Part 1 - V. In the Pine Woods.

by Kate Chopin

　　In the Pine Woods.When Grégoire said to Melicent that there was no better woman in theworld than his Aunt Thérèse, “W’en you do like she wants,” thestatement was so incomplete as to leave one in uncomfortable doubt ofthe expediency of venturing within the influence of so exacting anature. True, Thérèse required certain conduct from others, but shewas willing to further its accomplishment by personal efforts, evensacrifices--that could leave no doubt of the pure unselfishness of hermotive. There was hardly a soul at Place-du-Bois who had not felt theforce of her will and yielded to its gentle influence.The picture of Joçint as she had last seen him, stayed with her, tillit gave form to a troubled desire moving her to see him again andspeak with him. He had always been an unruly subject, inclined to asurreptitious defiance of authority. Repeatedly had he been given workon the plantation and as many times dismissed for various causes.Thérèse would have long since removed him had it not been for his oldfather Morico, whose long life spent on the place had established aclaim upon her tolerance.In the late afternoon, when the shadows of the magnolias werestretching in grotesque lengths across the lawn, Thérèse stood waitingfor Uncle Hiram to bring her sleek bay Beauregard around to the front.The dark close fitting habit which she wore lent brilliancy to hersoft blonde coloring; and there was no mark of years about her face orfigure, save the settling of a thoughtful shadow upon the eyes, whichjoys and sorrows that were past and gone had left there.As she rode by the cottage, Melicent came out on the porch to wave alaughing good-bye. The girl was engaged in effacing the simplicity ofher rooms with certain bizarre decorations that seemed the promptingsof a disordered imagination. Yards of fantastic calico had beenbrought up from the store, which Grégoire with hammer and tacks wasamiably forming into impossible designs at the prompting of the girl.The little darkies had been enlisted to bring their contributions ofpalm branches, pine cones, ferns, and bright hued bird wings--and arow of those small recruits stood on the porch, gaping in wide-mouthedadmiration at a sight that stirred within their breasts such remnantof savage instinct as past generations had left there in dormantsurvival.One of the small audience permitted her attention to be drawn for amoment from the gorgeous in-door spectacle, to follow the movements ofher mistress.“Jis’ look Miss T’rèse how she go a lopin’ down de lane. Dere shego--dere she go--now she gone,” and she again became contemplative.Thérèse, after crossing the railroad, for a space kept to the brow ofthe hill where stretched a well defined road, which by almostimperceptible degrees led deeper and always higher into the woods.Presently, leaving this road and turning into a bridle path where anunpracticed eye would have discovered no sign of travel, she rode onuntil reaching a small clearing among the pines, in the center ofwhich stood a very old and weather beaten cabin.Here she dismounted, before Morico knew of her presence, for he satwith his back partly turned to the open door. As she entered andgreeted him, he arose from his chair, all trembling with excitement ather visit; the long white locks, straggling and unkept, falling abouthis brown visage that had grown old and weather beaten with his cabin.Sinking down into his seat--the hide covered chair that had been wornsmooth by years of usefulness--he gazed well pleased at Thérèse, whoseated herself beside him.“Ah, this is quite the handsomest you have made yet, Morico,” she saidaddressing him in French, and taking up the fan that he was curiouslyfashioning of turkey feathers.“I am taking extra pains with it,” he answered, looking complacentlyat his handiwork and smoothing down the glossy feathers with the endsof his withered old fingers. “I thought the American lady down at thehouse might want to buy it.”Thérèse could safely assure him of Melicent’s willingness to seize onthe trophy.Then she asked why Joçint had not been to the house with news of him.“I have had chickens and eggs for you, and no way of sending them.”At mention of his son’s name, the old man’s face clouded withdispleasure and his hand trembled so that he was at some pains toplace the feather which he was at the moment adding to the wideningfan.“Joçint is a bad son, madame, when even you have been able to donothing with him. The trouble that boy has given me no one knows; butlet him not think I am too old to give him a sound drubbing.”Joçint meanwhile had returned from the mill and seeing Thérèse’s horsefastened before his door, was at first inclined to skulk back into thewoods; but an impulse of defiance moved him to enter, and gave to hisugly countenance a look that was far from agreeable as he mumbled agreeting to Thérèse. His father he did not address. The old man lookedfrom son to visitor with feeble expectancy of some good to come fromher presence there.Joçint’s straight and coarse black hair hung in a heavy mop over hislow retreating forehead, almost meeting the ill-defined line ofeyebrow that straggled above small dusky black eyes, that with therest of his physique was an inheritance from his Indian mother.Approaching the safe or _garde manger_, which was the most prominentpiece of furniture in the room, he cut a wedge from the round loaf ofheavy soggy corn bread that he found there, added a layer of fat pork,and proceeded to devour the unpalatable morsel with hungry relish.“That is but poor fare for your old father, Joçint,” said Thérèse,looking steadily at the youth.