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| author | www-data <www-data@mail.pglaf.org> | 2025-11-25 10:49:25 -0800 |
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| committer | www-data <www-data@mail.pglaf.org> | 2025-11-25 10:49:25 -0800 |
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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/77332-0.txt b/77332-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..0ff632c --- /dev/null +++ b/77332-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,5406 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77332 *** + + + + +_Green Thursday_ + + + + +[Illustration: + + THE + BORZOI + POCKET BOOKS + + A POPULAR EDITION + OF SOME OF THE + BEST BOOKS OF OUR + OWN AND OTHER AGES. + THE END PAPERS AND + BINDING HAVE BEEN + DESIGNED BY W. A. + DWIGGINS, THE TITLE + PAGE BY ELMER ADLER. + + NEW YORK · ALFRED · A · KNOPF +] + + + + +[Illustration: + + GREEN + THURSDAY + + _Stories by_ + + JULIA PETERKIN + + [Illustration] + + _NEW YORK_ + + ALFRED · A · KNOPF + + 1929 +] + + + + + COPYRIGHT, 1924, BY ALFRED A. KNOPF, INC. + + PUBLISHED SEPTEMBER, 1924 + REPRINTED ONCE + NEW POCKET BOOK EDITION, MAY, 1929 + + MANUFACTURED IN THE UNITED STATES OF + AMERICA + + + + + _To the memory of + Maum Lavinia Berry_ + + + + +_Contents_ + + +ASHES 9 + +GREEN THURSDAY 26 + +MISSIE 50 + +MEETING 62 + +MOUNT PLEASANT 79 + +FINDING PEACE 94 + +THE RED ROOSTER 103 + +TEACHING JIM 115 + +CAT FISH 123 + +SON 132 + +A SUNDAY 143 + +PLUM-BLOSSOMS 170 + + + + +_Ashes_ + + +An old plantation with smooth-planted fields and rich woodlands and +pastures, where little shaded streams run, lies right at the edge of a +low wide swamp. + +Steep red hills, rising sheer above the slimy mud, lift it out of the +reach of two yellow-brown rivers that sprawl drowsily along before they +come together to form one stream. + +The rivers are hidden by huge trees garlanded with tangled vines, and +the swamp seems a soft, undulating, colourful surface that fades into a +low line of faint blue hills far away on the other side. + +Those hills are the outside world, but the swamp is wide and pathless. + +The two rivers commonly lie complacent, but on occasion they rouse and +flood low places with furious, yellow water. They lunge and tear at the +hillsides that hold the plantation above them until their violence is +spent; then they creep back into their rightful channels, leaving other +sodden acres desolate and covered with bent, ruined stalks that show +where fields of cotton and corn were ripe and ready for harvest. + +The old plantation sits always calm. Undisturbed. The rivers can never +reach it. And the outside world may wamble and change, but it cannot +come any nearer. + +Years pass by and leave things unaltered. The same narrow, red roads run +through cotton-and cornfields. The same time-grayed cabins send up +threads of smoke from their red-clay chimneys. Summer brings the same +flowers to bloom around doorways, and china-berry and crape-myrtle +blossoms to drop gay petals on little half-clothed black children. + +Fields lush with cotton and corn are enlivened by bright-turbaned black +women. Sinewy men with soft-stepping bare feet laugh and sing as they +guide patient mules up and down the long rows. + +When winter browns the fields and brings cold winds up from the swamp, +women and children huddle over uncertain fires or gather on sunshiny +doorsteps while the men creep down to the swamp in search of food and +adventure. + +There is nothing to hint that life here could be sweet or that its +current runs free and strong. Winter, summer, birth, death, these seem +to be all. + +The main road on the plantation divides. One straggling, rain-rutted +fork runs along the edge of a field to a cluster of low, weather-beaten +houses grouped under giant red-oak trees. The Quarters, where most of +the black people live. + +The other fork bends with a swift, smooth curve and glides into a grove +of cedars and live-oaks and magnolias, whose dense evergreen branches +hide all beyond them but slight glimpses of white columns and red brick +chimneys. + +Right where the two roads meet is a sycamore tree. Its milk-white +branches reach up to the sky. Its pale, silken leaves glisten and +whisper incomplete cadences in the hot summer sunshine. + +When frost crisps the leaves and stains them and cuts them away, they +flutter down, leaving golden balls to adorn every bough. + +There is hardly a sign of the black, twisted roots. There is not a trace +to be seen of their silent, tense struggle as they grope deep down in +the earth. There is nothing to show how they reach and grapple and hold, +or how in the darkness down among the worms they work out mysterious +chemistries that change damp clay into beauty. + + * * * * * + +A little one-roomed log cabin sitting back from the crooked plantation +road was gray and weather-stained and its shingled roof was green with +moss, but its front was strangely like a cheerful face. + +Its narrow open front door made a nose, at each side a small square +window with a half-open wooden blind made an eye, and the three rickety +steps that led from the door into the front yard made a very good mouth. + +The face was warped and cracked with age, but it looked pleasant in the +bright morning sun. The gnarled crape-myrtle tree that hugged one +corner and almost hid the cabin’s red clay chimney was gay with pink +blossoms. The front yard, divided in the middle by a clean-swept sandy +path, was filled with rich-scented red roses and glossy-leaved gardenia +bushes, whose white, waxen blooms perfumed the air. + +This was old Maum Hannah’s home. Most of the land around her had been +sold. But the space she occupied was very small, she was no trouble to +anybody, and there was really no reason to disturb her. A few hens, a +cow, a patch of peanuts, and a vegetable garden fenced around with +hand-split clap-boards made her independent. The cross-roads store was +not far away, “des a dog’s pant” she called it, and there she exchanged +well-filled peanuts, new-laid eggs, and frying-size chickens for meal +and coffee and plug-cut tobacco. And she was always ready to divide +whatever she had with her friends, or with anybody in need. + +To a stranger her old arms might look weak and withered, but they were +strong enough to wield an ax on the fallen limbs of the trees in the +woods back of the house, and the fire in her open fireplace was never +allowed to go out, summer or winter. + +On this spring morning she sat in a low chair by the fireplace and +warmed her crusty bare feet by the charred sticks that burned smokily +there among the ashes. She held her breakfast in a pan in her lap and +ate slowly while she talked to herself and to the gray cat that lay on +the clay hearth by her feet. The cat opened its eyes and purred lazily +when she spoke, then drowsed again. + +At a sudden rumbling sound outside, the cat jumped up and stretched and +walked slowly to the door to look out. + +“Who dat?” Maum Hannah asked, and she turned to look out too. + +Two strange white men were driving up to the house in a buggy. When they +got out, they hitched the horse to the clap-board garden fence. + +“A nice house spot,” one of them said, looking around him. + +“Yes,” the other agreed, “and the darkies say there’s a fine spring +coming out of the hill right behind the house there.” + +Maum Hannah was a little hard of hearing, but her eyes were keen. She +put down her pan of breakfast and stood in the door. Her astonishment +made her forget her manners, until one of the men called out sociably: + +“Good morning, Auntie.” Then she dropped a low curtsey and answered: + +“Good mawnin’, suh.” + +“We’re just a-lookin’ around a little,” the man continued in an +apologetic tone, for her old eyes, puzzled and alarmed, were fixed on +him. + +“Yes, suh,” she said politely, but she leaned against the door-facing +for support. + +“It must be a healthy place. That old woman looks like she might be a +hundred years old,” one said facetiously, and they both chuckled as +they walked back into the woods behind the house toward the spring. + +Presently Maum Hannah saw them coming back into the front yard. She +watched them step off distances. They drove down a few stakes. When they +had finished, one of them came to the doorstep and held out a silver +coin to her. She bowed gravely as she took it. + +“Buy you some tobacco with this, Auntie,” he drawled, and he turned away +awkwardly. Then he faced her again, and cleared his throat as if +embarrassed. + +“Auntie,” he hesitated, “I hate to tell you this--but you’ll have to +make arrangements to go somewhere else, I reckon.” He did not meet her +eyes. + +“You see,” he continued, “I’ve done bought this place, and I’m goin’ to +build my house right here.” + +Maum Hannah stared at him, but did not reply. + +“Well, good-by,” he added, and the two men got into the buggy and drove +away. + +Maum Hannah watched them until they were out of sight, then she held the +coin out in her wrinkled hand and looked at it. It shone bright against +the dark-lined palm. + +Tears welled up under her shriveled eyelids and hesitated, as if +uncertain which path to take through the maze of wrinkles on her cheeks. +One shining drop fell with a splash on the silver in her hand. With a +sigh she dropped the money into her apron pocket, wiped her eyes with +the corner of her apron and turned inside. Taking a handful of meal from +a large gourd on the shelf by the door, she scattered it on the ground +near the doorstep where a hen with tiny, fluffy chickens around her +clucked and scratched. + + * * * * * + +The very next day, white men with wagonloads of lumber drove into the +yard. They had red, sunburned faces, and their shoes and blue overalls +were worn and dusty. Maum Hannah looked at them. + +“Po-buckra,” she said to the cat. + +The men sawed and hammered and mixed mortar and smoothed it between red +bricks with clinking trowels. Day after day they came. Yellow pine +boards made the air fragrant and soon the frame of a new house cast its +shadow over Maum Hannah’s gardenias and red rose-bushes. + +“I ’f’aid dey gwine stop bloomin’ now,” she said sadly to the cat. + +At last the house was finished. One of the men who first came walked up +the narrow, clean-swept, sandy path and tapped on the side of Maum +Hannah’s house with a stick. She came to the door and listened as he +drawled nasally: + +“Auntie, my house is done now. My folks want to move in next week. +You’ll have to be movin’. You know I told you that at first. We can’t +have you a-livin’ here in our back yard. Of course, if you was young +enough to work, it ’ud be different, but you ain’t able to do nothing. +I’ll need your house anyway to put a cook in. I thought you’d ’a’ done +been gone before now. I told you in time, you know.” + +Maum Hannah listened attentively. She heard only part of what he said, +but she understood. She must go. She must leave home. It was no longer +her home, but _his_. + +Her loose old lips trembled as she bowed in answer to him. + +She did not go to bed that night. She sat in the low chair by the clay +hearth where a pine knot fire wavered and flickered. She filled her cob +pipe and puffed at it briskly until it burned red, then she mumbled to +herself until it died out and grew cold in her fingers. Rousing up, +she’d light it with a fresh coal, smoke for a few puffs, then, absorbed +in her trouble, she’d forget it and let it go out. + +The cat on the hearth looked up and blinked sleepily whenever Maum +Hannah repeated: + +“He say dis _he_ place an’ I haffer go f’om heah. Whe’ I duh gwine? Who +kin tell me dat? Whe’ I duh gwine?” + +There was Killdee. “My niece,” she called him. He was her sister’s son +and her neighbor. Killdee might come and take her to live with him. But +his cabin was very small. Rose’s voice was sharp sometimes. No, she +could not go there. If Margaret were living--or if she knew where any of +her boys were--she might go to them. + +She thought of the peaceful graveyard and lifted her old, wrinkled hands +above her head in prayer. + +“Oh, do, Massa Jedus, he’p me fo’ know wha’ fo’ do. I ain’ got no place +fo’ go. I ain’ got nobody fo’ tell me. I don’ haffer tell You de trouble +I got. You know, I ain’ got nobody fo’ he’p me but You. I know You mus’ +be gwine he’p me. I eber did been do de bes’ I kin. Mebbe sometime I +fail.--But, Jedus! Gawd! I know You couldn’t hab de hea’t to see me +suffer! Widout a place to lay my haid.” She intoned her prayer and +rocked from side to side as she plead for help. + +Then she stood up. Tears ran down her cheeks. + +“Do gi’ me a sign fo’ know wha’ fo’ do. Please, Suh! Do, Massa Jedus! +Gi’ me a sign! All my chillen’s gone an’ lef me heah----” + +Her bony arms were raised high and her knotted fingers held the cold +pipe. Her supplications were emphasized with tense jerks of her arms. +With a start she became conscious that ashes from her pipe were +trickling down through her fingers and falling on the floor. She stopped +and looked at them. + +_Ashes! Cold ashes!_ She had asked for a sign and the sign had come! It +was _ashes_! Plain as the dawn that streaked the East! There was no +doubt of it! + +The thought stimulated her like a drug. She went to the door and looked +out. A young day reddened the East. The sky was red like fire! “Another +sign,” she thought. A sign from Heaven. + +She lifted her arms and, with tears streaming, said softly: + +“Yessuh, Massa Jedus, I understan’ You, Suh. You say it mus’ be _ashes_! +Ashes an’ de fiery cloud! Yessuh, I know wha’ You tell me fo’ do.” + +Without hesitating, she went to the hearth and took up a smoldering +brand of fire. Walking quickly to the front of the new dwelling and +stumbling up the steps, she laid it with trembling hands near the front +door. Then she went back into the yard and gathered up an apronful of +shavings. She sprinkled these carefully on the smoking pine, and knelt +and blew until her breath fanned it into flame. Then she went for more +shavings and blocks of wood. When the fire grew strong, she left it and +went to her own cabin. + +She did not sit down but unlocked a trunk in the corner. + +Selecting a clean white apron from the clothing there, she put it on, +put a stiff-starched white sun-bonnet on her head, and tied the strings +carefully under her chin. Then she locked the trunk again and put the +key in her apron pocket. + +The crackle and the roar of the fire outside was startling, but she made +herself take time. She closed the wooden blinds of the cabin and latched +them on the inside. She pulled the chair away from the hearth, then went +out of the door and closed it and locked it behind her. She stepped +carefully down the steps, walked past the flaming house, and then on, +and on, down the narrow road. + +Once she stopped to look back at the flames that already rose high in +the sky, but she did not change her steady gait. + + * * * * * + +“Jedus! It’s a long way!” she complained when the road got sandy and her +breath became short, but she kept up her pace. + +At last the village came in sight. The open spaces became smaller. Low, +white-painted cottages huddled close together. She walked slower. Then +she stopped and gazed ahead of her, uncertain where to go. + +A man driving a team of mules to a wagon was coming. She waited until he +reached her, then inquired calmly: + +“Son, kin you tell me which-a-away de sheriff lib?” + +“Yes’m,” the man answered. He stood up in the wagon and looked toward +the houses in the little town. + +“You see da’ kinder high-lookin’ house up yonder on da’ hill? De one wid +de big white pillar in f’ont ob’em? Da’s de place. De sheriff lib right +dere.” + +Her eyes followed where he pointed. + +“T’ank you, son,” she said; “Gawd bless you,” and started on toward the +house he indicated. + +The man watched her a minute, then he clucked to his mules to move on. +She was a stranger to him. What did she want with the sheriff? Such an +old woman. He couldn’t imagine. + +The sheriff had just finished breakfast when she reached the back door +and asked to see him. + +“Who is she?” he asked the servant who told him. + +“I dunno, suh,” was the answer. “A old ’oman. Look lak ’e come a long +way. E seem out o’ breat’.” + +The sheriff lit a cigar and went to see for himself. + +“Good morning, Auntie,” he said pleasantly in response to her profound +curtsey. “What can I do for you this morning?” + +The old woman looked at his kind face, and tears came to her eyes. + +“Cap’n sheriff,” she began brokenly, “I too troub-led, suh.” + +Her dry old hands held to each other nervously. + +“I dunno wha’ you gwine do wid me, suh----” She swallowed a sob. “I +reckon you haffer put me on de chain-gang---- I done so ol’, too---- I +wouldn’t be much ’count at you put me on----” + +The sheriff smiled behind his hand. + +“Why, Auntie, what have you been doing?” + +“A po-buckra man de one done it, suh. He de one. I lib all dis time. I +ain’ nebber do nobody a hahm t’ing een my life, not tell dis mawnin’. +No, suh. You kin ax anybody ’bout me, suh, an’ dey’ll tell you de same +t’ing.” + +“Well, what have you done now?” the sheriff insisted. + +She came nearer to him, encouraged by his gentleness. She spoke in a low +tone. + +“Dis is how it been, suh.” She looked around to see that nobody heard, +then began to tell. + +“A po-buckra man come an’ buil’ ’e house right een my front ya’d. ’E say +it _he_ place, now. ’E say I got to go way. I been lib een my house eber +sence I kin ’member. Ol’ Cap’n sell de plantation, but ’e tell me fo’ +stay whe’ I is. I stay. Dis po-buckra man come an’ tell me I mus’ go. +Whe’ I gwine? My peoples is all gone. Mos’ o’ dem a-layin’ een de +grabeya’d. I dunno why Jedus see fitten to leab me heah all dis long +time----” She lifted her apron to wipe her eyes. + +“Las’ night I call on Him, up yonder. I beg ’em fo’ he’p me. Fo’ tell me +wha’ fo’ do. I rassle wid ’em tell ’E gi’ me a sign. Yessuh! ’E answer +me! ’E gi’ me one!” + +Her puckered old face lighted up with emotion. Her voice quivered. + +“’E gi’ me a sign f’on heaben, yessuh. _Ashes! Ashes an’ fire!_ Him up +yonder tell me so!” + +Then she leaned forward and whispered: “I put fire to de man house. I +bu’n ’em down same lak Jedus tell me fo’ do. Yessuh! Den I come right on +heah fo’ tell you I done ’em.” + +“Did your house burn too?” + +“Oh, no, suh. Jedus sen’ a win’ fo’ blow de spark de udder way.” + +“Who are you, Auntie?” The sheriff’s voice was pitying. Gentle. + +“Dis duh me, Hannah Jeems, suh. I one o’ ol’ Mass Richard Jeems’ +niggers, suh. My white folks is all gone. Gone an’ lef’ me. Times was +tight. Dey had to sell de plantation an’ go.” + +She stood before him awaiting sentence with her eyes cast down. + +“You walked all the way here from the James plantation this morning?” + +“Yessuh. Quick ez I set de house on fire, I come heah fo’ tell you, +suh.” + +“Why did you come to tell me?” he asked. + +“Well, suh,” she hesitated and a far-away look filled her eyes, “when I +was a chillen I heah ol’ Mas’s Richard say, de niggers ain’ know, but +_he_ know. De sheriff is de bes’ frien’ de niggers is got een dis worl’, +next to Him and Jedus. Mas’s Richard been a mighty wise man.” + +The sheriff looked at the pathetic figure before him. At the mesh of +fine wrinkles on her face. At the small, black, frightened hands, +clasping and unclasping. At the bare, old, dusty feet. They had walked +many a weary mile since life for them first began. His own clear eyes +became moist. + +“Come on into the kitchen, Auntie. The cook will give you a cup of +coffee and some breakfast. Then, we’ll talk things over.” + +“T’ank you, suh,” she said gravely as she followed him. + +When he reached the door, he faced her again and held up a finger. + +“It’s best not to talk much, Auntie,” he warned her. + +She smiled at him brightly. + +“Ef da man didn’ been a po-buckra ’e wouldn’ do me so,” she said +wistfully. + +His brow was knit as if he were uncertain what to say. + +“Auntie,” he spoke slowly, distinctly, “you believe in the Bible, don’t +you?” + +“Oh, yessuh,” she affirmed solemnly, “I can’ read ’em, but I b’lieb +’em.” + +“Did you ever hear how the Bible says you must not let your right hand +know what your left hand does?” + +“Oh, yessuh,” she said reverently. + +“Can you remember that passage of Scripture? I think you can.” + +She looked at him shrewdly, then she smiled and bowed very low. + +“T’ank you, suh. T’ank you! An’ may Gawd bless you, suh!” + +The sheriff was embarrassed. He cleared his throat and awkwardly flicked +the ashes off his cigar. + +“Auntie,” he hesitated, “I’m thinking about riding up that way this +morning. I might take you back home.” Maum Hannah bowed again. + + * * * * * + +The distance to the cross-roads store was soon covered by the sheriff’s +high-powered car. He stopped. + +“Jim,” he called out to the proprietor, “I hear one of your neighbors +lost his new house by fire last night. Did he have any insurance on it?” + +“Yes, sir,” Jim answered. “Wasn’t he lucky to have it?” + +“How does he think the house caught?” asked the sheriff. + +“He doesn’t know, sir, unless it caught from a spark out of Maum +Hannah’s chimney. It seems she was gone off for the night.” + +“Yes,” said the sheriff, “she came all the way to me hunting for a place +to stay. I’m taking her back home now. She may as well stay on there for +the present, don’t you think so?” + +Jim nodded his head confidently. + +“I tell you, sheriff, I don’t believe anybody’d build a house there +again. It’s a bad-luck place. It always was.” + + * * * * * + +When Maum Hannah got out of the car in front of her home, a great pile +of ashes still smoldered there. She held to the sheriff’s hand with both +of her quivering ones when she told him good-by. + +“Gawd bless you, son! Gawd bless you,” she sobbed gratefully, and bright +tears followed each other down her old cheeks. + +“Come back to me if you ever get in trouble again,” the sheriff told +her. + +“T’ank you kindly, suh,” she answered, “but I ain’ gwine nebber risk +gittin’ in trouble no mo’. Not me.” + +She unlocked her door and fed the cat, and added a few pieces of wood to +the fire; then she scattered meal for the frightened hen and little +chickens. + +When the fire blazed bright, she drew up the little chair before it and +sat down. She was tired. She sat still and smoked and nodded. As she +dozed, she said softly to the cat: + +“Ashes is de bes’ t’ing eber was fo’ roses.” + + + + +_Green Thursday_ + + +The day was bright and hot. Cotton-and cornfields glittered green. +Dancing, quivering heat waves blurred the distant woods and cabins. + +Killdee could not see a single soul anywhere. He was the only man +working to-day. Green Thursday. + +Slowly, steadily, patiently, he walked behind his plow. Up and down the +long rows. Back and forth. Thinking. Reasoning with himself. Was he +right or wrong to work to-day? The day Jesus went back to heaven. + +He watched indifferently the spurts of red dust that rose with each step +his mule took. The ground was dry. Baked. Parched. The stiff clay broke +into clods as the plow’s edge cut through its rigid crust. The lumps of +earth that fell awkwardly away from each other were fettered with tough, +jointed grass. Tense grass roots had burrowed deep. They had wound a +strong net to choke and strangle the crop. They were sucking all the +moisture out of the ground. They were eating all the fertilizer. They’d +leave nothing but starvation for the cotton and corn. + +The grass had to be killed. Every root must be torn up and cut. Every +green blade must be turned under and buried. + +The sun stood blinding white straight overhead. The sun was a friend in +the fight against the grass. Its heat to-day would kill every root that +was cut. + +The long shadow that had started out traveling beside him early this +morning had shortened and darkened until now it crept small and black +right under his feet. It seemed to be trying to hide from the sun. It +must be near noon. Time for Mike and himself to stop and eat and drink +and rest. + +With a low-spoken “Whoa, Mike,” he reined in the tall, bony beast that +he plowed and cast a swift glance up at the sun. Yes, it was noon. He +could tell, although the sun’s brilliance clouded his vision. + +“Le’s go home, Mike,” he said, and he stuck the plow’s point deep into +the earth to stand alone until noon was over. + +The loosened joints of the old plow stock creaked with the strain and +reminded him to be careful how he wrenched them. They were giving out in +the hard fight with the grass. If they came apart, broken, no good, he +had no money to buy new ones. He must remember to be easy with them. + +He unhooked the trace chains from the singletree and tossed them over +Mike’s back. As he slipped the frayed rope lines through the rings in +the bit, Mike’s rib-marked hide swelled with a grateful sigh. Mike’s +long, shaggy neck stretched and his cloudy eyes closed as he gave a +long whicker of approval. + +Killdee laughed. His strong white teeth gleamed through the soft sparse +beard that covered his mouth and chin as he murmured: + +“You hongry, enty, Mike? I is too. Come on. Le’s go home. You got sense +like people, son.” + +He smoothed the rough hair on the hollowed back and stroked the haggard +neck while Mike nibbled at grass in the furrow ahead. + +When Killdee started across the uneven ground toward the line of woods +where a tiny, drab-colored cabin showed dim in the smoky distance, Mike +stopped eating and followed him. + +Killdee scanned the quiet fields. Not a soul was in sight. He and Mike +seemed to be the only living things in the world to-day. + +Small cabins scattered at intervals over the landscape showed no sign of +life at all. Narrow red roads that ran by them were empty. Idle. The day +itself was still. Stiller than Sunday. Green Thursday. Ascension day. +The day Jesus went back to God. + +Maybe it was a holier day than Sunday. + +All Killdee’s life he had heard that to stir the earth on Green Thursday +was a deadly sin. Fields plowed, or even hoed to-day would be struck by +lightning and killed so they couldn’t bear life again. God would send +fire down from heaven to punish men who didn’t respect this day. Yet +here he and Mike were plowing. Risking the wrath of the great I-Am. + +Everybody else on the whole plantation had gone fishing in the river +swamp. Dry weather made the fish bite fast. Rose would have been trying +her luck too if she had been able to walk so far. But it was near time +now for her to “go down.” She wouldn’t risk walking so far from home. + + * * * * * + +Rose asked him to hitch Mike to the wagon and take her and baby Rose to +fish for a while. Meat was mighty scarce and when a woman is pregnant, +fish bite better for her than for anybody else. Rose wanted to go and +try them. She wanted to go even if the crop was eaten up with grass. She +was worried and hurt right now because he and Mike were out in the field +plowing. + +Last night he lay awake and thought it all over. He made up his mind. He +would fight the grass this year to the end. He would make a crop. God +ought to know Rose hadn’t been able to hoe a lick since the crop was +planted. And how old and slow Mike was! Mike couldn’t step fast like the +grass. He never had plowed on Green Thursday before. Never. But this +year he was too far behind to miss a day. God ought to know how it was. + +Clear drops of sweat trickled down Mike’s thin flanks and down Killdee’s +lean black face. Killdee’s faded patched shirt was blotched with +wetness. It clung to his shoulders and outlined his strong, straight +back. Its unbuttoned, open neck let the hot breeze reach his big throat +and breast. + +Ragged overalls turned high at the bottom slouched along with each step +he took and laid open their torn places for the sun to shine through on +the firm black flesh of his narrow hips and sinewy legs. + +He stopped where a path divided. Instead of going straight home, he took +the path that dropped down the steep hill behind it. + +The trees made a cool, dark shade. Leaves fluttered and let bits of +white light fall on the ground. The path became even and wet and +comforting to his hot, bare feet. + +He trampled on ferns and white violets as he hurried forward and dropped +on his knees to drink from the spring that bubbled out from under great +brown rock. Water ran smooth for the length of an old rotting trough, +then fell with a bright splash on its bed of white sand and clean +pebbles. + +When a spring puppy clung to the side of the trough not far from his +mouth, Killdee laughed. + +“You better be glad dis is me ’stead o’ Mike, son. I kin see you. I ain’ +gwine swallow you. Mike ain’ got good eyes like me. You’d be ruint ef +you got een dat big, ol’ mout’ o’ his’n. It ’ud sen’ you down dat big +ol’ t’roat an’ Mike wouldn’ know nuttin’ ’bout it.” + +When his own thirst was quenched, Killdee sat and watched Mike’s shaggy +throat forcing the water up until Mike raised his head and looked at +him with gentle, somber eyes. He was ready to go home and eat dinner. + +Man and mule suddenly paused stock-still while a snake writhed through +the green shadows. Tufts of grass and slender vines with satiny leaves +almost hid its silent, stealthy slipping. + +Killdee watched with serious eyes, then spoke to the reptile. + +“I know I ought to kill you an’ hang you up on a limb to mek it rain. De +groun’ is awful dry. De plow can’ ha’dly cut ’em. But I ain’ got de +heart fo’ kill nuttin’ to-day. I gwine le’ you go home to you’ fambly.” + +As Killdee got to his feet a strong-smelling he-goat rustled through the +bushes and stopped to look. + +“Hey!” Killdee called to him. + +“How-come you dis close to water, ol’ man? You better come wash. You +smell powerful rank to me. I don’ see how lil Nan kin stan’ you. No, my +Gawd! But ’oman is strange. Nan t’ink nobody ain’ fine ez you. Nobody. +An’ you know dat, too.” + +Killdee picked up a pebble and threw it and the goat scampered away. +Killdee laughed. Preachers say sinners are like goats and Christians are +like sheep. He’d a lot rather be a goat than a sheep. Goats have sense. + +Old Bill yonder went home to sleep with the other goats at night. He +was afraid of the dark. But in the daytime he ran around by himself and +went where he liked and ate what he pleased and had a good time. He was +too smart to huddle with others of his kind. Bill was a sinner maybe, +but he was better off than the foolish, scary sheep that stayed in a +flock all the time. + +Mike’s head was close to his shoulder. Killdee looked at the quiet, +smoky eyes. One of them was covered over with a milky film and the other +was dim and cloudy. Soon Mike would be blind. Good, faithful, old Mike. +God ought not to make Mike blind. Not a good fellow like Mike. + +Mike’s ribs stuck out bold too, and the corn pile was low, and the new +crop didn’t promise much. If it didn’t rain soon, everything would dry +up. The corn’s hands were shut tight to-day. The corn’s feet were +scorched till they were yellow. The cotton leaves were hanging limber. + +Maybe that was the way they all prayed for rain. And yet--if it rained, +the grass would eat them up. + +Killdee looked at the path leading up the hill to his cabin. He was +tired. Rose would be cross, vexed with him, because he had plowed Green +Thursday. He’d lie down and rest here a little while in the shade. He +took Mike’s bridle off and dropped it on the ground, saying sadly: + +“Pick roun’, Mike, an’ git a lil fresh grass fo’ taste you mout’. You +teeth is too bad fo’ chaw cawn anyhow.” + +Killdee stretched himself out on the damp ground. It was good to lie +here in the cool, green shade. There was scarcely a sound but the water +flowing over the pebbles. + +It sounded so fresh. So cheerful. Not tired a bit. All day, all night, +it ran like this. Creeping out of the earth like a living thing. Weak. +Small. Yet too strong for anybody to hold it back. It was like life +itself. + +Two years ago this very month his little baby Rose was born. As soon as +the moon changed, another baby would come. His baby too, the same as +baby Rose was his. + +Maybe this next child would be a boy-child. He hoped it would. Every man +needs boy-children. Wants them. + +Not that he didn’t love baby Rose. He loved her better than life. God, +yes! He would do for her what he’d do for nobody else in the world. He’d +slave and sweat and struggle for her. He’d do anything to provide for +her. + +Yes, he’d plow on Green Thursday for her. He’d go to hell for her if he +had to do it! + +Funny how he felt about her at first. When Maum Hannah first told him a +girl-child was born his heart fell. He wanted a son. But when the teeny +little fingers closed tight over one of his big ones as he slipped it +inside them that morning, his heart mighty near broke with joy. He shook +all over, and laughed. He cried a little bit too. + +That baby knew then he was hers. That they two were the same flesh. She +was so like him. He could see it. Her little hands, her little feet, +even her face, were all shaped like his from the very first. + +The wonder of it made him feel humble and helpless and weak, yet it +fired his pride and courage. He made up his mind to fend for her. Work +for her. Suffer for her if it came to that. And he would. He was no poor +fool of a sheep. No. He was a man. He’d plow to-day and not be afraid. +If God was, He was fair. Kind. God would like a man better if He saw him +doing his best. + +He must soon go get Maum Hannah to come stay with Rose. He must take a +bushel of corn over to Daddy Cudjoe and swap it for a quart of whiskey. +Rose would soon need it. Maum Hannah said it helps a woman to “birth” a +child better if she has a little whiskey to deaden the pain. + +Rose wanted a bottle of castor oil from the cross-roads store, too. +There was no money to buy it with. He’d have to take corn for it too. +The corn pile was low. He and Rose and Baby Rose had to eat. Mike too. +Grass got the crop last year. Mike crept too slow to keep up with the +grass. But this year, he’d kill that grass or die trying! Plowing every +day was the only way. Let lightning strike where it pleased! + +Fire burned a house in Maum Hannah’s yard yesterday. Nobody knew how it +caught. Maum Hannah said Jesus burned it. How could fire know Jesus +wanted it burned? And yet, the little baby that was coming would know +when the moon changed. It would come then. Baby Rose came on the change +of the moon. + +How do things buried deep know when the moon changes? Seed in the ground +know. The water in the river knows. The weather knows. The wind knows. +All know more than men. Maum Hannah said Jesus tells His children a lot +of things. + +Killdee lay on his back and a spot of sunshine fell right in his eyes. +The noon hour was passing and neither he nor Mike had eaten dinner. What +a fool he was to lie here thinking! + +He got slowly to his feet and looked around. Mike had wandered away to +find grass that was tender and sweet. Killdee called him. + +“Come on, Mike. You got to go home and eat some cawn. Grass won’ gi’ you +de strengt’ to pull de plow t’rough da tough grass. Come on. You too +greedy. You gwine miss an’ eat a pizen weed ef you don’ mine. Den you’ll +hab belly-ache.” + +While Mike came, Killdee knelt beside the spring and with cupped hands +dipped up water and cleansed his dusty face, then he trudged up the hill +with Mike following behind him. + +Once he stumbled on a root in the narrow crooked path. Thinking had made +him unsteady. He had plowed on Green Thursday. + +Already the sky was darkening. Thunder rumbled far over the river. It +had a threatening loury sound. + +Raising his eyes, he looked at his home. The low roof was half-hidden +with smoke that rose out of the red-clay chimney at its side. Rose had a +fire trying to keep his dinner hot for him there on the hearth inside. +He was late to-day. As he hurried forward, a flick of lightning was +followed by muted thunder. What if lightning should strike that +cabin--burn it--burn all he had within it! God, what a thought! + +Shucks! Thinking had made him a coward. When had he ever feared +lightning? He was no woman. No. He was a man. Hadn’t he promised himself +he’d be like a goat? Not a sheep. Not a frightened, huddling, scary +fool. No. + +The crop needed rain and it was coming. He’d feed Mike first, then eat +himself. He had let the snake go, but it would rain anyway. The cloud +was rolling nearer every minute. + +As he got further up the hill, he could see that the back door had been +whitened with some of the clay from the gully down near the spring. The +wooden blinds, half open on each side of the chimney, were whitened +inside and out. How nice it made the house look! + +Rose had done it all since morning. She liked to have things clean. She +was getting everything ready for her venture. Childbirth. Poor Rose! +Soon pain would wrench her! + +Some of these days he would build Rose a better house. If the crop made +anything this year, he would “wash-white” the house all over and maybe +build another shed room there at the back. + +When he opened the door of Mike’s stable, a shed room added to the log +barn, streaks of light shone through the roof. Mike must have a better +stable before next winter. Mike was old, but he was faithful. + +If the crop was good, it might seem hard-hearted, but he must try to +arrange somehow to get a better mule. The thought made Killdee feel +guilty. + +He shucked a few ears of corn and put them into the trough and watched +Mike’s feeble efforts to bite the grains off. + +“You teet’ ain’ no count, not no