Atonement
Three months had flown. It was Spring again, and Zora sat in the transformed swamp‚ÅÝ‚Äînow a swamp in name only‚ÅÝ‚Äîbeneath the great oak, dreaming. And what she dreamed there in the golden day she dared not formulate even to her own soul. She rose with a start, for there was work to do. Aunt Rachel was ill, and Emma went daily to attend her; today, as she came back, she brought news that Colonel Cresswell, who had been unwell for several days, was worse. She must send Emma up to help, and as she started toward the school she glanced toward the Cresswell Oaks and saw the armchair of its master on the pillared porch.
Colonel Cresswell sat in his chair on the porch, alone. As far as he could see, there was no human soul. His eyes were bloodshot, his cheeks sunken, and his breath came in painful gasps. A sort of terror shook him until he heard the distant songs of black folk in the fields. He sighed, and lying back, closed his eyes and the breath came easier. When he opened them again a white figure was coming up the avenue of the Oaks. He watched it greedily. It was Mary Cresswell, and she started when she saw him.
“You are worse, father?” she asked.
“Worse and better,” he replied, smiling cynically. Then suddenly he announced: “I’ve made my will.”
‚ÄúWhy‚ÅÝ‚Äîwhy‚ÅÝ‚Äî‚Äù she stammered.
“Why?” sharply. “Because I’m going to die.”
She said nothing. He smiled and continued: