On going back to Nancy’s cottage, Kenneth gave her a restorative and endeavoured to relieve her suffering. She began to revive after a few minutes. In the meantime the neighbours called by Kenneth arrived, and they removed as much as they could of the tar from Nancy’s body. Kenneth then examined her back, finding it covered with long and ugly gashes that bled profusedly. He dressed them and Nancy was arranged as comfortably as possible. He found himself so tired after the hard work and excitement of the day and evening that he was almost ready to drop in his tracks. At the same time he had an uncontrollable desire to find out just what had happened to Nancy Ware. He was almost certain the Ku Klux Klan had done it, but he wanted to hear the story from Nancy’s own lips. The neighbours had gone, with the exception of an evil-looking, elderly woman who had volunteered to remain with Nancy until morning.
After the application of restoratives regularly for an hour, she began to show signs of returning consciousness. Kenneth watched her eagerly. Five minutes later her eyelids fluttered. She gave a low moan—almost a whimper. Suddenly she cried out in the terror of delirium: “Doan let ‘em whip me no mo’! Doan let ’em whip me no mo?!” and writhed in her agony. She struggled to arise but Kenneth, sitting by the side of the bed, managed with the aid of the other woman to restrain Nancy and calm her. Afterwards she became more rational. Her eyes opened. In them was a gleam of recognition of Kenneth and he knew she was regaining consciousness.
Another wait. Then, at Kenneth’s questioning, she began to tell what had happened. For weeks he had thought but little of her and the tragedy that had taken place in this same house, other events having crowded it out of his mind.
“Doc, you won’t let ’em get me again, will you?” she pleaded with a whimper like a child’s. Kenneth assured her he wouldn’t.
“Doc, I ain’t done nuthin’ t’ them Kluxers. Hones’ t’ Gawd, I ain’t.” Kenneth told her soothingly that he knew she hadn’t.
“I was jes’ sittin’ here tendin’ to my own business when dey come a rap on de do’. W’en I open de do’, dere wuz two o; dem Kluxers standin’ dere—befo’ I could holler dey grab me and put a rag in my mouf.” A shudder passed through her body as the terror came back to her at the memory of what she had been through.
“Dey put me in a automobile and ca’ied me way out yonder in de woods by de fact’ry. Dey pull all my clo’es off me and den dey whip me till I couldn’ stan’ up no mo’. Den dey tell me I been talkin’ too much. Doc, I ain’t said a word t’ nobdy ‘cept dat dey oughter do somethin’t that man George Parker for killin’ my man Bud. … Den dey po’ed tar all over me and kick me and spit on me some mo’. … Said I oughter had mo’ sense dan t’ talk ’bout no white gemmen. Oh—oh—oh—ain’t dey nothin’ to he’p us po’ cullud fo’ks—ain’t dey nobody—ain’t dey nobody?”
It was just as Kenneth had suspected. Good God, and these were the self-elected defenders of morals in the South! What if Nancy wasn’t all that she should have been?—whose was the greater fault—hers or George Parker’s? He could see him now in the bank—smug, a hypocritical smile on his face, talking about what the white people have got to do to stop these troublesome “niggers” from getting too cheeky—about protecting “pure” Southern womanhood from attacks by “black, burly brutes.” And the Klan with all its boasted and advertised chivalry—twenty or thirty strong men to beat up and maltreat one lone woman, because she “talked too much” about the brutal, cold-blooded murder of her husband! Kenneth’s optimism over the organization of the cooperative societies began to cool—in its stead there came a blind, unreasoning hatred and furious rage against the men who had done this deed to Nancy Ware. God, but he would have given anything he owned to get them all together and kill them one by one—slowly, with all the tortures he could devise! The damned, cowardly devils! The filthy, smug-faced hypocrites!
Nancy was resting easily Kenneth, shaken by the fury of his anger, more devastating because he knew that he could do nothing but hurl silent imprecations on the heads of those who had done this deed—impotent because his skin was black and he lived in the South—went home to roll and toss during the few hours of the night which remained before he took the train to Atlanta.