mo’, Mike. It make me sad fo’ see you +strive fo’ chaw.” + +He’d have to take a sack of corn to mill and get it ground up for Mike. +Mike’s old teeth were worn out. They couldn’t crack corn any more. + +Killdee sighed as he closed the barn door and walked toward the cabin. +The sun shone out with a sudden, dazzling flash of brilliance. The +china-berry tree beside the doorstep made a round, thick spot of shade. +The wild-cherry tree cast light, leafy shadows that played up and down +over the red-clay chimney. + +Rose called out of the window: + +“How-come you so late to-day? You been to see Maum Hannah? I know you +didn’ plow so long an’ it Green Thursday.” + +Killdee shook his head wearily and walked inside. + +“Yes,” he admitted, “I been plowin’ sence sunrise tell twelve o’clock. I +lay down by de spring fo’ res’ a lil while.” + +Rose shook her head dolefully, then leaned to dip his dinner out of the +pot. Her brows were knotted with a frown. She dropped a few peas on the +clean hearth as she helped a pan for him. She was cross. She thought he +had done wrong. + +“Somet’ing bad’ll happen to you sho as Gawd’s een heaben. People ain’ +fo’ plow to-day.” + +“Somet’ing bad’ll happen ef I don’t plow. Grass is got de crop now.” +Killdee answered meekly, but Rose’s anger was not easy to quench. + +“I know you mean I didn’ he’p you none wid de crop, but I ain’ able fo’ +do nuttin’----” She began crying. + +“Now, now,” Killdee went forward and petted her shoulder, “I didn’ say +nuttin’ ’bout you. You mus’n fret, honey. No. You fo’ be happy. Look +wha’ a nice lil gal we got. Mebbe dis time nex-week we would hab a nice +lil boy. ’Member how de people say when we was ma’ied: ’I wish you joy, +a gal an’ a boy’? We gwine hab all two.” + +Rose drew away from him. She was not to be appeased so easily. + +Killdee went and stood by the bed where Baby Rose, covered over with a +patchwork quilt, lay asleep. Flies crawled over the child’s delicate +features. They rose and buzzed and crawled again. + +“Whyn’t you git on off!” Killdee growled angrily at them. He waved his +hands violently to frighten them off. + +“Do don’ wake em, Killdee. Le’em sleep. Da chile ain’ been still all +day. ’E keep me busy watchin’ ’em. I done tired. Le’em sleep. You come +on an’ eat you’ dinner.” + +Killdee took the pan of food from Rose’s hand and sat down in the +doorway to eat. He looked at the cow-peas and bacon and cornbread and +stirred among them absent-mindedly with his spoon. + +Rose didn’t look right. She was vexed because he had plowed to-day, but +she didn’t look well. Maybe he was wrong to worry her. + +He glanced toward her heavy, bulging body, at her swollen ankles, and +pity for her stirred him. + +How could she breathe like that? Of course she couldn’t hoe. No. Yet she +had struggled up and down the hill bringing water to scour the floor. +How clean it’s bare boards were! + +She had whitened the windows and doors. Getting her house ready. Poor +Rose. She needed help here at home. Baby Rose was a frisky baby. The +hill was long and steep. Bringing up water was hard work. After this he +must bring it for her before he went to work in the field. + +“Come set heah by me an’ le’s talk,” he suggested kindly. + +“I ain’ able fo’ set low ez dem steps, not now,” Rose said with a +wistful sigh. + +“I haffer set high een cheer now.” + +As she drew a chair to the door a flash of lightning lit the cabin and a +peal of thunder crashed close behind it. Rose shivered and put up a +hand. + +“You see, enty!” she whispered. “Lightnin’s gwine strike you field!” + +Lightning flashed again and Rose’s eyes shone white in the glare as she +quavered. + +“Git up out de do, Killdee. De wedder is too cross. ’E might miss an’ +strike you. I so faid em, Killdee....” + +Killdee wiped his mouth on his sleeve and got up. He put an arm around +her and led her to the bed where Baby Rose slept peacefully. + +“Lay down by de baby an’ res’, Honey. Don’ be faid. Nuttin’ ain’ gwine +hu’t you. No. Rain’ll do de crop good. De cawn an’ cotton’ll grow. Next +fall I gwine buy you a fine dress and shoe an’ hat. I’ll git a wagon an’ +harness an’ hitch up ol’ Mike an’ tek you to Mount Pleasant Church. De +people’ll say: ’Who is dat dress’ up so fine comin’ yonder?’” + +Rose’s fingers rested on the strong thews of Killdee’s forearm. With him +close beside her like this, she felt comforted. Dress--shoes--hat--she +smiled to think of them all. + +But the heavy cloud darkened the cabin. Lightning blazed in through the +open windows and door. Thunder clapped savagely. + +“Do shet de do, Killdee--an’ de window----” + +As Killdee got up to do it, there were muffled bangs from Mike’s stable. +He listened, then ran stumbling down the steps. Had Mike gotten fastened +in a crack of the stable? + +Hot stench filled his nostrils when he opened the stable door. Flies +sung over the moist dung where Mike lay kicking, groaning, rolling with +pain. Mike’s belly was puffed with colic. + +Bad corn. Bad teeth. Or--was it because Mike stirred the earth on Green +Thursday? Something must be done. A mule can’t last long swollen up like +this. + +Killdee shouted through the wind: + +“Rose! Rose! See ef a kerosene is lef’ een de bottle! Fetch em quick!” + +Rose came hurrying across the yard, panting, trembling, ashy, with a +quart bottle in her hand. + +The wind twisted her skirts and blew the stable door shut with a bang. +Killdee opened it and took the bottle from her shaking fingers. + +“Jedus,” she sobbed, “Ef Mike dead, wha’ we gwine do!” + +Killdee knelt and pulled the mule’s great black lips open. He forced the +worn, yellow teeth apart and poured the kerosene down the unwilling +throat. + +“Git up on you feet, Mike!” he called sternly. + +“You can’ leddown wid colic. You mus’ walk ’em off. Das do only way.” + +Mike lay prone. Moaning, rolling. Killdee got the bridle and put it on +him. He shook the bit and coaxed: + +“Get up, Mike. Don’ mek me git a whip. You mus’ git up and walk, son.” + +Lightning blazed, and wind, mean and wet, sung through the cracks of the +log barn. Rose whimpered and clung to Killdee’s arm. + +“You mus’ go back to de house, Rose. De lightnin’ know good you is faid +em. Dat mek em do wusser. Go on een de house. I can’ lef Mike fo’ go wid +you. Go leddown on de bed side de baby. Kiver up you haid. Try fo’ go +sleep tell I come.” + +Rose went and Killdee led Mike out into the yard to keep him walking. +Spikes of water drove against his cheeks. Things dazzled a little before +his eyes. He felt confused. Distracted. He must pull himself together. +Mike and Rose depended on him. He must be strong. Not afraid. Rain fell +in a solid flood and Mike stopped and tried to lie down. Killdee was +firm and urged him on. Round and round the barn they went. Walking, +walking. + +Sheets of water hid the cabin. Beat and slashed on his shoulders. +Chilled the very flesh on his bones. Made him shudder foolishly. + +Something braced him. Maybe shame. Was he a man or not? What were wind +and rain and thunder and lightning that he’d fear them? + +Women and children mind such things. Not strong men. + +Mike must not lie down and die. He must walk this colic off. Plowing +Green Thursday had nothing to do with his sickness. Bad teeth. Rotten, +weevily corn. They were worse than lightning. Or plowing Green Thursday. + +Rose was scary. Chicken-hearted. All good women are so. It was right for +them to be afraid of things. Right. + +The rain battered down and Mike and Killdee walked on and on unheeding. + +A voice piped shrill above the storm’s roaring. Killdee smiled. Rose +wanted him. She thought he could keep harm away from her. He’d go to her +soon and put on dry clothes. A fire was still in the chimney. He would +build it up and its light would make the cabin bright and cheerful. Mike +was getting better. His belly was less near bursting. Soon he could go +back to his stable. Thank God! + +Rose was running toward him! Screaming! Was she sick? No, she had Baby +Rose in her arms. She held Baby Rose out to him. + +Killdee felt numb. Dazed. What had happened? He couldn’t think. He was +stunned--or drunk---- + +As he went into the cabin a fog of smoke filled his eyes. The air was +rank with the smell of burned cloth--burned meat---- + +He stumbled to a chair and sat down in it. He was holding Baby Rose’s +fire-blackened, scorched little body in his arms. What must he do? What? + +“Go git Maum Hannah,” Rose said between teeth that chattered. + +Killdee put the baby on the bed and went staggering blindly across the +fields through the storm. Lightning mocked him. Thunderbolts flouted +him. Made him go the wrong way. Made him stumble. Made him afraid. Told +him it was Green Thursday, and this morning he stirred the earth! + +At last he reached Maum Hannah’s cabin. It sat safe behind the pile of +ashes where a man’s house had been. Fire burned that house, yesterday. +Maum Hannah said Jesus burned it. + + * * * * * + +All night Killdee and Rose sat beside the bed. Rose moaned incessantly. +Her own burned hands were held out in front of her. She didn’t seem to +know he was there. + +Maum Hannah kept putting white hog lard and white cotton over the little +crisp ears and fingers. Mary West held the pan. The pan itself kept +shaking. Killdee took it and tried to hold it steady, but it shook in +his hand just the same. + +Baby Rose never cried at all. Her breath came easy. Soft. Like +whispering. It made Killdee weak and sick to hear the long gaps that +came between. + +All night he listened for it. Then just before day, it stopped. He kept +trying to hear it. Just one more time. His own breast cramped with an +effort to catch air! Baby Rose wasn’t breathing! No! She was gone! Gone! + +Rose got down on her knees and prayed and begged and called to her to +come back. Not to go. Not to leave her. But she was gone. Gone. + +Rose got up and shrieked and cried and waved her arms. She said God was +hard. Unfair. Killdee had done wrong. He had stirred the earth on a holy +day. He should suffer. Not her. Not her child. But Baby Rose lay still. +Dead. + +Maum Hannah talked to Rose and tried to quiet her. She told Rose that it +was to be. The child’s time had come. God called Baby Rose because her +work here was over. Her time was out. To question what God had done was +a sin. Rose must bear her sorrow with patience. + +Killdee sat in the doorway and looked out at the thick, black night. His +muscular hands shook helplessly and clutched at the rough board step. +His strength had left him. He felt weak. Shaken. Afraid. The darkness +came up close. It filled his eyes and ears and nostrils. It slipped past +him into the fire-lit room. The fire still burned. There was no other +light to be had. But darkness filled the corners. Silent darkness. +Black, dumb darkness. It told nobody what it was, or what it was doing. +It was like death. It came. It went. Nobody could keep it away. Nobody. + +The wind had died. Faint flashes of lightning low in the sky were +followed by thunder that muttered and mumbled. Killdee’s heart was +black. Bitter. + +If God wanted to call Baby Rose, why did He burn her to death? She had +never harmed God. Or anybody. She had never done anything wrong. She was +too little to sin. If God was mad with him for plowing Green Thursday, +why didn’t He strike him with lightning and kill him? That would have +been easy enough. But to burn a baby--it wasn’t square. + +How could God have the heart to burn a baby? Who made the baby so she +loved to play in the fire, if God didn’t? Yes. God did it! + +Rose gave her other things to play with. Rose made her a pretty little +cloth doll. He had gotten an empty cigar box from the cross-roads store +and made her a nice little doll wagon. But she loved the fire more than +anything else. + +She didn’t know it would burn her. He told her it would. Rose told her +too. But she was a baby. She didn’t understand. + +Maybe she wasn’t playing with fire! Who could tell? Rose was on the bed +with her head covered up to keep from seeing the lightning. A gust of +wind might have sucked a flame out to catch her little dress. The +lightning might have sent a tongue of fire in through the window to kill +her. + +Rose didn’t know. Rose was on the bed. With her eyes shut. Scared. A +coward. She let her baby burn to death. She was to blame. Rose and God. + +Something inside him made him shake and shiver as he sat there trying to +think things out. Something kept telling him he had plowed the ground on +Green Thursday. He had stirred the earth on a holy day. + +Keen, blasting grief wrung him to the core. Resentment heated his blood +like a fever. Burnt the marrow in his skull. Emboldened him. With set +lips and rigid muscles, he glared at the overhead darkness. He was +helpless. Yes. He had to take whatever came. There was nothing else to +do. Nothing! He could fight men. Settle with them. But God--Ha!--that +was a different matter. God kept out of reach. Yes. He did his worst. He +cut men at the very roots. Blighted them. He burned tender +girl-children. And nobody could ever get even with Him. Up there in the +sky, He had the whole world in His cold-blooded reach. + + * * * * * + +A star blinked out between flying clouds and was gone. Where was baby +Rose? Was she up there? No. She was inside on the bed. Dead. Dead. + +Maum Hannah laid a light hand on his shoulder. + +“Son,” she said, “better come eenside now. De night air’ll gi’ you a +chill. Day’ll soon be clean. Andrew mus’ come mek a lil box to fit de +baby. You haffer lay em way, you know.” + +Her hand waited. It must have felt his misery, for it shook just a +little. Killdee knew she pitied him as she murmured: + +“Try to fret out loud, son. You could bear de pain mo better ef you +would cry. Eenside frettin’ kin bus’ you’ heart open.” + + * * * * * + +They waited until the sun had set in the little grave, then Killdee and +Andrew placed the small pine box that held Baby Rose, carefully down in +the earth. Together they filled in the damp, red clay, and smoothed it +over the top, into a mound. When it was done, Killdee fell to his knees +on the ground and wept bitterly. But Andrew said solemnly to him: + +“Don’ cry, Killdee. De Lawd hab gi’ em. De Lawd hab tek em away. Bressed +be de name ob de Lawd.” + +Andrew walked home with him to Rose, who strove with Maum Hannah’s help +and encouragement to bring another child into the world. + +Maum Hannah looked up at Killdee when he walked in, and said: + +“Some duh comin’ an’ some duh gwinen. Him up-yonder duh tek an’ sen. Be +tanksful, son. Be tanksful.” + +But Killdee’s eyes were fixed on a small cloth doll that had fallen out +of its cigar-box wagon and that lay face down on the floor. + + + + +_Missie_ + + +The day was almost gone. Rose was cooking supper when a shadow darkened +the doorway. She looked around quickly. Who was there? Killdee always +came in with heavy steps that could be heard. + +A strange little figure stood on the top step. A girl who was small and +dirty and ragged. A broken, rusty dishpan filled with fat light-wood +splinters was balanced on her head. Thin, trembling, black hands +steadied it as the child looked up into Rose’s face with a diffident +smile and said softly: + +“Dese is some fat chip I fetch fo’ you.” + +Rose looked at the rich pine chips piled high on the pan. Then she +searched the child’s narrow face. Her keen eyes noted the pointed chin, +the curve of the purplish, dark-red lips, the delicate, bluish bloom on +the black cheeks. A stranger. Who? + +“Who is you, gal?” she asked abruptly. “Whe’ you come f’om?” + +Rose knew everybody in this part of the world and she had never seen or +heard of this child before. + +“I name Missie,” the child answered. “My mammy an’ all o’ we come f’om +ober de ribber fo’ pick cotton. None ain’ mek to we home.” + +“Whe’ you git dem chip?” Rose asked after a moment’s thought. + +“I cut dem off a stump back o’ we house,” was the prompt reply. + +“Whe’ you house dey?” Rose asked again. + +The child turned and pointed across the field to a dark line of woods +that showed a jagged edge under the sunset sky. + +“We house is yonder,” she said simply. + +“Great Gawd,” Rose said, “I know em. Da ol’, broke-down house. Da’s a +bad-luck house, gal. Too much a people dead een em. I wouldn’ trust fo’ +stay dey. I too faid o’ hants.” + +Missie’s big eyes glistened in the firelight as she heard, but she did +not answer. + +“Put de chip down by de fireplace,” Rose bade her. “I glad to git em. +Wha’ you want fo’ em?” + +Missie dropped her eyes and said shyly. + +“Please, ma’am, gi’ me a lil piece o’ bread.” + +Rose scanned the thin face, the slight body. Was the child hungry? She +went to the safe and looked in a pan there. She broke off a piece of +corn pone left from dinner and handed it to Missie, who took it eagerly +and started out of the door. + +“Wait,” Rose said. “You ain’ got no manners? You ain’ gwine say ’Tank +you’?” + +Missie bowed and pulled a foot back to make a curtsey and said +solemnly: + +“Tank you, ma’am.” + +“Da’s right,” Rose laughed. “You kin cutsey good fo-true. But look how +you drap crumbs on de clean flo’.” + +Missie gave a quick look around the room and spied a field-straw broom +in the corner. She laid her bread carefully on the table and, getting +the broom, swept all the crumbs into the fire with a few deft strokes. + +“Why, you is a smart lil gal,” Rose approved. “You kin sweep nice. When +you gits hongry again, fetch me some mo splinters an’ I’ll gi’ you +bread.” + +Missie took up her bread and made another curtsey. + +“Good ebenin’, ma’am,” she said respectfully. + +Rose laughed again and responded: + +“Good ebenin’.” But as an afterthought she called to the child: + +“Come back heah a minute. Wha’ you las’ name, gal?” + +Missie reflected seriously and answered: + +“I dunno, ma’am. Ma ain’ nebber tell me.” + +“I don’ reckon you got none,” Rose pronounced severely. + +Missie seemed not to understand, for she gave a puzzled look at Rose, +then went away down the path. + +In the fading light Rose saw that a thin, yellow cur dog walked beside +her and that Missie fed him bits of her bread. + +When Killdee came in from the field and saw the fat splinters and heard +how Missie swept up crumbs off the floor and curtseyed when she said +good-by, the thought flashed into his mind that Missie would be the very +person to come and stay with Rose and help her take care of Jim. + +“Let’s git em,” he said. + +“You reckon ’e mammy would gi’ em ’way?” Rose considered. + +“Sho ’e will. Anyway, I kin go ax em.” + + * * * * * + +The next day at noon when Killdee and Mike came home for dinner, Missie +and the yellow cur dog were walking behind them. Both waited outside by +the stable door until Mike was fed, then they walked slowly behind +Killdee into the house. + +“I got em,” Killdee announced brightly. “I got you a lil gal.” + +Rose’s eyes were on the dog. Killdee saw she disapproved. + +A string of fresh egg-shells hung on a nail by the chimney dangled in +the draught. Rose had put them there this morning. Strung like that and +hung beside the fire, egg-shells would make her hens lay. + +Missie looked from them to Rose, then at the dog. + +“Son don’ suck egg. No’m,” she defended. + +“Don’ tell me no lie, gal,” Rose warned. + +“No’m, Son ain’ suck a egg een e life. We raise em,” Missie affirmed. + +“Wha ’e name?” Rose asked sternly. + +“We call em ’Son,’ ma’am.” + +“You gi’ de dawg to me, Missie. I eber did want a coon dawg. I bet e is +a good one,” Killdee intervened. “An’ I’ll kill em ef e suck one o’ Rose +eggs.” + +Missie looked up quickly, but the expression on Killdee’s face reassured +her. Rose saw something like a message pass between Killdee and Missie +and she retorted: + +“Ef ’e suck eggs you won’ hab a chance to kill em. I’ll tend to em my +own se’f,” she threatened. Her tone was sharp. + +Killdee drew a chair forward and sat down. + +“Come heah, gal,” he said. “Lemme look at you good. I ain’ had time tell +now.” + +Rose stood with arms akimbo and watched Missie come forward. The small +bare head with its sunburned wool was bowed humbly. The slim, black +fingers plucked nervously at the soiled, ragged dress. One ashy toe of a +slender foot dug at a line of a crack in the floor. + +“Look een my eye, gal. Don’t be faid. Tell me you name,” Killdee coaxed +with an amused smile on his face. + +“Come heah, close to me, gal,” he repeated. + +“Don’ plague em, Killdee,” Rose chided him. + +“I ain’ plaguin’ em,” Killdee declared. “I des axin’ em ’e name. I +haffer know ’e name, enty?” + +Missie lifted her eyes timidly. They met Killdee’s and her curved lashes +flickered and dropped. Killdee saw that the dark-red lips quivered and a +dimple came and went in the pointed chin. The child was shy as a wild +bird. The little breast was heaving with a sudden sob and a bright tear +fell with a tiny pat on Rose’s clean floor. Missie quickly put up an arm +to wipe away the others that were following it. + +Killdee was distressed. He hadn’t meant to frighten her. No. + +“Don’ cry, lil gal. Don’ cry. I wasn’ makin’ fun o’ you. No. Come heah +close to me. I like lil gals like you.” + +He put out a big hand and pity made his deep voice very gentle. + +“Come heah, lil gal. Come close to me. I had a lil gal one time.” + +Missie raised her eyes again and, though there were tears on her long +lashes, her lips parted and Killdee saw teeth white as rice grains +showing between them. + +“Da’s right,” he encouraged. “Da’s right. Try fo’ laugh, gal. Don’t cry. +I can’ stan’ fo’ see a gal-chillen cry. Come stan’ close to me and tell +me yo’ name.” + +Missie came closer, but when Killdee put an arm around her and drew her +up to him, her heart beat fast with fear. He was so big. So strong. So +different from anybody she had ever seen in her life before. + +Yet mingled with the fear was a thrill of something like joy. She sensed +that in the strength of this man she would find safety. Protection. And +she sensed in the sharp tone of Rose’s voice something that made her +afraid and unhappy. + +Yes, Killdee was her friend. It was good to lean right against him so. +To feel his arm around her. And she leaned with simple trust and wiped +her eyes and cheeks dry with her sleeve. + +Rose was shocked. The girl was filthy. More than likely, full of lice. +Killdee was a thoughtless man. He didn’t know how to look after himself. + +“You le’ da gal git close you, Killdee?” she cried out. “Wait tell I +scour ’em an’ put clean clo’es on em. Gawd! I wouldn’ le’ em touch me +no-how.” + +Killdee laughed and drew his arm away, saying: + +“You reckon e’s lousy?” + +“Sho ’e is,” Rose affirmed. She pointed to the shelf. + +“Look on de shelf, gal. Git dem two buckets an’ go to de spring fo’ +water. I gwine hotten a potful and scrub you hide good.” + +As Missie started for the buckets, Killdee shook his head. + +“No, Rose. One bucket is plenty fo’ a lil gal to fetch up da steep +hill. You ain’ fo’ strain a gal-chillen. Missie ain’ had no dinner. E +don’ know de way to de spring. You fo-git. Missie ain’ nuttin’ but a +baby.” + +“Baby!” Rose scoffed. “Baby nuttin’! E might lil an’ dry, but shucks! +e’s plenty ol’ fo’ go to de spring an’ fetch two buckets o’ water.” + +“Gi’ em some dinner fus’, Rose. When I finish my own, I’ll git you de +water.” + +Rose said no more. She fixed a pan of food for Killdee, then one for +Missie and one for herself, and they all sat down to eat. There was a +strange silence. Somehow the little girl’s presence made a difference +already. + +When Killdee finished eating, he wiped his mouth on his sleeve and got +up. + +“I’ll git you all de water you want now. Ef Jim ain’ wake when I come +back, I gwine wake him. I haffer play wid em a lil befo’ I go back to de +fiel’.” + +“No, you ain’ gwine wake em nuttin’,” Rose declared, looking over at the +bed, and a tender smile softened her heavy mouth. + +“Yes I is,” Killdee returned playfully. “You got a gal to nuss em fo’ +you now. I wan’ see how Jim like dis gal anyhow.” + +Missie ate her dinner hungrily. It tasted good, for she had never had +many full meals in her life. + +After Killdee had gone to the field again, Rose and Missie washed the +pots and pans together. Rose showed the child where each thing stayed +when it was clean. + +“You is fo’ do dis ebey day, Missie,” Rose said simply, and Missie +nodded assent. + +When all the pots and pans were put away, Rose sat down to rest and +smoke her pipe. + +“Sweep de flo’, gal. Sweep easy, too. Don’ wake Jim.” + +But Jim did wake and when Missie started toward him with an eager, happy +smile, Rose stopped her. + +“No,” she said, “don’ touch em. You’s full o’ lice. I don’ want Jim to +git none on em. No, my Gawd! Wait tell I git you clean. Den you kin mind +em all you want.” + + * * * * * + +When Killdee came home at dark, a queer, comical little figure stood by +the hearth helping Rose cook supper. Missie, after Rose had cleaned her. + +Every bit of wool had been clipped from her small head. The only garment +she wore was one of Killdee’s own shirts. The sleeves were cut off the +right length for the thin arms, and the neck-band, lapped over and +pinned together, hung awkwardly. The child glanced shamefacedly at him +when he threw back his head and roared with laughter. + +“Fo’ Gawd’s sake, Rose! Dis gal look like a skinned rabbit.” + +Killdee looked at Missie again and held his sides. Rose stood looking +and laughing too. + +“I had to do em so, Killdee,” Rose explained. “E was pure lousy. ’E +dress was sewed on em. I cut off ebyting e had on an’ bu’nt em up. Den I +clip ’e haid. Dat ol’ shu’t o’ you’ own been too ol’ fo’ patch any mo’. +But de gal is clean. An’ Jim is pure crazy ’bout em. ’E play so much ’e +gone sleep by fus’ dark.” + +Killdee walked over to the hearth where Missie stood and put a hand on +her shoulder. How pitiful that poor little bare head was! He didn’t know +just what to say. + +“Nemmine, Missie,” he murmured, “You haih’ll soon grow back. I’m gwine +to de sto’ nex’ Sat’day an’ I’ll buy you a dress. A purty dress. An’ +some o’ dese days I’m gwine buy you some shoes fo’ wear on Sunday, too.” + +Missie could not look up. Two bright tears dropped on the clean white +sand of the hearth. + +Killdee leaned and took her hand and led her with him to a chair. + +“Jim is gone to sleep, lil gal. I got to hol’ some kinder chillen een my +lap. Lemme hol’ you a minute.” + +“No-suh,” Rose objected, “Missie ain’ no baby fo’ you to spile. Go git +me a pan out de safe, gal. You too big fo’ set een Killdee lap.” + +Missie went to the safe and Killdee sat down in the doorway. He took +out his pipe and lit it and smoked in silence. + +The day was gone. A slender, young moon guarded the evening star. +Crickets chirped a few trial notes together. A cow bell jangled down in +the pasture. A whippoorwill called uneath words. The hot breeze that +fanned his face blew the smoke from his mouth back into the cabin. + +A sudden weariness seemed to sap his strength. A feeling of loneliness +darkened his heart. The fields out there, the woods beyond them, all lay +quiet. Peaceful. Why could he not be so? Why must he always strive, +struggle with something inside his heart? Rose didn’t understand. No. + +His pipe was finished. Looking inside, he asked: + +“Whe’ is Missie gwine sleep, Rose?” + +“I gwine mek em a pallet on de flo’,” Rose answered cheerfully. “I got +plenty o’ quilt.” + +When Missie was curled up on one folded quilt on the floor and covered +over with another, she knew she must not let Rose and Killdee hear her +crying. But when she thought of her Mother, of Sis, of all of them at +home, her heart felt likely to burst with longing for them. + +Could she bear to stay here? When everybody got sound asleep, she’d get +up and slip out of the door and go back to her mother. She wouldn’t be +afraid of the dark with Son. He’d go with her and keep anything from +hurting her. + +But her clothes were burned up. Her hair was clipped off. She had +nothing on but Killdee’s old shirt. She couldn’t let them see her like +that. Not like that. + +Sobs wrenched her. She was afraid. Misery made her ache all over. + +Killdee leaned over her, patting her gently, saying: “Good night.” + +She slipped a hand into his big, warm one and held to it. If he would +just stay here by her a little! + +“You mus’ dream a good dream to-night, lil gal. Dis is de fus’ night you +sleep in dis house. All you dream’ll come true,” he whispered. + +Missie looked at him and tried to smile. She would never be afraid of +him any more. No. And if he wanted her, she’d stay here and try to be +happy with Rose. + +“Do, Killdee,” Rose scolded. “Le’ de gal go to sleep.” + + * * * * * + +Next morning Missie woke early. She tried to recall her dream. What was +it? She couldn’t quite remember. But it was something pleasant. It +seemed to be something about Killdee. + + + + +_Meeting_ + + +When Missie came to live with Rose and Killdee, she had never been to +church or to prayer-meeting in her life, and the first time she went to +the quarters for meeting with Rose her heart thrilled at what she saw. + +The night was dark, and as they got nearer Maum Martha’s cabin where +meeting was held every Wednesday night, the light from the open door +shone out on black people who stood in the yard, laughing and talking. + +As they went up the weak old steps, Rose warned her: + +“Mine you’ eye an’ don’ fall. Don’ le’ dese steps broke you leg de fus’ +time you come to meetin’.” + +Narrow wooden benches filled the room. Missie took her seat on one of +those back near the door. Rose had explained to her on the way that only +members could sit up in front near the fire. Sinners had to sit far +back. And Missie was a sinner, for she had never sought to find peace, +nor had she been baptized. + +As Rose sat on the front bench, it creaked with her weight. + +“Jedus! Do don’ fall!” she exclaimed with a laugh. “Dese bench is +gittin’ too ol’ fo’ be trusted.” + +Maum Martha, an old, fat woman who sat on one on the opposite side of +the fire, sighed: + +“Lawd, yes. Dey is ol’. My own daddy, Champagne, mek dem befo’ my time. +Da’s how-come dey stay under my house. Da’s how-come meetin’ is heah wid +me. Dey ain’ gwine las’ much longer ef de mens ain’ ca’ful how dey tote +em. Mens is change sense I was young. Dey don’ keer ef dey broke de +meetin’ bench. Dey ain’ got prays een de back side o’ dey head. Dey mind +run too fas’ on gals an’ dancin’ an’ sin. Dey povoke me!” + +Maum Martha’s eyes narrowed as she peered through the half-light at +Missie. + +“Who dat gal a-settin’ by de do?” she asked. + +“Dat de gal Killdee git fo’ me to raise,” Rose owned it proudly. + +“I declea!” Maum Martha approved. “You hab luck fo’ git sich a big gal. +E big ’nough fo’ mind you baby, enty?” + +“Sho,” Rose agreed. “E ain’ so big, but e strong. E kin hoe, too. An’ +cut wood. An’ fetch water f’om de spring. E kin put one bucket on e head +an’ tek one een each hand and walk right up dat steep hill. E stronger’n +me.” + +People were coming in. Men, women, children, followed Daddy Cato, an old +man, who took his place at the little pine table in the center of the +room. With a splinter from the hearth, he lit the small glass kerosene +lamp. + +What a strange-looking person he was! His arms seemed too long. The +sleeves of his greenish black coat left his bony wrists naked. His vest +was too short. It left part of his shirt showing above his big, loose +pantaloons. + +He rested the finger-tips of his great hands on the table in front of +him and looked over the crowd of quiet people that filled the room. + +One eyelid drooped and covered an eye. One side of his kind old mouth +was twisted. + +“Chillen,” he said in a deep, booming voice, “hell ain’ no hole.” + +The silence was tense. The congregation listened attentively. + +“A hole would ’a’ been full long time ago,” he continued. + +“Do Jedus!” somebody exclaimed, but most of the people stayed silent. + +Daddy Cato rubbed the scattered white hairs on his chin thoughtfully. + +“Chillen,” he said solemnly, “I dunno e-zactly wha’ hell is.” He +hesitated and cleared his throat before he went on. “But I tink e mus’ +be a lake.” + +“Yes, my Gawd! E mus’ be,” somebody answered fervently. + +Missie felt uncomfortable. Rose had told her a lot about hell and God +since she came. God lived in heaven. He loved Christians and hated +sinners. He burned sinners in a place he called hell. + +All the fire in the world came from hell. God swam it through seven +rivers to cool it before he brought it here. Seven wide rivers. + +The fire in the chimney behind Daddy Cato was so hot that sweat ran out +on his forehead and drops fell from his face. Hell fire is seven times +hotter than that fire. God must be terrible. It scared her to think +about him. + +Killdee was a sinner, Rose said. Killdee laughed when Rose said it. +Killdee wasn’t afraid of God or hell or anything. How could he be so +bold! + +Wind through the open door fluttered the fringe of cut newspapers that +covered the mantelshelf. They began a funny, wild dancing behind Daddy +Cato’s back. + +“De do haffer shet,” he said, and Andrew got up and closed it and put up +the bar to hold it in place. + +Soon somebody knocked and Andrew had to open it again. Maum Hannah came +in, and old Daddy Cudjoe. They hurried past the sinners and went to the +benches where the members sat, away from the draughty back walls. As +Maum Hannah warmed her hands by the fire, she looked behind her. + +“E too col’ to-night fo’ mek de sinners set so far f’om de fire. Gawd +mek de win’ blow. Him know good how col’ e is. Le’ dem chillen come up +an’ warm. Po’ lil creeter. Gawd ain’ gwine be bex ’bout dat.” + +But the members looked serious and shook their heads and the sinners +stayed where they were. + +Newspapers that were pasted all over the walls swelled out when the wind +blew a hard gust. The paste that held them must be stout! Brown spots +showed where rain had beaten in through cracks and stained them. Age had +yellowed them. But to Missie they looked very fine. + +The rafters overhead were almost hidden with newspapers tied to barrel +hoops and cut into fringes. These swung gently like blossoms. + +Pictures were tacked around the walls. Over the mantelshelf a beautiful +wild bay horse pranced with all four of its feet lifted high. + +A white lady with a pink dress on was near him. She laughed and looked +at a bottle of something brown in her hand. + +On the opposite wall was a double row of large pictures. Awful pictures. +Negroes naked to the waist. All of them broken out with an ugly +sickness. Missie did not know that they were pictures of small-pox +victims sent out by the State, but she felt sick inside to see such +swollen cheeks and bodies. + +What did Maum Martha want with them there? Maybe they were sinners---- + +Daddy Cato was singing. The people were getting to their feet, and +joining in the song. How solemn it sounded! Chills ran over her as she +listened. + +“Roll, Jordan, roll,” were the only words she could make out, but these +were sung over and over. + +Daddy Cato held up his hand and sang some words alone. His deep voice +filled the cabin and roused an aching in Missie’s heart. + +“Roll, Jordan, roll,” he sang, and the firelight flickered over the low, +dark walls. Nobody else made a sound. His voice was enough. So sad. So +pitiful. Missie could hardly keep from crying. + +Poor Daddy Cato, old gray-headed man, was crying out to something for +help. Was he singing to God? + +Then Maum Hannah joined with him and the two old voices swelled upward. +The others swayed from side to side and hummed low. Where was God? + +Missie had never felt so lonely before. She had never felt sorrow +before. But in the cry of those two old voices she felt her own +helplessness, her insecurity against some unknown, strange power. She +wished Killdee could have come. He was yonder at home taking care of +little Jim. But then, Killdee was sinner. God was going to burn Killdee +if he didn’t repent. Rose said so. There seemed to be no escape from +this God. None. + +“Sing, chillen, sing,” Daddy Cato bade, and the whole congregation +united in a heaving flood of sound that pressed against the very walls +and deadened the moaning of the wind outside. + +“Roll, Jordan, roll.” + +Missie’s lips moved with the words. Her heart moved with something like +prayer. God must be hearing now. Everybody was singing. Calling to Him. + +Daddy Cato began praying. Missie shut her eyes. In her darkness her +mother’s face came before her. How she wished her mother were here to +hold her hand! To keep her from being afraid! For she was afraid. Yes. +Of God. Of this singing. Of those sick people on the walls. Of the +darkness. Of everything. Yes, everything. + +Cold, or maybe it was fear, made gooseflesh break out on her body. + +“Chillen,” Daddy Cato said. + +The congregation answered: “Yessuh.” + +“Dey’s a stranger een de lan’,” he told them. + +“Enty?” they answered in surprise. + +“Somebody duh meet da stranger eby day.” + +What was Daddy Cato talking about? A stranger. Who? The members facing +Missie from the other side of the fire had their eyes fixed on Daddy +Cato’s face. Maum Hannah nodded sorrowfully at him. She understood him. + +“Chillen, da stranger pass me by, mighty close one time,” Daddy Cato +said. + +“Enty?” they mumbled back. + +“So close tell I felt e breat’,----” + +Somebody cried out: “Do, Jedus!” + +“Yinner see my face---- how e lef’ em----” + +A tremble cramped Daddy Cato’s black lips. He held up the smoky lamp and +pointed to his motionless cheek. His face was wrong. One whole side of +it. It was still. It didn’t move at all. Even when the other side cried +it was quiet. + +“E pa-lyze,” somebody whispered. “Da wha’ ’e duh talk ’bout----” + +There were grunts of sympathy. + +“Chillen----” Daddy Cato’s voice broke, then he went on earnestly: “When +da stranger kiss you--an’ e gwine kiss eby one--eby one!” + +The good side of his face began crying. It twisted like a child’s. The +members on the front benches began praying and groaning and moaning: +“Do, Jedus! Hab mussy, Lawd!” + +Some of them rocked from side to side and begged Daddy Cato to go on. + +“Tell em, brudder! Tell em! Heah em, sinners! Heah em fo-true!” + +Missie shivered. She was a sinner. Rose said so. A sinner. And it made +her afraid to look at Daddy Cato’s face, all crooked--wrong---- + +“Chillen,” he began again with his voice low and tight in his throat, +“yinner know wha’ da stranger leab when e kiss you?” + +“No, suh,” they answered him softly. The firelight shone bright in their +wide-opened eyes. + +“When da stranger kiss you--’e ain’ gwine leab nuttin’--nuttin’!” + +Daddy Cato’s lips stumbled with what he wanted to say. “_Nuttin ain’ +leab but a box o’ col’ meat. Col’ meat!