“Well, I got no chance me, fu’ go fine nuttin in de ’ood” (woods), heanswered purposely in English, to annoy his father who did notunderstand the language.“But you are earning enough to buy him something better; and you knowthere is always plenty at the house that I am willing to spare him.”“I got no chance me fu’ go to de ’ouse neider,” he replieddeliberately, after washing down the scant repast with a long draughtfrom the tin bucket which he had replenished at the cistern beforeentering. He swallowed the water regardless of the “wiggles” whosepresence was plainly visible.“What does he say?” asked Morico scanning Thérèse’s face appealingly.“He only says that work at the mill keeps him a good deal occupied,”she said with attempted carelessness.As she finished speaking, Joçint put on his battered felt hat, andstrode out the back door; his gun on his shoulder and a yellow curfollowing close at his heels.Thérèse remained a while longer with the old man, hearingsympathetically the long drawn story of his troubles, and cheering himas no one else in the world was able to do, then she went away.Joçint was not the only one who had seen Beauregard fastened atMorico’s door. Hosmer was making a tour of inspection that afternoonthrough the woods, and when he came suddenly upon Thérèse some momentsafter she had quitted the cabin, the meeting was not so whollyaccidental as that lady fancied it was.If there could be a situation in which Hosmer felt more than inanother at ease in Thérèse’s company, it was the one in which he foundhimself. There was no need to seek occupation for his hands, thosemembers being sufficiently engaged with the management of his horse.His eyes found legitimate direction in following the various detailswhich a rider is presumed to observe; and his manner freed from thenecessity of self direction took upon itself an ease which wasoccasional enough to mark it as noteworthy.She told him of her visit. At mention of Joçint’s name he reddened:then followed the acknowledgment that the youth in question had causedhim to lose his temper and forget his dignity during the afternoon.“In what way?” asked Thérèse. “It would be better to dismiss him thanto rail at him. He takes reproof badly and is extremely treacherous.”“Mill hands are not plentiful, or I should send him off at once. Oh,he is an unbearable fellow. The men told me of a habit he has ofletting the logs roll off the carriage, causing a good deal ofannoyance and delay in replacing them. I was willing enough to believeit might be accidental, until I caught him today in the very act. I amthankful not to have knocked him down.”Hosmer felt exhilarated. The excitement of his encounter with Joçinthad not yet died away; this softly delicious atmosphere; the subtlearoma of the pines; his unlooked for meeting with Thérèse--allcombined to stir him with unusual emotions.“What a splendid creature Beauregard is,” he said, smoothing theanimal’s glossy mane with the end of his riding whip. The horses werewalking slowly in step, and close together.“Of course he is,” said Thérèse proudly, patting the arched neck ofher favorite. “Beauregard is a blooded animal, remember. He quitethrows poor Nelson in the shade,” looking pityingly at Hosmer’sheavily built iron-grey.“Don’t cast any slurs on Nelson, Mrs. Lafirme. He’s done me servicethat’s worthy of praise--worthy of better treatment than he gets.”“I know. He deserves the best, poor fellow. When you go away youshould turn him out to pasture, and forbid any one to use him.”“It would be a good idea; but--I’m not so certain about going away.”“Oh I beg your pardon. I fancied your movements were directed by someunchangeable laws.”“Like the planets in their orbits? No, there is no absolute need of mygoing; the business which would have called me away can be done asreadily by letter. If I heed my inclination it certainly holds mehere.”“I don’t understand that. It’s natural enough that I should be fond ofthe country; but you--I don’t believe you’ve been away for threemonths, have you? and city life certainly has its attractions.”“It’s beastly,” he answered decidedly. “I greatly prefer thecountry--this country; though I can imagine a condition under which itwould be less agreeable; insupportable, in fact.”He was looking fixedly at Thérèse, who let her eyes rest for aninstant in the unaccustomed light of his, while she asked “and thecondition?”“If you were to go away. Oh! it would take the soul out of my life.”It was now her turn to look in all directions save the one in whichhis glance invited her. At a slight and imperceptible motion of thebridle, well understood by Beauregard, the horse sprang forward into aquick canter, leaving Nelson and his rider to follow as they could.Hosmer overtook her when she stopped to let her horse drink at theside of the hill where the sparkling spring water came trickling fromthe moist rocks, and emptied into the long out-scooped trunk of acypress, that served as trough. The two horses plunged their headsdeep in the clear water; the proud Beauregard quivering withsatisfaction, as arching his neck and shaking off the clingingmoisture, he waited for his more deliberate companion.“Doesn’t it give one a sympathetic pleasure,” said Thérèse, “to seethe relish with which they drink?”“I never thought of it,” replied Hosmer, cynically. His face wasunusually flushed, and diffidence was plainly seizing him again.Thérèse was now completely mistress of herself, and during theremainder of the ride she talked incessantly, giving him no chance formore than the briefest answers.