“That is true, my dear; but it must be that you imagine the prejudice to exist that you mention; surely we have outgrown such ideas, as a race, by this time.”
Dora shook her head obstinately. “I fancied that the Wilsons slighted me tonight, and that they would have been better pleased if John had chosen a Southern girl.”
“You are oversensitive, Dora.”
Dora did not reply, and after a moment’s silence continued: “John said that he had not met a decent-looking woman who was Northern-born, and that when he did see a pretty colored girl on the street he knew without asking that she was a Southerner.”
“That was rather thoughtless in John, but I don’t think he meant to hurt your feelings, daughter.”
“I cannot imagine what has got into him lately; he’s not like himself. Oh, I do wish I was handsome like Sappho Clark! All the men are wild over her.”
“Well, my dear, you don’t harbor hard feelings against Sappho on that account, do you? That would not be like you, Dora, and would grieve me very much.”
“Sappho is the best and dearest girl on earth, and I only hope that Will may be so lucky as to marry her. And, mummy, I hope Will will speak to her right off, so as to get the matter straightened out; there won’t be a blessed man left to us girls if she remains single long.”
Her mother smiled. “Daughter, I want to say just a word to you about our conversation: Don’t allow jealousy to lurk in your heart; don’t brood over unkind words; cast them from you. And I would have you remember, also, that sectional prejudice has always been fostered by the Southern whites among the Negroes to stifle natural feelings of brotherly love among us. Dissension means disunion. Carry these thoughts always in your mind, and act accordingly. Do not allow yourself to be made unhappy.”
Meanwhile on the floor above them Sappho turned restlessly on her pillow, thinking of a noble head and bright dark eyes. She knew that Will Smith loved her. What woman does not feel the subtle intertwining of a kindred spirit linked to her own by the decree of Destiny, long years, perhaps, before either restless soul has entered upon its earthly pilgrimage. She was not happy in her knowledge. Under cover of the friendly darkness she gave up the long struggle for self-control, and indulged in the grief that she knew was hers for all eternity. Oh, for death, the solitude of the grave and self-forgetfulness.
“What have I done, what have I done to suffer thus? To give up all joy, and have only misery for all my life. I love this man; I know it now! I want his love, his care, his protection. I want him through life and beyond the grave, we two as one—my husband. Oh, my God, help me, help me!” Heavy sobs shook her frame. Broken exclamations fell from her lips. “I cannot! It must not be! So good, so noble! Oh, the happiness of home and love! must I be shut from them forever?”
Far into the night the agony of sobs continued. At last with a murmured prayer for help she fell asleep.
X
The Fair
“Boisterous jest and humor unrefined,
That leave, though rough, no painful sting behind;
Warm social joys surround the Negro’s cot.No ennui clouds, no coming cares annoy,
Nor wants nor sorrows check the Negro’s joy.”
The days went on apace at No. 500 D Street, but a spirit of restlessness seemed to pervade the atmosphere; expectancy was on tiptoe. Everyone was absorbed in preparations for the fair. Such a time had not been known for years among the colored people. Every available individual was pressed into the service.
Naturally many factions had arisen, and a fierce but friendly rivalry divided the different societies within the church. Some of these were none too cordial to the outsiders who had joined them, and whom they dubbed in derision “the colored 400.”
“I’d jes’ like to know,” said Sister Mary Jane Robinson, with a hand on each hip, “I’d jes’ like to know who asked the ‘400’ fer eny o’ thar help? I’ve been a member hyar fer more’n thurty years, and this chuch has lived without ’em.” This was one morning directly after service, while the good sisters were waiting for class to begin. As the fair was the all-absorbing topic at present, conversation naturally ended in going over all the interesting details connected with it.
“Lor’, Sis’ Robberson, what mortal diffurunce does it make as long as the chuch gits the money? The mo’ helpers we has the easier it makes it fer we-uns,” replied Sister Scott, as she endeavored to pour oil on the troubled waters. Sister Robinson was a veritable firebrand; she spoke first and thought afterwards.
“Thar’s that Mrs. Willis with her ‘High Chuch’ notions,” continued Sister Robinson. “Sister Smith has made her presidunt of the fine arts and fancy work department. Warn’t eny o’ the members o’ this chuch good enough, an’ they didn’t know enough, did they, to ’tend to that bisiness! Thar’s that pianner an’ that silver set an’ that ar gold watch an’ chain that’s goin’ to be voted fer. Ef that stuff don’t be lef’ right hyar in this chuch thar’s gwine ter be trouble. An’ as fer that dimon’ pin that’s to go to the one who sells the most admission tickets—well, now, ef the hard wurkin’ sisters o’ this chuch what swets over the washtub earnin’ an’ hones’ livin’ don’t desarve it, then what’s the matter? yas, I wants ter know what’s the matter?” Here the irate woman sawed the air with hand and arm as she laid down the law on the back of the nearest settee.