_” + +His words fell cold. Flat. There was no answer to them. A gust of wind +shrilled around the corner of the cabin. The newspaper fringes on the +mantelshelf shook with a smoky draught that sucked down the chimney. The +heavy, black log made a crunching, frying sound. It had burned through, +and it broke in the middle and sent a shower of sparks crackling up the +wide, black chimney. + +Daddy Cato wiped his eyes on his sleeve and one of the members began to +sing: “Hush! Hush! Somebody’s a-callin’ my name.” + +Missie thought at first he meant what he said. He said it solemnly. But +the others began saying it with him. They sang it. Over and over again +they sang it, and a wailing chorus followed it: + +“Oh, Lawd, what am I gwine do?” + +It was so pitiful. They sounded so humble. So helpless. The little +children got closer together. Their lips moved too, as they sang the +words. When the song was ended, Daddy Cato called out: + +“Come an’ pray, Brudder Andrew.” + +Missie knew Andrew. He was Rose’s cousin. She watched him as he came +forward to the table and knelt down. He stepped in a slow, easy, +careless way, and after he knelt by the table the light of the kerosene +lamp in his wide-open eyes made Missie think of a rattlesnake’s eyes in +the sun. His head came out from a stoop in his big shoulders. As he +folded his arms on the table, his lean, sinewy hands grasped his elbows +firmly. His hair was clipped close from his head. The ridges in it +showed plain. His nostrils swelled out and his thin lips quivered with +the words that burred over them. And his eyes--maybe talking to God made +them shine so and glitter--and stare---- + + “Our Fader--we, Dy chillen, is bow heah be-fo + Dee to-night---- + Come close--an’ listen---- + Don’ le’ de win’ tek de wud we say. + An’ scatter dem---- + We ain’ strong ez You. No. We weak. + You put we heah. You tek we ’way when You ready. + You ain’ ax we nuttin’. Nuttin’!” + +Sweat oozed from his smooth black forehead. From his flattened nostrils. +He held his words to a smothered singing that almost ran them together. + +Missie stood up to see his face better, but somebody touched her and she +sat down again and let the words flow over her. + + O Gawd, + I know de time ain’ long + When my room gwine be lak a public hall, + My face gwine be lak a lookin’-glass, + An’ my teet’ll be shet ’gainst a silence. + No mo’ breat’ll heave een my breas’; + My han’s’ll be col’ an’ empty, + An’ be layin’ folded pun-top ’em. + Dese ol’ feet’ll be tu’n todes sunrise-side, + An’ dis head’ll be tu’n todes de wes’. + Tain’ no use den fo’ my eyes to crack dey-se’f open. + + De life ob a man is same lak de pat’ ob de sun. + Een de mawnin’ e rise up bright een de east-- + Ebyting look shine an’ beautiful. + ’E soon sta’t plowin’ e furrow ’cross de element ob de sky. + + ’E strong, e brabe-- + When de cloud come stan’ een ’e way, ’e fight em. + E knock em--e ain’ faid; + De lightnin’ flash een e han’ + Tell de cloud fall down een rain. + + But de time haffer come w’en ’e strengt’ gwine fail. + E ceasted f’om climbin’ higher. + ’E sta’t fo’ drap todes de wes’. + ’E moan tell de sky tu’n red. + But ’e haffer go to ’e res’. + ’E sink. + + ’E gone. + ’E gone down behime de hill, + De hill whe’ de pine trees is t’ick, + De hill whe’ de night be’s black. + + Dey’s pine trees a waitin’ yonder now + Fo’ drap needle ober my grabe. + Oh, Lawd! dat’s de time! + My hea’t git weak w’en I t’ink on em-- + Dat how-come I down on my knees! + Fader, stan’ by me den! + Be a light on da da’k crooked pat’; + Be a shade f’om da’ hot bunnin’ sun; + Be a bridge fo’ me ober deep water; + Hol’ my han’ tell I git across, + Tell I git Home! + +Andrew’s black eyes were staring at something beyond the wall. His big, +strong teeth were bared. They ground together harshly, and his hands +strained at each other. + +The room was still. Too still. Maybe Andrew was in a trance. Rose said +people went into a trance when they looked on the face of God. + +But suddenly Andrew smiled and said: “Amen!” + +He got up and walked slowly back to his seat, and wiped his face on his +sleeve as he went. The congregation sat up straight and Daddy Cato began +singing: + +“Jedus is my maul and wedge----” + +Everybody sang it with him. Then Daddy Cudjoe was called on to pray. + +Daddy Cudjoe is old and crooked. His face was lined and creased with +deep wrinkles. His teeth were all gone so he speaks with a funny, +childish lisp. + +Everybody smiled in a kindly way when he went forward and knelt by the +table. He bent over so low that his head almost touched the floor. The +lamplight fell on his snow-white hair and he rubbed his knotted, old, +trembling, black hands together. + +Some of the children grinned when his thin cracked high voice cried out: + +“Massuh Jedus--dis duh me--ol’ Cudjoe----! + +I know good fo’-true I ain’ nuttin’! + +Des’ a po’ ol’ black nigger! + +But de Book say You know all dem lil sparrow-bud an’ ting---- + +Dat how-come me, Ol’ Cudjoe, hab de hea’t fo’ ax You fo’ don’ fo-git me. + +I don’ be f’aid--not liken I nusen to be. + +Seem lak--sometime--de grabe’ll be sweet----” + +He began to sob, but the members encouraged him to go on. + +“Go on, Daddy! Talk wid Him! E ain’ gwine fo-git you! E know you!” + +Heartened by them, the old man tussled on with his prayer. + +“When I git to heab’n I wan’ leddown an’ res’ tree week. On a big white +counterpane bed. Da’s all I wan’ do. Dis res’. + +I ain’ no count, not fo’ wuk, no mo--I all de time wanter set down. +Yessuh. + +I don’ wan’ no gol’ shoe, please, Suh--Shoe eber did hu’t my feet--Don’ +gi’ me no okra an’ tomattus soup fo’ eat, Suh--I so lub clabber and +sweet milk. An’ honey an’ white flour bread.” + +The children laughed out loud at this. Daddy Cato looked at them and +shook his head, then he said: + +“Dat’ll do now, Cudjoe. You done talk wid Him good. You done say +a-plenty. Say ’Amen’ now.” + +And Daddy Cudjoe did. He got up painfully from his curved knees and went +hobbling back to his seat by the fire, brushing the tears out of his +eyes. + +Andrew began a spiritual, clapping his hands slowly together as he sang, + + “I’m gwine to see my Jedus, + Set right by His side! + Set right by His side!” + +“Push de bench back, chillen,” Daddy Cato directed. + +There was a great fuss and clutter and rattling. Everybody was moving. +Missie felt dazed by the crowding and cramming. The benches were hurried +outside and put back under the house, except those placed around the +walls. + +Sinners and Christians were all mixed together, the men singers in one +corner, and the women forming a ring in the middle of the room where +the table had been. + +The shouting was starting. + +Missie didn’t see Rose, so she got close beside Maum Hannah in a corner +out of the draught. + +Women in the circle took short, shuffling steps and their hands were +held out in front of them limp from the wrist. + +As the men’s singing and handclapping went faster, the women’s short, +shuffling steps became nimbler. + +Mothers with babies in their arms stood close to the wall and sang in +sharp, high, piercing voices and shook the babies in time. Little +children with round, black eyes and spindling bare legs moved their lips +earnestly and beat time with small, bony palms and heels. + +The cupped hands of the men in the corner made deafening claps. Their +knees bent and stiffened with frantic jerks. How could they do it? Their +strained throats were corded. Veins swelled in their temples. Their set +eyes glared. Sweat poured off their faces. Over and over they shouted +fiercely: + + “I’m gwine to see my Jedus! + Set right by His side! + Set right by His side!” + +Keen treble voices chimed above the thundering rhythm. Missie felt +terrified. + +“Send de sperit, Jedus!” Daddy Cato cried, and the good part of his face +laughed with joy. + +Rose was in the ring of shouters with her hat in her hand. + +“Hol’ my hat tell I done,” she yelled to Missie as she passed. The hat +was tossed forward. + +The exhausted singers stopped with a breathless laugh. The door was +choked with people trying to push out into the yard for air. + +“I decla’ to Gawd, I ain’ got a dry t’read on.” Rose patted her thick +wet body as she said it. + +“But you sho is shout nice, Cun Rose,” Andrew assured her politely. + +There were two ways home. At Maum Hannah’s cabin, the road divided. One +way went around the fields and the other dwindled to a path that ran +through the woods and across the duck-dam gully. + +“Le’s don’ go home t’rough dem woods, not to-night,” Rose suggested to +Missie, who was holding fast to her hand. “I ain’ ’f’aid de da’k, but +dem woods always hab a kinder strange look when de moon is young lak e +is to-night.” + +Missie was glad to go around the long way, even if it did lead by the +graveyard. God was everywhere, Rose said, but the fields couldn’t hide +Him the way thick woods might do. As they walked on, Rose talked +pleasantly. + +“You know, gal, ef you trabble roun’ at night, ’specialty een de spring +endurin’ de small o’ de moon, you more’n likely to see a plat eye,” Rose +changed to a husky whisper. + +“Long up yonder by Gilliken’s sto’ at de cross-road, close by de two +notch mile post, a lil dawg’ll come runnin’ up by you and kinder rub +hisse’f up on you’ leg. Ef you shoot em e’ll tu’n to a hog. You shoot em +agin an’ e’ll tu’n to a hoss. Shoot em agin, an’ e’ll tu’n to a man +’thout no haid. Ef you keep on a shootin’ em e’ll tu’n to a fog--to dis +something nudder kinder like a cloud. + +“Den you better run hard ez you kin. Dey say: ’A cowardly man don’ tote +no broke bones.’” + +Missie listened, and shivered. A plat eye was as bad as God. + + + + +_Mount Pleasant_ + + +The next Saturday morning Rose said to Killdee: + +“I ain’ been to Mount Pleasant Church een so long, man. Lemme hab ol’ +Mike an’ de wagon. Me an’ Missie could go by an’ tek Maum Hannah long, +too. Missie is a ign’ant gal. E ought to go to a reg-lar preachin’ one +time.” + +“Sho. Go ef you wanter,” Killdee agreed cheerfully. + +And so on Sunday morning before noon, Rose and Missie were dressed, +ready to go. Missie’s dress was white and a red ribbon was tied around +her waist. Rose washed her face clean and greased it with nice white hog +lard. It shone, Killdee said, and he laughed out loud when he looked at +her all ready to go. + +Missie hardly knew Rose in her fine flowered purple muslin. It stayed in +the trunk in the shed room. Rose had on a corset, too, and her wrapped +hair was completely covered with a black, wool wig she had bought from +the cross-roads store. This fitted smooth and tight and it had a knot +right in the back. It made Rose’s black sailor hat almost too small for +her head, but it looked very grand. + +Rose had no shoes that were whole, so she borrowed a pair from Mary +West, and Mary sent along her gold-rimmed spectacles, too, for Rose to +wear. Mary was a sinner. She hardly ever bothered to go to church, but +she was very kind about lending her things. + +Rose’s feet were short and thick and Mary’s were long and narrow, but +that didn’t make much difference, because Rose didn’t put the shoes on +until she got in sight of the church. Shoes were just for looks. + +Killdee helped them into the wagon and handed Rose the rope lines. + +“Wait,” she said. “Git a quilt offen de bed fo’ put ober my lap. Dese +lines ain’ so clean.” Killdee hurried in and got the prettiest one, the +log-cabin one, red and blue and white and yellow. + +Missie, sitting up on the plank seat beside Rose, covered her lap, too. +Her dress was so beautiful and clean and white she could not bear for +dust to get on it. + +Maum Hannah was ready and waiting for them when they reached her cabin. +She wore a black sailor hat, too, over her black and white +head-handkerchief. She had on shoes and stockings, and a big, white +apron over her plain black calico dress. She was so neat. So clean. So +kind. + +“See my new shoe?” she asked happily, holding out a foot. “I git dem +f’om de sto’ yestiddy. I been want a slim nine, but I had to tek a wide +eight, by de man ain’ had nuttin’ else.” + +Mike stood patiently and switched his close-clipped tail at the stinging +flies, while Maum Hannah climbed up into the wagon and took her seat +beside Rose. Missie sat on a box behind them. + +“Lawd, dis is settin’ up mighty high, enty! It good Mike duh walk slow +or we-all sho would fall out.” + +Mike did walk slow, and Rose and Maum Hannah talked as they rolled on +over the rough, dusty road. + +They said that Reverend Duncan was getting mighty old, and he was too +fat. But where would they ever get another pastor like him? He and his +wife were so large they had to ride in two buggies and drive two horses. +But he did preach powerful sermons. + +Rose thought the assessment of a dollar and a chicken and a peck of corn +for each member was too heavy, for there were nine hundred members at +Mount Pleasant Church alone, and he had two other churches. But Maum +Hannah thought the price was cheap enough to hear the word preached as +Reverend Duncan could preach it. Every other Sunday, too. Not once a +month, as many churches had. + +Rose thought a preacher ought to know how to read, but Maum Hannah said +reading out of books wasn’t good. It was better Reverend Duncan couldn’t +do it. There were other ways to read. So many things in books were not +so. If Reverend Duncan could read, he might get a lot of wrong notions. +As it was, he had to think things out by himself. He had to ask the +Father up-yonder to tell him what to say. He knew all the hymns. He +could line them out good as if he read them. He could marry people word +for word like it was in the book. He always held the book open in front +of him, and it did as well as if he were reading out of it. + +Young people thought a lot about reading, but she was raised to know it +wasn’t good for everybody to be reading so much. Let the white people do +it if they wanted to take a chance, but the colored people didn’t know +enough about books to know what was good to read and what was good to +leave alone. There were plenty of other ways to find out about things +besides reading out of books. Plenty. All these schools and things were +foolish. + +A sudden bend in the road brought Mount Pleasant Church into sight. +There it stood, facing the big road. A long, low, whitewashed building +with a grove of pines at its back. Mules and wagons and buggies and +people were thick around it. + +Mike walked so slow that other wagons passed them. Clouds of red dust +rose and floated over them, then drifted away to the cotton fields on +each side of the road. Rose jerked at the rope lines. She tried to make +Mike hurry, but he paid no attention at all. He walked steadily, slowly, +quietly. + +Missie wished for the quilt to put over her clean white dress. This +dust would soon spoil it. And she was hot. The sun shone blinding bright +down on them. + +“Jedus, my haid sho is hot! I wish I ain’ wore my haih to-day,” Rose +complained. + +“I decla’!” Maum Hannah exclaimed. “I been settin’ heah a-lookin’. I +wonder how you git you haih fix sich a way. You buy em outen de sto’, +enty? ’E look nice, fo’ true. But den, I rudder see natchel haih wrop’ +an’ tie’ een a head-hank’cher. Da’s by I’m ol’, I reckon.” + +At last the churchyard was reached. Mike turned in and walked up to one +of the trees. He stood while Andrew came and helped Rose and Maum Hannah +get out of the wagon. + +Missie felt dazed by all she saw. There, right close to the well, with +its long pole sweep for drawing the water, was a square pool of water +sunk in the ground. How still and deep and green it looked in the gray +cement sides that held it. What was it? + +Rose was looking at her and laughing. + +“Lawd! Looka de gal. E ain’ know de baptizin’ pool. E tink people +baptize een de ribber! Git out, Missie. Come heah. Lemme show you wha’ +’e is.” + +Other black people stood around and listened and smiled while Rose +explained to Missie that this was a watery grave. Sinners buried in it +rose up out of it with all their sins left behind them. It did look +strange. Queer. Green. Full of sins. + +There was to be a baptizing to-day. The pool was filled to the brim. +There were steps at one end--for the candidates to step down into it. + +Andrew said that all the candidates to-day were young people, not much +older than Missie. Rose shook her head sadly and declared that older +people became hard in sin. Hard. They thought more of dancing and +singing reels than of being saved from everlasting fire and torment. +Killdee was in sin right now. Nobody could turn him. Missie must listen +to-day. Listen! Reverend Duncan would tell her how to escape hell. + +Missie stood and thought while Rose and Maum Hannah greeted their +friends. The watery grave looked terrible. She couldn’t exactly +understand just all that Rose meant. Killdee was living in sin. Rose +wasn’t. And yet Killdee was better in every way. + +There was a stir. Reverend Duncan was coming. Missie looked down the +road, where all eyes were turned. It was so dusty she could hardly see. + +First a roan pony came trotting feebly along with a rattly buggy. A big, +fat, black man was driving. Right behind came a gray pony pulling +another buggy. A big, fat, black woman drove that. + +“Yonder dey come,” Rose said, laughing. “All two so fat dey can’ ha’dly +set een de buggy. Good ol’ people, too. Good Lawd, who dat wid Miss +Duncan? Who?” + +The people crowded around the preacher and his wife and helped them to +alight. Everybody bowed politely and shook hands with them. + +“I wan’ mek yinner acquainted wid Reveren’ Felder,” Reverend Duncan +said, indicating a younger, slenderer, lighter-colored man, who was with +them. + +“Dis gentleman is de child ob Gawd. ’E’s come to gib de people de +message of salwation to-day.” + +Missie could hardly see for the crowd, but she held to Rose’s hand and +went up the aisle into Mount Pleasant Church. The house of God, Rose +said. Where was God? + +Rose let her sit between Maum Hannah and herself. Both Reverend Felder +and Reverend Duncan went up into the pulpit and sat in the two chairs +there. The people who sang at meeting went up and sat on the front +bench. + +Reverend Felder whispered to Reverend Duncan, then he got up and said: +“Breddern! Sistern! We will sing hymn number 524.” + +Reverend Duncan stumbled forward anxiously. + +“We ain’ hab book, Brudder Felder. De people can’ read. Line em out. Gi’ +’em two line at a time.” + +Reverend Felder seemed to cover a smile with his hand, then he read +slowly, distinctly: + +“Welcome, sweet day of rest, that saw the Lord arise.” + +Andrew raised the tune. The whole church was filled with the hymn. Some +voices were deep and low, some high. The sound of it all made something +inside Missie’s breast quiver. When the two lines were sung, Reverend +Felder read two more, and so on to the end of the hymn. + +“Let us pray,” he said then, and while everybody stood hushed, quiet, +with heads bowed and eyes closed, he spoke to God. + +Missie had to look at him. His teeth were shiny, like gold. His +eyeglasses were brighter than the ones Mary West lent Rose to wear. His +voice boomed like a bumblebee. Talking to God. He was telling God many +things. He said these people were going straight to hell! He stamped +with a foot on the pulpit floor. He yelled and shouted. Missie held to +Rose’s skirt. Reverend Duncan kept saying “Amen” all the way through. It +all must be so. Rose said Killdee was a sinner. Killdee would burn--she +would too, for she had never been baptized. + +When the prayer was over, the people sang another hymn, then the sermon +began. Missie tried to listen, but she couldn’t stay awake. She had on a +wide-brimmed hat and leaning her head forward made her neck ache. She +was sleepy. She nodded. Maum Hannah took her hat off and whispered: “Put +you haid een my lap, chile, an’ go sleep.” + +When she woke, the people were singing a pitiful tune. It made her cry. +The words were: + +“Ne-ro--my--Gawd to Dee---- Ne-ro--to Dee----” + +Rose shook her by the arm, and put a hot hand over her mouth. + +“How-come you duh cry, gal? Shet you’ mout’.” + +But Maum Hannah leaned over and patted her and said: + +“Da’s all right, Honey. You ain’ wake up good yet. Set back down on de +bench.” + +Missie did, but she thought of her mother and her brothers and sisters +and wondered where they were and if she would ever see them again, and +she sobbed on and on, until Rose said impatiently: + +“Git up, gal! It time fo’ go to de baptizin’. Don’ wipe you’ dirty face +on you’ dress. You gwine ruint ’em.” + +She had forgotten all about her fine dress. She didn’t want to spoil +that. She brushed the tears away with her bare hands and followed Rose +through the steamy crowd to the churchyard where Old Mike stood waiting +to take them home. + +Reverend Felder and Reverend Duncan and the candidates for baptism +hurried around to the back of the church where a little shed served as a +dressing room. They came out dressed in long, white robes. They and the +deacons and the members formed a line and marched around the church +singing: + +“We’re marching to Zion, the beautiful city of God.” + +Maum Hannah had a painful knee that kept her from joining the marchers, +though her voice chimed in with them. Missie stood holding her hand. + +When the hymn was finished, the marchers stood still while Reverend +Felder stepped down into the pool. Its green depths quivered. A sudden +playful breeze fluttered under his robe and parted it so everybody could +see his store-bought undergarments. He went waist-deep into the pool, +and while the congregation sang a solemn spiritual, one of the +candidates, a slim black boy, stepped doubtfully into the watery grave. +His face was ashy under the white cloth tied around his head. His +fingers clutched nervously at the front opening of his white robe. + +“Come on, brother,” Reverend Felder exhorted him. “Soon you sin will be +washed white ez snow!” + +“Amen!” shouted Reverend Duncan. + +There was a sudden splash and strangled cough and a snort. A double +spurt of water sprang from his nostrils. He gasped for breath and broke +away from the preacher’s grasp. + +“Wait, son! Come on back! You haffer dip again! You dis been dip een de +name of de Fader and de Son. You haffer dip een de name ob de Holy +Ghost.” + +The members caught the unwilling, frightened candidate by the arms and +led him back to have his baptism completed. + +Once more he was dipped. In the name of the Holy Ghost. That finished +it. He was a saved sinner. Saved from hell. One after another, all the +candidates were dipped three times. + +When the baptizing was finished, Rose and Maum Hannah shook hands with +the preachers and curtseyed as they said good-by to everybody else. +Andrew came forward and politely helped them climb into the wagon and +they started home to Killdee and Jim and the little new baby. Maum +Hannah went along home with them, for the new baby had thrash in its +mouth and Rose didn’t know what to do for it. + +Killdee came out to the wagon and helped them get out. + +“How was meetin’?” he asked pleasantly. + +“Fine! Fine!” Rose answered. “But I too glad fo’ git home.” + +“Lawd, you sho ain’ look like de same ’oman lef’ heah,” Killdee laughed. + +Rose didn’t. Missie held her hat and the wig of thick wool. Maum Hannah +held Mary West’s spectacles. Rose crawled out of the wagon in her +stocking feet, saying: + +“Gawd, I too rabin’ fo’ git off dis heah cosset. It pure got my stomach +a-huttin’. Hurry, Missie, an’ git my pipe. I wan’ smoke too bad. Whe’ de +baby, Killdee?” + +The baby was asleep, so Maum Hannah and Rose sat down to smoke a pipeful +while they told Killdee all about Reverend Felder and the wonderful +sermon he preached. + +He was coming back when the crop was laid by to hold a revival meeting. +He knew a man who owned a moving picture of hell and he was going to get +him to come bring it. The people could see the misery that was ahead of +them in the next world in that wonderful picture. + +Killdee asked thoughtfully: + +“Who dat mek da picture? Who dat see hell an’ come back fo’ draw ’em?” + +Neither Maum Hannah nor Rose knew, but Reverend Felder did. He knew +about it all. Killdee would have to go see it when it came. He’d change +his mind then about being a member. He’d join the church then. + +Killdee laughed. He said he was willing for Rose to go whenever she +liked. He’d stay at home and keep Jim and the baby any time for her, but +he couldn’t go to church with her. He hadn’t time, he said. + +Missie slipped into the shed room and took off her white dress and +folded it up carefully and put in back into Rose’s trunk. She lovingly +wrapped the red ribbon around her fingers and laid it smooth and shining +on top of the dress. Killdee was the best man in the whole world. He +bought the cloth for that dress and the red ribbon to wear with it, too. + +Rose called her. The baby was awake. Missie hurried to the bed and took +the child up. + +“Bring em heah, Missie. Le’ Auntie look at ’e mout’. ’E got de t’rash so +bad ’e can’ res’.” + +Missie laid the tiny, black thing in Maum Hannah’s arms. Maum Hannah +peeped through the soft lips at the tender gums that were covered with +whitened patches. + +“T’rash, fo-true. Po’ lil creeter,” she said, pulling the small chin +down so she could see inside better. + +“’E so little, ’e can’ stan’ strong treatment. I dunno wha’ fo’ say. Ef +we had somebody heah--somebody wha’ ain’ nebber look on dey daddy +face--da’ somebody could cure dis t’rash good----” + +Rose beamed. “Looka Missie, Auntie. I doubt ef Missie eber see ’e daddy +face een ’e life. We could try Missie--enty?” + +Maum Hannah turned her bright, old eyes to meet Missie’s puzzled ones. + +“Mebbe ’e ain’ nebber see ’e daddy, fo-true. Who you daddy, honey? Is +you know?” + +But Missie had no daddy. She never had had one. And she shook her head. + +“Le’ Missie try, Rose. Mek em tek ’e finger an’ run em roun’ all een de +baby mout’ eby mawnin’. Ef Missie ain’ nebber look on ’e daddy face, +dat’ll do de baby all de good. You try dat, Missie. ’E ain’ gwine hu’t +nuttin’ fo’ try.” + +Rose repeated, “You heah, Missie, enty? Eby mawnin’ you do like Auntie +say. Don’ fo-git. Sis mout’ is so so’ ’e can’ eat, eder sleep. You wan’ +em fo’ git well, enty?” + +Missie promised not to forget and she ran to the spring to get a fresh +bucket of water while Rose fed the baby and Maum Hannah helped Killdee +take the dinner from the pots on the hearth. + +As Missie ran lightly down the hill, she was very happy. She had seen so +much to-day. She had worn her new dress and red ribbon. She had heard +how to be saved from hell. How to pray. She must seek forgiveness until +Jesus gave her a sign. + +As the water filled the bucket, she thought some day she’d be a member, +too. And now if she could cure “t’rash” in babies’ mouths, Rose would be +glad to have her here all the time. Sometimes Rose seemed cross with her +and beat her for almost nothing. After this, Rose would like her better. +When she became a member, maybe Rose would never beat her again. + +With the bucket on her head, she climbed the hill thoughtfully. Reverend +Felder was fine-looking. He wore fine clothes and he could read, but +nobody was fine like Killdee. Nobody in the world. Killdee was so good. +So easy. He never got vexed like Rose and said hard-sounding things. + +She’d rather have Killdee for her daddy and look on his face than be +able to cure all the sickness in the world. But he wasn’t, so there +wasn’t any use to think about it. + +Yet Killdee was a sinner. When he died he would go to hell. Rose said +so. He would burn and burn always. Forever. He would never stop burning. +Daddy Cato said that the fire in hell is seven times hotter than the +fire people have here. God swam it through seven rivers to cool it +before He brought it into the world. + +What a strange man God must be! + +When Missie thought about Him, she hurried and stumped her toe on a root +in the path and the water spilled, and she had to pick up the bucket and +hurry back to the spring for more. How cross Rose would be because she +was taking so long! But Maum Hannah was there. Maybe Rose wouldn’t scold +her much. + + + + +_Finding Peace_ + + +The big farm bell rang loud. Clear. The noon hour was over. A little +figure lying prone on the ditch bank in the warm spring sunshine rose +slowly and looked around. It was a little black girl. Missie. + +Her big, soft eyes had a rapt expression as they wandered over the wide +cotton fields stretched far out in front of her. Heat waves shimmered +over them, making the dark earth bright and blue as the sky, the blue +sky that held heaven and God and the angels. + +The child’s faded, checked homespun dress was stained purple with +blackberries. So were her fingers and lips. + +As if still in a dream, she took up the tin pail that was near her on +the ground. It was filled to the brim with ripe, black fruit. With +careful-stepping, slim, bare feet, she picked her way through the +thorny, briery vines to the path that led to the cabin barely in sight +yonder at the far edge of the woods. Maum Hannah’s house. She’d go by +there and talk to her a little while before she took the berries to the +store to sell. + +She walked slowly until she could plainly see an old woman sitting +there in the doorway bent over her sewing. Then she hurried forward and, +when she got near, called out eagerly: + +“Auntie! Auntie! I b’lieb I _done fine peace_! Kin you heah me? I b’lieb +I is! I seen a house all wash-white. Yes’m.” + +The words came distinct to the old woman’s ears. She looked up from the +clean, ragged garment she was patching. Tenderness shone in her bright +old eyes as she watched Missie coming toward her. They were keen old +eyes, although their black lids were withered and hung in tiny, wrinkled +folds about them. + +“Auntie! Auntie!” the little girl called again, but the old woman +answered with a caution: + +“Mine, gal, mine! You gwine spill dem blackbe’y fus’ t’ing you know. +Walk slow, an’ wait tell you git nigher to me fo’ talk!” + +Missie came carefully up the path and up the steps and put the pail on +the floor by the pile of clothes to be mended. She came close and leaned +on Maum Hannah’s shoulder affectionately. + +Maum Hannah searched her face curiously and sympathy showed in her warm, +gentle voice as she said: + +“Tell Auntie now, Honey. Whe’ you been? Wha’ all you been see? Tell me +’bout em. Whe’ you been when you fine peace?” + +The little girl felt Maum Hannah’s arm around her. It gave her a feeling +of security, of safety, of courage. Maum Hannah’s voice was saying +again: + +“Tell Auntie, gal.” Her tone was full of kindliness. + +“Auntie----” Missie began, then hesitated. How could she tell it in +words?” + +From the cabin’s narrow doorway the blue hills far over the river yonder +showed plain. They had never seemed so bright to her before. They were +almost the color of the shiny clouds that they touched in the sky +to-day. Something about them held her eyes until Auntie’s arm pressed +her closer and Auntie’s patient voice roused her. + +“Wha’ you duh dream ’bout, chile? Wha’ you duh see?” + +Missie took a deep breath and the little berry-stained dress tightened +across her chest. Maum Hannah’s wise old eyes noticed that coming +maturity had already begun to develop slight, curving breasts there. +Yes, they showed plain with each quick breath that Missie took. Missie’s +little heart seemed very full of something. + +Tears came into the wise old eyes, for it came to Maum Hannah for the +first time that Missie was becoming a woman. A woman. Maum Hannah’s mind +could hardly accept it, yet it was so. Little Missie would soon be a +woman, with all the troubles, the sorrows, of womanhood. + +Lately, Missie had been seeking peace. Peace. And Maum Hannah knew that +womanhood would bring her no peace. None. Missie was already turning to +religion. To God. Asking for peace. Tears wet the old eyes, but she +could tell Missie nothing. Missie couldn’t understand. Nobody could tell +her. Nobody. + +Old age might bring her peace. It might. But that was far off for +Missie. And old age---- But Missie had started talking. She must listen. + +“Auntie,” the low voice was husky, “dis mawnin’ at I git my bucket full +up wid blackbe’y, I leddown fo’ rest’--I sta’t den fo’ pray.” + +“How much day dis is you been prayin’ and seekin’?” Maum Hannah +interrupted. + +Missie reflected and answered thoughtfully: + +“Dis mus’ be de gwine on een de two week, Auntie.” + +“I reckon e is,” Maum Hannah agreed. + +Missie went on: + +“I leddown right on de ditch bank een de blackbe’y patch. Dut been pile +up high underneat’ my haid same lake pillow. I shet my eye--I pray--an’ +Auntie--it seem like I was gwine todes sunrise-side--’cross de fiel’. It +seem like I was walkin’ deep down een de furrow. Den de furrow, e gone +tu’n to hill! De hill been steep. It labor me fo’ climb up em----” + +The round, black eyes took on a dreamy look, and the little body leaned +heavier on Maum Hannah’s shoulder. But the old woman sat silent. +Serious. + +“It seem lak a house, same like we-own, been by de side o’ de pat’. A +black ’oman come out an’ stan’ een de do’. ’E call me. ’E say: ’Stop +heah an’ res’ awhile,’ but I tell em: ’No.’ It seem like I gone on +a-climbin’ up de hill. I gone an’ gone----” + +The low voice faltered. The soft eyelids drooped drowsily. + +“Den I see--a white house--an’ a man. ’E was a-stanin’ een de do’. ’E +hab face lak--I dunno who ’e hab face lak----” + +Maum Hannah stirred a little. Her shoulder was tired. But she said +nothing, and Missie went on, each word dropping slowly: + +“De man, ’e say: ’Stop an’ res’.’ I stop. I res’. De noon bell--it wake +me.” + +That was all. A silence. Maum Hannah stirred again. She must ask Missie +some questions. But first--she must think. A man? + +“Honey,” she began, “Honey, de man been ol’, enty? Wid long whisker an’ +t’ing? ’E hab somep’n nudder lak sheet wrop roun’ em too, enty?” + +That was the vision that many claimed to see. Had Missie seen it too? +Missie’s lips curved in a smile and she shook her head: + +“No, Auntie. No. De man I talk wid, ’e ain’ been stan’ so--no.” + +Maum Hannah’s eyes narrowed. She turned and scanned the child’s face. +Missie met the look and decided she couldn’t tell more. No, Maum Hannah +would think strange if she knew the man was Killdee himself. Killdee! + +“Wha’ de man been say, den, Gal? Who ’e been look lak?” + +“I fo-git wha’ ’e say, Auntie----” + +Missie drew away from Maum Hannah’s shoulder. After all, she must have +been mistaken. The house was white, but that may not have been a sign +after all. Not a sign her sins were forgiven. + +“Mine, gal, mine,” Maum Hannah warned threateningly, “don’ you tell me +no lie. You ain’ fo’git a’ready wha’ da man say. No!” + +Missie looked straight at her. The spell of the vision she had seen +seemed broken. Maum Hannah thought she had not seen the right vision. +She had not found peace. Maum Hannah’s face showed it. They had all told +her to pray until she saw something white. That would be a sign. She had +seen something white--and now Maum Hannah seemed cross about it. + +Missie sighed and turned to the pail of berries, saying: + +“See how I got de bucket full-up wid blackbe’y, Auntie? Ain’ dese nice +one?” + +She was sorry she had spoken at all about her dream. The house was white +and yet the man looked a lot like Killdee. That was wrong. Killdee was a +sinner. Killdee was no sign of peace. No. + +“Mebbe you is fine peace, Missie. Mebbe you is. I dunno,” was Maum +Hannah’s answer. “You go talk wid Brer Cato. Tell em all you see. Ef de +man had-a been ol’, an’ kinder strange fo’ look at, it would ’a’ been +mo’ better. But den--maybe Gawd is gi’ you a diff’unt sign. Anyway, de +house was white.” + +Other words that were in her mind would not come to her lips. She could +not say them. Instead she said brightly: + +“Take you’ blackbe’y on to de sto’, chile. Hurry. Dey is makin’ wine +to-day. Dey needs all de blackbe’y dey kin git. Eby lil bit he’ps em +out. + +“Tell Killdee you find peace to-day. You ought to be baptize nex’ fo’th +Sunday. Tell em des so. ’E might gi’ you a new dress. ’E might. ’E hab a +good heart. Killdee’s a mighty good man, eben ef ’e is a sinner. Sho.” + +Missie’s eyes were shining happily again. Killdee was good indeed. +Better than anybody in the world. She took up her hat from the floor +where she had dropped it. It was an old, worn, dusty man’s felt hat. +Regular slits had been cut in the brim and through these a strip of +turkey-red calico was run with the ends tied in a bow at one side. + +Maum Hannah smiled when Missie put the hat on. + +“How-come you trim up you’ hat so fine fo’ seek een? You put red on you’ +hat when you go fo’ pray! Do, Jedus! A gal is somet’ing else een dis +worl’. When de spring o’ de yeah come, dey sho is gwine dress deyse’f +up. None o dat ain’ b’longst to seekin’, dough, Missie, or needer to +findin’ peace. No. Red bow don’ bring no peace. No, gal. Red bow bring +somet’ing else!” + +The child’s face was still bright with happiness as she stepped lightly +down the steps. She ran down the path that led to the Big House, but +Maum Hannah suddenly called her back. + +“Come heah des a minute, Missie. I got somet’ing fo’ tell you befo’ you +go. Auntie’s a ol’ ’oman fo’ true. But you know ol’ people is wiser’n +chillen, enty? Ef you see Brer Cato, you talk wid em. But dey ain’ no +need fo’ tell em de man ain’ been a ol’ man. No. Dey ain’ no need fo’ +say ef de man been ol’ or ’nyoung. Go long, now. Sell de be’y. Killdee +might gi’ you a dress fo’ wear to de baptizin!” + +Missie listened and then walked slowly, thoughtfully, down the path. +After all, what difference did it make if she found peace or not? +Killdee was a sinner. She’d just stay a sinner with him. Sinners seemed +better than Christians, anyway, all except Maum Hannah. And Maum Hannah +wasn’t a very strict Christian. Maybe she was too old to be one. + +Missie took the berries to the cross-roads store and got money for them +and took it home to Rose. + +“Dis all you git to-day? How come? Seekin’ mus’ be mek you pick be’y +mighty slow.” + +“I reckon ’e is,” Missie agreed. “I ain’ gwine seek no mo’. I tired +prayin’, Aun’ Rose. You better lemme wait. I ain’ gwine dead any time +soon. Please lemme wait ’bout prayin’.” + +“It ain’ me. It you. Ef you kin stan’ fo be lost, den stop seekin’. You +de one gwine bu’n een hell. Not me,” Rose said indifferently. + +Killdee had come in and he heard this last. + +“Don’ mek de gal seek. Not now, Rose. I miss ’e laughin’ an’ playin’ too +much. It don’ seem natchel fo’ Missie to be gwine roun’ wid ’e face so +long. A-prayin’. Le’ em res’ off from prayin’ an’ seekin’.” + +“’E kin do like ’e wan’ do,” Rose said curtly. Missie grinned gayly and +cut a little dance step to show how relieved she was not to have to seek +peace any more, but a sharp stinging in the bottom of her foot made her +stop with a wry face. + +“A splinter,” she said, sitting down on the floor and looking in the +sole of her foot to see. + +“You see, enty?” Rose exulted. “Gawd mek you stop you’ dancin’ quick. ’E +mek splinter stick you.” + +But Killdee took out his pocket knife and with its big, sharp blade cut +the splinter out as gently as he could. + + + + +_The Red Rooster_ + + +The night was hot. The heavy fragrance of the blossoms in the +china-berry tree near Killdee’s cabin door thickened the air and made it +more difficult to breathe. + +The red rooster sleeping high up on one of its limbs stirred uneasily +and crowed in a dull hoarse voice. + +Killdee lying beside Rose inside moved restlessly. He tried to keep +still. He didn’t want to wake Rose. She went hard as she could at her +work all day long. When night came, she was tired. Worn out. Glad to go +to bed and rest. He must keep still and let her sleep. + +She had not mended just right after Sis was born. Maum Hannah said it +was the warm weather. Maybe so. But Rose stayed downhearted somehow. +Dissatisfied. He felt she had lost faith in him. + +To-night he went to meeting because Rose wanted him to go. She wanted +him to get religion and join the Church. Rose thought if he’d be a +member they might have better luck. Killdee pondered over it. + +Being a member could not make old Mike, the mule, younger; or Mike’s +teeth sound, so he could chew corn and get fat. Mike was too old and +slow to keep up with the grass, especially when dog days came and it +rained every day God sent. Being a member could not stop that. + +The air in the cabin was close. Killdee got up softly and took the bar +down and opened the door wide. Baby Sis moved. Her ears were keen. She +had never been as sound a sleeper as Jim. + +Killdee stood perfectly still until she seemed quiet, then he stepped +out and stood on the doorstep. He breathed deep and looked up at the +stars. How thick and bright they were! A sign of rain to-morrow. More +rain. Always rain. And the grass had already wound its strong roots +around the tender cotton. He would ruin the stand trying to kill the +grass out. Why couldn’t the sun shine awhile? + +A glittering sliver of light shining through the china-berry tree caught +his eyes. He instinctively turned them away from it--then with a wry +smile he turned them back again. + +No use to look away now. He had seen it. He couldn’t fool himself. No. +He knew well enough what it was. The new moon. He had seen it _through +trees_. More bad luck for a month. More bad luck. Of course. He had +nothing else. Never. He’d cut that tree down and be rid of it. It was +always screening the moon. + +He moved to the side of the door where he could see the moon clear. +There it was. Thin and white. + +Something in his heart felt sick. Why did he always see the new moon +through trees? To-night he had been out in the open field. Why didn’t he +see it then? + +He didn’t mind work. Nor doing without things for Missie and Rose and +Jim and Sis. The question was, why couldn’t he have a chance to work and +make something? That was all he wanted. + +Bad luck. Shucks! Everything bad that could happen had already happened. +He turned inside and closed the door and put the bar in its place. He +felt in the darkness for the foot of the bed, then laid himself down +again beside Rose. He listened for her breathing. She was very still. +Then a sudden jerk of her body made him know she was awake. Awake and +sobbing. + +“Rose,” he said softly, “why you duh cry, Honey? Don’ do dat. Wha’s de +matter? I tryin’ fo’ do de bes’ I kin. I know you ain’ de one fo’ +complain. I know dat. Not my Rose. Ain’ we got de putties’ lil boy an’ +lil gal een de worl’? Tell me dat. How-come you cryin’, Honey? Please +don’ do em. Jim’s a-growin’ so fas’, an’ Sis, too. An’ Missie--Missie +kin hoe same ez a grown ’oman. We haffer be t’anksful. T’anksful. Da’s +de way. You t’ink I can’ mek a good crop o’ cotton? Shucks!” + +Rose did not answer and Killdee put his hand on her arm and patted it +gently, then let it rest there. Soon it became heavier and heavier, then +it slipped down limp on the straw mattress beside her. + +Killdee had seemed so downhearted that Rose made him take Missie and go +to the quarter to meeting. She thought if he’d listen to the people sing +and pray and see his friends and hear a sermon he’d feel better. + +She had stayed at home with the children. + +When Jim was asleep she put the creaky little rocking-chair close to the +door where she could see out across the field while she rocked baby Sis +to sleep. + +How bright the stars seemed in the sky! There right up over the +china-tree was a new moon. She saw it clear. Good luck! Thank God for +that! Killdee was at meeting. Maybe he’d decide to pray and seek. + +But Killdee came home from meeting as low-spirited as he had gone. +Nothing seemed to cheer him up. He did work hard. But things kept going +wrong all the time. If Killdee would do like other men---- + +If Killdee would seek and get religion--that might help. But he +wouldn’t. Rain came and made the grass eat up his cotton, and no telling +what else would happen unless he changed. + +The red rooster out in the china-berry tree crowed huskily. It was hot. +The blossoms thick on the tree out there were too heavy sweet. Their +fragrance filled the cabin. They made breathing an effort. Rose +couldn’t sleep. Killdee lay so quiet, he must be asleep. + +Rose sent out a prayer in the darkness; a prayer for her baby, that God, +wherever He was, would take care of her little girl. Then she prayed for +Jim. She prayed again for herself, that she’d get well--well as she was +before Sis was born---- Then she prayed for Killdee, that he would have +longer patience--and be happier--and get saved from sin. + +But her thoughts wandered. She was praying here in the darkness. Where +was God that He could hear her? + +A fear of things crept into her heart--a fear of the dark, of what she +didn’t know. Her fear made her get closer to Killdee and, gently lifting +his heavy arm, she put it over her. She somehow felt protected by it, +and soon fell into a heavy sleep. + + * * * * * + +When breakfast was ready the next morning, Killdee got up and ate +hurriedly and went to the field with his mule and plow. Missie followed +with a hoe. Rose stood in the door and watched them going to the field. +Killdee looked tired, though the day’s work had not begun. His lean +shoulders were stooped, and he was only a young man. + +The plow was rickety. Missie did the best she could, but she was little +and the grass was tough and wiry. + +But this was Monday morning. Rose didn’t have time to be standing there +thinking foolish, useless thoughts. No! She had work to do. + +First, she sat down by the hearth and ate a bite of breakfast; then +covered up what was left in the pot and put it closer to the coals to +keep warm until Jim woke. + +She hadn’t slept well last night. The china-berry blossoms were too +sweet, and the red rooster kept crowing all through the night. She had +never heard him crow so loud before. He woke up baby Sis two or three +times. Jim never waked for anything. No. He was a good sleeper. That was +why he grew so fast. + +She went to the bed where he lay asleep. In the early morning light her +two chubby, little black children looked almost exactly alike. One was a +very little larger than the other. Rose looked with pride at Jim’s soft, +round chin; his curved cheek. The full lips, slightly parted, showed +teeth white as new milk. A sturdy little boy, but Rose shook her head as +she looked, and her eyes filled with tears. Jim’s little clothes were +all ragged. + +The red rooster gave a shrill crow right at the doorway. Baby Sis, +asleep in the cradle beside Rose’s own bed, woke and cried out sharply. +Rose went quickly to her and took her up and held her close and +murmured: + +“Did de bad ol’ rooster wake up my baby? E did! E skeery ’em. Go to +sleep----” + +She sat in the creaky rocking-chair and crooned to the child she fed at +her breast. + +The sun had risen bright and hot. A light breeze fluttered through the +leaves of the china-berry tree outside and came in through the door, +cooler than the fire-warmed air inside the cabin. + +Rose rocked back and forth till Sis’s little eyelids fell, then she +kissed the fuzzy little head gently and, rising carefully, tipped over +to the cradle and laid the baby down. + +The red rooster crowed. Baby Sis’s bright eyes opened wide. Rose leaned +over and patted the soft little body and rocked the cradle till the +heavy eyelids closed tight again. Then she went to the door and waved +her apron fiercely at the red rooster. + +“Git on off!” she whispered angrily at him. “Git on off! Sometime I wish +you was dead! You won’ let nobody sleep een de night wid you crowin’! +Now you keep wakin’ my baby up! Quit you doin’s! I got work fo’ do! I +ain’ got time fo’ be runnin’ you ’way f’om de do’! Shoo!” + +He ran away cackling with terror. Rose began getting up the clothes to +wash. This was Monday morning. She piled them all together in the middle +of the floor. Then she took up each garment, piece by piece. She must +find where there were missing buttons or torn, worn places. + +A small paper box sat on the mantelshelf, a box that had once held +shells for Killdee’s gun. Now it held her one needle and a ball of +coarse thread. She drew the rocking-chair to the door where there was +light, and with her big-eyed needle and coarse thread, she repaired the +clothing carefully. + +The big, black, iron wash-pot sat out in the yard not far from the +woodpile. Killdee and Missie had filled it on Saturday. Rose built up a +hot fire under it. She took the two wooden washtubs out from under the +house and put them up on a bench by the cabin, in the shade of the +china-berry tree. Then she brought out the clothes and separated the +white ones from the colored ones. With a tin bucket she dipped hot water +from the big, iron pot and poured it into the tubs. Soon she was bending +her body up and down, up and down, over the wash-board, and white +soap-suds foamed through her fingers. + +She sang as she worked, a low, spiritual melody. She felt happier, +somehow. Work was good, after all. It helps people to shed their +troubles. As she washed each garment in one tub, she dropped it into the +other tub to be washed again. They’d all be clean when she finished with +them. + +The red rooster hopped up in the doorway. Rose did not see him. He +peeped around carefully to see if she heard him, but she was thinking +just then she would have to be careful or the soap would not last +through this washing. Jim and Killdee used so many clothes this rainy +weather. So many more than she did, or Missie. They got them so dirty +too. She didn’t mind that, bless their hearts, if the soap would hold +out. Rubbing clothes without soap made sorry washing. + +The red rooster stepped cautiously inside the cabin. He was hungry and +curious, and with Rose out of sight he was bold. + +He looked at the pot on the hearth. The fire coals near it blinked red +and hot. He was afraid to go closer to them. + +He looked all around the room. A few white threads were scattered on the +floor. He pecked at one. It hung on his beak, a tasteless, annoying +thing. He shook it off with a croak of disgust. + +Jim was a sound sleeper. He did not wake. But Baby Sis’s ears were keen. +Her eyes opened wide and caught sight of the red rooster’s glossy, +bright feathers and his scarlet comb. She cooed with delight. + +The red rooster listened and walked timidly up to the cradle. He +stretched his neck and looked over the side to see what was there. Tiny +dimpled fists and small black feet jerked uncertainly, quickly. Two +black eyes danced and sparkled. + +The red rooster leaned a little closer. The child seemed harmless +enough. + +He was hungry. He had not had a single grain that morning. Not a crumb. +Rose and Missie and Killdee had all forgotten to feed him. + +The hens were scratching for worms, but it was very hot. They had to +hold their wings out away from their bodies while they scratched. A +tiresome thing. + +Maybe these two, bright shiny eyes would be good to eat. He would have +to be quick to get them. They didn’t keep still like blackberries. No, +but maybe they tasted better. + +His yellow beak was sharp and his long neck was strong, and he gave a +swift peck. + +Rose outside was washing and singing, but she heard the strangled gasp +of terror, the silent held breath, then the shrill, heart-breaking +scream. + +She flew up the cabin steps, stumbling over the frightened red rooster. +He squawked and cackled with terror and tried to fly past her out +through the door. + +It was easy to see what had happened. A bloody hole gaped, then it +poured out red tears. + +Rose’s eyes dazzled. She picked up the child and held her close while +she stumbled blindly, wildly over the soft furrows to where Killdee +worked to kill grass in the field. Killdee would know what to do. He’d +know. + +“Killdee--Killdee----” she moaned as she went, “mah po’ lil baby---- +Looka wha’ de rooster done to em, Killdee----” + +Killdee heard her and went running to meet her. Missie ran too. Killdee +looked once at Sis’s poor little blood-stained face and turned away with +a breath that whistled sharp through his teeth. His mouth went hard. His +lips taut. + +Why couldn’t he speak? What was the matter with him? + +Rose put out a hand to touch him, then drew it back. + +He was laughing--no--not laughing, either, but his face was working +curiously---- + +Missie followed his eyes as they looked wistfully across the fields +where heat waves danced merrily in the hot sunshine. What was Killdee +thinking? Why was he so quiet? + +“Yinner mus’ be blame me--yinner won’ say nuttin’,” Rose sobbed. Killdee +said slowly, hoarsely: + +“No--I dunno nuttin’ fo’ say----” + +Rose turned away crying. Killdee was blaming her. She had let the +rooster get in. It was Monday. She had to wash. He knew that. + +“Look lak you’d come kill de rooster--Killdee---- Don’ look lak you’d +stan’ up dere an’ don’ say nuttin,--an’ don’ do nuttin’----” + +Killdee held out his arms. + +“Gi’ Sis to me, Rose. Lemme tote em home fo’ you. Missie, you go walk +behime Mike. He kin keep to de row an’ plow tell I git back. You des +hol’ de plow up fo em.” + +With the child in his arms, he walked toward the cabin. Rose followed +him, sobbing and saying as she went: + +“I can’ wash no mo’ to-day. No. Not at mah baby eye done pick out---- +You haffer kill da rooster, Killdee. I can’ stan’ fo’ hab em roun’ de +do’ no mo’--no--not at e pick mah baby eye out. I know all de time +somet’ing been gwine happen. Nobody wouldn’ lis’n at me when I +talk--nobody wouldn’ pray, but me.” + +Killdee did not answer, but he remembered how the new moon hid behind +the china-berry tree last night. Bad luck had come. Yes. + +When he killed the rooster, he’d cut the damned tree down too. + + + + +_Teaching Jim_ + + +Killdee walked home beside the load of wood. In a kind voice he urged +Mike on. The sun was going down. + +Far across the cotton field it shone red. As Killdee lifted serious eyes +to look at it, his lean, gaunt, black face saddened. + +The sun that set in Baby Rose’s grave was red, just like this sunset. +Red like the fire that burned her tender baby flesh and killed her. He +never saw a red sunset without thinking of little Baby Rose. + +Now as he thought, his tired eyes filled with tears, and through the +tears, the red coppery glow glistened, and flashed and gleamed mockingly +before him. + +Killdee heaved a deep sigh--a sigh so deep as to be almost a sob. He +thought of Baby Jim there at home. Chubby little Baby Jim. Bright-eyed, +brown, dimpled, with fuzzy little black wool just beginning to grow on +his head. + +Little Jim knew his daddy--knew him as well as Rose and Missie did. Jim +loved him, too. He always came toddling with funny, uncertain steps to +meet him. + +Jim had already learned not to fall out of the door any more. He had +learned that by falling over and over. He knew how it hurt. When he +stood in the doorway, ready to go down the steps now, Rose and Missie +laughed at the way Jim’s tiny fingers clutched the door-facing. + +Jim laughed with them too. Perhaps he didn’t know why they laughed, but +he always tried to join in whatever other people did. Good little Jim! + +The thought of Jim cheered Killdee. Jim was his. His son. For Jim he was +willing for hard work to crack his very sinews. For Jim’s sake he tried +to be careful. Never again would he stir the earth on Green Thursday. +Never. + +Jim was a part of himself. Jim’s little hands, his funny little words, +his stumbling, uncertain little feet, were the most precious things on +earth. + +Jim thought his old daddy was the greatest thing. The greatest man. Jim +thought he was great as God! Jim didn’t know any better. + +He liked to play in the fire just as Baby Rose had liked to do. He must +be taught not to do it. He must learn that fire burns. + +Baby Rose lay yonder in the graveyard in the little pine box Andrew made +to fit her, with the heavy red earth piled up on her, all by her little +lonesome self, because the thing she loved best to play with had killed +her. + +He ought to have taken her and shown her how it felt to be burned. She +would not forget pain. No. But he didn’t think about it. He thought she +would learn by herself. + +Why did God make people like the things that would hurt them? Kill them? +Why didn’t He let them know danger? + +Winter was here. Fire had to burn big and bright in the chimney to keep +the cabin warm. All day it must burn and at night be banked deep with +ashes so it wouldn’t die out. + +Cold weather was here. Even on fair days, Jim would have to stay inside +the cabin to keep warm. Rose would be in the field. Missie, too. Rows of +brown stalks still held fluffy, white cotton. + +Rose and Missie would have to help pick the cotton. Killdee couldn’t +gather it by himself. Sometimes nobody would be left at home with Jim. + +If Jim were a little older he would be safe, for he’d know that fire +burns. But Jim, happy little Jim, did not know it yet. Already he tried +to take straws and sticks and hold them in the fire to see them blaze. +When Rose or Missie scolded him and made him drop his pretty plaything, +Jim didn’t understand why. He’d watch it when they made him drop it on +the hearth, and his little lips would quiver because he couldn’t keep it +in his hand. + +Killdee sighed as he trudged on homeward. The time had come. He must +teach little Jim that fire burns! Telling him so did no good. He’d have +to show him. To-night he’d have to show him. He and Rose and Missie had +talked it over. They had decided. It must be done. Jim must learn that +fire burns. + +When Killdee got nearer the dusky little cabin by the side of the road, +two little black children stood on the doorstep waving at him. Black +smoke rushed briskly out of the broad clay chimney. Bright sparks rose +with it, shone and died. + +A strange thing, fire! Burning inside there, hot, strong, fierce, while +Rose cooked the supper. That fire was a good, kind friend that cooked +food for them and kept them warm. Yet, it could scorch and kill a baby’s +body, too.--Just as it ate up strong wood and turned it to ashes. + +When those bright sparks rose and went out, where did they go? Killdee +watched them. They sparked, raced, and were gone. Where? + +Where did Baby Rose go? + +Missie and Jim were coming running to meet him. Killdee stopped Mike and +waited. Jim must have a ride. Missie was picking Jim up in her arms to +bring him. He walked too slow to keep up with her. + +Killdee took Jim from her and set him on the pile of wood in the wagon +and put the rope lines into the chubby hands. Missie shouted and laughed +when Jim shook the lines and tried to make patient, old Mike go faster. + +When Mike stopped with his head at the wide gate of the barnyard, +Killdee took Jim down and gave him back into Missie’s arms. He +struggled and kicked and screamed to stay with his daddy, but Killdee +smiled, and said gently: + +“Tek him on een de house, Missie. Night air ain’ good fo’ lil chillen. +Jim don’ know no better. Tek him on.” + +As Killdee loosened the collar from Mike’s neck, he said to himself: + +“Dey’s a lot he don’ know, po’ lil Jim! But I reckon none o’ we don’ +know much, atter all.” + +When Killdee went into the house, Rose was cooking supper on the open +fire. + +The chimney’s wide, black, sooty mouth, which stretched across one side +of the room, was filled with logs of wood. A great fire licked at them +with smacking, hungry tongues. Yellow flames crackled and roared up the +chimney, devouring the logs, while red and blue flames played over the +coals. + +Pot hooks fastened firmly in the stone and clay held black iron pots in +the blaze. The sandy hearth held three-legged pots. Pots with handles. +Iron kettles. Iron spiders. All had tight-fitting covers. They sat black +and comfortable. Missie had just scoured them clean and they were +waiting there, ready to be used. + +Ashes piled in one corner on the fireplace lay very still, until a puff +of steam from underneath raised them like dust, and a fragrant smell +went out into the room. Sweet potatoes were roasting there. + +In another corner, corn shucks showed through a mound of ashes. Spurts +of steam sizzing out made the mound heave like a small volcano. Ash cake +was cooking there. + +A frying-pan sat on live coals pulled out on the hearth. Slices of fat +bacon sputtered and spit and curled around the edges as Rose dropped +them on it. Good smells filled the room and streamed out of the open +door to where the two little black children sat in the half-light. + +They sniffed and laughed and got up and came running inside. Both +hurried to the cupboard for a pan. Then to the shelf for a spoon. Little +Jim did whatever Missie did. The frying bacon was the supper bell. They +knew supper was ready when they smelled it. Killdee, coming in, saw them +and smiled wistfully. + +When their pans were helped, Missie and Jim sat on the floor to eat. +When all the pans were empty, Missie washed them and put them away. Jim +crawled up into Killdee’s lap. + +“Sonny,” said Killdee, “is you lub you ol’ daddy?” + +Jim answered with a bear-like hug. + +“Sonny--” Killdee’s voice sounded queer and broken, “wha’ mek you play +een de fire?” + +Killdee took the baby’s fat fingers and looked at them. + +Rose sat by the firelight with her patching. + +“Killdee----” She leaned forward. Fear warped her face. “Killdee, wha’ +you gwine do?” + +“Honey----” Killdee met her eyes, then turned his own to the fire. Jim +sat up and looked at each of them. Reaching up, he patted Killdee’s +rough cheek. + +“Ol’ Pa,” he said, laughing mischievously, “Ol’ Pa.” + +Killdee looked at Rose. Her face was queer and drawn. + +“I can’ ha’dly stan’ fo’ do em, Rose, but looka da fire. +S’pose--s’pose----” + +The strong oak logs were already crumbling to ashes, turning from fiery +red to gray. + +“Jim will play een de fire. Nobody can’ stop em. ’E’s a lil, ign’ant, +trus’ful baby. ’E is. I better show em how fire kin bu’n. I better. Don’ +look at me sorrowful, Rose. It hu’t me clean to my heart.” + +Rose’s hands clasped and unclasped. Tears rolled down her cheeks. +Killdee kept trying to comfort her. + +“People mus’ try fo show dey chillen how t’ings kin pain ’em. An’ kill +’em. Mebbe ef we had a show lil Rose ’bout fire--I dunno. Some t’ings +_is to be_, I reckon. Maum Hannah say Baby Rose’s time was out. + +“Tellin’ people don’ do no good. You haffer show em. Suffer em.” + +The bright flames rippled innocently. They gave out a warm, kind light. + +“You might be right, Killdee,” Rose tried to agree, but her breath +caught with a sob. + +Killdee turned up Jim’s small brown palm and looked at it. How could he +burn it? How? Yet he must. + +His strong fingers tightened sternly. He leaned forward and yook up a +hot, live coal off the hearth, and laid it on Jim’s tender fingers. + +The baby’s scream, the woman’s cry, the man’s groan, sounded all +together. Missie came running to see what was wrong. Big tears rolled +down her thin cheeks. She looked at Killdee with big, solemn eyes, then +turned away without a word and went slowly back to bed in the shed room. + +She understood. Little Jim had to be taught his lesson. Killdee had to +do it. It was the only way. + +Jim sobbed himself to sleep in Killdee’s lap. Sorrow had come to him +without warning from the very one he loved best. His hand was burned and +his baby heart was cut to the quick. + +Killdee gave him to Rose and walked out into the night. He looked up at +the stars. They shone up there like sparks that never did go out. He +wondered if Baby Rose was up there--up there with them, and God. + + + + +_Catfish_ + + +Killdee came home from the Cross-roads store one Saturday afternoon and +his black face was bright with enthusiasm. + +“Rose,” he said, taking a chair and putting it up close to the hearth +where an iron pot simmered industriously with catfish stew, “I got a +good plan. A good one. Lemme tell you ’bout em.” + +Rose looked up from her sewing. + +“Wha’ e is?” she asked with interest. + +“I dunno wha’ you gwine t’ink ’bout em. We can’ hab much catfish fo’ eat +ef I do em.” + +Killdee breathed in the appetizing smell thoughtfully. + +“Wha’ you duh talk ’bout, Killdee?” Rose asked, puzzled indeed. + +He laughed and said teasingly: + +“Guess wha’ e is.” + +“Oh, go on an’ tell me,” she urged him. + +“Well, dis is it. A man sellin’ futilizer wuz at de sto’ dis ebenin’. I +heah him talkin’ ’bout de crops an’ t’ing. ’E say fish-scrap is de bes’ +futilizer een de bunch. It’ll mek cawn an’ cotton grow off faster dan +anyt’ing. De futilizer man say de factory meks de pure, naked fish into +fish-scrap.” + +Rose forgot all about the fish-stew in the pot there on the coals while +Killdee described to her what he had heard. How big boats go on the +ocean with wide, long nets, which they spread around schools of fish. +How the fish are caught and carried to a place where they are ground up +and sacked and sold to farmers for high prices. + +“Lawd, Rose, ef I could mek my own futilizer! Ef I didn’t hab to buy +none! We’d hab mo’ money dan we’d know wha’ fo’ do wid.” + +Rose listened thoughtfully. It sounded wonderful indeed. + +“But you ain’ got nuttin’ fo’ grind up de fish wid, Killdee.” + +“No. Da’s so. But de fish don’ haffer be grind up. I could easy put dem +een de groun’ an’ dey’d rot befo’ you know it. I gwine try em.” + +Before many days passed, Killdee had fish traps made of split hickory +strips set all along the bank of the tawny river. He used corn meal +cooked into thick lumps for bait. + +Every morning by daylight he was there at his traps getting out the fat +catfish. + +“How-come you goes to de ribber so reglar, son?” Maum Hannah asked him +one morning, as he passed her cabin. + +“I’m a-tryin’ fo’ git catfish,” he answered. + +Maum Hannah thought he had a guilty look. She wondered what Killdee was +doing back there on the river every day. Maybe he had a still. + +“Better mine,” she warned, “you gwine ketch de fever. Too much o’ ribber +swamp ain’ good. You better not be mekkin’ whiskey back dere. Mine! I +heah you been gittin’ a lot o’ cawn mek eento meal, too. Mine!” + +Killdee kept on patiently, persistently, until every stalk of corn in +his field had a catfish right at its root. When those fish rotted, what +a crop of corn he would have! His crop would be ahead of all the other +crops, and he’d have no fertilizer bill to pay. + +His fingers were often sore with poison from the catfish fins, and it +did take a lot of meal for the bait, but Killdee felt he’d more than +make it all back. + +In the Fall he’d have more corn than he needed. He’d sell some. The barn +would be full. The mule fat. The hogs would make bacon enough to last +all year. Killdee was happy over the good work he was doing. + +When every stalk was fed with a fish at its roots, he decided to go over +and tell Maum Hannah all about it. He’d give her a load of the corn when +it was made. She was so good to his folks. Now would be his chance to do +something for her. + +That night when supper was over, he took the path across the field and +went to her cabin. His heart and step were light. + +“How you dis ebenin’, Auntie?” he greeted her, as he walked right in +through the open door. + +“Come een, son. You had supper yet? I’m des’ now sta’tin’ fo’ eat.” + +Maum Hannah was always glad to see him. She pointed to a chair. + +“Yes’m, I done eat. You go on. Don’ stop. I des’ come fo’ talk wid you a +lil, an’ fo’ see how you do.” His face was beaming. Maum Hannah’s eyes +twinkled mischievously as she rallied: “I’d do better to-night ef I had +catfish stew fo’ eat wid my bread. How-come you don’ bring me catfish no +mo’?” + +Killdee grinned. + +“Da’s de bery t’ing I come fo’ talk wid you ’bout,” he said. + +“I don’ see no fish een you han’, dough,” she answered. + +“No’m, but I come fo’ tell you wha’ I duh do wid all dem catfish I +catch. I feeds my cawn fiel’ on dem fish, ’stead o’ you an’ Rose an’ de +chillen.” Killdee laughed heartily at his joke. + +“Yes’m. Da same cawn fiel’ out yonder is got a catfish to eby stalk. You +wait tell it rain. Da’s gwine be de fines’ piece o’ cawn een dis +country. Da’s de reason I been gwine to de ribber so reg’lar. I been +baitin’ fish wid all da meal.” + +Maum Hannah grunted. + +“Whe’ you heah o’ sich a t’ing, son?” + +Killdee told her how he had heard the white man talk about fish-scrap +and of his decision to make his own fertilizer. She listened gravely. + +“It soun’ good fo’ true. But I dunno,” she added doubtfully. + +“I dunno. A buckra might could do em. But a nigger--somehow, a nigger +don’ hab luck when ’e try fo’ outdo hisse’f. It might be a good t’ing. I +hope e is.” + +Killdee was confident. + +“You wait. I gwine dribe up to you do’ nex’ fall wid a wagon load up wid +cawn an’ say: ’Looka wha’ I brought you, Auntie.’ You gwine be glad I +fine out dis same t’ing.” He laughed and she joined in. + +“Great Gawd, son! Dat do sound fine. I wish you luck wid em. When you +git t’rough feedin’ de cawn, dough, do bring me a string o’ catfish.” + +“Yes, ma’am. I gwine do dat, too,” he promised cordially. + +When her supper was eaten, she took out her pipe and lit it. Between +short puffs she said: + +“I glad you ain’ been duh mek liquor back een da swamp. I been ’f’aid +you wuz doin’ dat.” + +“No’m,” Killdee laughed. “I ain’ been doin’ dat. But nex’ fall I gwine +hab so much o’ cawn, I reckon I haffer mek a lil fo’ drink fo’ +Christmus.” + +Maum Hannah said gayly: + +“Ef you do, don’ fo-git me. I needs some right now. All de root medicine +I meks fo’ sick people don’ keep any time. I can’ get no liquor fo’ seep +em een. It spiles too quick.” + +“Nex’ fall, I gwine mek you plenty o’ liquor fo’ all you medicine,” +Killdee promised. “An’ I’ll gi’ you a load o’ cawn too.” + +He got up to go. It was getting late. + +“Good night, Auntie. I got to git on home,” he said. He went away +whistling down the path towards home. Maum Hannah closed the door and +went to bed. + +Before day she waked up. Something unusual was happening. A strange +growling sound came with the breeze from the direction of Killdee’s +field. What was it? She got up and went to the door and opened it and +listened. Dogs. What were they doing? Not running rabbits. Nor treeing +anything. No. They were fighting. Could a wildcat have come up out of +the river swamp? + +There was sharp yelp and a man’s voice whooping. Was it Killdee’s voice? + +She went down the steps and followed the path. The moon had risen and it +was light enough to see some distance ahead. When Killdee’s field was in +sight, she knew that the growling, fighting, was there. + +She hurried on. The corn, high as her head, rustled in the breeze, but +there were other sounds. Killdee was shouting, running through the corn, +swearing, cursing, raving. Dogs were everywhere in the field. They were +digging up the fish.--Fighting over them.--And the smell of those +catfish! Poor Killdee! + +There was nothing she could do. She turned and went slowly back over the +path to her cabin. + +She made up a blaze in the fireplace and sat down to smoke and think. +She hated to see Killdee after this. He’d be so disappointed. Without +fertilizer, his corn would not make much. The land was too old and worn +out. Poor Killdee. All his hard work for nothing. The dogs would not +stop until every fish was eaten. + +Well, life is like that. She had learned it. Women learn it early. Yes. + +Men take trouble harder.--Harder. + +The sun was high in the sky next morning when she heard Killdee coming +down the path. His step was heavy. Different from the step of last +night. Heavy hearts make heavy steps. + +She was not prepared for the drawn look on his face. It was thin and +haggard, and his eyes were red and sullen. + +“Auntie----” he stopped with a harsh laugh. “Dey ain’ gwine be a stalk +o’ cawn lef’ een my fiel’.--Not a stalk. Not much ez one year. My fiel’ +is ruin’!--Ruin’! De dawgs’ll dig up eby stalk o’ cawn to git dem +catfish.” + +His hard hands clenched as he spoke. He looked at her helplessly. + +“Dey ain’ gwine stop tell dey dig up all. I wouldn’ mine ef I hadn’ a +tried so hard. Ef I didn’ done ebyt’ing I could a-tryin fo’ mek a good +crop. De rain mek de grass eat up all de cotton, but I did count on +plenty o’ cawn fo’ eat. An’ now--now--dem Gawd-damn dawgs----” + +Killdee, hurt, spent with disappointment, sat on the doorstep with his +chin in his trembling hands. Maum Hannah remembered the little boy who +used to come to her long ago. So good, so hard-working, so easily +cheered up when things went right. So pitiful when things went wrong. + +She got up and went to him and put her wrinkled hand on his hard, sinewy +shoulder. + +“Son--son,” but what could she say? Life was hard to understand +sometimes. He must try to have faith in the rightness of things. How +else could she help him now? She felt the strong muscles under her +fingers. Killdee was no weakling. No. + +“Son,” she said, “eby back is fitted to de bu’den. Dis one seem heaby. +But you kin bear em. I know you kin. You gwine hab plenty--fo’ +eat.--Sho! You ain’ no chillen. You mus’n’ git downhea’ted. No! You’s de +stronges’ man een dis country. An’ de bes’, too. I know.” + +It was hard to think of anything more to say to him as he sat there, +bitter rebellious, hard. She spoke as much to herself as to Killdee when +she added: + +“We ain’ got no help anywhe’ but Up-Yonder, son. We haffer trus’ een +Him. Haffer!” + +Killdee raised his weary eyes to her face. A sneering smile came to his +lips. His bared teeth gleamed in a savage way that made her shiver. He +laughed boisterously. + +“Rose all de time talk de same fool way. Trus’ who?” + +He laughed again. “Who?” he repeated, mirthlessly. + + + + +_Son_ + + +All night long Son was restless. Under the bed where Killdee slept, he +twisted and stretched his lean neck and thin paws,--and clawed and +scratched and bit and snapped at the hungry fleas that lived on his +rough, yellow hide. + +Killdee woke and listened and pitied and studied and tried to go back to +sleep again. + +Fleas had to be. Dogs always had them. Son ought to know that and keep +quiet. He kept himself from sleeping with all this uneasy, impatient +fidgeting. Son ought to learn to rule himself. To hold steady. + +As long as Son lived, fleas would stay on his hide and lay and hatch and +bite and sting and breed more fleas to keep doing it. + +Killdee reached down a hand to find and pat the poor, tormented beast. +But the hand couldn’t see and it stirred the darkness with long, sleepy +fingers, until a moist nose touched it gratefully. + +Then the fingers grasped the harsh, warm hair, they tenderly felt the +sharp edges of narrow bones and rubbed a limp ear. + +“Son,” Killdee murmured, “don’ fight dem fleas too hard. You claw’s +mighty sharp. Dey gwine tear a crack een you hide. Den mange’ll git een. +Mange is wusser’n fleas. Fleas is natchel. Fleas can’ do nuttin’ but mek +you on-res’less. Mange’ll mek you ugly an’ mean.” + +Son patted his bony string of a tail on the floor. Killdee’s interest +made his breathing husky with joy. Even after Killdee’s hand was +withdrawn, Son gave faint whimpers of pleasure. + +But soon he was restless again. He got up and went to the door and +whined and scratched to be let out. + +Killdee followed him and took down the bar and Son slipped by and went +down the steps into the night. + +First he stood still and listened. Then he trotted away down the weedy +path. He knew where he wanted to go. Knew exactly. + +Killdee looked out and listened, too. The dwindling old moon cast a gray +light that made the frosty night chillier. There were very few sounds at +all. + +An owl whooed far away in the river swamp, but Son cared nothing for +owls. + +Something rustled and scurried in the fence corner, but Son’s light, +patting feet went steadily on--without slacking. + +Cocks near by crowed and got answers faint and far away. + +Little chickens hovering under a mother hen gave a few uneasy, troubled +peeps and were hushed with a drawling cluck. That was all. + +Son had listened at none of these. Something else had called him. He +sniffed the air and then went straight to where he wanted to go. Son had +keen ears. His nose was hard to fool. + +Killdee smiled to himself and closed the door and put up the bar to hold +it. He went back to bed and eased himself down beside Rose. But he kept +smiling to think how shrewd Son was. How wise. + +Son’s faithful interest in love-making made him get up and break his +night’s rest and go far in the cold and dark. More than likely, he’d be +late getting to the lady’s house. He’d have to fight other dogs there +for a chance to get the lady to even notice him. Fight dogs that were +younger and bigger and stronger. + +If the lady happened to choose him, he’d soon come away and leave her. +He’d forget all about her. He would never even know his own children. + +It was hard luck to be a dog when you had as much sense as Son. If Son +were a man--a man---- + +Something Maum Hannah said long ago came into Killdee’s mind and mocked +him: “It’s a wise man kin tell his own chillen.” + +An unpleasant saying. And yet--even a man had to take somebody else’s +word--about children.--Whose they really were. + +Of course, Rose’s children were his. But Mary’s--since Bully left, +children had come to Mary just the same. + +How did any man know if they were his or not? Did Mary herself know for +certain? She always laughed and said: “My chillen daddy ain’ nobody een +pa-ticular.” + +After all, maybe fathers don’t matter much. Son knew that. He went about +his business and did what he thought was his duty, and then he bothered +himself no more about it. Maybe Son’s way was good as any. + +Killdee went to sleep and forgot about Son until the next day when +dinner-time came. Even then he didn’t remember until his pan of peas and +rice was almost empty. + +It was Son’s custom to sit patiently by and watch Killdee eat and catch +bits of food that his master tossed to him. + +Where was Son to-day? + +Killdee got up and whistled and called him. He wondered and whistled and +called again before Son came creeping out from under the house where a +dark corner hid his fresh wounds from meddlesome flies. + +Poor Son. One limp ear was torn. His wishful eyes were bloodshot and +battered. His thin legs tottered unsteadily. His coarse, yellow hair was +reddened and wet. Above open cuts on his body, flies hummed and buzzed +and frolicked. + +Killdee knelt and took Son’s head ruefully in his big hands. He stroked +the sensitive nose and patted a cheek and whispered sorrowful words. + +“Po’ ol’ Son. Po’ ol’ man. Dey got you all cripple up, enty? It hu’t me +clean to my heart fo’ see you all bung up like dis.--Po’ ol’ Son. Better +lef ’oman lone, Son. Better lef em lone, ef you kin.” + +Rose stood in the doorway watching. She didn’t love Son, and Killdee was +not deceived by her show of sympathy when she suggested kindly: + +“You wan’ me fo’ git you a clot’ so you kin tie em up, enty?” + +No, he didn’t want a cloth. Son’s hurts were better left uncovered. +Son’s tongue could lick them and keep them clean. Son could cure them +himself. No other medicine would do as much good as the medicine within +Son’s own mouth. + +Men have to tie up their sores and grease them. Not dogs. Dogs have +learned to cure themselves. Son knew how. + +Killdee went to the haystack by the barn and got a bit of fine dried +grass. He crawled away back under the house and fixed Son a bed in a +dark warm corner. + +Son followed and laid himself down with a sigh and wagged his tail +weakly. + +A lump came in Killdee’s throat to see him so downhearted. Son couldn’t +help wanting to go courting last night. Something inside him compelled +him. Drove him. Son wasn’t to blame. + +Son wasn’t to blame that he wasn’t strong enough to fight other dogs +away, without getting himself beat almost to death. + +Who was to blame? What? Why couldn’t things be fair to dogs?--And to +men--and women? + +A face came before Killdee’s eyes--black--eager--young--with a bluish +bloom on the cheeks--a pointed chin where a dimple came and went--dark +red lips where white teeth gleamed with laughter--lips that quivered in +such a pitiful way when things went wrong--little Missie--good little +Missie. + +She was so little--so tender--so trustful. Could he ruin her because she +was what he loved best? + +Love was a disease. It was wilting all the joy in her--in himself. It +was a poison that would burn and shrivel--that would change her clean +freshness to shame. + +Son could go and love when he liked. Where he liked. If he came home +bruised and torn, he could go off and hide and lick his bloody hurts and +get well.--But a man--has to lie--and seem hard and mean---- + +If a man could only learn to cure his hurts too--that would be good. +Maybe a man has to learn to do it. Maybe so. + +Killdee crawled out from under the house with a gloomy, frowning face. +Rose turned away when she saw him and he walked slowly down the path. + +Gray clouds hung low and drops of cold rain were falling on the damp +ground. Dull, reddish puddles of water shivered in the wind, as if they +were hurt. + +Killdee gave a bitter laugh. + +“Me and Son ain’ de onlies’ one hab trouble. Mud-puddle hab ’em too! ’E +can’ be still. ’E haffer stan’ pain. De wind trouble em. De sun-hot’ll +dry em up. Po’ mud puddle! Do Jedus!” + +What was the use to try? To want to do anything? Something got +everything. Even mud-puddles! + + * * * * * + +Heavy clouds bunched over the wide river swamp. In the distance their +rough, dark edges touched the tree-tops, and the hills on the other side +were hidden. Down under the trees the rivers were swollen and muddy. +They swirled and lapped and rushed along disregarding their rightful +channels. + +Killdee stood at the edge of the steep hill and looked down. The water +was rising. Everything in the swamp would be flooded. Cattle and hogs +left down there would be caught soon. Traps would be washed away unless +they were fastened strong to trees. + +Where was Son? He’d been gone since first daylight, and his hurts were +hardly well. + +Thinking about him made Killdee automatically give a long, shrill +whistle. He missed Son when he went away like this. Son was getting +along in years. Since rations were short, Son was weak. + +He wouldn’t stop scratching at the fleas. Mange had him. His eyes were +dimmer than when he was young. Fighting ruined them. He wouldn’t stay +home at night and rest. He’d rather go running around and getting into +trouble with other dogs. Son was foolish. He’d be better off asleep. + +Killdee whistled again before he turned towards home. He had no hogs in +the swamp to bother him to-day. Cholera got them all last year. He +didn’t have to go hunt in the swamp for them now. That was something. +Those rivers down below were men to-day. Good all his traps were chained +to trees. + +The solitude was disturbing. Killdee drew his rough shirt together at +the neck and buttoned it across his throat. He peered into the +colorless, blurred distance. There was something troubling about it. +Bare tree-tops hid wicked streams that tore at things to destroy them. + +Where was Son? Son knew that swamp too well to risk it now. Killdee +wanted to shout and shake those dull clouds. To make those quiet +tree-tops rustle. He drew in a full breath and forced it out with all +the power of his lungs. + +The clouds hung still. The tree-tops did not move. Only the heavy +silence was stirred. A deep echo came back to meet his cry and two +voices seemed to meet. Something within his breast moved with hope and +courage. If Son was down there in trouble, he’d hear that call and take +heart and fight his way back home. + +Something more than an echo answered. What? A faint yelping. A weak +whining. Could Son make a puny yapping like that? It was almost like a +fox bark. + +Killdee strained his ears to hear. Yes, it was a dog calling for help. +Somebody’s dog. Maybe it was Son! + +Killdee whistled and called and encouraged, then listened again. The +sound was nearer, but still uncertain--then a sharp outcry came. And +silence. + +Killdee plunged down the hill in the direction of the cry. Through +tangled vines and low-growing bushes he went following the bank of the +foamy, trashy river, but there was nothing to be seen of Son. + +He climbed slowly back up the hill and went home to Rose and the +children. + +It was night when a scratching at the door made him get up and take down +the bar. Biting, cold rain rushed in and hurried Son with it. Wet, +shivering, dirty with mud and blood, Son limped toward the fire on three +legs. Red drops spattered on the floor, for the fourth leg, a front one, +was gone, nipped off close to his body. + +“My Gawd, Son,” Killdee whispered, “who dat done you so!” + +Then he knew. A trap. Nothing but cold, hard steel could cut Son’s +bones and meat like that. Son had gone looking for food. For meat. The +trap treated all alike. Possums. Coons. Dogs. Son’s leg was too thin to +stand the pinch of it. It came off. Poor Son! Down in the swamp hunting +something to eat. To eat! + +Son might be wrong to scratch fleas and get mange, and to go fighting +dogs for a mate, but Son couldn’t help being hungry. He wasn’t to blame +because he wanted a taste of meat. + +Son’s hide was no good to anybody, but the trap didn’t care. It caught +anything that came in reach of it. Anything. + +“You gwine tie em up wid clot’, or le’ em stay so ’e kin lick em?” Rose +asked. + +Killdee did not answer. He took Son in his arms and held him close to +the fire. The poor stub trembled and bled. + +Light, flickering flames gave out little warmth. Their yellow fluttering +mocked. With an impatient kick, Killdee shoved the logs further back +into the chimney. A shower of sparks crackled and flared. + +“Son--Son----” It was all Killdee could say. The pain in his breast hurt +him through. + +What was the use of anything? Something always gets you. Son never +harmed anybody. Never! He did his duty the best he knew how. + +Fleas wouldn’t let him rest. They made him scratch. His own claws tore +holes in his hide and let mange get in. + +Son would have stayed around home at night too, but some bitch was +always calling him to come breed his kind. Son had to go. Something +inside him drove him. Son had sense. He knew he would meet other dogs +there. But he couldn’t help taking the risk of being beat. + +Son needed meat. His appetite stung him. He was too old to catch +rabbits. The bait in the traps was his best chance. Son thought so. Son +didn’t know traps were jealous of dogs the same as of possums or coons. +Son was too suspectless. + +Now his front leg was gone. Cut off. Some possum had gnawed it by now. + +It wasn’t good to trust anything. No. Not anything. There was no escape. +Some day, Son, he too, would lie still with a mouth full of dirt. Yes, +dirt. + + + + +_A Sunday_ + + +Sunday morning was the one day in the week when everybody on the +plantation could sleep as late as they liked. + +The front room of Killdee’s cabin was dim and gray in the early dawn. +Gray, like the oak ashes banked over last night’s fire in the wide, open +fireplace. Gray, like the wisp of smoke that struggled feebly through +them to rise out of the wide open chimney. + +The corners of the room were still dark. The night seemed to linger, too +deep-dyed to be overcome by the weak light of the fog-veiled morning. +The wavy mirror in the new bureau made the one bright spot in the room. + +Fresh newspapers, cut into fringes and hung on wires, stretched across +the ceiling, fluttered uneasily in the damp breeze that slipped in +through the two small, square, open windows. + +The window blinds were made of rough boards. One was propped back and +held against the side of the cabin by poles. It didn’t fit the window, +for it was warped and crooked from the weather. On blustery nights it +creaked on its rusty hinges. Teased them. Pestered them. Threatened to +break them. It couldn’t. Those hinges were strong. Hand-wrought. The big +nails that held them to the solid window facing were deep in the wood. +Hard to break or pull out. + +That window blind’s creaking often woke Killdee and made him restless, +but it was easier to leave it on than to take it off. The head of the +bed was opposite the windows. The gray light fell on its bright, +turkey-red and white cover, and on the two black heads resting there on +the white pillow. + +One head lay still. Heavy, open-mouthed, snoring. The other moved +tetchily whenever the window blind creaked. + +Habit was too strong for Killdee. He could never sleep late on Sunday +mornings. He woke at daylight, the same as on week days. He always tried +hard to lie still, to go back to sleep, to stay in bed until Rose woke +and got up to fix breakfast. But every Sunday it was the same old thing. +He’d move his body and turn over and try to wait. He’d think over +everything he ever knew in his life. Then finally, utterly worn out with +trying, he’d get up, stir the coals in the fireplace, start the fire +going, and dress. It was the same thing every Sunday. + +This morning he tried hard to wait for Rose to wake. He settled his head +on the pillow again and again and tried to lie still. + +Then his long black arms just would stretch out from under the quilt. He +gave a wide-mouthed yawn, a shiver, and a sudden snuggle back down +under the covers. The early morning air was damp. Chilly. + +He wished it was Monday morning. Then he’d be up getting to work. He +liked his work better than anything else. Planning it. Watching things +grow and bear and ripen under his hand. That was what he liked. Work. + +Already the land was plowed and ready for planting. Everything was +waiting for the weather to turn warmer, when he’d plant the cotton. + +Sundays were a nuisance. He was always glad when they were over. + +The other Negroes looked forward to them. Rose did. She liked to dress +up and go to church. To sit high up in front and sing in the choir. + +He looked at the back of her head, there close to his face. What a funny +smell it had lately! Rose was using some sort of stuff to take the kink +out of her hair. A funny thing to start doing at her age. Why did she +want straight hair? She was married. He was satisfied with her hair as +it was. + +He really liked the natural hair better. Straightened hair had a stiff, +queer look. He liked the older women with their heads tied in pretty, +bright head-kerchiefs. Rose didn’t. She wanted to be stylish. Stylish. +He smiled at the word, then frowned as he thought. Reverend Felder was +stylish. + +Women are funny things. All of them. Like children. Men have to humor +them. He hadn’t always humored Rose, but since he had begun doing so, +these last few years, things had gone better with them. + +He rose up and sat on the side of the bed, making it creak. He rubbed +his lean, black face all over with his hard hands. He scratched his +woolly head and yawned again. Then got to his feet and walked slowly to +the front door, and took down the wooden bar that held it shut. + +He looked out at the big trees in the woods near by. Cedars, oaks, +sycamores, were all strangely magnified by the mist. They seemed to be +brought near to him. Even the crape-myrtle and china-berry trees in the +yard seemed bigger and closer. + +“It’ll clear off befo’ twelve to-day,” Killdee muttered to himself. He +turned to the hearth and stooped and stirred in the ashes, uncovering +the coals that still lived there. + +A quick pattering of light feet sounded. A sniffling. A glad whine. Son. +The little three-legged cur ran in through the open door. With a great +wagging of his tail and wriggling of his lean body, and a licking at +Killdee’s bare feet and hands and face and neck, the dog expressed the +greetings of the morning. + +Killdee patted the yellow body gently a few times, then said a gruff +“Git on off wid you, now. Lemme mek up dis fire.” + +The dog ran under the bed and lay down. He scratched and licked and +snapped at fleas, while Killdee added kindling and pieces of wood to the +coals. + +Bright blazes flamed up. Killdee watched them leap through the wood. The +draught moving steadily up the chimney drew the chill damp air in +through the door. Killdee got up and closed it. He put the wooden bar in +its place, and with a slight shudder, crawled back into bed beside Rose. + +How warm she was! He got closer, but she moved away when he touched her. + +Under the bed the little dog was snoring, snoring, and Rose breathed +heavily too. Killdee, alone, was awake. Awake and restless. Hungry, too. +Rose would be cross if he woke her. + +Sometimes she did get cross, but most of the time she did pretty well. + +Wouldn’t she be in a rush when she woke this morning! She was going to +bring Reverend Felder home to dinner with her to-day. Rose had a hen +ready to bake. A cake was already made. + +The thought of Reverend Felder was unpleasant. Why did women like +preachers? Funny. Preachers were like women. Weak nothings. But women +always liked them.--Always. Except women who were like Mary. Mary’s kind +didn’t bother with preachers often. + +The smell of the hair-straightener became unpleasant. Killdee turned +away. He’d get up. He wanted his breakfast. Rose had slept long enough +anyway. He sighed heavily. What would he do while she went to church? + +She was a good wife. Cross sometimes, but a good wife. She was a good +cook, and she kept the house clean. She didn’t nag often. Hardly ever +now, for he knew how to stop her when she began it. + +One good thing about her, she never had cared about any other man’s +attention. Now some women---- But he never would put up with a thing +like that. Never! Rose, on the whole, was a good wife. A good wife. +Maybe a better wife than he was a husband. He stirred under the covers. + +Men are different from women. God made men different. The stronger a man +is, the more different from women he is. Women are made to love one man. +One. Men--he wondered if any man ever loved one woman all his life. All +the way through. He loved Rose---- + +Here Killdee turned over. Somehow he felt uncomfortable--for his +thoughts ran to little Missie. He couldn’t deny it to himself. No. His +heart beat with a quiver when he thought about her. But that was because +he couldn’t help worrying about her. + +There was something about Missie--Killdee didn’t know just what it was. +He lay quiet, rapt. Picturing the supple, slender figure, the way her +eyes shone when she laughed, the dark purplish red lips, the dimple +that came and went in the pointed chin. + +Lately Rose was often cross with Missie. Cross. It was wrong. But women +are so. They don’t like anybody else to look good, or to be pleasant. +No. Women are all jealous. All. + +Sometimes he wished he was fool enough to get religion. To get +interested in church. It would give him something to do on Sundays. +Somewhere to go. + +And yet, it was nice to sit here at home, or to walk out into the +fields. To plan the week’s work ahead. He liked to be different from the +other men on the plantation. To show them he was different. + +He thought for himself. He wasn’t a man who could be scared by the +preachers. No. He smiled to himself when he thought how he teased Rose +by telling her the members paid the preachers just to keep them scared. +He said it in fun, but he meant it, down in his heart. + +Yes, he did try to think for himself. He wasn’t a sheep. No. He was a +goat. A strong he-goat. + +A rooster hopped up on the doorstep and crowed shrilly. It was time to +get up. Somebody was coming! Killdee laid his hand on Rose’s shoulder. +Her firm flesh was good to touch. + +“Ain’t you ready fo’ wake up yet?” he asked her gently. + + * * * * * + +Before twelve o’clock, the clouds lifted and the sun shone warm on the +wet earth. Spring was in the air. + +When Killdee finished breakfast, he drew a chair out on the little front +porch. With his feet up on the narrow banister railing, he leaned back +and smoked his cob pipe with short puffs. Jay-birds chanted harsh love +words to each other in the trees. Crows caw-cawed. Thrushes thrilled +over new-made covenants. Cardinals whistled gay assurances. +Mocking-birds, perched in budding trees near the cabin, poured out +joyful songs. It was spring. + +Inside, Rose bustled around. Missie fed the children. Fat pots, full of +food, sat on the hearth close to the hot fire. Rose leaned to stir one, +then another. The preacher was coming home with her. Reverend Felder was +coming. Rose was cooking before she went to church. She couldn’t trust +Missie to season the things. No, not for Reverend Felder. Missie could +put a cloth on the little table and set the dishes on it. She could put +a clean, white apron on over her Sunday dress and wait on Rose and +Killdee and Reverend Felder while they sat and ate, but Rose herself +must do the seasoning. Rose had everything planned in her mind. + +Reverend Felder was handsome. So slim and tall. So educated. So stylish. + +Rose came to the door and glanced up at the sun. It was getting high in +the sky. Soon it would be time to go. She must hurry. She had to dress +yet. + +“Better come an’ go wid me to chu’ch to-day, Killdee,” she said. “You’ll +heah a mighty fine sermon.” + +Killdee puffed at his pipe a few times before he answered: + +“No. I reckon not. I don’ feel lak settin’ still to-day. Not for so +long. You an’ Missie go. I’ll stay an’ tek keer o’ de chillen to-day.” + +But Missie had to stay to watch the precious pots. She couldn’t go to +church to-day. + +“I’m gwine put a few green walnuts een a sack an’ drag ’em ’roun’ een de +pond. Enough to git a few fish. Fish’ud tase mighty good to-night fo’ +supper,” Killdee said with sudden inspiration. + +Rose was shocked. + +“Why, Killdee! On Sunday? You’d stun fish on Sunday! You’s a case, +Killdee. What ’ud Reverend Felder t’ink ef he’d find you doin’ sich a +t’ing? Do wait tell nex’ Sunday. Don’ mek me shame o’ you to-day.” + +Killdee gave a short laugh. + +“Lawd! I bet dat nigger preacher ’ud eat dem fish same as me. Shucks!” + +“I bet he wouldn’t do no sich a t’ing,” Rose defended indignantly. “You +ought to be ’shame’ to talk ’bout a preacher so, an’ ’bout gittin’ fish +on Sunday. You don’ know yet, Sunday is Gawd’s Day?” + +Killdee smoked on in silence and Rose hurried her preparation. When she +was ready to go, Killdee had the mule hitched to the wagon ready for +her to drive. + +How fine she sounded with her rustling, stiff-starched petticoats and +new shoes that squeaked with each step! A corset, too! And Hoyt’s German +Cologne from the cross-roads store! + +“Lemme git a quilt to put ober you lap,” Killdee suggested, “Dese lines +gwine git you’ dress dirty.” + +“No. You go git a clean sheet out de trunk, Missie.” + +Missie did, and away Rose went down the road and out of sight. Killdee +watched until he could see her no longer. + +How beautiful the day had turned out to be, and the morning had been +dark and threatening. + +Who was that coming down the road? A woman.--Mary West.--Killdee knew +that walk. That slender, lithe body. It was a good thing Rose had gone. +Rose hated Mary. Killdee smiled. You couldn’t blame Rose. + +What was Mary coming here for? Something about her farm-work, maybe. He +rose to meet her. How neat and nice her homespun dress was! Plain, +cheap, but on Mary it looked as nice as silk. + +Mary’s face was cheerful, pleasant. + +“How you do dis fine day?” she inquired, and Killdee answered cordially, +as he held out his hand: + +“Fine, fine! An’ you look lak a flowers yard dis mawnin’.” + +“I ain’ feel lak one,” Mary answered soberly. “I’m totin’ lightnin’ fo’ +strike somebody right now.” + +“Who? Me? Le’ ’em come. I kin stan’ a stroke out you’ han’.” + +Killdee laughed at his own wit, but Mary stayed serious. + +“Better don’ laugh yet, Killdee. Wait tell you heah wha’ I come fo’ say. +I don’ know ef I right fo’ come tell you or no.” + +She did seem to hesitate about something. Her steady, bright eyes seemed +to be searching his face. Killdee laughed at her discomfort. + +“You look lak you een chu’ch, Ma’y. But come een an’ set down.” + +Mary followed him up the steps, but she would not sit in the chair he +offered. She preferred to stand. How droll! + +“Better not tell me de bad news. Ef it is so turrible, I might not could +stan’ to heah ’em,” he rallied, but his words fell flat. Mary’s face +kept its woeful look. She shook her head. + +“But you gwine heah it sometime. Boun’ to! All de mens in de quarter is +laughin’, makin’ spote o’ you, right now. An’ you settin’ heah an’ don’ +know nuttin’ ’bout ’em.” + +Killdee’s face changed. This was a different thing. Who had dared make +sport of him? Laugh at him? What did Mary mean? + +“Wha’ you talkin’ ’bout, gal!” + +Killdee felt the very hair on his body bristling. His blood swelled and +hottened. + +“It ain’ easy fo’ tell you, Killdee! I don’ know ef you gwine b’lieb me +or no----” Mary looked full in his eyes. + +“Go on an’ tell me! Don’ act fool! Tell me wha’ you mean!” + +He must hold still and make her tell all she knew. Mary couldn’t lie to +him without flinching. No. She was in earnest. She was uneasy, too, and +Mary was no coward of a woman. + +“I might be wrong to dip een it. It ain’ none o’ my business. I des’ +hates fo’ people speak light ’bout you, Killdee. I ain’ fo’git how good +you been to me sence Bully gone off an’ lef’ me----” + +“Aw----” Killdee was impatient. “Ef you got anyt’ing fo’ tell, go on an’ +tell! I don’ wan’ none o’ you’ sweet-mout’ talk.” + +Mary looked at his eyes. + +“You call ’em sweet-mout’ talk, enty?” she laughed scornfully. + +“Killdee,” she sneered, “you is a plain fool. A fool! You duh set home +an’ smoke an’ all de people een de quarter right now is laughin’ ’bout +Rose. Rose is fool ’bout da preacher Felder!” + +“Wha’ you mean, nigger?” Killdee asked furiously. + +He’d like to kill her. Devil! + +“Killdee,” Mary answered coolly, “when Rose gone to da convention down +de country, e stay een de same house wid Felder. An’ you heah home. So +sati’fy. Mens ain’ got no sense. You is bad as any. You wife cuttin’ de +buck an’ you blind ez a bat.” + +“Who dat talk sich a talk?” Killdee demanded. He grasped Mary’s arm. + +“You mus’ be mean who dat _ain’_ talk em!” Mary answered with a wry +laugh. + +Killdee was confused by this unexpected news. Rose? Reverend Felder? It +was impossible. Ridiculous. He tried to laugh carelessly--easily---- But +when he looked at Mary’s face, the laugh dried and stuck in his throat. + +“Who sta’t dis talk, Mary? Is it you? I know you ain’ nebber lak Rose. +But dis is a low-down talk. Ef you had feelin’ fo’ me, you wouldn’ do +em, needer. You couldn’.” + +Mary’s lips curled. + +“I didn’ t’ink you was sich a ass, Killdee! I is one, myse’f, to come +heah an’ tell you. I wish now I ain’ come.” + +Mary turned to go. With arms akimbo she stopped in the path. + +“Wha’ I keer ef de people laugh een you’ face?” she jeered. “How much +you keer ’bout me? Wha’ I keer ef de deacons tu’n Rose out de chu’ch? I +ain’ no member. No. I’d scorn to be one. You hanker fo’ ’oman lak Rose, +enty? A ’oman who kin set up een de choir. An’ sing. An’ pop chewin-gum +een e mout’. An’ wear fine clo’es. An’ shout ’bout Gawd an’ Jedus. Dem +is de kinder ’oman you crave, enty? Good day! I gwine!” + +Mary flung down the path. + +Killdee was perplexed. What was Mary trying to do? Could what she said +be true? Rose--Rev. Felder---- + +“Come back heah, Mary!” Killdee called with sudden decision. “Come heah +an’ tell me all you know ’bout dis t’ing.” + +Mary stopped. She looked at him. + +“Wha’s de nuse?” she asked. “You don’ b’lieb me. You t’ink I’m workin’ +some trick on Rose fo’ git you. I--I---- I wouldn’t hab you, Killdee! +Not ef you was de las’ man ’pun top dis yearth. I kin stan’ a fool but +not a damn one.” She laughed. + +Killdee seized her wrist and thundered, “Shut you’ mout’! Don’ you call +me no name. I’ll kill you right heah ef you do.” + +Mary smiled, but Killdee talked on. He had to talk. Words rushed to his +lips. First abuse. He couldn’t help it. He knew he was wrong. But he had +to strike out at somebody. And all the time he knew Mary told the truth. +Rose had no sense. Felder could easily turn her head. After the flood of +bitter words passed, he blurted out: “Felder might be got her haid tu’n +fo-true. Might be. I gwine fine out. But ef you lie to me--I--I’ll----” + +He could not say “kill” to Mary again. Instead, he said: + +“I’ll fine out de trut’. An’ ef you’s a-lyin’----” + +As Mary met his gaze, she felt pity for him. He saw it. He released her +arm and she walked away down the path that wound around down the hill, +then up to the quarter, where she lived. + +Killdee went back to his chair and sat down. He filled his pipe. Soon he +filled it again. His quick, short puffs burned the tobacco fast. + +What was the best thing for him to do? What? Mary might be lying. He +couldn’t sit here and think. This was one time he couldn’t hold still. +No! He’d get out and walk. + +He went out into the yard, then around the house, and followed the path +down the hill and on toward the river. + +He wandered along the path at first, then he suddenly turned in another +direction. He remembered old Daddy Cudjoe. He’d go see him. + +Daddy Cudjoe lived away back on the river. He was a cunger doctor. A +hoodoo man. He really did work wonders with people. He was feared as no +other man in the country was feared. Killdee remembered when he was a +little boy how he used to tremble at the sight of that old, bent figure. + +Since then, he had learned much from the old man. Not of cungering, but +of plain sense. As he grew older and needed advice, there was nobody who +could understand his problems, his perplexities, as well as that little, +old, shriveled man who lived all alone, away back there in a log-cabin +on a hillside above the river. And, to-day, Killdee felt that old Cudjoe +could advise him better than anybody else. + +It was past noon when he reached the little clearing where the +one-roomed cabin stood. Smoke puffed out of the clay chimney, saying +that the old man was at home and not in the river-swamp digging roots. + +Killdee walked right in without knocking. + +“Hey, Daddy?” he said. + +“Hey, son!” the keen-eared old man greeted him, looking up from the +roots he was assorting. “Come on een. I glad fo’ see you. How you do?” + +He held out his bony hand. It was more like a claw than a human hand. +Killdee clasped it gently. + +“I well, Uncle. How you do?” + +“Fine. Fine. Busy. Busy,” he answered in his queer, cracked voice. Then +he chuckled. The wrinkles deepened in his small, wizened face, and his +bright eyes twinkled kindly. + +“Wha’ de matter ail you to-day, son? You’ foot movin’ mighty heaby, +enty?” + +“Dey ain’ nuttin’, Daddy,” Killdee answered, drawing up a small +home-made chair to one side and sitting down. “I des ain’ had nuttin’ +much fo’ do to-day, bein’s it wuz Sunday. I t’ought I’d come see how you +wuz a-gittin’ along.” + +“Shut you’ mout’, boy. Go on an’ tell me wha’ dat got you fretted. You +t’ink I too blind fo’ see how you’ face is all squinched up een a knot? +Who dat got you bex’, now? A ’oman. I kin tell.” + +Daddy’s toothless, red gums shone as he cackled with laughter. + +“Daddy Cudjoe, you sho is got a second sight!” Killdee laughed, too. “I +don’ b’lieb nobody could fool you. No. How you kin know so much?” + +“I dunno,” the old man answered simply. “De buckra read book. I read +face. You kin read cloud, enty? An’ sky? You kin tell when it gwine +rain? Sho! I practise a diff’unt readin’. Da’s all. Face an’ book an’ +sky. All is de same at you know how fo’ read ’em. Sho.” + +Killdee listened thoughtfully. + +“I reckon dey is ef you know de sign good. Yes. I reckon dey is.” + +“Who dis you wan’ me fo’ cunger, now?” Daddy Cudjoe asked, chuckling +again. + +“Nobody, Daddy. Nobody. But I’s worriet. Worriet. I got to do somet’ing +or nudder. An’ I don’ wanter mek mistake.” + +Killdee pushed his worn, stained hat back from his forehead, then he +took it off and laid it on the little bare, pine table beside him. + +“Mistake is a bad t’ing,” Daddy Cudjoe admitted seriously. “Bad,” he +added. + +Killdee looked at the fire and blurted out: + +“Women is de Debbil, Daddy Cudjoe.” + +Daddy Cudjoe nodded his old, white head. Then he turned to Killdee with +a merry light in his eyes. + +“Who dis duh talk? Dis ain’ Killdee! Dis can’ be Killdee! My Gawd, son! +You don’ mean fo’ say you l’a’n sich a t’ing. Can’ be!” and he laughed +softly. + +A wistful smile played over Killdee’s face as he sensed the old man’s +amusement. + +“I’ve know it a long time, Daddy,” he said, toying with his hat. + +“Well, da’s good. Good,” said the old man, wiping the tears out of his +eyes. “At you know a t’ing is de Debbil, den you know how fo’ deal wid +’em. Sho.” + +“But I don’ always know how fo’ deal wid ’em. Da’s de trouble right now. +I don’ know.” + +“Who’s de ’oman, son?” Daddy Cudjoe asked. “Diff’unt kinder ’oman need +diff’unt kinder treatment.” + +“It Rose,” Killdee said simply. + +“Rose?” The old man looked astonished. + +“Rose? You don’ mean _you’_ Rose?” he asked, incredulous. + +Killdee nodded his head. It shamed him to say it, even to Daddy Cudjoe. + +“Wha’ dat Rose done, now?” + +“It’s dat damn preacher,” Killdee asserted fiercely. + +“Preacher? Wha’ preacher? You mean Andrew, enty?” + +Daddy Cudjoe remembered things he had heard years ago. + +“No. I mean Felder! ’E’s de one. Gawd-damn his black soul!” + +Daddy Cudjoe could not restrain a relieved laugh, as he said: + +“Oh, Felder. Don’ be a fool, son. No. You mus’n’ t’ink hard ef Rose +pleasure ’e’se’f a lil wid de new preacher. Ki! You’s wrong. De preacher +mought be a nicer man’n you, Killdee. Preachers is mighty sweet-smellin’ +creeters mos’ ob de time. You ought not to be bex wid Rose.” + +Daddy Cudjoe laughed at his joke. He felt easier. But Killdee’s face was +gloomy. He couldn’t treat it lightly. + +“Don’ plague me, Daddy Cudjoe. I can’ stan’ it. I ready right now fo’ +kill da low-down son of a bitch. But I ain’ sho it bes’ for’ do em. De +t’ing gits me is dis: Mary West say all de people on de plantation know +’bout dis t’ing befo’ me. Dey all is a-laughin’ at me fo’ a fool. Dat’s +de t’ing riles me. I des’ like to sho ’em--sho ’em I ain’ on de lebbel +wid common niggers lak dem. Sho ’em I don’ give a rip ’bout all dey +say----” + +Daddy Cudjoe listened, but said nothing. + +“I could kill Rose. Killin’ a ’oman’s easy fo’ do----” Killdee stopped. + +“Talk on, son. Talk on. You’ own mine’ll tell you wha’ fo’ do, +toreckly.