But there still remained the question of her father’s property and her father’s will. This woman was her father’s child—of that there could be no doubt, it was written in her features no less than in her father’s will. As his lawful child—of which, alas! there could also be no question—she was entitled by law to half his estate. Mrs. Carteret’s problem had sunk from the realm of sentiment to that of material things, which, curiously enough, she found much more difficult. For, while the negro, by the traditions of her people, was barred from the world of sentiment, his rights of property were recognized. The question had become, with Mrs. Carteret, a question of meum and tuum. Had the girl Janet been poor, ignorant, or degraded, as might well have been her fate, Mrs. Carteret might have felt a vicarious remorse for her aunt’s suppression of the papers; but fate had compensated Janet for the loss; she had been educated, she had married well; she had not suffered for lack of the money of which she had been defrauded, and did not need it now. She had a child, it is true, but this child’s career would be so circumscribed by the accident of color that too much wealth would only be a source of unhappiness; to her own child, on the contrary, it would open every door of life.
It would be too lengthy a task to follow the mind and conscience of this much-tried lady in their intricate workings upon this difficult problem; for she had a mind as logical as any woman’s, and a conscience which she wished to keep void of offense. She had to confront a situation involving the element of race, upon which the moral standards of her people were hopelessly confused. Mrs. Carteret reached the conclusion, ere daylight dawned, that she would be silent upon the subject of her father’s second marriage. Neither party had wished it known—neither Julia nor her father—and she would respect her father’s wishes. To act otherwise would be to defeat his will, to make known what he had carefully concealed, and to give Janet a claim of title to one half her father’s estate, while he had only meant her to have the ten thousand dollars named in the will.
By the same reasoning, she must carry out her father’s will in respect to this bequest. Here there was another difficulty. The mining investment into which they had entered shortly after the birth of little Dodie had tied up so much of her property that it would have been difficult to procure ten thousand dollars immediately; while a demand for half the property at once would mean bankruptcy and ruin. Moreover, upon what ground could she offer her sister any sum of money whatever? So sudden a change of heart, after so many years of silence, would raise the presumption of some right on the part of Janet in her father’s estate. Suspicion once aroused, it might be possible to trace this hidden marriage, and establish it by legal proof. The marriage once verified, the claim for half the estate could not be denied. She could not plead her father’s will to the contrary, for this would be to acknowledge the suppression of the will, in itself a criminal act.
There was, however, a way of escape. This hospital which had recently been opened was the personal property of her sister’s husband. Some time in the future, when their investments matured, she would present to the hospital a sum of money equal to the amount her father had meant his colored daughter to have. Thus indirectly both her father’s will and her own conscience would be satisfied.
Mrs. Carteret had reached this comfortable conclusion, and was falling asleep, when her attention was again drawn by her child’s breathing. She took it in her own arms and soon fell asleep.
“By the way, Olivia,” said the major, when leaving the house next morning for the office, “if you have any business down town today, transact it this forenoon. Under no circumstances must you or Clara or the baby leave the house after midday.”
“Why, what’s the matter, Phil?”
“Nothing to alarm you, except that there may be a little political demonstration which may render the streets unsafe. You are not to say anything about it where the servants might hear.”
“Will there be any danger for you, Phil?” she demanded with alarm.
“Not the slightest, Olivia dear. No one will be harmed; but it is best for ladies and children to stay indoors.”
Mrs. Carteret’s nerves were still more or less unstrung from her mental struggles of the night, and the memory of her dream came to her like a dim foreboding of misfortune. As though in sympathy with its mother’s feelings, the baby did not seem as well as usual. The new nurse was by no means an ideal nurse—Mammy Jane understood the child much better. If there should be any trouble with the negroes, toward which her husband’s remark seemed to point—she knew the general political situation, though not informed in regard to her husband’s plans—she would like to have Mammy Jane near her, where the old nurse might be protected from danger or alarm.
With this end in view she dispatched the nurse, shortly after breakfast, to Mammy Jane’s house in the negro settlement on the other side of the town, with a message asking the old woman to
