CHAPTER 22

Shunned by Society

The people of the Cracker’s Neck settlement were a gay carefree bunch, believing in fun and pastime, so it was frequently that big frolics were held in the homes of the families of that section, who had once recognized Captain Newt.

But since all this “negro talk,” his family was omitted from the invitation list, and the church was about the only place that was open to Miss Molly.

However, she had a cousin, by the same name, who still dropped by Newt’s house occasionally, and it was he who offered Molly an opportunity to attend one of these affairs.

At the homes where the functions were held, the young men of the household cut and piled wood high on the scaffolds in the chimney corner, just outside and beneath the window. And much more was cut and wheelbarrowed up to the front porch, where it was stacked in preparation for the big dance.

Always the preparation was the same as that made in advance of a big snow, because the fire would be kept blazing all night.

Armloads of split “fat lightered” kindling was cut and brought in along with “lightered knots” to mend the flame for added light.

There was preparation among the ladies of the home also, for the guests must be served. Many would arrive before supper, sometime during the afternoon of the day before the event, and there was much cooking to be done.

Molasses taffy was made and pulled by buttered hands (to keep the candy from sticking) into long slender brittle sticks, for the “candy breaking.”

Peanuts were washed and dried to be parched or boiled in salted water, to be eaten before the fire.

For days, the meal bran had been saved from sifting the meal, to scatter on the plank floors, to make them “slick” for the dancers’ feet.

The old fiddlers were all invited, and each fiddler, in turn, invited a “straw-beater” to accompany the banjos.

By midday on the date of the big dance, groups of young people, lads in Sunday best, and pretty girls, “a’ sittin’ side-saddles” were riding from distant settlements. From Ellisville, from down about the Seminary, from Sullivan’s Hollow, out about Williamsburg, and from up above where Soso now is, to be there by nightfall, or before, for the big occasion.

Corn was already in the troughs for the visitors’ horses, shucked days ahead by the farm boys, and everything and everybody was “in tune.”

There was also great preparation at Newt’s house, for Molly was invited!

She did not bother to tell her parents by whom she had been invited. The fact that she was going was enough!

Rachel had been summoned to assist, which she did, with deft hands.

Rachel liked to boast that she had been a lady’s maid before she came to the Knights.

Molly’s side-saddle was brought out and shined, and her horse was brushed and curried by the faithful Jeff.

Georgianne was a paid servant in the house, and she had been marvelously taught by Rachel.

The younger negroes brought green oak limbs to burn into red coals for Georgianne to have handy to heat the flat irons to iron the petticoats that her mistress would wear to the dance.

She starched the bottom layers of the skirts until they were stiff enough to stand alone on the floor after they had been ironed.

The sweet scorched cedar and melting bee’s wax filled the room with a wonderful aroma, imparting a faint sweetness to the garments, as Georgianne rubbed the hot iron, first over the piece of bee’s wax, to make it smooth and then over the fresh green cedar leaves, placed over the “ironin’ rag” at the end of the board. There must be no trace of a spot on the dainty garments! And no Chinese was as flawless as Georgianne.

The other four or five petticoats were dainty and flimsy, and were worn as ornamentation and fashion rather than as a necessity.

When her escort arrived, Molly was waiting in high spirits. This was her big chance to get even with the girls who had shunned her back at old Mount Olive. This was her chance to meet the men she wished to ensnare with her radiant beauty!

Many admiring eyes watched her as she rode away. Although Rachel and her quadroon daughters hated Serena, they loved Miss Molly, and they were happy because she was happy.

It was early fall. Cotton was opening in the fields, and the fodder had been pulled. Drying bundles, tied to the bare cornstalks, rustled in the night wind. The sweet odor of autumn filled the air. Outside the zigzag rail fencerow by which the road led, the purple asters and the goldenrod waved.

As Molly passed, she felt that they were waving to her. Funny that she had never noticed their personalities before! But they were gay! The whole world was gay and bright! And there was the brilliant red of the shoemake, almost black in the early dusk, nodding!

Molly had never felt like this before.

The conversation of the two riders was light and gay, as gay as the wild flowers, which they were passing, as they rode along in the waning light.

Presently, the house came into view. The bright fire burning upon the hearth threw long rosy panels of light out through the open doors and windows. Across them flitted the shadows of the dancers inside. Gay laughter was mingled with the strains of the fiddle.

Molly’s heart beat faster. Her gay patter ceased.

