). (His face becomes distorted with passion and hatred). When I think—when I think—of those devils with white skins—living somewhere today—living and happy—I—see—red! I—I—good-bye! (Rushes out, the door bangs).
Mrs. Loving (Half to herself): I was afraid—of just that. I wonder—if I did the wise thing—after all.
Rachel (With a gesture infinitely tender, puts her arms around her mother): Yes, Ma dear, you did. And, hereafter, Tom and I share and share alike with you. To think, Ma dear, of ten years of this—all alone. It’s wicked! (A short silence).
Mrs. Loving: And, Rachel, about that dear, little boy, Jimmy.
Rachel: Now, Ma dear, tell me tomorrow. You’ve stood enough for one day.
Mrs. Loving: No, it’s better over and done with—all at once. If I had seen that dear child suddenly any other day than this—I might have borne it better. When he lifted his little face to me—and smiled—for a moment—I thought it was the end—of all things. Rachel, he is the image of my boy—my George!
Rachel: Ma dear!
Mrs. Loving: And, Rachel—it will hurt—to see him again.