‚ÄúYes, my dear,‚Äù said Mr. ¬ÝMaxwell, whose lands lay next to the Cresswells‚Äô on the northwest, ‚Äúyes, if cotton goes to twelve or thirteen cents as seems probable, I think we can begin the New House‚Äù‚ÅÝ‚Äîfor Mrs. ¬ÝMaxwell‚Äôs cherished dream was a pillared mansion like the Cresswells‚Äô.
Mr. ¬ÝTolliver looked at his house and barns. ‚ÄúWell, daughter, if this crop sells at twelve cents, I‚Äôll be on my feet again, and I won‚Äôt have to sell that land to the nigger school after all. Once out of the clutch of the Cresswells‚ÅÝ‚Äîwell, I think we can have a coat of paint.‚Äù And he laughed as he had not laughed in ten years.
Down in the bottoms west of the swamp a man and woman were figuring painfully on an old slate. He was light brown and she was yellow.
‚ÄúHoney,‚Äù he said tremblingly, ‚ÄúI b‚Äôlieve we can do it‚ÅÝ‚Äîif cotton goes to twelve cents, we can pay the mortgage.‚Äù
Two miles north of the school an old black woman was shouting and waving her arms. “If cotton goes to twelve cents we can pay out and be free!” and she threw her apron over her head and wept, gathering her children in her arms.
But even as she cried a flash and tremor shook the South. Far away to the north a great spider sat weaving his web. The office looked down from the clouds on lower Broadway, and was soft with velvet and leather. Swift, silent messengers hurried in and out, and Mr. ¬ÝEasterly, deciding the time was ripe, called his henchman to him.
‚ÄúTaylor, we‚Äôre ready‚ÅÝ‚Äîgo South.‚Äù
And John Taylor rose, shook hands silently, and went.
As he entered Cresswell’s plantation store three days later, a colored woman with a little boy turned sadly away from the counter.