She put her hands upon her daughter’s shoulders and looked up beseechingly into Rhoda’s troubled face. “I know all about slavery, dearie,” she went on, “for I lived in the heart of it until I was married, and I give you my word the niggers are far happier and better off under it than they would be if they were free. They don’t want freedom. And they are so grateful to their masters and mistresses and so fond of them! Why, dear, my old mammy loved me almost as much, I do believe, as my mother did!”
Rhoda recalled what her father had told her of that “old mammy’s” fate and pressed her lips together in sudden fear lest, in spite of his injunction, she might tell what she knew.
“I know, mother,” she said falteringly, “at your home it seems to have been as near right as it could be; but, mother, dear, they’re human beings, and I can’t make it seem right, no matter how much I think about it and try to see it as you do, that they should be bought and sold!”
“That’s only because you don’t know much about niggers, dear child! They’re not really human beings, in the sense that we are. If you had grown up among them as I did you would understand that. Charlotte is quite right in saying they are no more to be considered than horses.”
They sat down on the black horsehair sofa and Mrs. Ware went on, her soft, southern tones full of pleading, one hand fluttering over the girl in little caressing touches: “If you knew them as I do, Rhoda, and knew how contented they are, you wouldn’t feel a moment’s hesitation. And everybody lives so happily down there! Such hospitality, such friendships, such enjoyment of life—everything so gracious and charming! There’s nothing like it in the North! How homesick it makes me, even yet, to think of it! Oh, honey! If I could only see you settled in the midst of it, you don’t know how happy it would make me! And Jeff—I don’t believe you realize, Rhoda, how much he loves you! You ought to have heard him talk to me about you! Jeff would do anything to make you happy!”
Rhoda’s head dropped to her mother’s shoulder. “Oh, mother!” she cried, “I wish—I wish you could convince me!”
When she carried her sewing down to the veranda a little later Mrs. Ware’s eyes followed her with a gaze of mingled longing and misgiving. “Now she will go and talk with her father,” was the mother’s thought, “and he will undo all that I’ve gained.”
Rhoda saw that her father’s carriage was at the east gate, waiting for him, and she had scarcely seated herself with her sewing when he came out from his door. “Oh, Rhoda,” he called, “will you come here a minute, please?
“I’d like you to do something for me this morning,” he went on as they stepped back into the office. “You know where the Mallard place is? The first one beyond Gilbertson’s. They have sent in for some more medicine for their sick child, but if there have been certain results I want to make a change in the treatment. The man who brought me the message didn’t know anything about it and I’ve got a hurry call that’s likely to keep me all day. I’ll give you two kinds of medicine,” and he began putting them up as he continued talking, “and if the child is sleeping well and has no fever you can leave this package—the directions are written here. But if not I want it to have this, until I go out there to-morrow. Don’t say anything about having the two kinds, but make your inquiries, and leave the package that the symptoms call for, and tell them I’ll call to-morrow.”
“All right, father. I can ride Dolly, I suppose? I’ll enjoy having a gallop this morning.”