She opened the door into the library and he followed; she could feel his hand tremble, and his eyes were pleading and full of terror. The light chatter and laughter in the dining room followed them.
“Sick?” and his eyes searched her face for reply, but she slowly shook her head and he caught his breath in a sob, as he whispered: “Daid! My baby, oh––”
“Sh-h! He’s alive––your boy. It’s worse than that, maybe––and they never let you know! Mr. Larue had gone down to Mexico, and the overseer has published all his slaves to be sold––all sold, and your child––your little boy––”
“God A’mighty!”
He was silent after that half-whispered ejaculation. His face was covered with his hands, while the woman stood regarding him, a world of pity in her eyes.
“They can’t sell Zekal,” he said, at last, looking up. “Mahs Larue tole me plain he give me chance. I got some o’ the money, that eighteen dollah I paid on Rosa’s freedom––that gwine be counted in––then I got most nine dollah ’sides that yet, an’ I gwine Mahs Jean Larue an’ go down my knees fo’ that boy, I will! He only pickaninny, my Zekal, an’ I promise Rosa ’fore she died our boy gwine be free; so I gwine Mahs Larue, I––”
Margeret shook her head.
“He’s gone, I tell you––gone to Mexico, more miles away than you could count; sold to the sugar plantation and left the colored folks for lawyer and overseer to sell. They all to be sold––a sale bill came to Loringwood yesterday. Men 235 like overseers and lawyers never take account of one little pickaninny among a hundred. One same as another to them––one same as another!”
Her voice broke and she covered her face with her hands, rocking from side to side, overcome by memories of what had been. Pluto looked at her and realized from his own misery what hers had been. Again the laughter and tinkle of tea things drifted in to them; some one was telling a story, and then the laughter came more clearly. Pluto listened, and his face grew hard, brutish in its sullen hate.
“And they can laugh,” he muttered, sullenly, “while my baby––my Rosa’s baby––is sold to the traders, sold away where I nevah can find him again; sold while the white folks laugh an’ make merry,” and he raised his hand above his head in a fury of suppressed rage. “A curse on every one of them! a curse––”