--Talk on. Talk. You’ mine’ll listen. It de one fo’ tell you +wha’ fo’ do. You ain’ chillen fo’ me fo’ say wha’ you mus’ do. No. You +own mine kin tell you better’n me.” + +Killdee looked at him. Daddy Cudjoe was right. He himself must decide. + +Daddy Cudjoe looked at the fire. His old face was sad. His voice +cracked. + +“I nuse to be a nyoung man, too, Killdee. I wuz strong one time ez you. +I had trouble, too. Plenty. When I fus’ hab trouble, I’d talk it to +people. Dey’s plenty o’ people fo’ listen when you talk ’bout you’ +trouble. + +“But, I soon fine out dat wa’n’ good. No. Den I begin gwine een de woods +fo’ talk to myse’f. I talk t’ing out wid myse’f. You kin talk close-talk +out een de woods. Dey ain’ nobody fo’ heah you. It’s de bes’ place, son. +De bes’ place. Go talk dis t’ing out wid you’se’f. I can’ do you no +good. You go off een dem woods an’ talk ’em. Da’s de bes’ way. Nobody +can’ do you no good. You de onlies’ one kin do you’se’f good. Go talk +’em out wid you’se’f, son.” + +Presently he added: + +“You ain’ ’f’aid nobody, enty?” + +’F’aid? ’F’aid, nuttin’!” Killdee answered fiercely. + +“Den you ain’ hab no trouble. No. Trouble ain’ nuttin’ but bein’ ’f’aid. +Bein’ ’f’aid! No! Ebbybody’s ’f’aid o’ somet’ing. You lucky ef you ain’ +’f’aid o’ nuttin’. Talk it ober wid you own se’f, son. Fine out wha’ mek +you ’f’aid. You ’f’aid o’ somet’ing, or you wouldn’ o’ come fo’ see ol’ +Daddy dis mawnin’.” + +Killdee looked at the fire. Presently he said: + +“Mebbe you’s right, Daddy. Mebbe I’s ’f’aid. Mebbe I’s ’f’aid o’ dem +niggers laughin’. I ain’ gwine be ’f’aid no mo’. Not me! Not Killdee! Ef +I is, Daddy, an’ you heahs ’bout it, you come gi’ me a dose o’ pizen. +Yessuh. You gi’ me a good dose, an’ lemme die!” + +Killdee rose to go. Daddy Cudjoe nodded approval. + +“Da’s right, son! Da’s de way fo’ talk! Sho! Lemme tell you dis one +t’ing befo’ you go. Dese preacher, dese member, all dese Christian, dey +is ’f’aid, too! You ’member dat! You mus’n’ be ’f’aid dem! Not no mo’.” + +Killdee took the skinny, old, outstretched hand and held it +affectionately, then he dropped it and followed the path to the woods. + +It was almost dark when Killdee reached home. Missie and the other +children were out in the yard. Missie said Rose was sick with a +headache. She was lying down on the bed. + +Killdee went inside. He couldn’t tell whether Rose was asleep or not, +for she did not move or speak to him. “How you’ feelin’, now, Rose?” he +asked somewhat gruffly. + +Rose sniffled. + +“I t’ink I feelin’ a lil better right now. I mek Missie git a collard +leaf an’ tie on my haid. Dat he’p ’em some.” + +Killdee turned from the bed. + +“I t’ink so much chu’ch ain’ good fo’ you.” + +Rose moved and sniffled again, but said nothing. + +“Whe’ Revern’ Felder? ’E ain’ come home wid you? At you fix so much fine +eatin’ fo’ eb e ain’ come?” Killdee demanded. + +“’E ain’ come to Mount Pleasant to-day. ’E sen’ a answer ’e mighty +sick,” Rose answered humbly. + +“How-come you hab de haid-ache? You mus’ be eat too much.” + +Killdee sat down in the doorway and took out his pipe and lit it again. +His tongue was sore from so much smoking to-day, but he puffed fiercely +on. It was hard to keep from saying what was in his mind. Hard. How he +would like to wring the necks of a lot of people. Rose among them. +Headache! He knew well enough she was only scared. That was what ailed +her. She ought to be scared. Worse than scared. + +He had stopped and talked to Mary again on his way home. Things were +even worse than he suspected. Rose had made a fool of herself. Of him. +The deacons were going to meet at the church next Sunday and consider +what they would do with Rose and Felder. They’d mouth and rant and then +turn them out. He knew. + +Whether Rose had done wrong or not, she had gotten herself talked about. +That was almost as bad as being guilty. She had gotten Felder talked +about too. Andrew was spreading the news as fast as he could. Scoundrel! + +The only thing to do was to meet the whole crowd of them face to face +and say what he had to say to them all together. How could he do it? +Where? Killdee smoked and thought. + + * * * * * + +Rose stayed sick all the week. Even Killdee began to be worried about +her, although at first he thought she was pretending. Night after night +he could hear her crying, and she scarcely ate enough to keep her alive. + +When the next Sunday morning came, Killdee got up early and bathed and +put on the best clothes he had. + +“Whe’ you duh gwine, Killdee?” Missie asked him with a mischievous grin. +“To church?” + +“I gwine off a piece,” he replied with dignity. + +Over and over he anxiously cast his eyes up at the sun to tell the time. +When the hour before noon arrived, Killdee went into the barnyard and +put a bridle and saddle on the mule, mounted him, and rode away. When he +was gone, Rose sat up in bed and called Missie. + +“Whe’ Killdee duh gwine?” she asked. + +But Missie knew no more than Rose. + + * * * * * + +When Killdee rode up he could see through the windows that a large +congregation was gathered at Mount Pleasant Church. There was no +preacher, and the deacons were gathered all together in the pulpit. + +Daddy Cato announced the hymn and lined it out two lines at a time. The +congregation sang it slowly, solemnly. Daddy Cato called on Andrew to +pray, but before Andrew’s prayer was ended, Killdee could see that the +congregation was becoming restless. Instead of bowing their heads with +closed eyes while Andrew told God the purpose of their gathering +together, they craned their necks to look at him, as he stood waiting in +the door for Andrew’s prayer to be finished. + +Killdee could tell by the way Andrew yelled out his words that he must +feel terribly annoyed. He prayed well. He must have studied up this +prayer last night. It was like one old Reverend Duncan used to pray. But +it was being wasted because the congregation did not listen. + +Andrew’s eyes were open. He could see that the people did not hear his +fine prayer. When he said “Amen” every eye was turned to the door. +Killdee was there. He stood in the door waiting. As soon as “Amen” was +said, Killdee walked right up the aisle to the little steps at the side +of the pulpit. He did not stop there. He went right up where the deacons +sat in the pulpit. + +What in the world was Killdee thinking about? Was he crazy? The +congregation sat with open mouths. No such behavior had ever been seen +in Mount Pleasant Church before. Killdee, of all people in the world! +Here to-day, when Rose’s misconduct was to be discussed. And up in the +pulpit with the deacons themselves. He must be going crazy. Rose had run +him crazy. Killdee could see it all in their faces. It made him smile. +His heart had been beating uncomfortably, but now that the time had come +it troubled him no more. + +There was silence. The deacons could not speak for astonishment. What +did Killdee mean? + +Killdee stood there before them with a cool smile on his face. His words +were cool. Quiet. He did not lift his voice one bit. + +“I reckon you-all is surprise’ to see me heah to-day,” he said +pleasantly, looking at each deacon, then at the congregation. Sheep. +Scary sheep all running together. Flustered now. Addled. Andrew cleared +his throat. The other deacons moved uncomfortably in their chairs. None +of them seemed ready to answer, although Killdee gave them opportunity. + +“I ain’ gwine tek up much o’ you’ time. I got to hurry on back home, +bein’s my wife don’ feel so well to-day.” + +He stepped forward a little and put his hand on the Bible. Some of the +congregation took in sharp breaths. What did he mean? Putting his hand +on the Word of God like that! Killdee was a good enough man, but +everybody knew he was a sinner. He didn’t pretend to be anything else. +Then why did he come here? It was too much. Too brazen. The deacons +ought to make him get down. A wonder God didn’t strike him dead for +blasphemy! + +The deacons themselves seemed confounded. They sat staring. Dumb. +Open-mouthed. + +Killdee’s voice was a little tense when he began, but his words soon +flowed distinctly. They were emphatic. Explicit, too. But quiet. + +“I know why yinner come to chu’ch to-day,” he said. “I know all yinner +been talkin’. You been talkin’ ’bout Rose. My wife. I ain’ fool ez I +look,” he added. + +A smile broke over his face as he looked at the congregation. His eyes +twinkled at the deacons. They seemed, somehow, bewildered. Killdee +continued: + +“I come heah fo’ say des’ one t’ing. One! Yinner listen good. I ain’ +gwine say em but one time. You listen. It’s dis----” + +Killdee laid his hand right on the Bible. It was as if he swore to +something. He leaned forward. His words snipped off short. His lips +flared and bared his strong teeth. + +“De fus’ nigger eber call my wife name een dis chu’ch is got to deal wid +me! Me! Killdee Pinesett! Da’s all.” + +Killdee took his hand off the Bible. He smiled pleasantly at them. +Surprise numbed the tense faces. Taut muscles held still. + +“I’ll say good day to yinner now. I see you-all done heah me good.” + +He went down the pulpit steps. Down the aisle. On out of the church. He +unhitched his mule and rode away down the red dusty road. + + * * * * * + +Afterward Killdee heard many stories of what was said and done when he +left. But Rose’s name was not mentioned. That was certain. + +Resolutions that asked Reverend Felder never to darken the door of Mount +Pleasant Church again were passed. Daddy Cato was appointed to carry the +message to him. But it wasn’t possible to turn Rose out without calling +her name. She remained a member in good standing. + +Before Daddy Cato got down the country to see Reverend Felder, news came +that the preacher was dead. Dead with lockjaw. It was whispered that the +lockjaw was caused by a wound. A strange wound. Somewhere in his leg. +But nobody ever said how he got it. + + + + +_Plum Blossoms_ + + +The soft dusk of the enervating spring evening had come, but Killdee +plowed on. Since dawn, with only an hour at noon for food and water, his +easy-stepping, bare, black feet had trudged up and down the cotton rows, +his steady hands had held the plow stock in place. + +All day his eyes had watched for sprigs of grass. Every slight blade +told of deadly roots that were sneaking down to strangle the tender +cotton. + +Deftly he turned and guided the plow’s sharp steel edge, cutting grass +away without injuring the plants he protected. + +Monotonous. Yes. But as Killdee walked and walked, dreams came to him. +Here, alone in his field, between the warm earth and the sky, dreams +filled the hours. They kept fatigue and discouragement away. Kept hope +bright in his heart. Hardships were forgotten. Disappointments paled. + +He pictured to himself a time when things would be better. Easier. When +his labor, his striving, would bear fruit. + +He’d give his folks a better house to live in. Give them pleasures. He +himself would be different. Better. Happier. Freer. + +The picture was never quite finished. Even the clearest, plainest dreams +melted, faded--without ever telling the secret of what would make them +come true. They went away and left him nothing but this unending +struggle, day after day, to provide a bread and a roof for himself and +his family. + +The spring always made them glow. They quickened and stirred something +in his blood. He was glad to live. Glad to strive. + +Maybe he was only like the grass here underfoot. Like those trees +yonder. Everything was restless with life. Everything gave some sign. +Maybe the joy in his heart was just his sign, his way of showing the +rising sap that the spring called up. + +To him the whole world was only the bit of surface lying quiet around +him. The long low line of soft blue hills trembling into haze yonder +over the river, the narrow band of purple pines, showing dark against +the bright afterglow, and rimming the brown fields, these seemed the +boundary of things, the farthest edge. + +The fields, cut at intervals by narrow, rough, red roads and dotted with +small, gray, weather-stained cabins, lay quiet and still. Nothing showed +that life here was precious, and pain bitter or how men here strove and +women trembled when love and joy were threatened. + +Turning around at the end of the row, Killdee stopped and looked at the +dark, ragged edge of the pines where the sun had set. The light had +grown too dim for him to see the grass. He must stop. The moist, brown +earth gave the air a rich, warm smell. It was good. To breathe it deep +rested him. The smell of it roused him. + +He unhitched the mule and, leading him by one of the rope plow-lines, +walked down a furrow towards home. + +The firelight in his cabin yonder shone from its wide, open door. It +gleamed like a great, red star just risen from the edge of the field. + +Rose would have his supper there waiting. He would eat and smoke a +pipeful, and then he ought to go straight to bed, so he’d be fresh and +ready for work in the morning. + +To-day was Friday, the last working-day in the week for everybody on the +plantation but Killdee. But he worked on Saturdays too. Work was the way +to make his dreams come true. + +For years after he and Rose were married, he had worked an old, slow +mule. Poor old Mike. Dead now. In Mike’s place he had gotten Joe. Young. +Fast-stepping. Steady. Plowing had become a pleasure. A satisfaction. + +Mike had always been tired. He couldn’t hurry. His teeth were worn out. +Even with the ground meal Killdee fed him, Mike stayed weak and poor. +Joe’s teeth were strong and sound. At night Killdee heard them crunching +ears of corn, and it sounded like music. + +Killdee had bought Joe himself. He had gone into debt to get him. He +bought a new set of harness too, and the harness had cost a lot of +money. + +When Mike died, he had tried plowing two oxen that he raised and broke. +But they couldn’t keep ahead of the grass. He bought Joe. He worked +every fair day but Sunday. He would pay for Joe in a year or two. Sure! + +Every Sunday now Rose could go to church in the wagon. The new harness +was strong. Joe never could run away with a harness like that. Never. + +Missie was big enough to stay at home and take care of the children. +Missie was almost a grown woman. Little and black and dry, but wise. She +was young, and old too. + +That was a lucky day for Rose and himself when they took little Missie +to raise. Poor little girl! As he walked across the mellow, fresh-plowed +earth, the smell of it filled his nostrils. Missie came before his eyes. +The slender, unformed figure in its straight, homespun dress. The small, +black head, with its wool wrapped tight with ball thread. The dark, red +mouth, almost purple. The bluish bloom on the black cheeks. The pointed +chin where that dimple showed when she laughed. The soft, black eyes, +the curved lashes, the slim, black feet that touched the ground with +such lightness. Missie--good little Missie---- + +Killdee was passing close by a thicket of wild plums near the edge of +the field. They were just bursting into full bloom. He stopped and threw +back his head and shoulders and took a deep breath of fragrance. Spring +was come! Plum blossoms! + +Moonlight whitened the dusk, frogs chanted merrily, crickets were +chirping. Killdee closed his eyes and murmured: + +“Sing, brudders! Sing! You been sleepin’, enty! But now you’s a-wakin’ +up.” + +He walked on, whistling a low tune. + + * * * * * + +With Rose, the day had been a hard one. Many things had gone wrong. A +stray dog had come and broken up a nest full of eggs that would soon +have hatched. The clothes she and Missie washed on Monday did not dry +because it rained on them, and now some of them showed signs of mildew. +Her very best petticoat, the one she wanted to wear to church Sunday, +was ugly with it. Sparrows had scratched up seed in the garden. +Everything seemed to be wrong! + +There was a frown on her face as she rolled the sleeves back from her +plump arms. Holding her skirts aside, she drew red coals out on the +hearth. She placed an iron griddle carefully on them, and going to the +shelf where she kept the groceries, she dipped up a measure of meal out +of the sack, put it into a pan, and added water from a bucket on the +shelf. + +With a sigh she thought how glad she was the children were fed and +asleep in bed. She wished Killdee would come on. It was late. She +glanced out of the open door. It was nearly night, yet she saw nothing +of him. She was tired. The spring days were getting long. + +Killdee loved work. He was strong and able to go all day. All night too, +if he wanted to. But she was jaded when night came. Glad to rest. +Killdee ought to think of her and come on. + +Missie came out of the shed-room, where she had been putting the +children to sleep. She still hummed the tune she had sung to them, +“Bye-and-bye, when the morning comes.” + +“Do don’ keep on a-singin’,” Rose said complainingly. + +Missie sang too much. She was always singing. Rose jerked the spoon as +she stirred the meal and water together. It was aggravating to have +somebody always singing and happy. There was nothing to be so happy +about. + +If Missie cared about things as she ought to do, she wouldn’t be +singing. Not with Mike dead and Killdee in debt for the new mule--and +that new harness. Missie was old enough now to feel responsibility. + +Yet why should Missie care? She got her good three meals a day. And +clothes. A bed to sleep in. Her mother before her hadn’t cared about +things. That was why somebody had to take Missie to raise her. Rose +sighed, and stirred the meal with such energy that bits of it fluttered +over the side of the pan and fell lightly on the fresh-scoured floor. + +“Git a broom an’ sweep up da meal befo’ you’ foot step on ’em,” she said +abruptly to Missie. + +How quick and sharp her words sounded! Missie glanced at Rose’s face, +then got the field-straw broom from its place in the corner and began to +sweep. She had scoured the floor that day, and the bare room had a +fresh, clean, cozy look in the warm, flickering light. + +She had taken a few fresh eggs to the cross-roads store and exchanged +them for clean newspapers. These cut into fringes fluttered from the +wide mantelshelf, where a coco-cola bottle filled with water held a +spray of plum blossoms, white, fragile, already shattering. + +“Dem plum blossom duh mess up de flo’ wusser’n de meal,” Rose said +crossly. “Sweep ’em up!” + +Missie carefully swept the bits of meal and the delicate petals into the +fire, and then put the broom back where it belonged. + +She stopped to look at the mantelpiece. How pretty it looked! Killdee +liked things to look pretty. He didn’t mind if they littered the floor a +little. + +Rose turned to her impatiently. + +“Fo’ Gawd’s sake, don’ be stannin’ dere a-gazin’. Heah lately you all de +time doin’ like you’s a-walkin’ een you sleep. Wha’ de matter ail you, +gal?” + +Missie’s eyes lifted to Rose’s face. She was startled by its hard, +accusing look. + +“You--you wan’ me fo’ do--anything--Aun’ Rose?” she asked timidly. + +“I can’ be a-tellin’ you wha’ fo’ do eby minute.” Rose answered, as she +took the long fire-stick and impatiently shoved pieces of blazing wood +farther back in the fireplace. “Looks like old ez you is, you could see +wha’ fo’ do.” + +There was a cheery clinking of trace-chains and a whistled tune outside. +Killdee was coming. Missie went to the door. She leaned against the +lintel and listened. How she loved the thud-thud of the new mule’s feet. +He came home brisk, almost trotting, after plowing all day. And Killdee +was whistling. + +So different from the days when he plowed old Mike. It was better that +old Mike died. He was too slow, poor old fellow. It took him all day to +plow just a little piece of the crop. And every night Killdee came home +so tired. So downhearted. + +But now with Joe it was different. Joe and Killdee were matched up +together. Both were strong. Stout. Able to work without tiring. Killdee +had the crop all clean and growing fast. Every night he came home happy. +To-night he was even whistling. What if he was in debt? He was a man. He +could work and pay. He had Joe to help him. He had the fine new harness. + +Missie’s heart beat fast with pleasure. It was right for Killdee to +have the best mule in the world. The best harness. She wished he could +have--well, everything! + +She smiled to think how pleased Killdee would be to see she had oiled +the new harness that day. + +When she finished the scouring, she had taken it down from the peg on +the wall where it hung and greased it all and wiped every buckle clean. +There it hung. Shiny. New as the day it was bought. + +Joe would look fine dressed up in it when Killdee took Rose to Mount +Pleasant Church next Sunday. + +Missie looked up at the starlit sky. It was clear. Sunday would be clear +too. Joe would hold his head high and prance. Killdee would have to hold +the lines tight to rule him. Everybody would look at Killdee and Joe. + +The gentle breeze blowing in Missie’s face seemed to hold some of the +light of the clear sky. Some of the freshness of the plowed earth. The +delicious smell of plum blossoms had never seemed so piercing sweet as +to-night. + +Rose’s voice, sharp, reproving, interrupted Missie’s thoughts. + +“Looks like you’d go help Killdee feed up, ’stead o’ standin’ dere +a-moonin’. Killdee mus’ be mighty tired to-night.” + +“Why--Aun’ Rose,” Missie faltered. + +“Oh, you mek surprise, enty? You t’ink you kin go an’ dress you’se’f up, +an’ stan’ ’roun’ an’ look at de moon, while me an’ Killdee duh wuk.” + +“I ain’ dress’ up, Aun’ Rose. I been so dirty--my dress been wet at I +scour.” + +“Mighty strange how I haffer keep on my same one. You kin go put on +clean one,” Rose snapped. + +Missie’s fingers felt the rough cloth of the dress she wore. What Rose +said was true. She had put on a clean one when she finished scouring. +The one she had on was wet and soiled. She had greased the harness and +that made it worse. She had put on a clean one. And Rose had on the same +one she had worn all the week. Rose was provoked about it. + +“Aun’ Rose--I--I ain’----” Missie tried to explain, but there was +nothing to say. There was no excuse. She felt sick inside that Rose +could not understand. + +“You could ’a’ gone an’ put een feed good ez Killdee. You could do ’em +eby night good ez him. You could tek de mule to de branch fo’ drink. But +no. You rudder go dress up. An’ stan’ een de do’. An’ watch me an’ him. +Me an’ Killdee could wuk finger to de bone! Wha’ you keer?” + +Rose poured the batter of meal and water on the hissing hot griddle. She +took pains to scrape every bit from the sides of the pan. She smoothed +it over the top with the big, iron spoon. Missie saw that the spoon was +unsteady. Holding the empty pan and the spoon out to Missie, she said, +without looking up: + +“Heah! Tek dese an’ wash ’em!” + +Missie took them and went slowly to the shelf where three galvanized +water buckets stood in a row full to the top with water. Keeping these +full was part of her work. With one on her head and one in each hand, +she had learned to come up the hill from the spring with them full, +almost as easily as she went down with them empty. + +Her heart felt troubled. She hardly thought what she was doing as she +took the gourd dipper from the nail where it hung beside the buckets and +poured water into the pan. Rose watched her. Then suddenly railed: + +“You can’ wash nuttin’ clean wid col’ water! Much times ez I don tol’ +you! Gi’ ’em heah to me!” + +Rose reached for the pan. + +“No,” said Missie, holding it back. “No, Aun’ Rose, I kin wash ’em. I +was des a-rinsin’ ’em. We mos’ always wait tell mawnin’ fo’ wash de +supper t’ings good. I kin wash ’em now.” + +She went to the hearth where the big, black iron kettle sat breathing +steam from its spout. She poured hot water into the pan and began +stirring it around. Rose dropped a knife on the door. China plates in +her hands rattled against each other. + +“Aun’ Rose----” Missie hesitated, “you set down an’ lemme fix Killdee’s +supper. I ain’ offer fo’ do ’em-by-it seem lak you would rudder--do ’em +you’se’f---- You know I be’s glad when I kin he’p you--or eeder him----” + +Missie’s words trailed slower and slower, for she saw the expression on +Rose’s face. Hard. Angry. Missie felt like crying, yet she waited for +Rose’s answer. + +“Ki!” Rose sneered. The water in the kettle simmered loud. + +“How you mean ’Ki,’ Aun’ Rose?” Missie was distressed. + +“I mean ’em des lak I say ’em,” Rose retorted. + +“I mean ’em des lak e soun’. You know ef you had-a respec’ fo’ me, you’d +be cookin’ de supper now. Ef you keered ’bout Killdee, you’d ’a’ been +out yonder een de bahnyahd a-puttin’ up de mule--an’ feedin’ ’em.--No! +You gone dress up! Dress up so nobody can’ call on you to do nuttin’.” + +“I is keer ’bout Killdee. ’Bout you too, Aun’ Rose. Yinner’s all de +mammy and daddy I got. Dey ain’ nuttin’ I wouldn’ do fo’ +Killdee--nuttin’----” Missie could hardly talk. + +“Talk you’ sweet-mout’ talk to Killdee. ’E’ll b’lieb anyt’ing. But you +can’ fool me. No! I know you don’ keer nuttin’ ’bout ’em. You des keer +’bout dem t’ing Killdee buy fo’ you. I know!” + +Rose was putting a dish on the little bare pine table in the middle of +the room. It fell with a crash and shattered into white bits all over +the floor. + +“Lemme git ’em up, Aun’ Rose----” Missie said quickly. She dropped to +her knees and began picking up the broken pieces. + +“No! Don’ tech ’em! I’m tired tell I’m pure trim’lin’. Da’s how-come I +drap da dish. Keep you’ han’ offen ’em! You pick flowers an’ cut paper +lambrekin all day. You heah Killdee comin’. You wan’ mek out you duh +wuk. No. Git up off de flo’! Git up!” + +Missie got to her feet slowly. What was the matter with Rose? She must +be sick. + +Rose picked up the broken pieces and tossed them into the fire. Then she +got a knife to turn over the hoe-cake baking there on the griddle. It +was burnt black. The smoke from it stung her eyes. Tears sprung, kindled +with anger. + +“Look at dis! Look!” she said furiously. “Bu’n up! De bread fo’ +Killdee’s supper! Bu’n up! Bu’n up!” + +The knife in her fat hand trembled. Her short fingers tightened on its +handle. + +“I reckon nobody didn’ tol’ you fo’ watch de bread, enty?” + +Missie felt queer inside. Rose had often scolded her, but never like +this before. + +“Aun’ Rose,” she said humbly, “I too sorry--I would ’a’ watch de +bread--I des’ fo’git--I des----” + +“Shet you’ mout’, gal! You mek me too cross! Go git een de shed-room +whe’ my eye can’ see you. Respec’! Respec’! You ain’ got a respec’ fo’ +nobody. Go!” + +Rose was in a rage. + +“But, Aun’ Rose----” Rose did not hear the appeal in Missie’s voice. + +“Go, I tell you!” she screamed. “Before my han’ slap you! You le’ +Killdee’s bread bu’n up! You don’ keer nuttin’ ’bout ’em! No! I gwine +tell ’em so, too!” + +“But I is keer ’bout ’em, Aun’ Rose. You couldn’t tell ’em I don’----” +Missie protested sorrowfully. “Aun’ Rose----” + +Missie was miserable. + +“Aun’ Rose----” + +Rose scraped the charred crust off the bread and did not answer. + +“Aun’ Rose--ef you tell Killdee--I ain’ keer ’bout ’em--you tell +somet’ing ain’ so----” + +Rose lifted narrowed eyes to look at her. + +“You mean to call me a lie, gal? Tell me dat!” + +“No’m--but ef you tell Killdee----” + +Rose got up and faced her there in the shed-room door. + +“Well, I gwine tell ’em, heah? I gwine tell ’em soon’s ’e come. I gwine +tell ’em you talk impident talk to me! Soon’s ’e come! Ef I wasn’t a +good ’oman I’d kill you right now!” + +“Aun’ Rose,”--Missie stopped crying. She met Rose’s eyes without +flinching. She spoke firmly. Distinctly. + +“Ef you tell Killdee dat, you is a lie.” + +Her little figure seemed to heighten. Killdee was coming up the steps. +Rose heard him and raised her voice. + +“Killdee, dis gal call me a lie! You heah ’em?” + +She began crying hysterically. + +“I try fo mek em do right! You heah em? E call me lie! Lie! E t’ink you +gwine side wid em! E t’ink you gwine uphold em agains’ me!” + +“Fo’ Gawd’s sake, wha’ is dis?” Killdee asked. He was shocked. +Astonished. + +“Who you call lie, Missie?” + +“You heah wha’ e say, enty, Killdee?” Rose quavered. “I glad you come +een time fo’ heah em. You wouldn’ a’ b’lieb’ me. Not lessen you heah +em----” + +“Wha’ you mean by sich a talk, Missie?” Killdee was looking straight at +her. “You mek me feel ’shame’. You would say sich a t’ing.” + +Missie’s knees trembled under her. + +“I decla’ to Gawd!” Killdee lamented. + +Missie stood silent with her head down. + +“No! E ain’ shame! E ain’t got no shame!” Rose sobbed violently. + +“You haffer beg Rose pardon, Missie. You is, enty?” Killdee asked her. +He couldn’t bear to be hard on her. + +Missie lifted great, wet eyes and looked at him. She shook her head. She +couldn’t do it. Killdee did not understand. + +“No, Killdee. No. Aun’ Rose ain’ talkin’ straight. No. E know good too, +e ain’ tellin’ you wha’ I say to em.” + +She looked at Rose and waited. Rose would have to tell him. + +“Listen at em, Killdee,” Rose wailed. “E duh talk sassy talk to me now.” + +Missie held still. Surprised. Rose was willing to let Killdee believe +what was not so. Rose was not ashamed to stand there and let a lie stand +for the truth. A lie! + +Killdee’s eyes flashed with anger. He took a step forward. + +“Look-a at me, Missie. You dassn’t to talk sassy to Rose!” He came still +nearer. “You would call Rose a lie, too? Me an’ Rose is been too easy on +you. Da’s de trouble. Da’s how-come you pass lie so glib on you’ tongue! +I ain’ lay my han’ on you yet een my life, gal. But, befo’ Gawd, ef you +don’t tek back wha’ you call Rose, I’m gwine lick you to-night! Lie? +Lie? I’ll show you how fo’ call people lie. I’m gwine lick you.” + +He did not wait for Missie to answer him. He jerked the new harness down +from its peg on the wall. He fumbled and tugged and pulled at the oiled +pieces of leather. + +What was Killdee doing? Missie’s heart quivered with terror. She +shivered, for Killdee was holding up one thick leather trace. He looked +at it, then dropped it. Dark thin streaks of grease marked the floor. +Killdee kept fumbling until he selected one of the holding-back straps. +He unbuckled this from the harness and, with it clutched in one tense +hand, came toward her. + +She was sure now what he meant to do. He was going to beat her. Beat +her! Her mouth felt dry. Icy chills went down her spine. Killdee was +going to beat her with that strap in his hand. + +She tried to say something. To tell him. But her lips were stiff. They +would not move. + +Killdee stood glaring at her and the black leather strap shook in his +grasp. + +“Come heah, gal!” he said sternly, “I gwine l’a’n you some manners +to-night.” + +Missie seemed somehow unable to move. She took one step forward. +Tottering. Uncertain. What was she to do? Killdee mistrusted her. + +“What de matter ail you? Ain’ you heah me say ’Come heah’?” + +He seized her by the shoulder. The grip of his fingers hurt. They were +set on ruling her. Crushing her. Each one of them. Hard. Cruel. Galling. + +They needn’t tighten like that. She wouldn’t try to get away. No. She’d +stand still. Let him beat her if he wanted to do it. Yes, beat her. And +she had thought he was her friend. That he loved her. And he didn’t even +believe what she said. + + * * * * * + +Killdee’s breath labored. Blood beat in his ears. He’d teach this girl a +lesson. One she’d never forget. He’d show her he was master in this +house. Rose was watching. She’d see that he’d give Missie her due. + +Bright drops glittered on Missie’s lashes. Her soft lips began trembling +in a pitiful, helpless way. The dimple in her chin came and went. It +seemed to beg for tenderness, gentleness. + +Killdee had made up his mind. He would not be changed. He would do what +he started to do. + +He clutched the slight shoulder tighter. Its thin, narrow blade moved a +little under his taut fingers. His hand holding the strap with resolute +steadiness began faltering. It shook. It let go. For a soft, wet cheek +was pressed close against it. + +The strap fell to the floor. Its shiny buckle made a dull, flat thump. +The length of leather twisted over and lay still. + +Missie staggered a little. She closed her eyes and put up a hand to her +forehead. + +Killdee turned away. He couldn’t bear to look at her again. As he +hurried out of the door, Rose gleeked a scornful “Chicken heart” at him, +but he hardly heard what she said for his blood drummed thick in his +ears. + +He stumbled out into the night and walked blindly across the moon-lit +fields. The warm breath of them filled with the scent of plum-blossoms +was disturbing. Smothering. Like the heated air in his cabin. He longed +for a breath that was cool and clear. It would help him to think. + +What was he to do--What? He had to face things. He couldn’t run +away--not from Missie. Not now. She needed him more than ever. And he +needed her. Yes, needed her-- + +He was caught in a trap. Caught fast. How could he ever get loose? Deep +down in his heart, did he want to get loose? He was not sure. + +Voices of the singers at Meeting in the Quarter floated over the fields +and blent with his throbbing pulses. + + “I’m--so--glad-- + My trouble--won’ las’--always--” + +He knew the singers and the words and the mournful tune well, but +to-night all of them seemed strange. Different. He stopped to listen. + +People singing to God. Asking for help. How far away they seemed. As far +as those faint stars in the glowing sky. As far as God. He was alone in +the night. + +Something in his heart answered the singers. + +“Joy can’ las’ always needer. You sing about trouble. I’m gwine take one +joy whilst I kin.” + + +THE END + + * * * * * + + +_The Borzoi Pocket Books_ + + + 1 TARAS BULBA, _by N. V. Gogol_ + + 2 PETER JAMESON, _by Gilbert Frankau_ + + 3 THE HAPPY END, _by Joseph Hergesheimer_ + + 4 HUNGER, _by Knut Hamsun_ + + 5 ANDALUSIA, _by W. Somerset Maugham_ + + 6 THE GREEN GODDESS, _by Louise Jordan Miln_ + + 7 PREJUDICES I, _by H. L. Mencken_ + + 8 CAESAR OR NOTHING, _by Pio Baroja_ + + 9 LONDON RIVER, _by H. M. Tomlinson_ + + 10 THE POPULAR THEATRE, _by George Jean Nathan_ + + 11 170 CHINESE POEMS, _translated by Arthur Waley_ + + 12 THE ROOM, _by G. B. Stern_ + + 13 THE ANTICHRIST, _by F. W. Nietzsche_ + + 14 AN ADOPTED HUSBAND, _by Futabatei_ + + 15 CHELKASH, _by Maxim Gorky_ + + 16 THE STAG’S HORNBOOK, _edited by John McClure_ + + 17 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A SUPER-TRAMP, _by W. H. Davies_ + + 18 VENTURES IN COMMON SENSE, _by E. W. Howe_ + + 19 THE LITTLE ANGEL, _by L. Andreyev_ + + 20 A BOOK OF BURLESQUES, _by H. L. Mencken_ + + 21 RALPH HERNE, _by W. H. Hudson_ + + 22 A HERO OF OUR TIME, _by M. Y. Lermontov_ + + 23 THE SOUL OF A CHILD, _by E. Björkman_ + + 24 THE SO-CALLED HUMAN RACE, _by Bert Leston Taylor_ + + 25 THE CABIN, _by V. Blasco Ibañez_ + + 26 THREE TALES, _by G. Flaubert_ + + 27 A ROOM WITH A VIEW, _by E. M. Forster_ + + 28 THE BLIND BOW-BOY, _by Carl Van Vechten_ + + 29 CASANOVA’S ESCAPE FROM THE LEADS, _translated by Arthur Machen_ + + 30 YOUTH AND THE BRIGHT MEDUSA, _by Willa Cather_ + + 31 JENNY, _by Sigrid Undset_ + + 32 GREEN MANSIONS, _by W. H. Hudson_ + + 33 THE FAIR REWARDS, _by Thomas Beer_ + + 34 PICTURE FRAMES, _by Thyra Samter Winslow_ + + 35 ADOLPHE, _by Benjamin Constant_ + + 36 HAGAR’S HOARD, _by George Kibbe Turner_ + + 37 TALES OF THE PAMPAS, _by W. H. Hudson_ + + 38 JEWISH CHILDREN, _by Sholom Aleichem_ + + 39 THE BLOOD OF THE CONQUERORS, _by Harvey Fergusson_ + + 40 GREEN THURSDAY, _by Julia Peterkin_ + + 41 THE CHINA SHOP, _by G. B. Stern_ + + 42 CAPITOL HILL, _by Harvey Fergusson_ + + 43 THE THREE-CORNERED HAT, _by P. A. de Alarcón_ + + 44 THE THREE IMPOSTORS, _by Arthur Machen_ + + 45 THE LOST MR. LINTHWAITE, _by J. S. Fletcher_ + + 46 THE WORLD IN FALSEFACE, _by George Jean Nathan_ + + 47 THE GENTLEMAN FROM SAN FRANCISCO, _by Ivan Bunin_ + + 48 WHERE BONDS ARE LOOSED, _by E. L. Grant Watson_ + + 49 WOMEN AND WIVES, _by Harvey Fergusson_ + + 50 THE MARKENMORE MYSTERY, _by J. S. Fletcher_ + + 51 A BOOK OF PREFACES, _by H. L. Mencken_ + + 52 VAN ZANTEN’S HAPPY DAYS, _by Laurids Bruun_ + + 53 THE GATES OF LIFE, _by E. Björkman_ + + 54 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER, _by J. S. Fletcher_ + + 55 WAITING FOR DAYLIGHT, _by H. M. Tomlinson_ + + 56 ZELL, _by H. G. Aikman_ + + 57 THE PARADISE MYSTERY, _by J. S. Fletcher_ + + 58 THE HOUSE BY THE RIVER, _by A. P. Herbert_ + + 59 THE HOUSE OF SOULS, _by Arthur Machen_ + + 60 THE BOROUGH TREASURER, _by J. S. Fletcher_ + + 61 STRAIT IS THE GATE, _by André Gide_ + + 62 THE HERAPATH PROPERTY, _by J. S. Fletcher_ + + 63 WANDERERS, _by Knut Hamsun_ + + 64 SHALLOW SOIL, _by Knut Hamsun_ + + 65-66 GROWTH OF THE SOIL, _by Knut Hamsun_ (2 volumes in one, $2.) + + 67 VICTORIA, _by Knut Hamsun_ + + +$1 a volume. + +Typographical errors corrected by the etext transcriber: + +look up a hot=> took up a hot {pg 122} + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77332 *** diff --git a/77332-h/77332-h.htm b/77332-h/77332-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..5c52a24 --- /dev/null +++ b/77332-h/77332-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,5591 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html> +<html lang="en"> + <head> +<link rel="icon" href="images/cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover"> + +<meta charset="utf-8"> +<title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of Green thursday, by Julia Peterkin. +</title> +<style> + +a:link {background-color:#ffffff;color:blue;text-decoration:none;} + + link {background-color:#ffffff;color:blue;text-decoration:none;} + +a:visited {background-color:#ffffff;color:purple;text-decoration:none;} + +a:hover {background-color:#ffffff;color:#FF0000;text-decoration:underline;} + +body{margin-left:4%;margin-right:6%;background:#ffffff;color:black;font-family:"Times New Roman", serif;font-size:medium;} + +.blockquot {margin-top:2%;margin-bottom:2%;} +.blockquot p{margin-left:8%; +text-indent:-8%;} + +.c {text-align:center;text-indent:0%;} + +.cb {text-align:center;text-indent:0%;font-weight:bold;} + +.fint {text-align:center;text-indent:0%; +margin-top:2em;} + + h1 {margin-top:5%;text-align:center;clear:both; +font-weight:normal;} + + h2 {margin-top:4%;margin-bottom:2%;text-align:center;clear:both; + font-size:150%;font-weight:normal;} + + hr {width:90%;margin:2em auto 2em auto;clear:both;color:black;} + + hr.full {width: 60%;margin:2% auto 2% auto;border-top:1px solid black; +padding:.1em;border-bottom:1px solid black;border-left:none;border-right:none;} + + img {border:none;} + +.lftspc {margin-left:.25em;} + +.letra {font-size:250%;float:left;margin-top:-1%;} + +.nind {text-indent:0%;} + + p {margin-top:.2em;text-align:justify;margin-bottom:.2em;text-indent:4%;} + +.pagenum {font-style:normal;position:absolute; +left:95%;font-size:55%;text-align:right;color:gray; +background-color:#ffffff;font-variant:normal; +font-style:normal;font-weight:normal; +text-decoration:none;text-indent:0em;} + +.rt {text-align:right;vertical-align:bottom;} + +small {font-size: 70%;} + +.smcap {font-variant:small-caps;font-size:100%;} + +table {margin-top:2%;margin-bottom:2%;margin-left:auto;margin-right:auto;border:none;} + +div.poetry {text-align:center;} +div.poem {font-size:90%;margin:auto auto;text-indent:0%; +display: inline-block; text-align: left;} +.poem .stanza {margin-top: 1em;margin-bottom:1em;} +.poem span.i0 {display: block; margin-left: 0em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} +.poem span.i1 {display: block; margin-left: .45em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + +div.trans {border:dotted 2px black; +margin:1em auto;max-width:50%;} + +div.trans p{text-align:center;} +</style> + </head> +<body> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77332 ***</div> +<hr class="full"> + +<p class="c"> +<a href="images/cover.jpg"> +<img src="images/cover.jpg" +width="352" +height="550" +alt=""></a></p> + +<p class="rt"><i>Green Thursday</i></p> + +<p class="c"> +<a href="images/borzoi.png"> +<img src="images/borzoi.png" +width="352" +height="550" +alt=""></a> +</p> + +<p class="c"> +<a href="images/title.png"> +<img src="images/title.png" +width="354" +height="550" +alt="THE +BORZOI +POCKET BOOKS + +A POPULAR EDITION +OF SOME OF THE +BEST BOOKS OF OUR +OWN AND OTHER AGES. +THE END PAPERS AND +BINDING HAVE BEEN +DESIGNED BY W. A. +DWIGGINS, THE TITLE +PAGE BY ELMER ADLER. + +NEW YORK · ALFRED · A · KNOPF"></a> +</p> + +<h1> +GREEN<br> +THURSDAY</h1> + +<p class="cb"> +<i>Stories by</i><br> +<br> +JULIA PETERKIN<br> +<br> +<br> +<i>NEW YORK</i><br> +<br> +ALFRED · A · KNOPF<br> +<br> +1929<br> +<br><br><br> +<small> +COPYRIGHT, 1924, BY ALFRED A. KNOPF, INC.