Eleven: The Flowering Of The Fleece
"Zora," observed Miss Smith, "it's a great blessing not to need spectacles, isn't it?"
Zora thought that it was; but she was wondering just what spectacles had to do with the complaint she had brought to the office from Miss Taylor.
"I'm always losing my glasses and they get dirty and—Oh, dear! now where is that paper?"
Zora pointed silently to the complaint.
"No, not that—another paper. It must be in my room. Don't you want to come up and help me look?"
They went up to the clean, bare room, with its white iron bed, its cool, spotless shades and shining windows. Zora walked about softly and looked, while Miss Smith quietly searched on desk and bureau, paying no attention to the girl. For the time being she was silent.
"I sometimes wish," she began at length, "I had a bright-eyed girl like you to help me find and place things."
Zora made no comment.
"Sometimes Bles helps me," added Miss Smith, guilefully.
Zora looked sharply at her. "Could I help?" she asked, almost timidly.
"Why, I don't know,"—the answer was deliberate. "There are one or two little things perhaps—"
Placing a hand gently upon Zora's shoulder, she pointed out a few odd tasks, and left the girl busily doing them; then she returned to the office, and threw Miss Taylor's complaint into the waste-basket.
For a week or more Zora slipped in every day and performed the little tasks that Miss Smith laid out: she sorted papers, dusted the bureau, hung a curtain; she did not do the things very well, and she broke some china, but she worked earnestly and quickly, and there was no thought of pay. Then, too, did not Bles praise her with a happy smile, as together, day after day, they stood and watched the black dirt where the Silver Fleece lay planted? She dreamed and sang over that dark field, and again and again appealed to him: "S'pose it shouldn't come up after all?" And he would laugh and say that of course it would come up.One day, when Zora was helping Miss Smith in the bedroom, she paused with her arms full of clothes fresh from the laundry.
"Where shall I put these?"
Miss Smith looked around. "They might go in there," she said, pointing to a door. Zora opened it. A tiny bedroom was disclosed, with one broad window looking toward the swamp; white curtains adorned it, and white hangings draped the plain bureau and wash- stand and the little bed. There was a study table, and a small bookshelf holding a few books, all simple and clean. Zora paused uncertainly, and surveyed the room.
"Sometimes when you're tired and want to be alone you can come up here, Zora," said Miss Smith carelessly. "No one uses this room."
Zora caught her breath sharply, but said nothing. The next day Miss Smith said to her when she came in:
"I'm busy now, dear, but you go up to your little room and read and I'll call."
Zora quietly obeyed. An hour later Miss Smith looked in, then she closed the door lightly and left. Another hour flew by before Zora hurried down.
"I was reading, and I forgot," she said.
"It's all right," returned Miss Smith. "I didn't need you. And any day, after you get all your lessons, I think Miss Taylor will excuse you and let you go to your room and read." Miss Taylor, it transpired, was more than glad.
Day after day Bles and Zora visited the field; but ever the ground lay an unrelieved black beneath the bright sun, and they would go reluctantly home again, today there was much work to be done, and Zora labored steadily and eagerly, never pausing, and gaining in deftness and care.
In the afternoon Bles went to town with the school wagon. A light shower flew up from the south, lingered a while and fled, leaving a fragrance in the air. For a moment Zora paused, and her nostrils quivered; then without a word she slipped down-stairs, glided into the swamp, and sped away to the island. She swung across the tree and a low, delighted cry bubbled on her lips. All the rich, black ground was sprinkled with tender green. She bent above the verdant tenderness and kissed it; then she rushed back, bursting into the room.
"It's come! It's come!—the Silver Fleece!" Miss Smith was startled.
"The Silver Fleece!" she echoed in bewilderment.Zora hesitated. It came over her all at once that this one great all-absorbing thing meant nothing to the gaunt tired-look woman before her.
"Would Bles care if I told?" she asked doubtfully. "No," Miss Smith ventured.
And then the girl crouched at her feet and told the dream and the story. Many factors were involved that were quite foreign to the older woman's nature and training. The recital brought to her New England mind many questions of policy and propriety. And yet, as she looked down upon the dark face, hot with enthusiasm, it all seemed somehow more than right. Slowly and lightly Miss Smith slipped her arm about Zora, and nodded and smiled a perfect understanding. They looked out together into the darkening twilight.
"It is so late and wet and you're tired tonight—don't you think you'd better sleep in your little room?"
Zora sat still. She thought of the noisy flaming cabin and the dark swamp; but a contrasting thought of the white bed made her timid, and slowly she