“And the poor woman’s child?” he asked, after a little.
“Mahs Matt done send her down to Mahs Larue’s Georgy plantation, an’ we all nevah seen her no mo’. Mahs Larue done sold that Georgy plantation ’bout five yeahs back an’ move up fo’ good on one his wife own up heah. An’ little while back I hear tell they gwine sell it, too, an’ flit way cross to Mexico somewhah. This heah war jest broke them up a’ready.”
“And the child was sold?––do you mean that?”
“Deed we all nevah got a sure story o’ what come o’ that baby; only when Retta come back Mahs Matt tell her little Rhoda dead long time ago––dead down in Georgy, an’ no one evah heah her ask a word from that day to this. But one Larue’s niggahs tole me”––and the voice and manner of Nelse took on a grotesquely impressive air––“they done raise a mighty handsome chile ’bout that time what was called Rhoda, an’ she went to ferren parts with Mahs Larue an’ his family an’ didn’t nevah come back, no mo’, an’ Mahs Matt raise some sort o’ big row with Mahs Jean Larue ovah that gal, an’ they nevah was friends no mo’. To be suah maybe that niggah lied––I don’t know. But he let on as how 167 Mars Larue say that gal gwine to fetch a fancy price some day, an’ I thought right off how Mahs Matt said Retta boun’ to fetch a fancy price in Orleans; an’ taken’ it all roun’ I reckoned it jest as well Retta keep on thinken’ that chile died.”
Delaven agreed. From the house he could hear the ladies talking, and Evilena’s laugh sang out clear as a bird’s song. He wondered if they also knew the story of the silent deft-handed bondwoman?––but concluded it was scarcely likely. Mrs. Nesbitt might know something of it, but who could tell Tom Loring’s daughter?––and Evilena, of course, was too much of a child.
“I should like to see the picture you spoke of,” he said at last, “the small one the painter left.”
“I reckon that picture done sent away with little Rhoda’s things. I ain’t nevah heard tell of it since that time. But it don’t look a mite like her now. All the red gone out o’ her cheeks an’ lips, all the shine out o’ her eyes, an’ her long brown hair has mo’ white than brown in it these days. This woman Marg’ret ain’t Retta; they jest as yo’ might say two different women;” then, after a pause, “any othah thing you want ask me, sah? I see Jedge Clarkson comen’ this way.”
“No, that is all; thank you, old fellow.”
He left Nelse ducking his head and fingering a new coin, while he sauntered to meet the Judge.
“How much he give you, Uncle Nelse?” asked a guarded voice back of the old man, and he nearly fell over backwards in his fright. A large, middle-aged colored man arose from the tall grass, where he has been hidden under the bank.