<br> +<br> +PUBLISHED SEPTEMBER, 1924<br> +REPRINTED ONCE<br> +NEW POCKET BOOK EDITION, MAY, 1929<br> +<br> +MANUFACTURED IN THE UNITED STATES OF<br> +AMERICA<br></small> +<br><br><br> +<i>To the memory of<br> +Maum Lavinia Berry</i><br> +</p> + +<h2><a id="Contents"><i>Contents</i></a></h2> + +<table> +<tr><td><span class="smcap"><a href="#Ashes">Ashes</a></span></td><td class="rt"><a href="#page_9">9</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap"><a href="#Green_Thursday">Green Thursday</a></span></td><td class="rt"><a href="#page_26">26</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap"><a href="#Missie">Missie</a></span></td><td class="rt"><a href="#page_50">50</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap"><a href="#Meeting">Meeting</a></span></td><td class="rt"><a href="#page_62">62</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap"><a href="#Mount_Pleasant">Mount Pleasant</a></span></td><td class="rt"><a href="#page_79">79</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap"><a href="#Finding_Peace">Finding Peace</a></span></td><td class="rt"><a href="#page_94">94</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap"><a href="#The_Red_Rooster">The Red Rooster</a></span></td><td class="rt"><a href="#page_103">103</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap"><a href="#Teaching_Jim">Teaching Jim</a></span></td><td class="rt"><a href="#page_115">115</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap"><a href="#Catfish">Cat Fish</a></span></td><td class="rt"><a href="#page_123">123</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap"><a href="#Son">Son</a></span></td><td class="rt"><a href="#page_132">132</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap"><a href="#A_Sunday">A Sunday</a></span></td><td class="rt"><a href="#page_143">143</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap"><a href="#Plum_Blossoms">Plum-Blossoms</a></span></td><td class="rt"><a href="#page_170">170</a></td></tr> +</table> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page_9">{pg. 9}</a></span></p> + +<h2><a id="Ashes"><i>Ashes</i></a></h2> + +<p class="nind"><span class="letra">A</span>N OLD PLANTATION WITH smooth-planted fields and rich woodlands and +pastures, where little shaded streams run, lies right at the edge of a +low wide swamp.</p> + +<p>Steep red hills, rising sheer above the slimy mud, lift it out of the +reach of two yellow-brown rivers that sprawl drowsily along before they +come together to form one stream.</p> + +<p>The rivers are hidden by huge trees garlanded with tangled vines, and +the swamp seems a soft, undulating, colourful surface that fades into a +low line of faint blue hills far away on the other side.</p> + +<p>Those hills are the outside world, but the swamp is wide and pathless.</p> + +<p>The two rivers commonly lie complacent, but on occasion they rouse and +flood low places with furious, yellow water. They lunge and tear at the +hillsides that hold the plantation above them until their violence is +spent; then they creep back into their rightful channels, leaving other +sodden acres desolate and covered with bent, ruined stalks that show +where fields of cotton and corn were ripe and ready for harvest.</p> + +<p>The old plantation sits always calm. Undis<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_10">{10}</a></span>turbed. The rivers can never +reach it. And the outside world may wamble and change, but it cannot +come any nearer.</p> + +<p>Years pass by and leave things unaltered. The same narrow, red roads run +through cotton-and cornfields. The same time-grayed cabins send up +threads of smoke from their red-clay chimneys. Summer brings the same +flowers to bloom around doorways, and china-berry and crape-myrtle +blossoms to drop gay petals on little half-clothed black children.</p> + +<p>Fields lush with cotton and corn are enlivened by bright-turbaned black +women. Sinewy men with soft-stepping bare feet laugh and sing as they +guide patient mules up and down the long rows.</p> + +<p>When winter browns the fields and brings cold winds up from the swamp, +women and children huddle over uncertain fires or gather on sunshiny +doorsteps while the men creep down to the swamp in search of food and +adventure.</p> + +<p>There is nothing to hint that life here could be sweet or that its +current runs free and strong. Winter, summer, birth, death, these seem +to be all.</p> + +<p>The main road on the plantation divides. One straggling, rain-rutted +fork runs along the edge of a field to a cluster of low, weather-beaten +houses grouped under giant red-oak trees. The Quarters, where most of +the black people live.</p> + +<p>The other fork bends with a swift, smooth curve and glides into a grove +of cedars and live-oaks and<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_11">{11}</a></span> magnolias, whose dense evergreen branches +hide all beyond them but slight glimpses of white columns and red brick +chimneys.</p> + +<p>Right where the two roads meet is a sycamore tree. Its milk-white +branches reach up to the sky. Its pale, silken leaves glisten and +whisper incomplete cadences in the hot summer sunshine.</p> + +<p>When frost crisps the leaves and stains them and cuts them away, they +flutter down, leaving golden balls to adorn every bough.</p> + +<p>There is hardly a sign of the black, twisted roots. There is not a trace +to be seen of their silent, tense struggle as they grope deep down in +the earth. There is nothing to show how they reach and grapple and hold, +or how in the darkness down among the worms they work out mysterious +chemistries that change damp clay into beauty.</p> + +<p>  </p> + +<p>A little one-roomed log cabin sitting back from the crooked plantation +road was gray and weather-stained and its shingled roof was green with +moss, but its front was strangely like a cheerful face.</p> + +<p>Its narrow open front door made a nose, at each side a small square +window with a half-open wooden blind made an eye, and the three rickety +steps that led from the door into the front yard made a very good mouth.</p> + +<p>The face was warped and cracked with age, but it looked pleasant in the +bright morning sun. The gnarled crape-myrtle tree that hugged one +corner<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_12">{12}</a></span> and almost hid the cabin’s red clay chimney was gay with pink +blossoms. The front yard, divided in the middle by a clean-swept sandy +path, was filled with rich-scented red roses and glossy-leaved gardenia +bushes, whose white, waxen blooms perfumed the air.</p> + +<p>This was old Maum Hannah’s home. Most of the land around her had been +sold. But the space she occupied was very small, she was no trouble to +anybody, and there was really no reason to disturb her. A few hens, a +cow, a patch of peanuts, and a vegetable garden fenced around with +hand-split clap-boards made her independent. The cross-roads store was +not far away, “des a dog’s pant” she called it, and there she exchanged +well-filled peanuts, new-laid eggs, and frying-size chickens for meal +and coffee and plug-cut tobacco. And she was always ready to divide +whatever she had with her friends, or with anybody in need.</p> + +<p>To a stranger her old arms might look weak and withered, but they were +strong enough to wield an ax on the fallen limbs of the trees in the +woods back of the house, and the fire in her open fireplace was never +allowed to go out, summer or winter.</p> + +<p>On this spring morning she sat in a low chair by the fireplace and +warmed her crusty bare feet by the charred sticks that burned smokily +there among the ashes. She held her breakfast in a pan in her lap and +ate slowly while she talked to herself and to the gray cat that lay on +the clay hearth by her<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_13">{13}</a></span> feet. The cat opened its eyes and purred lazily +when she spoke, then drowsed again.</p> + +<p>At a sudden rumbling sound outside, the cat jumped up and stretched and +walked slowly to the door to look out.</p> + +<p>“Who dat?” Maum Hannah asked, and she turned to look out too.</p> + +<p>Two strange white men were driving up to the house in a buggy. When they +got out, they hitched the horse to the clap-board garden fence.</p> + +<p>“A nice house spot,” one of them said, looking around him.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” the other agreed, “and the darkies say there’s a fine spring +coming out of the hill right behind the house there.”</p> + +<p>Maum Hannah was a little hard of hearing, but her eyes were keen. She +put down her pan of breakfast and stood in the door. Her astonishment +made her forget her manners, until one of the men called out sociably:</p> + +<p>“Good morning, Auntie.” Then she dropped a low curtsey and answered:</p> + +<p>“Good mawnin’, suh.”</p> + +<p>“We’re just a-lookin’ around a little,” the man continued in an +apologetic tone, for her old eyes, puzzled and alarmed, were fixed on +him.</p> + +<p>“Yes, suh,” she said politely, but she leaned against the door-facing +for support.</p> + +<p>“It must be a healthy place. That old woman looks like she might be a +hundred years old,” one<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_14">{14}</a></span> said facetiously, and they both chuckled as +they walked back into the woods behind the house toward the spring.</p> + +<p>Presently Maum Hannah saw them coming back into the front yard. She +watched them step off distances. They drove down a few stakes. When they +had finished, one of them came to the doorstep and held out a silver +coin to her. She bowed gravely as she took it.</p> + +<p>“Buy you some tobacco with this, Auntie,” he drawled, and he turned away +awkwardly. Then he faced her again, and cleared his throat as if +embarrassed.</p> + +<p>“Auntie,” he hesitated, “I hate to tell you this—but you’ll have to +make arrangements to go somewhere else, I reckon.” He did not meet her +eyes.</p> + +<p>“You see,” he continued, “I’ve done bought this place, and I’m goin’ to +build my house right here.”</p> + +<p>Maum Hannah stared at him, but did not reply.</p> + +<p>“Well, good-by,” he added, and the two men got into the buggy and drove +away.</p> + +<p>Maum Hannah watched them until they were out of sight, then she held the +coin out in her wrinkled hand and looked at it. It shone bright against +the dark-lined palm.</p> + +<p>Tears welled up under her shriveled eyelids and hesitated, as if +uncertain which path to take through the maze of wrinkles on her cheeks. +One shining drop fell with a splash on the silver in her hand. With a +sigh she dropped the money into her apron<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_15">{15}</a></span> pocket, wiped her eyes with +the corner of her apron and turned inside. Taking a handful of meal from +a large gourd on the shelf by the door, she scattered it on the ground +near the doorstep where a hen with tiny, fluffy chickens around her +clucked and scratched.</p> + +<p>  </p> + +<p>The very next day, white men with wagonloads of lumber drove into the +yard. They had red, sunburned faces, and their shoes and blue overalls +were worn and dusty. Maum Hannah looked at them.</p> + +<p>“Po-buckra,” she said to the cat.</p> + +<p>The men sawed and hammered and mixed mortar and smoothed it between red +bricks with clinking trowels. Day after day they came. Yellow pine +boards made the air fragrant and soon the frame of a new house cast its +shadow over Maum Hannah’s gardenias and red rose-bushes.</p> + +<p>“I ’f’aid dey gwine stop bloomin’ now,” she said sadly to the cat.</p> + +<p>At last the house was finished. One of the men who first came walked up +the narrow, clean-swept, sandy path and tapped on the side of Maum +Hannah’s house with a stick. She came to the door and listened as he +drawled nasally:</p> + +<p>“Auntie, my house is done now. My folks want to move in next week. +You’ll have to be movin’. You know I told you that at first. We can’t +have you a-livin’ here in our back yard. Of course, if you was young +enough to work, it ’ud be different,<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_16">{16}</a></span> but you ain’t able to do nothing. +I’ll need your house anyway to put a cook in. I thought you’d ’a’ done +been gone before now. I told you in time, you know.”</p> + +<p>Maum Hannah listened attentively. She heard only part of what he said, +but she understood. She must go. She must leave home. It was no longer +her home, but <i>his</i>.</p> + +<p>Her loose old lips trembled as she bowed in answer to him.</p> + +<p>She did not go to bed that night. She sat in the low chair by the clay +hearth where a pine knot fire wavered and flickered. She filled her cob +pipe and puffed at it briskly until it burned red, then she mumbled to +herself until it died out and grew cold in her fingers. Rousing up, +she’d light it with a fresh coal, smoke for a few puffs, then, absorbed +in her trouble, she’d forget it and let it go out.</p> + +<p>The cat on the hearth looked up and blinked sleepily whenever Maum +Hannah repeated:</p> + +<p>“He say dis <i>he</i> place an’ I haffer go f’om heah. Whe’ I duh gwine? Who +kin tell me dat? Whe’ I duh gwine?”</p> + +<p>There was Killdee. “My niece,” she called him. He was her sister’s son +and her neighbor. Killdee might come and take her to live with him. But +his cabin was very small. Rose’s voice was sharp sometimes. No, she +could not go there. If Margaret were living—or if she knew where any of +her boys were—she might go to them.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page_17">{17}</a></span></p> + +<p>She thought of the peaceful graveyard and lifted her old, wrinkled hands +above her head in prayer.</p> + +<p>“Oh, do, Massa Jedus, he’p me fo’ know wha’ fo’ do. I ain’ got no place +fo’ go. I ain’ got nobody fo’ tell me. I don’ haffer tell You de trouble +I got. You know, I ain’ got nobody fo’ he’p me but You. I know You mus’ +be gwine he’p me. I eber did been do de bes’ I kin. Mebbe sometime I +fail.—But, Jedus! Gawd! I know You couldn’t hab de hea’t to see me +suffer! Widout a place to lay my haid.” She intoned her prayer and +rocked from side to side as she plead for help.</p> + +<p>Then she stood up. Tears ran down her cheeks.</p> + +<p>“Do gi’ me a sign fo’ know wha’ fo’ do. Please, Suh! Do, Massa Jedus! +Gi’ me a sign! All my chillen’s gone an’ lef me heah——”</p> + +<p>Her bony arms were raised high and her knotted fingers held the cold +pipe. Her supplications were emphasized with tense jerks of her arms. +With a start she became conscious that ashes from her pipe were +trickling down through her fingers and falling on the floor. She stopped +and looked at them.</p> + +<p><i>Ashes! Cold ashes!</i> She had asked for a sign and the sign had come! It +was <i>ashes</i>! Plain as the dawn that streaked the East! There was no +doubt of it!</p> + +<p>The thought stimulated her like a drug. She went to the door and looked +out. A young day reddened the East. The sky was red like fire! “Another +sign,” she thought. A sign from Heaven.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page_18">{18}</a></span></p> + +<p>She lifted her arms and, with tears streaming, said softly:</p> + +<p>“Yessuh, Massa Jedus, I understan’ You, Suh. You say it mus’ be <i>ashes</i>! +Ashes an’ de fiery cloud! Yessuh, I know wha’ You tell me fo’ do.”</p> + +<p>Without hesitating, she went to the hearth and took up a smoldering +brand of fire. Walking quickly to the front of the new dwelling and +stumbling up the steps, she laid it with trembling hands near the front +door. Then she went back into the yard and gathered up an apronful of +shavings. She sprinkled these carefully on the smoking pine, and knelt +and blew until her breath fanned it into flame. Then she went for more +shavings and blocks of wood. When the fire grew strong, she left it and +went to her own cabin.</p> + +<p>She did not sit down but unlocked a trunk in the corner.</p> + +<p>Selecting a clean white apron from the clothing there, she put it on, +put a stiff-starched white sun-bonnet on her head, and tied the strings +carefully under her chin. Then she locked the trunk again and put the +key in her apron pocket.</p> + +<p>The crackle and the roar of the fire outside was startling, but she made +herself take time. She closed the wooden blinds of the cabin and latched +them on the inside. She pulled the chair away from the hearth, then went +out of the door and closed it and locked it behind her. She stepped +carefully down the steps, walked past the flaming<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_19">{19}</a></span> house, and then on, +and on, down the narrow road.</p> + +<p>Once she stopped to look back at the flames that already rose high in +the sky, but she did not change her steady gait.</p> + +<p>  </p> + +<p>“Jedus! It’s a long way!” she complained when the road got sandy and her +breath became short, but she kept up her pace.</p> + +<p>At last the village came in sight. The open spaces became smaller. Low, +white-painted cottages huddled close together. She walked slower. Then +she stopped and gazed ahead of her, uncertain where to go.</p> + +<p>A man driving a team of mules to a wagon was coming. She waited until he +reached her, then inquired calmly:</p> + +<p>“Son, kin you tell me which-a-away de sheriff lib?”</p> + +<p>“Yes’m,” the man answered. He stood up in the wagon and looked toward +the houses in the little town.</p> + +<p>“You see da’ kinder high-lookin’ house up yonder on da’ hill? De one wid +de big white pillar in f’ont ob’em? Da’s de place. De sheriff lib right +dere.”</p> + +<p>Her eyes followed where he pointed.</p> + +<p>“T’ank you, son,” she said; “Gawd bless you,” and started on toward the +house he indicated.</p> + +<p>The man watched her a minute, then he clucked to his mules to move on. +She was a stranger to him. What did she want with the sheriff? Such an +old woman. He couldn’t imagine.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page_20">{20}</a></span></p> + +<p>The sheriff had just finished breakfast when she reached the back door +and asked to see him.</p> + +<p>“Who is she?” he asked the servant who told him.</p> + +<p>“I dunno, suh,” was the answer. “A old ’oman. Look lak ’e come a long +way. E seem out o’ breat’.”</p> + +<p>The sheriff lit a cigar and went to see for himself.</p> + +<p>“Good morning, Auntie,” he said pleasantly in response to her profound +curtsey. “What can I do for you this morning?”</p> + +<p>The old woman looked at his kind face, and tears came to her eyes.</p> + +<p>“Cap’n sheriff,” she began brokenly, “I too troub-led, suh.”</p> + +<p>Her dry old hands held to each other nervously.</p> + +<p>“I dunno wha’ you gwine do wid me, suh——” She swallowed a sob. “I +reckon you haffer put me on de chain-gang—— I done so ol’, too—— I +wouldn’t be much ’count at you put me on——”</p> + +<p>The sheriff smiled behind his hand.</p> + +<p>“Why, Auntie, what have you been doing?”</p> + +<p>“A po-buckra man de one done it, suh. He de one. I lib all dis time. I +ain’ nebber do nobody a hahm t’ing een my life, not tell dis mawnin’. +No, suh. You kin ax anybody ’bout me, suh, an’ dey’ll tell you de same +t’ing.”</p> + +<p>“Well, what have you done now?” the sheriff insisted.</p> + +<p>She came nearer to him, encouraged by his gentleness. She spoke in a low +tone.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page_21">{21}</a></span></p> + +<p>“Dis is how it been, suh.” She looked around to see that nobody heard, +then began to tell.</p> + +<p>“A po-buckra man come an’ buil’ ’e house right een my front ya’d. ’E say +it <i>he</i> place, now. ’E say I got to go way. I been lib een my house eber +sence I kin ’member. Ol’ Cap’n sell de plantation, but ’e tell me fo’ +stay whe’ I is. I stay. Dis po-buckra man come an’ tell me I mus’ go. +Whe’ I gwine? My peoples is all gone. Mos’ o’ dem a-layin’ een de +grabeya’d. I dunno why Jedus see fitten to leab me heah all dis long +time——” She lifted her apron to wipe her eyes.</p> + +<p>“Las’ night I call on Him, up yonder. I beg ’em fo’ he’p me. Fo’ tell me +wha’ fo’ do. I rassle wid ’em tell ’E gi’ me a sign. Yessuh! ’E answer +me! ’E gi’ me one!”</p> + +<p>Her puckered old face lighted up with emotion. Her voice quivered.</p> + +<p>“<span class="lftspc">’</span>E gi’ me a sign f’on heaben, yessuh. <i>Ashes! Ashes an’ fire!</i> Him up +yonder tell me so!”</p> + +<p>Then she leaned forward and whispered: “I put fire to de man house. I +bu’n ’em down same lak Jedus tell me fo’ do. Yessuh! Den I come right on +heah fo’ tell you I done ’em.”</p> + +<p>“Did your house burn too?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, no, suh. Jedus sen’ a win’ fo’ blow de spark de udder way.”</p> + +<p>“Who are you, Auntie?” The sheriff’s voice was pitying. Gentle.</p> + +<p>“Dis duh me, Hannah Jeems, suh. I one o’ ol<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_22">{22}</a></span>’ Mass Richard Jeems’ +niggers, suh. My white folks is all gone. Gone an’ lef’ me. Times was +tight. Dey had to sell de plantation an’ go.”</p> + +<p>She stood before him awaiting sentence with her eyes cast down.</p> + +<p>“You walked all the way here from the James plantation this morning?”</p> + +<p>“Yessuh. Quick ez I set de house on fire, I come heah fo’ tell you, +suh.”</p> + +<p>“Why did you come to tell me?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“Well, suh,” she hesitated and a far-away look filled her eyes, “when I +was a chillen I heah ol’ Mas’s Richard say, de niggers ain’ know, but +<i>he</i> know. De sheriff is de bes’ frien’ de niggers is got een dis worl’, +next to Him and Jedus. Mas’s Richard been a mighty wise man.”</p> + +<p>The sheriff looked at the pathetic figure before him. At the mesh of +fine wrinkles on her face. At the small, black, frightened hands, +clasping and unclasping. At the bare, old, dusty feet. They had walked +many a weary mile since life for them first began. His own clear eyes +became moist.</p> + +<p>“Come on into the kitchen, Auntie. The cook will give you a cup of +coffee and some breakfast. Then, we’ll talk things over.”</p> + +<p>“T’ank you, suh,” she said gravely as she followed him.</p> + +<p>When he reached the door, he faced her again and held up a finger.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page_23">{23}</a></span></p> + +<p>“It’s best not to talk much, Auntie,” he warned her.</p> + +<p>She smiled at him brightly.</p> + +<p>“Ef da man didn’ been a po-buckra ’e wouldn’ do me so,” she said +wistfully.</p> + +<p>His brow was knit as if he were uncertain what to say.</p> + +<p>“Auntie,” he spoke slowly, distinctly, “you believe in the Bible, don’t +you?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yessuh,” she affirmed solemnly, “I can’ read ’em, but I b’lieb +’em.”</p> + +<p>“Did you ever hear how the Bible says you must not let your right hand +know what your left hand does?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yessuh,” she said reverently.</p> + +<p>“Can you remember that passage of Scripture? I think you can.”</p> + +<p>She looked at him shrewdly, then she smiled and bowed very low.</p> + +<p>“T’ank you, suh. T’ank you! An’ may Gawd bless you, suh!”</p> + +<p>The sheriff was embarrassed. He cleared his throat and awkwardly flicked +the ashes off his cigar.</p> + +<p>“Auntie,” he hesitated, “I’m thinking about riding up that way this +morning. I might take you back home.” Maum Hannah bowed again.</p> + +<p>  </p> + +<p>The distance to the cross-roads store was soon covered by the sheriff’s +high-powered car. He stopped.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page_24">{24}</a></span></p> + +<p>“Jim,” he called out to the proprietor, “I hear one of your neighbors +lost his new house by fire last night. Did he have any insurance on it?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir,” Jim answered. “Wasn’t he lucky to have it?”</p> + +<p>“How does he think the house caught?” asked the sheriff.</p> + +<p>“He doesn’t know, sir, unless it caught from a spark out of Maum +Hannah’s chimney. It seems she was gone off for the night.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said the sheriff, “she came all the way to me hunting for a place +to stay. I’m taking her back home now. She may as well stay on there for +the present, don’t you think so?”</p> + +<p>Jim nodded his head confidently.</p> + +<p>“I tell you, sheriff, I don’t believe anybody’d build a house there +again. It’s a bad-luck place. It always was.”</p> + +<p>  </p> + +<p>When Maum Hannah got out of the car in front of her home, a great pile +of ashes still smoldered there. She held to the sheriff’s hand with both +of her quivering ones when she told him good-by.</p> + +<p>“Gawd bless you, son! Gawd bless you,” she sobbed gratefully, and bright +tears followed each other down her old cheeks.</p> + +<p>“Come back to me if you ever get in trouble again,” the sheriff told +her.</p> + +<p>“T’ank you kindly, suh,” she answered, “but I<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_25">{25}</a></span> ain’ gwine nebber risk +gittin’ in trouble no mo’. Not me.”</p> + +<p>She unlocked her door and fed the cat, and added a few pieces of wood to +the fire; then she scattered meal for the frightened hen and little +chickens.</p> + +<p>When the fire blazed bright, she drew up the little chair before it and +sat down. She was tired. She sat still and smoked and nodded. As she +dozed, she said softly to the cat:</p> + +<p>“Ashes is de bes’ t’ing eber was fo’ roses.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page_26">{26}</a></span></p> + +<h2><a id="Green_Thursday"><i>Green Thursday</i></a></h2> + +<p class="nind"><span class="letra">T</span>HE day was bright and hot. Cotton-and cornfields glittered green. +Dancing, quivering heat waves blurred the distant woods and cabins.</p> + +<p>Killdee could not see a single soul anywhere. He was the only man +working to-day. Green Thursday.</p> + +<p>Slowly, steadily, patiently, he walked behind his plow. Up and down the +long rows. Back and forth. Thinking. Reasoning with himself. Was he +right or wrong to work to-day? The day Jesus went back to heaven.</p> + +<p>He watched indifferently the spurts of red dust that rose with each step +his mule took. The ground was dry. Baked. Parched. The stiff clay broke +into clods as the plow’s edge cut through its rigid crust. The lumps of +earth that fell awkwardly away from each other were fettered with tough, +jointed grass. Tense grass roots had burrowed deep. They had wound a +strong net to choke and strangle the crop. They were sucking all the +moisture out of the ground. They were eating all the fertilizer. They’d +leave nothing but starvation for the cotton and corn.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page_27">{27}</a></span></p> + +<p>The grass had to be killed. Every root must be torn up and cut. Every +green blade must be turned under and buried.</p> + +<p>The sun stood blinding white straight overhead. The sun was a friend in +the fight against the grass. Its heat to-day would kill every root that +was cut.</p> + +<p>The long shadow that had started out traveling beside him early this +morning had shortened and darkened until now it crept small and black +right under his feet. It seemed to be trying to hide from the sun. It +must be near noon. Time for Mike and himself to stop and eat and drink +and rest.</p> + +<p>With a low-spoken “Whoa, Mike,” he reined in the tall, bony beast that +he plowed and cast a swift glance up at the sun. Yes, it was noon. He +could tell, although the sun’s brilliance clouded his vision.</p> + +<p>“Le’s go home, Mike,” he said, and he stuck the plow’s point deep into +the earth to stand alone until noon was over.</p> + +<p>The loosened joints of the old plow stock creaked with the strain and +reminded him to be careful how he wrenched them. They were giving out in +the hard fight with the grass. If they came apart, broken, no good, he +had no money to buy new ones. He must remember to be easy with them.</p> + +<p>He unhooked the trace chains from the singletree and tossed them over +Mike’s back. As he slipped the frayed rope lines through the rings in +the bit, Mike’s rib-marked hide swelled with a grateful sigh. Mike’s +long, shaggy neck stretched and his<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_28">{28}</a></span> cloudy eyes closed as he gave a +long whicker of approval.</p> + +<p>Killdee laughed. His strong white teeth gleamed through the soft sparse +beard that covered his mouth and chin as he murmured:</p> + +<p>“You hongry, enty, Mike? I is too. Come on. Le’s go home. You got sense +like people, son.”</p> + +<p>He smoothed the rough hair on the hollowed back and stroked the haggard +neck while Mike nibbled at grass in the furrow ahead.</p> + +<p>When Killdee started across the uneven ground toward the line of woods +where a tiny, drab-colored cabin showed dim in the smoky distance, Mike +stopped eating and followed him.</p> + +<p>Killdee scanned the quiet fields. Not a soul was in sight. He and Mike +seemed to be the only living things in the world to-day.</p> + +<p>Small cabins scattered at intervals over the landscape showed no sign of +life at all. Narrow red roads that ran by them were empty. Idle. The day +itself was still. Stiller than Sunday. Green Thursday. Ascension day. +The day Jesus went back to God.</p> + +<p>Maybe it was a holier day than Sunday.</p> + +<p>All Killdee’s life he had heard that to stir the earth on Green Thursday +was a deadly sin. Fields plowed, or even hoed to-day would be struck by +lightning and killed so they couldn’t bear life again. God would send +fire down from heaven to punish men who didn’t respect this day. Yet +here he and<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_29">{29}</a></span> Mike were plowing. Risking the wrath of the great I-Am.</p> + +<p>Everybody else on the whole plantation had gone fishing in the river +swamp. Dry weather made the fish bite fast. Rose would have been trying +her luck too if she had been able to walk so far. But it was near time +now for her to “go down.” She wouldn’t risk walking so far from home.</p> + +<p>  </p> + +<p>Rose asked him to hitch Mike to the wagon and take her and baby Rose to +fish for a while. Meat was mighty scarce and when a woman is pregnant, +fish bite better for her than for anybody else. Rose wanted to go and +try them. She wanted to go even if the crop was eaten up with grass. She +was worried and hurt right now because he and Mike were out in the field +plowing.</p> + +<p>Last night he lay awake and thought it all over. He made up his mind. He +would fight the grass this year to the end. He would make a crop. God +ought to know Rose hadn’t been able to hoe a lick since the crop was +planted. And how old and slow Mike was! Mike couldn’t step fast like the +grass. He never had plowed on Green Thursday before. Never. But this +year he was too far behind to miss a day. God ought to know how it was.</p> + +<p>Clear drops of sweat trickled down Mike’s thin flanks and down Killdee’s +lean black face. Killdee’s faded patched shirt was blotched with +wetness. It clung to his shoulders and outlined his strong,<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_30">{30}</a></span> straight +back. Its unbuttoned, open neck let the hot breeze reach his big throat +and breast.</p> + +<p>Ragged overalls turned high at the bottom slouched along with each step +he took and laid open their torn places for the sun to shine through on +the firm black flesh of his narrow hips and sinewy legs.</p> + +<p>He stopped where a path divided. Instead of going straight home, he took +the path that dropped down the steep hill behind it.</p> + +<p>The trees made a cool, dark shade. Leaves fluttered and let bits of +white light fall on the ground. The path became even and wet and +comforting to his hot, bare feet.</p> + +<p>He trampled on ferns and white violets as he hurried forward and dropped +on his knees to drink from the spring that bubbled out from under great +brown rock. Water ran smooth for the length of an old rotting trough, +then fell with a bright splash on its bed of white sand and clean +pebbles.</p> + +<p>When a spring puppy clung to the side of the trough not far from his +mouth, Killdee laughed.</p> + +<p>“You better be glad dis is me ’stead o’ Mike, son. I kin see you. I ain’ +gwine swallow you. Mike ain’ got good eyes like me. You’d be ruint ef +you got een dat big, ol’ mout’ o’ his’n. It ’ud sen’ you down dat big +ol’ t’roat an’ Mike wouldn’ know nuttin’ ’bout it.”</p> + +<p>When his own thirst was quenched, Killdee sat and watched Mike’s shaggy +throat forcing the water<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_31">{31}</a></span> up until Mike raised his head and looked at +him with gentle, somber eyes. He was ready to go home and eat dinner.</p> + +<p>Man and mule suddenly paused stock-still while a snake writhed through +the green shadows. Tufts of grass and slender vines with satiny leaves +almost hid its silent, stealthy slipping.</p> + +<p>Killdee watched with serious eyes, then spoke to the reptile.</p> + +<p>“I know I ought to kill you an’ hang you up on a limb to mek it rain. De +groun’ is awful dry. De plow can’ ha’dly cut ’em. But I ain’ got de +heart fo’ kill nuttin’ to-day. I gwine le’ you go home to you’ fambly.”</p> + +<p>As Killdee got to his feet a strong-smelling he-goat rustled through the +bushes and stopped to look.</p> + +<p>“Hey!” Killdee called to him.</p> + +<p>“How-come you dis close to water, ol’ man? You better come wash. You +smell powerful rank to me. I don’ see how lil Nan kin stan’ you. No, my +Gawd! But ’oman is strange. Nan t’ink nobody ain’ fine ez you. Nobody. +An’ you know dat, too.”</p> + +<p>Killdee picked up a pebble and threw it and the goat scampered away. +Killdee laughed. Preachers say sinners are like goats and Christians are +like sheep. He’d a lot rather be a goat than a sheep. Goats have sense.</p> + +<p>Old Bill yonder went home to sleep with the<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_32">{32}</a></span> other goats at night. He +was afraid of the dark. But in the daytime he ran around by himself and +went where he liked and ate what he pleased and had a good time. He was +too smart to huddle with others of his kind. Bill was a sinner maybe, +but he was better off than the foolish, scary sheep that stayed in a +flock all the time.</p> + +<p>Mike’s head was close to his shoulder. Killdee looked at the quiet, +smoky eyes. One of them was covered over with a milky film and the other +was dim and cloudy. Soon Mike would be blind. Good, faithful, old Mike. +God ought not to make Mike blind. Not a good fellow like Mike.</p> + +<p>Mike’s ribs stuck out bold too, and the corn pile was low, and the new +crop didn’t promise much. If it didn’t rain soon, everything would dry +up. The corn’s hands were shut tight to-day. The corn’s feet were +scorched till they were yellow. The cotton leaves were hanging limber.</p> + +<p>Maybe that was the way they all prayed for rain. And yet—if it rained, +the grass would eat them up.</p> + +<p>Killdee looked at the path leading up the hill to his cabin. He was +tired. Rose would be cross, vexed with him, because he had plowed Green +Thursday. He’d lie down and rest here a little while in the shade. He +took Mike’s bridle off and dropped it on the ground, saying sadly:</p> + +<p>“Pick roun’, Mike, an’ git a lil fresh grass fo’ taste you mout’. You +teeth is too bad fo’ chaw cawn anyhow.