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Excerpt from Carter Quarterman: A Novel
And then she would tell me, never ceas ing to knit, knit, knit, as she did so, about her own father. He was a man by himself, such a person as makes an impression upon the mind forever, like a picture or a statue, very sharpened, personal, peculiar. He was away from home at Richmond, closing out his tobacco crop, in perfect health, when my mother was nine years old. One beautiful winter afternoon, as my dear mother has told me, at about the same hour of the day, I do suppose, a hundred times, she and her mother standing side by side, distinctly saw him whom they thought absent walking toward them from the front gate, as they stood in the yard admiring the setting of the sun. He had no hat on, and came up to them more slowly than was usual, with a specially grave and thoughtful manner. One or two of the negroes, in passing out to milk the cows, saw him distinctly. But, although they said, How d'ye, Mass Arch 'bald'? Glad to see you back agen, they noticed that he did not make his usual hearty reply; merely walked steadily up to his wife and daughter, and, as they exclaim ed with gladness, and started forward to grasp and kiss him, he gazed lovingly, but with a peculiarly wistful expression, in their faces and vanished!
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