It was our own Papa who told Walter about that. Papa knows about these things, he always has these sure-fire ideas that he can't act on. There are still Indians out there today, but Papa declares that Indians will be no problem, there aren't enough of them to stand in the way of planters who mean business. Walter rode that wild country a lot in his cow hunter days, and says that the Indians' grown-over plantations have the richest soil anywhere south of the Calusa Hatchee.
The main problem will be getting the produce to market. From Deep Lake it is a terrible distance across the Cypress to Fort Myers but only thirteen miles south to the Storter docks at Everglade, and Mr. Roach feels that a Deep Lake-Everglade rail line might be just the answer. (And to whom does John Roach credit
Papa has earned a fine reputation as a planter, his 'Island Pride' syrup, which he sells wholesale in Tampa, is already famous in these parts. One day Mr. Roach chanced to tell Walter what a pity it was that E.J. Watson was confined to forty acres in the Islands, considering what such an inspired farmer could do with those two hundred black loam acres at Deep Lake. But when I asked if there might not be some way that he could join their business, Walter shook his head. 'It may be best if your daddy stays in Monroe County'-that was all he said.
The first time Walter met Papa was on Capt. Bill Collier's schooner going down to Marco, that time he visited the pineapple plantation. Papa had been in Fort Myers on business. That was in 1895, the year we came from Arkansas to Columbia County, and stayed with Granny Ellen near Fort White. The Langfords and Papa used to get along just fine, that's how T.E. Langford became Mama's doctor. But these days Walter has withdrawn from Papa. Everyone seems to know something that I do not.
Friday last, Papa stopped over at Fort Myers with a cargo of his 'Island Pride,' consigned for Tampa. He took Mama along, and they went to a concert by Minnie Maddern Fiske at the Tampa Theater! Mama did not really wish to go, she is feeling poorly these days and looking very old for thirty-six. No one seems to know whether poor spirits or poor health gives that scary yellow-gray cast to her skin. But she took advantage of some episode in Tampa- some drunken sally yelled across the street-to warn poor Papa that his presence at the wedding might cause difficulties.
'He refuses to be banished from his daughter's wedding,' Mama sighed when she came home. 'He refuses to bow to these provincial people.' She was very tense, and so was I, all the more so now that Papa knew and was so angry. For such a self-confident, strong man, Mama says, our Papa's feelings are hurt easily, though he is too proud to wince, he only squints. For all his jollity, he keeps his feelings private.
Before heading south, Papa took me for a walk, nodding in his courtly way to everyone we met. He is such a strong vigorous mettlesome man with his snapping blue eyes and bristling beard, stepping out smartly down Riverside Avenue with his adoring daughter on his arm, as handsomely tailored and well-groomed as any man in town. If Papa has anything to be ashamed about, he doesn't show it. He looks the world right in the eye with that kindly crinkle and ironic smile, knowing what our busybodies must be thinking!
I finally asked if he knew about
At first I didn't see he'd made a joke, and then my laugh came like a shriek because his strange and still expression had unnerved me. When he makes such jokes, there's a bareness in his eyes, one has no idea at all what he is thinking. He watched me laugh until, desperate to stop, I got the hiccups. Not until I'd finished did he smile just a little as we walked along-not amused by his own joke, not really, but by something else. We didn't speak about the book again.
Papa confessed that, at the start, he'd been dead set against the wedding, not because he disapproved of Walter (he likes Walter well enough, everyone does), but because he disliked any meddling in our life by Captain Cole, who has appointed himself spokesman for the Langfords now that Walter's father is so ill. This damnable Jim Cole, he said, seemed to regard Ed Watson's daughter as a piece of negotiable property-'like some nigger slave wench!' Papa exclaimed. (Mama tries to persuade him to say 'darkie' but he just ignores her.)
Out of breath with sudden anger, he stopped on the sidewalk. Is my lovely little Carrie to be led to the altar like some sacrificial virgin just to restore respectability to the Watson family? Because this family is already a damn sight more respectable than some damned cracker clan from Suwannee County! And he set off on one of his tirades about how his forebears had been landed gentry, about how Rob's namesake, Colonel Robert Briggs Watson, was a decorated hero, wounded at Gettysburg-all those old honors that obsess poor Papa-while I glanced nervously up and down, alarmed because some passerby might overhear.
Papa calmed down then and apologized for all his cussing. It was too long, said he, since his knees had suffered the chastisement of a hard church floor. All the same, the very mention of Jim Cole and his insinuations-he made me laugh with a deadly imitation of that mud-thick drawl-got him furious. I'll grab that gut-sprung cracker by the seat of his pants and march him down the street and horsewhip him, growled Papa, right in front of this whole mealy-mouthed town!
Not long before, a cattle rustler out in Hendry County had stung up Mr. Cole with a few shotgun pellets. Too bad that hombre didn't know his business, Papa said, with a very hard expression.
We walked along toward Whiskey Creek in silence. Papa knew what I was thinking, always had and always would. Soon he said in a cold formal voice that he had consented to this marriage because it was beneficial to our family. He stopped short, took my arm from his, and faced me. 'I gave in, Carrie, I accepted their conditions. I am not in a position, not today, to dictate my own terms. But one day I shall be, you may count on it. I intend to protect my family
I told him I was not quite clear about who 'they' were, and he brooded a moment, then he growled, 'This marriage is best for you, too, daughter, take my word for it.' His expression stopped me when I tried to speak-'Please let me finish!' He squinted and muttered a little longer before taking my hands in his with great formality. 'Don't ask your own father to stay away, you hear? I
'Don't blame Mama,' I said. 'It's my weakness, too-!'
'Your Mama is not weak,' he said sharply. 'She is merely frail. A weak woman would not have faced me as she did. No, she is strong!'
I was sobbing, I was so ashamed, and still I tried hard to pretend that what I wept over was his decision to stay away. His hope had risen once again, yes, I saw it, for he waited a moment, eyes wide as a child's. When I did not try to change his mind, he nodded as if everything had come out for the best, which made me sob anew and all the harder.
'And Rob?' I sniffled. 'Will Rob come?'
'No, he will not.'
This curtness was all the punishment he ever gave me. He was not reproachful, but he peered into my eyes, squeezing my fingers urgently in his hard brown hands. 'I shall always be very careful in Fort Myers, Carrie,' he said. 'Please tell your mother that, as well.' He squeezed my hands hard as he spoke, until he hurt me.
He released my hands, and we walked back to the boat without a word. I thought of my tomboy days at Chatham Bend, and Henry Thompson's wandering eyes, and how Papa would growl that he'd tie net weights to my skirts if I climbed trees!
A darkness descended on my heart, but I would not let it in. After the
I was jumping on the riverbank like some distracted thing, waving both arms to summon enough love to banish so much bewilderment and hurt. Seeing me, poor scowling Rob straightened and stared. When Papa bellowed from the helm, he lifted his hand a little and went on back to coiling up the lines.
HENRY THOMPSON