The dark bulk of horses loomed before them as they rode up into the lane. Some so tired from hard riding, they were content to stand still and motionless, while others pawed. And nearby in the lane, a horse who would rub off his bridle was hitched to a swinging limb.

“I had a piece a’ pie, I had a piece a’ pudd’n’, but I gave it all away fer tuh see Sally Good’n’,” sang a young blade, in a high ringing voice, to the accompaniment of the fiddles.

That one was a favorite, and so was the “Old Cacklin’ Hen,” and “No Hell in Georgia,” and “Cotton Eye Joe.”

Inside, amid the gaiety, a group was forming into positions as an old quadrille tune was struck up by the musicians.

Breathless with eager suspense, and a sensation akin to fear, Molly entered the open door. An uneasy tightness seized her throat at the recollection of the tilted hoops that swept aside the skirts of haughty ladies, before her presence, back there once at a concert at Mount Olive, and a flood of color rushed to her cheeks.

This would be different, she thought, surely here among many strangers, she would be cordially accepted.

But poor Molly! As she entered, many faces were turned in her direction, and a hush fell upon the room.

Molly was introduced to several of the young men nearest the door, and before the introductions were over, ladies were whispering.

The room was too warm, as it was not yet cool enough for a big fire, but Molly and her cousin joined a group of older people before the hearth.

Beads of perspiration stood out on the foreheads of dancers and fiddlers. The dancing stopped. Of course, thought Molly, it was only the heat. Too warm for dancing.

But nearby two young women were talking quite audibly.

“I will not get on the floor, if she does,” said one.

The other replied, “No. Lest we be classed as she. ‘Birds of a feather, flock together’ is a true saying, and we’ll not be flocking.”

They couldn’t be talking about me, Molly thought. So she brushed her uneasiness aside, and flashed her beautiful smile, as her partner swept her out on the floor.

Molly danced in a state of happy abandon. Forgotten was the unpleasant past. Forgotten were the family troubles at home. Forgotten were the mixed-people, who were neither white nor negro, back there on her father’s farm.

The word was passed from one to another that the young woman who was gaining all the attention and the admiration of the men was Captain Newt Knight’s daughter.

Molly was having such a wonderful time, she paid no attention to the other girls leaving the floor, one by one, until only she and two others were taking part in the evening’s pleasure. The last two were escorted from the floor. Then Molly’s partner drew her aside.

Beside him, she stood radiant and beautiful, near a group of other girls who were sitting out the dance. It must surely have been maliciousness that caused one girl to say to another, “Negro blood. I thought everyone here knew that Newt Knight’s daughter is part negro.”

“Oh, you must be mistaken,” said her friend, “they say the daughters of him who are part negro are much prettier than this one.”

“You can’t be sure which is which,” replied the first girl, “for they are all one family living up there together—”

Molly could not help hearing what was said.

She touched the young man’s arm with one hand, the other she clasped over her heart, and together they rushed out of the room into the cool darkness outside.

Perhaps he had heard too. No word was spoken. Her heart was pounding loudly as she stood very near, so near, a damp wisp of her fragrantly scented hair brushed his cheek.

He drew her beneath the clump of myrtle trees, where there was a low-limbed cedar sheilding them from view.

Molly’s hurt turned into a bitterness which filled her with a recklessness that she had never known. She leaned nearer, her soft body touching his, determined to ensnare men by the age-old method, and there alone in the dark, sheltered by the cold stars of the heavens, she melted into his arms. His lips sought hers.

Another girl’s young man had succumbed to the wiles of the Tempter, intoxicated by the atmosphere of the night, which was heavy-laden with the scent of horses, saddle-leather, smoke from wood fires, and the new-mown hay in the barn, mingled with the freshness of the dainty Molly. He could not resist her closeness, and … Molly was launched out upon a career of prostitution.

Other men took Molly for other walks, and she felt that this was vengeance wrought upon the hated females of her acquaintance.

Now that she had taken the fatal step, Molly knew that she would never be alone. She knew that men would ride over the trails seeking her.

What other women said, or thought, made no difference now. And she returned to her father’s house, a changed and bitter woman.

But she was too fond of her father to add her grievances to his, for she knew that he was staggering under the heaviest load that a man ever carried. It was all unraveling to her now.

She could understand his strange silences. She knew that he was burdened by many cares which he had kept secret in order to spare her and his other children.

She knew that her mother no longer loved her father, as a result of the friction over Rachel’s family, and she knew that Serena’s accusations were false and unfounded. So she decided to stick to Newt, through thick and thin, because he was the only friend she had in the world.