02 Morning at Jalna by Mazo de La Roche Read Free Book Online Page B

impulse. Sometimes good. Sometimes bad.”
    In her soft voice Annabelle said: “Ah reckon you’se good, Tite.”
    “Why?” he laughed.
    “You’s so educated.”
    “That doesn’t matter. We’re happy together. As for my education — what chance has an Indian got? Any more than a Negro.”
    “Ah’m part white. My grandfather was a white man. My grandmother was just his slave. But she was pretty.”
    “And so are you, Belle — pretty as a picture.”
    She moved closer to him. He could smell her warm dark flesh and cheap perfume.
    “Tite,” she whispered, “do you love de Lawd?”
    He was startled but he asked, “Do you want me to love Him, Belle?”
    “Ah certainly does. Ah’m religious. All us three — Jerry, Cindy, and me — enjoy a good meetin’. Next to a weddin’ or a funeral.”
    Tite, after a moment’s hesitation, said, in a voice that thrilled the emotional girl, “I too am religious.”
    “You ain’t a Catholic, are you?”
    “What made you think I might be?”
    “Well, you said you was part French.”
    “What denomination do you belong to, Belle?”
    “Ah’m a sort of Baptist. But I enjoy any sort of revival meetin’.”
    “So do I,” Tite said fervently.
    The girl said, in her soft thick accents, “There’s over thirty of us coloured folk in these parts. There’s a preacher among us. Cap’n Whiteoak, he’s lent us a nice clean hayloft for meetin’s. We’re havin’ one on Sunday. We’ll sing and pray for the South, ’cause we want to go home again. Will you come to the meetin’, Tite?”
    “I’ll be delighted,” said Tite, imitating Wilmott’s manner. He put his arm about the girl. Dusky cheek to cheek, they listened to the singing of the stream.
    “Does religion mean more to you than love?” he asked, running his hand through her curls, for her hair was not woolly.
    “Way more,” she murmured.
    He felt a little rebuffed. “Why?” he asked. “Surely a pretty girl longs for love.”
    “Ah likes the love of a man,” came the answer, “but Ah clings to the love of de Lawd.”
    “So do I,” said Tite fervently.
    The following morning he raised his eyes from the fish he was scaling and announced to Wilmott, “I’ve got religion, Boss.” His serious tone was scarcely matched by the expression of his eyes, for two fish-scales clung to his long lashes.
    Wilmott looked down at him doubtfully. “What has brought that about?” he asked.
    Tite winked the fish-scales from his eyelashes.
    “I’ve felt the need of it for a long time, Boss,” he said. “And when I was wandering solitary in the darkness, it struck me like a blinding light.”
    “I hope it will be good for you,” Wilmott said without conviction.
    “I’m sure it will, Boss. A man cannot live by fish alone.”
    “You had better go and tell this to Mr. Pink, the rector,” said Wilmott.
    “Can’t you advise me, Boss?”
    “I don’t consider myself competent for that. Better go to the rector.”
    “But, Boss, I’ve never been baptized or confirmed. He’d likely want to do both to me.”
    “Do as you please,” said Wilmott, and left him.
    In spite of Wilmott’s guardianship, Tite was accustomed to do as he pleased. Now it was his pleasure to seek out Mr. Pink, the rector of the small church that had been built by the Whiteoaks. It was but one of two country churches in Mr. Pink’s spiritual care. Here, beside it, was the rectory, almost as large as the church. Mr. Pink was sitting in the porch enjoying his mid-morning pipe. At the half-breed’s approach he gave him a friendly nod and said:
    “You are Titus Sharrow, aren’t you?”
    “Yes, sir,” Tite answered, in his gentle polite voice. “I have come to ask you a religious question.”
    The rector looked at him keenly. “Yes? Go ahead.”
    “Please tell me,” said Tite, “whether unbelief is a sin.”
    “We all sin in that way, for none of us believes as completely as he should.”
    “How much do you believe, Mr.