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page_33">{33}</a></span></p> + +<p>Killdee stretched himself out on the damp ground. It was good to lie +here in the cool, green shade. There was scarcely a sound but the water +flowing over the pebbles.</p> + +<p>It sounded so fresh. So cheerful. Not tired a bit. All day, all night, +it ran like this. Creeping out of the earth like a living thing. Weak. +Small. Yet too strong for anybody to hold it back. It was like life +itself.</p> + +<p>Two years ago this very month his little baby Rose was born. As soon as +the moon changed, another baby would come. His baby too, the same as +baby Rose was his.</p> + +<p>Maybe this next child would be a boy-child. He hoped it would. Every man +needs boy-children. Wants them.</p> + +<p>Not that he didn’t love baby Rose. He loved her better than life. God, +yes! He would do for her what he’d do for nobody else in the world. He’d +slave and sweat and struggle for her. He’d do anything to provide for +her.</p> + +<p>Yes, he’d plow on Green Thursday for her. He’d go to hell for her if he +had to do it!</p> + +<p>Funny how he felt about her at first. When Maum Hannah first told him a +girl-child was born his heart fell. He wanted a son. But when the teeny +little fingers closed tight over one of his big ones as he slipped it +inside them that morning, his heart mighty near broke with joy. He shook +all over, and laughed. He cried a little bit too.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page_34">{34}</a></span></p> + +<p>That baby knew then he was hers. That they two were the same flesh. She +was so like him. He could see it. Her little hands, her little feet, +even her face, were all shaped like his from the very first.</p> + +<p>The wonder of it made him feel humble and helpless and weak, yet it +fired his pride and courage. He made up his mind to fend for her. Work +for her. Suffer for her if it came to that. And he would. He was no poor +fool of a sheep. No. He was a man. He’d plow to-day and not be afraid. +If God was, He was fair. Kind. God would like a man better if He saw him +doing his best.</p> + +<p>He must soon go get Maum Hannah to come stay with Rose. He must take a +bushel of corn over to Daddy Cudjoe and swap it for a quart of whiskey. +Rose would soon need it. Maum Hannah said it helps a woman to “birth” a +child better if she has a little whiskey to deaden the pain.</p> + +<p>Rose wanted a bottle of castor oil from the cross-roads store, too. +There was no money to buy it with. He’d have to take corn for it too. +The corn pile was low. He and Rose and Baby Rose had to eat. Mike too. +Grass got the crop last year. Mike crept too slow to keep up with the +grass. But this year, he’d kill that grass or die trying! Plowing every +day was the only way. Let lightning strike where it pleased!</p> + +<p>Fire burned a house in Maum Hannah’s yard yesterday. Nobody knew how it +caught. Maum<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_35">{35}</a></span> Hannah said Jesus burned it. How could fire know Jesus +wanted it burned? And yet, the little baby that was coming would know +when the moon changed. It would come then. Baby Rose came on the change +of the moon.</p> + +<p>How do things buried deep know when the moon changes? Seed in the ground +know. The water in the river knows. The weather knows. The wind knows. +All know more than men. Maum Hannah said Jesus tells His children a lot +of things.</p> + +<p>Killdee lay on his back and a spot of sunshine fell right in his eyes. +The noon hour was passing and neither he nor Mike had eaten dinner. What +a fool he was to lie here thinking!</p> + +<p>He got slowly to his feet and looked around. Mike had wandered away to +find grass that was tender and sweet. Killdee called him.</p> + +<p>“Come on, Mike. You got to go home and eat some cawn. Grass won’ gi’ you +de strengt’ to pull de plow t’rough da tough grass. Come on. You too +greedy. You gwine miss an’ eat a pizen weed ef you don’ mine. Den you’ll +hab belly-ache.”</p> + +<p>While Mike came, Killdee knelt beside the spring and with cupped hands +dipped up water and cleansed his dusty face, then he trudged up the hill +with Mike following behind him.</p> + +<p>Once he stumbled on a root in the narrow crooked path. Thinking had made +him unsteady. He had plowed on Green Thursday.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page_36">{36}</a></span></p> + +<p>Already the sky was darkening. Thunder rumbled far over the river. It +had a threatening loury sound.</p> + +<p>Raising his eyes, he looked at his home. The low roof was half-hidden +with smoke that rose out of the red-clay chimney at its side. Rose had a +fire trying to keep his dinner hot for him there on the hearth inside. +He was late to-day. As he hurried forward, a flick of lightning was +followed by muted thunder. What if lightning should strike that +cabin—burn it—burn all he had within it! God, what a thought!</p> + +<p>Shucks! Thinking had made him a coward. When had he ever feared +lightning? He was no woman. No. He was a man. Hadn’t he promised himself +he’d be like a goat? Not a sheep. Not a frightened, huddling, scary +fool. No.</p> + +<p>The crop needed rain and it was coming. He’d feed Mike first, then eat +himself. He had let the snake go, but it would rain anyway. The cloud +was rolling nearer every minute.</p> + +<p>As he got further up the hill, he could see that the back door had been +whitened with some of the clay from the gully down near the spring. The +wooden blinds, half open on each side of the chimney, were whitened +inside and out. How nice it made the house look!</p> + +<p>Rose had done it all since morning. She liked to have things clean. She +was getting everything<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_37">{37}</a></span> ready for her venture. Childbirth. Poor Rose! +Soon pain would wrench her!</p> + +<p>Some of these days he would build Rose a better house. If the crop made +anything this year, he would “wash-white” the house all over and maybe +build another shed room there at the back.</p> + +<p>When he opened the door of Mike’s stable, a shed room added to the log +barn, streaks of light shone through the roof. Mike must have a better +stable before next winter. Mike was old, but he was faithful.</p> + +<p>If the crop was good, it might seem hard-hearted, but he must try to +arrange somehow to get a better mule. The thought made Killdee feel +guilty.</p> + +<p>He shucked a few ears of corn and put them into the trough and watched +Mike’s feeble efforts to bite the grains off.</p> + +<p>“You teet’ ain’ no count, not no mo’, Mike. It make me sad fo’ see you +strive fo’ chaw.”</p> + +<p>He’d have to take a sack of corn to mill and get it ground up for Mike. +Mike’s old teeth were worn out. They couldn’t crack corn any more.</p> + +<p>Killdee sighed as he closed the barn door and walked toward the cabin. +The sun shone out with a sudden, dazzling flash of brilliance. The +china-berry tree beside the doorstep made a round, thick spot of shade. +The wild-cherry tree cast light, leafy shadows that played up and down +over the red-clay chimney.</p> + +<p>Rose called out of the window:</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page_38">{38}</a></span></p> + +<p>“How-come you so late to-day? You been to see Maum Hannah? I know you +didn’ plow so long an’ it Green Thursday.”</p> + +<p>Killdee shook his head wearily and walked inside.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” he admitted, “I been plowin’ sence sunrise tell twelve o’clock. I +lay down by de spring fo’ res’ a lil while.”</p> + +<p>Rose shook her head dolefully, then leaned to dip his dinner out of the +pot. Her brows were knotted with a frown. She dropped a few peas on the +clean hearth as she helped a pan for him. She was cross. She thought he +had done wrong.</p> + +<p>“Somet’ing bad’ll happen to you sho as Gawd’s een heaben. People ain’ +fo’ plow to-day.”</p> + +<p>“Somet’ing bad’ll happen ef I don’t plow. Grass is got de crop now.” +Killdee answered meekly, but Rose’s anger was not easy to quench.</p> + +<p>“I know you mean I didn’ he’p you none wid de crop, but I ain’ able fo’ +do nuttin’——” She began crying.</p> + +<p>“Now, now,” Killdee went forward and petted her shoulder, “I didn’ say +nuttin’ ’bout you. You mus’n fret, honey. No. You fo’ be happy. Look +wha’ a nice lil gal we got. Mebbe dis time nex-week we would hab a nice +lil boy. ’Member how de people say when we was ma’ied: ’I wish you joy, +a gal an’ a boy’? We gwine hab all two.”</p> + +<p>Rose drew away from him. She was not to be appeased so easily.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page_39">{39}</a></span></p> + +<p>Killdee went and stood by the bed where Baby Rose, covered over with a +patchwork quilt, lay asleep. Flies crawled over the child’s delicate +features. They rose and buzzed and crawled again.</p> + +<p>“Whyn’t you git on off!” Killdee growled angrily at them. He waved his +hands violently to frighten them off.</p> + +<p>“Do don’ wake em, Killdee. Le’em sleep. Da chile ain’ been still all +day. ’E keep me busy watchin’ ’em. I done tired. Le’em sleep. You come +on an’ eat you’ dinner.”</p> + +<p>Killdee took the pan of food from Rose’s hand and sat down in the +doorway to eat. He looked at the cow-peas and bacon and cornbread and +stirred among them absent-mindedly with his spoon.</p> + +<p>Rose didn’t look right. She was vexed because he had plowed to-day, but +she didn’t look well. Maybe he was wrong to worry her.</p> + +<p>He glanced toward her heavy, bulging body, at her swollen ankles, and +pity for her stirred him.</p> + +<p>How could she breathe like that? Of course she couldn’t hoe. No. Yet she +had struggled up and down the hill bringing water to scour the floor. +How clean it’s bare boards were!</p> + +<p>She had whitened the windows and doors. Getting her house ready. Poor +Rose. She needed help here at home. Baby Rose was a frisky baby. The +hill was long and steep. Bringing up water<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_40">{40}</a></span> was hard work. After this he +must bring it for her before he went to work in the field.</p> + +<p>“Come set heah by me an’ le’s talk,” he suggested kindly.</p> + +<p>“I ain’ able fo’ set low ez dem steps, not now,” Rose said with a +wistful sigh.</p> + +<p>“I haffer set high een cheer now.”</p> + +<p>As she drew a chair to the door a flash of lightning lit the cabin and a +peal of thunder crashed close behind it. Rose shivered and put up a +hand.</p> + +<p>“You see, enty!” she whispered. “Lightnin’s gwine strike you field!”</p> + +<p>Lightning flashed again and Rose’s eyes shone white in the glare as she +quavered.</p> + +<p>“Git up out de do, Killdee. De wedder is too cross. ’E might miss an’ +strike you. I so faid em, Killdee....”</p> + +<p>Killdee wiped his mouth on his sleeve and got up. He put an arm around +her and led her to the bed where Baby Rose slept peacefully.</p> + +<p>“Lay down by de baby an’ res’, Honey. Don’ be faid. Nuttin’ ain’ gwine +hu’t you. No. Rain’ll do de crop good. De cawn an’ cotton’ll grow. Next +fall I gwine buy you a fine dress and shoe an’ hat. I’ll git a wagon an’ +harness an’ hitch up ol’ Mike an’ tek you to Mount Pleasant Church. De +people’ll say: ’Who is dat dress’ up so fine comin’ yonder?’<span class="lftspc">”</span></p> + +<p>Rose’s fingers rested on the strong thews of Killdee’s forearm. With him +close beside her like<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_41">{41}</a></span> this, she felt comforted. Dress—shoes—hat—she +smiled to think of them all.</p> + +<p>But the heavy cloud darkened the cabin. Lightning blazed in through the +open windows and door. Thunder clapped savagely.</p> + +<p>“Do shet de do, Killdee—an’ de window——”</p> + +<p>As Killdee got up to do it, there were muffled bangs from Mike’s stable. +He listened, then ran stumbling down the steps. Had Mike gotten fastened +in a crack of the stable?</p> + +<p>Hot stench filled his nostrils when he opened the stable door. Flies +sung over the moist dung where Mike lay kicking, groaning, rolling with +pain. Mike’s belly was puffed with colic.</p> + +<p>Bad corn. Bad teeth. Or—was it because Mike stirred the earth on Green +Thursday? Something must be done. A mule can’t last long swollen up like +this.</p> + +<p>Killdee shouted through the wind:</p> + +<p>“Rose! Rose! See ef a kerosene is lef’ een de bottle! Fetch em quick!”</p> + +<p>Rose came hurrying across the yard, panting, trembling, ashy, with a +quart bottle in her hand.</p> + +<p>The wind twisted her skirts and blew the stable door shut with a bang. +Killdee opened it and took the bottle from her shaking fingers.</p> + +<p>“Jedus,” she sobbed, “Ef Mike dead, wha’ we gwine do!”</p> + +<p>Killdee knelt and pulled the mule’s great black lips open. He forced the +worn, yellow teeth apart<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_42">{42}</a></span> and poured the kerosene down the unwilling +throat.</p> + +<p>“Git up on you feet, Mike!” he called sternly.</p> + +<p>“You can’ leddown wid colic. You mus’ walk ’em off. Das do only way.”</p> + +<p>Mike lay prone. Moaning, rolling. Killdee got the bridle and put it on +him. He shook the bit and coaxed:</p> + +<p>“Get up, Mike. Don’ mek me git a whip. You mus’ git up and walk, son.”</p> + +<p>Lightning blazed, and wind, mean and wet, sung through the cracks of the +log barn. Rose whimpered and clung to Killdee’s arm.</p> + +<p>“You mus’ go back to de house, Rose. De lightnin’ know good you is faid +em. Dat mek em do wusser. Go on een de house. I can’ lef Mike fo’ go wid +you. Go leddown on de bed side de baby. Kiver up you haid. Try fo’ go +sleep tell I come.”</p> + +<p>Rose went and Killdee led Mike out into the yard to keep him walking. +Spikes of water drove against his cheeks. Things dazzled a little before +his eyes. He felt confused. Distracted. He must pull himself together. +Mike and Rose depended on him. He must be strong. Not afraid. Rain fell +in a solid flood and Mike stopped and tried to lie down. Killdee was +firm and urged him on. Round and round the barn they went. Walking, +walking.</p> + +<p>Sheets of water hid the cabin. Beat and slashed<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_43">{43}</a></span> on his shoulders. +Chilled the very flesh on his bones. Made him shudder foolishly.</p> + +<p>Something braced him. Maybe shame. Was he a man or not? What were wind +and rain and thunder and lightning that he’d fear them?</p> + +<p>Women and children mind such things. Not strong men.</p> + +<p>Mike must not lie down and die. He must walk this colic off. Plowing +Green Thursday had nothing to do with his sickness. Bad teeth. Rotten, +weevily corn. They were worse than lightning. Or plowing Green Thursday.</p> + +<p>Rose was scary. Chicken-hearted. All good women are so. It was right for +them to be afraid of things. Right.</p> + +<p>The rain battered down and Mike and Killdee walked on and on unheeding.</p> + +<p>A voice piped shrill above the storm’s roaring. Killdee smiled. Rose +wanted him. She thought he could keep harm away from her. He’d go to her +soon and put on dry clothes. A fire was still in the chimney. He would +build it up and its light would make the cabin bright and cheerful. Mike +was getting better. His belly was less near bursting. Soon he could go +back to his stable. Thank God!</p> + +<p>Rose was running toward him! Screaming! Was she sick? No, she had Baby +Rose in her arms. She held Baby Rose out to him.</p> + +<p>Killdee felt numb. Dazed. What had hap<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_44">{44}</a></span>pened? He couldn’t think. He was +stunned—or drunk——</p> + +<p>As he went into the cabin a fog of smoke filled his eyes. The air was +rank with the smell of burned cloth—burned meat——</p> + +<p>He stumbled to a chair and sat down in it. He was holding Baby Rose’s +fire-blackened, scorched little body in his arms. What must he do? What?</p> + +<p>“Go git Maum Hannah,” Rose said between teeth that chattered.</p> + +<p>Killdee put the baby on the bed and went staggering blindly across the +fields through the storm. Lightning mocked him. Thunderbolts flouted +him. Made him go the wrong way. Made him stumble. Made him afraid. Told +him it was Green Thursday, and this morning he stirred the earth!</p> + +<p>At last he reached Maum Hannah’s cabin. It sat safe behind the pile of +ashes where a man’s house had been. Fire burned that house, yesterday. +Maum Hannah said Jesus burned it.</p> + +<p>  </p> + +<p>All night Killdee and Rose sat beside the bed. Rose moaned incessantly. +Her own burned hands were held out in front of her. She didn’t seem to +know he was there.</p> + +<p>Maum Hannah kept putting white hog lard and white cotton over the little +crisp ears and fingers. Mary West held the pan. The pan itself kept +shaking. Killdee took it and tried to hold it steady, but it shook in +his hand just the same.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page_45">{45}</a></span></p> + +<p>Baby Rose never cried at all. Her breath came easy. Soft. Like +whispering. It made Killdee weak and sick to hear the long gaps that +came between.</p> + +<p>All night he listened for it. Then just before day, it stopped. He kept +trying to hear it. Just one more time. His own breast cramped with an +effort to catch air! Baby Rose wasn’t breathing! No! She was gone! Gone!</p> + +<p>Rose got down on her knees and prayed and begged and called to her to +come back. Not to go. Not to leave her. But she was gone. Gone.</p> + +<p>Rose got up and shrieked and cried and waved her arms. She said God was +hard. Unfair. Killdee had done wrong. He had stirred the earth on a holy +day. He should suffer. Not her. Not her child. But Baby Rose lay still. +Dead.</p> + +<p>Maum Hannah talked to Rose and tried to quiet her. She told Rose that it +was to be. The child’s time had come. God called Baby Rose because her +work here was over. Her time was out. To question what God had done was +a sin. Rose must bear her sorrow with patience.</p> + +<p>Killdee sat in the doorway and looked out at the thick, black night. His +muscular hands shook helplessly and clutched at the rough board step. +His strength had left him. He felt weak. Shaken. Afraid. The darkness +came up close. It filled his eyes and ears and nostrils. It slipped past +him into the fire-lit room. The fire still burned. There<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_46">{46}</a></span> was no other +light to be had. But darkness filled the corners. Silent darkness. +Black, dumb darkness. It told nobody what it was, or what it was doing. +It was like death. It came. It went. Nobody could keep it away. Nobody.</p> + +<p>The wind had died. Faint flashes of lightning low in the sky were +followed by thunder that muttered and mumbled. Killdee’s heart was +black. Bitter.</p> + +<p>If God wanted to call Baby Rose, why did He burn her to death? She had +never harmed God. Or anybody. She had never done anything wrong. She was +too little to sin. If God was mad with him for plowing Green Thursday, +why didn’t He strike him with lightning and kill him? That would have +been easy enough. But to burn a baby—it wasn’t square.</p> + +<p>How could God have the heart to burn a baby? Who made the baby so she +loved to play in the fire, if God didn’t? Yes. God did it!</p> + +<p>Rose gave her other things to play with. Rose made her a pretty little +cloth doll. He had gotten an empty cigar box from the cross-roads store +and made her a nice little doll wagon. But she loved the fire more than +anything else.</p> + +<p>She didn’t know it would burn her. He told her it would. Rose told her +too. But she was a baby. She didn’t understand.</p> + +<p>Maybe she wasn’t playing with fire! Who could tell? Rose was on the bed +with her head covered<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_47">{47}</a></span> up to keep from seeing the lightning. A gust of +wind might have sucked a flame out to catch her little dress. The +lightning might have sent a tongue of fire in through the window to kill +her.</p> + +<p>Rose didn’t know. Rose was on the bed. With her eyes shut. Scared. A +coward. She let her baby burn to death. She was to blame. Rose and God.</p> + +<p>Something inside him made him shake and shiver as he sat there trying to +think things out. Something kept telling him he had plowed the ground on +Green Thursday. He had stirred the earth on a holy day.</p> + +<p>Keen, blasting grief wrung him to the core. Resentment heated his blood +like a fever. Burnt the marrow in his skull. Emboldened him. With set +lips and rigid muscles, he glared at the overhead darkness. He was +helpless. Yes. He had to take whatever came. There was nothing else to +do. Nothing! He could fight men. Settle with them. But God—Ha!—that +was a different matter. God kept out of reach. Yes. He did his worst. He +cut men at the very roots. Blighted them. He burned tender +girl-children. And nobody could ever get even with Him. Up there in the +sky, He had the whole world in His cold-blooded reach.</p> + +<p>  </p> + +<p>A star blinked out between flying clouds and was gone. Where was baby +Rose? Was she up there?<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_48">{48}</a></span> No. She was inside on the bed. Dead. Dead.</p> + +<p>Maum Hannah laid a light hand on his shoulder.</p> + +<p>“Son,” she said, “better come eenside now. De night air’ll gi’ you a +chill. Day’ll soon be clean. Andrew mus’ come mek a lil box to fit de +baby. You haffer lay em way, you know.”</p> + +<p>Her hand waited. It must have felt his misery, for it shook just a +little. Killdee knew she pitied him as she murmured:</p> + +<p>“Try to fret out loud, son. You could bear de pain mo better ef you +would cry. Eenside frettin’ kin bus’ you’ heart open.”</p> + +<p>  </p> + +<p>They waited until the sun had set in the little grave, then Killdee and +Andrew placed the small pine box that held Baby Rose, carefully down in +the earth. Together they filled in the damp, red clay, and smoothed it +over the top, into a mound. When it was done, Killdee fell to his knees +on the ground and wept bitterly. But Andrew said solemnly to him:</p> + +<p>“Don’ cry, Killdee. De Lawd hab gi’ em. De Lawd hab tek em away. Bressed +be de name ob de Lawd.”</p> + +<p>Andrew walked home with him to Rose, who strove with Maum Hannah’s help +and encouragement to bring another child into the world.</p> + +<p>Maum Hannah looked up at Killdee when he walked in, and said:</p> + +<p>“Some duh comin’ an’ some duh gwinen. Him<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_49">{49}</a></span> up-yonder duh tek an’ sen. Be +tanksful, son. Be tanksful.”</p> + +<p>But Killdee’s eyes were fixed on a small cloth doll that had fallen out +of its cigar-box wagon and that lay face down on the floor.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page_50">{50}</a></span></p> + +<h2><a id="Missie"><i>Missie</i></a></h2> + +<p class="nind"><span class="letra">T</span>HE day was almost gone. Rose was cooking supper when a shadow darkened +the doorway. She looked around quickly. Who was there? Killdee always +came in with heavy steps that could be heard.</p> + +<p>A strange little figure stood on the top step. A girl who was small and +dirty and ragged. A broken, rusty dishpan filled with fat light-wood +splinters was balanced on her head. Thin, trembling, black hands +steadied it as the child looked up into Rose’s face with a diffident +smile and said softly:</p> + +<p>“Dese is some fat chip I fetch fo’ you.”</p> + +<p>Rose looked at the rich pine chips piled high on the pan. Then she +searched the child’s narrow face. Her keen eyes noted the pointed chin, +the curve of the purplish, dark-red lips, the delicate, bluish bloom on +the black cheeks. A stranger. Who?</p> + +<p>“Who is you, gal?” she asked abruptly. “Whe’ you come f’om?”</p> + +<p>Rose knew everybody in this part of the world and she had never seen or +heard of this child before.</p> + +<p>“I name Missie,” the child answered. “My<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_51">{51}</a></span> mammy an’ all o’ we come f’om +ober de ribber fo’ pick cotton. None ain’ mek to we home.”</p> + +<p>“Whe’ you git dem chip?” Rose asked after a moment’s thought.</p> + +<p>“I cut dem off a stump back o’ we house,” was the prompt reply.</p> + +<p>“Whe’ you house dey?” Rose asked again.</p> + +<p>The child turned and pointed across the field to a dark line of woods +that showed a jagged edge under the sunset sky.</p> + +<p>“We house is yonder,” she said simply.</p> + +<p>“Great Gawd,” Rose said, “I know em. Da ol’, broke-down house. Da’s a +bad-luck house, gal. Too much a people dead een em. I wouldn’ trust fo’ +stay dey. I too faid o’ hants.”</p> + +<p>Missie’s big eyes glistened in the firelight as she heard, but she did +not answer.</p> + +<p>“Put de chip down by de fireplace,” Rose bade her. “I glad to git em. +Wha’ you want fo’ em?”</p> + +<p>Missie dropped her eyes and said shyly.</p> + +<p>“Please, ma’am, gi’ me a lil piece o’ bread.”</p> + +<p>Rose scanned the thin face, the slight body. Was the child hungry? She +went to the safe and looked in a pan there. She broke off a piece of +corn pone left from dinner and handed it to Missie, who took it eagerly +and started out of the door.</p> + +<p>“Wait,” Rose said. “You ain’ got no manners? You ain’ gwine say ’Tank +you’?”</p> + +<p>Missie bowed and pulled a foot back to make a curtsey and said +solemnly:</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page_52">{52}</a></span></p> + +<p>“Tank you, ma’am.”</p> + +<p>“Da’s right,” Rose laughed. “You kin cutsey good fo-true. But look how +you drap crumbs on de clean flo’.”</p> + +<p>Missie gave a quick look around the room and spied a field-straw broom +in the corner. She laid her bread carefully on the table and, getting +the broom, swept all the crumbs into the fire with a few deft strokes.</p> + +<p>“Why, you is a smart lil gal,” Rose approved. “You kin sweep nice. When +you gits hongry again, fetch me some mo splinters an’ I’ll gi’ you +bread.”</p> + +<p>Missie took up her bread and made another curtsey.</p> + +<p>“Good ebenin’, ma’am,” she said respectfully.</p> + +<p>Rose laughed again and responded:</p> + +<p>“Good ebenin’.” But as an afterthought she called to the child:</p> + +<p>“Come back heah a minute. Wha’ you las’ name, gal?”</p> + +<p>Missie reflected seriously and answered:</p> + +<p>“I dunno, ma’am. Ma ain’ nebber tell me.”</p> + +<p>“I don’ reckon you got none,” Rose pronounced severely.</p> + +<p>Missie seemed not to understand, for she gave a puzzled look at Rose, +then went away down the path.</p> + +<p>In the fading light Rose saw that a thin, yellow<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_53">{53}</a></span> cur dog walked beside +her and that Missie fed him bits of her bread.</p> + +<p>When Killdee came in from the field and saw the fat splinters and heard +how Missie swept up crumbs off the floor and curtseyed when she said +good-by, the thought flashed into his mind that Missie would be the very +person to come and stay with Rose and help her take care of Jim.</p> + +<p>“Let’s git em,” he said.</p> + +<p>“You reckon ’e mammy would gi’ em ’way?” Rose considered.</p> + +<p>“Sho ’e will. Anyway, I kin go ax em.”</p> + +<p>  </p> + +<p>The next day at noon when Killdee and Mike came home for dinner, Missie +and the yellow cur dog were walking behind them. Both waited outside by +the stable door until Mike was fed, then they walked slowly behind +Killdee into the house.</p> + +<p>“I got em,” Killdee announced brightly. “I got you a lil gal.”</p> + +<p>Rose’s eyes were on the dog. Killdee saw she disapproved.</p> + +<p>A string of fresh egg-shells hung on a nail by the chimney dangled in +the draught. Rose had put them there this morning. Strung like that and +hung beside the fire, egg-shells would make her hens lay.</p> + +<p>Missie looked from them to Rose, then at the dog.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page_54">{54}</a></span></p> + +<p>“Son don’ suck egg. No’m,” she defended.</p> + +<p>“Don’ tell me no lie, gal,” Rose warned.</p> + +<p>“No’m, Son ain’ suck a egg een e life. We raise em,” Missie affirmed.</p> + +<p>“Wha ’e name?” Rose asked sternly.</p> + +<p>“We call em ’Son,’ ma’am.”</p> + +<p>“You gi’ de dawg to me, Missie. I eber did want a coon dawg. I bet e is +a good one,” Killdee intervened. “An’ I’ll kill em ef e suck one o’ Rose +eggs.”</p> + +<p>Missie looked up quickly, but the expression on Killdee’s face reassured +her. Rose saw something like a message pass between Killdee and Missie +and she retorted:</p> + +<p>“Ef ’e suck eggs you won’ hab a chance to kill em. I’ll tend to em my +own se’f,” she threatened. Her tone was sharp.</p> + +<p>Killdee drew a chair forward and sat down.</p> + +<p>“Come heah, gal,” he said. “Lemme look at you good. I ain’ had time tell +now.”</p> + +<p>Rose stood with arms akimbo and watched Missie come forward. The small +bare head with its sunburned wool was bowed humbly. The slim, black +fingers plucked nervously at the soiled, ragged dress. One ashy toe of a +slender foot dug at a line of a crack in the floor.</p> + +<p>“Look een my eye, gal. Don’t be faid. Tell me you name,” Killdee coaxed +with an amused smile on his face.</p> + +<p>“Come heah, close to me, gal,” he repeated.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page_55">{55}</a></span></p> + +<p>“Don’ plague em, Killdee,” Rose chided him.</p> + +<p>“I ain’ plaguin’ em,” Killdee declared. “I des axin’ em ’e name. I +haffer know ’e name, enty?”</p> + +<p>Missie lifted her eyes timidly. They met Killdee’s and her curved lashes +flickered and dropped. Killdee saw that the dark-red lips quivered and a +dimple came and went in the pointed chin. The child was shy as a wild +bird. The little breast was heaving with a sudden sob and a bright tear +fell with a tiny pat on Rose’s clean floor. Missie quickly put up an arm +to wipe away the others that were following it.</p> + +<p>Killdee was distressed. He hadn’t meant to frighten her. No.</p> + +<p>“Don’ cry, lil gal. Don’ cry. I wasn’ makin’ fun o’ you. No. Come heah +close to me. I like lil gals like you.”</p> + +<p>He put out a big hand and pity made his deep voice very gentle.</p> + +<p>“Come heah, lil gal. Come close to me. I had a lil gal one time.”</p> + +<p>Missie raised her eyes again and, though there were tears on her long +lashes, her lips parted and Killdee saw teeth white as rice grains +showing between them.</p> + +<p>“Da’s right,” he encouraged. “Da’s right. Try fo’ laugh, gal. Don’t cry. +I can’ stan’ fo’ see a gal-chillen cry. Come stan’ close to me and tell +me yo’ name.”</p> + +<p>Missie came closer, but when Killdee put an arm<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_56">{56}</a></span> around her and drew her +up to him, her heart beat fast with fear. He was so big. So strong. So +different from anybody she had ever seen in her life before.</p> + +<p>Yet mingled with the fear was a thrill of something like joy. She sensed +that in the strength of this man she would find safety. Protection. And +she sensed in the sharp tone of Rose’s voice something that made her +afraid and unhappy.</p> + +<p>Yes, Killdee was her friend. It was good to lean right against him so. +To feel his arm around her. And she leaned with simple trust and wiped +her eyes and cheeks dry with her sleeve.</p> + +<p>Rose was shocked. The girl was filthy. More than likely, full of lice. +Killdee was a thoughtless man. He didn’t know how to look after himself.</p> + +<p>“You le’ da gal git close you, Killdee?” she cried out. “Wait tell I +scour ’em an’ put clean clo’es on em. Gawd! I wouldn’ le’ em touch me +no-how.”</p> + +<p>Killdee laughed and drew his arm away, saying:</p> + +<p>“You reckon e’s lousy?”</p> + +<p>“Sho ’e is,” Rose affirmed. She pointed to the shelf.</p> + +<p>“Look on de shelf, gal. Git dem two buckets an’ go to de spring fo’ +water. I gwine hotten a potful and scrub you hide good.”</p> + +<p>As Missie started for the buckets, Killdee shook his head.</p> + +<p>“No, Rose. One bucket is plenty fo’ a lil gal to<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_57">{57}</a></span> fetch up da steep +hill. You ain’ fo’ strain a gal-chillen. Missie ain’ had no dinner. E +don’ know de way to de spring. You fo-git. Missie ain’ nuttin’ but a +baby.”</p> + +<p>“Baby!” Rose scoffed. “Baby nuttin’! E might lil an’ dry, but shucks! +e’s plenty ol’ fo’ go to de spring an’ fetch two buckets o’ water.”</p> + +<p>“Gi’ em some dinner fus’, Rose. When I finish my own, I’ll git you de +water.”</p> + +<p>Rose said no more. She fixed a pan of food for Killdee, then one for +Missie and one for herself, and they all sat down to eat. There was a +strange silence. Somehow the little girl’s presence made a difference +already.</p> + +<p>When Killdee finished eating, he wiped his mouth on his sleeve and got +up.</p> + +<p>“I’ll git you all de water you want now. Ef Jim ain’ wake when I come +back, I gwine wake him. I haffer play wid em a lil befo’ I go back to de +fiel’.”</p> + +<p>“No, you ain’ gwine wake em nuttin’,” Rose declared, looking over at the +bed, and a tender smile softened her heavy mouth.</p> + +<p>“Yes I is,” Killdee returned playfully. “You got a gal to nuss em fo’ +you now. I wan’ see how Jim like dis gal anyhow.”</p> + +<p>Missie ate her dinner hungrily. It tasted good, for she had never had +many full meals in her life.</p> + +<p>After Killdee had gone to the field again, Rose and Missie washed the +pots and pans together.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_58">{58}</a></span> Rose showed the child where each thing stayed +when it was clean.</p> + +<p>“You is fo’ do dis ebey day, Missie,” Rose said simply, and Missie +nodded assent.</p> + +<p>When all the pots and pans were put away, Rose sat down to rest and +smoke her pipe.</p> + +<p>“Sweep de flo’, gal. Sweep easy, too. Don’ wake Jim.”</p> + +<p>But Jim did wake and when Missie started toward him with an eager, happy +smile, Rose stopped her.</p> + +<p>“No,” she said, “don’ touch em. You’s full o’ lice. I don’ want Jim to +git none on em. No, my Gawd! Wait tell I git you clean. Den you kin mind +em all you want.”</p> + +<p>  </p> + +<p>When Killdee came home at dark, a queer, comical little figure stood by +the hearth helping Rose cook supper. Missie, after Rose had cleaned her.</p> + +<p>Every bit of wool had been clipped from her small head. The only garment +she wore was one of Killdee’s own shirts. The sleeves were cut off the +right length for the thin arms, and the neck-band, lapped over and +pinned together, hung awkwardly. The child glanced shamefacedly at him +when he threw back his head and roared with laughter.</p> + +<p>“Fo’ Gawd’s sake, Rose! Dis gal look like a skinned rabbit.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page_59">{59}</a></span></p> + +<p>Killdee looked at Missie again and held his sides. Rose stood looking +and laughing too.</p> + +<p>“I had to do em so, Killdee,” Rose explained. “E was pure lousy. ’E +dress was sewed on em. I cut off ebyting e had on an’ bu’nt em up. Den I +clip ’e haid. Dat ol’ shu’t o’ you’ own been too ol’ fo’ patch any mo’. +But de gal is clean. An’ Jim is pure crazy ’bout em. ’E play so much ’e +gone sleep by fus’ dark.”</p> + +<p>Killdee walked over to the hearth where Missie stood and put a hand on +her shoulder. How pitiful that poor little bare head was! He didn’t know +just what to say.</p> + +<p>“Nemmine, Missie,” he murmured, “You haih’ll soon grow back. I’m gwine +to de sto’ nex’ Sat’day an’ I’ll buy you a dress. A purty dress. An’ +some o’ dese days I’m gwine buy you some shoes fo’ wear on Sunday, too.”</p> + +<p>Missie could not look up. Two bright tears dropped on the clean white +sand of the hearth.</p> + +<p>Killdee leaned and took her hand and led her with him to a chair.</p> + +<p>“Jim is gone to sleep, lil gal. I got to hol’ some kinder chillen een my +lap. Lemme hol’ you a minute.”</p> + +<p>“No-suh,” Rose objected, “Missie ain’ no baby fo’ you to spile. Go git +me a pan out de safe, gal. You too big fo’ set een Killdee lap.”</p> + +<p>Missie went to the safe and Killdee sat down<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_60">{60}</a></span> in the doorway. He took +out his pipe and lit it and smoked in silence.</p> + +<p>The day was gone. A slender, young moon guarded the evening star. +Crickets chirped a few trial notes together. A cow bell jangled down in +the pasture. A whippoorwill called uneath words. The hot breeze that +fanned his face blew the smoke from his mouth back into the cabin.</p> + +<p>A sudden weariness seemed to sap his strength. A feeling of loneliness +darkened his heart. The fields out there, the woods beyond them, all lay +quiet. Peaceful. Why could he not be so? Why must he always strive, +struggle with something inside his heart? Rose didn’t understand. No.</p> + +<p>His pipe was finished. Looking inside, he asked:</p> + +<p>“Whe’ is Missie gwine sleep, Rose?”</p> + +<p>“I gwine mek em a pallet on de flo’,” Rose answered cheerfully. “I got +plenty o’ quilt.”</p> + +<p>When Missie was curled up on one folded quilt on the floor and covered +over with another, she knew she must not let Rose and Killdee hear her +crying. But when she thought of her Mother, of Sis, of all of them at +home, her heart felt likely to burst with longing for them.</p> + +<p>Could she bear to stay here? When everybody got sound asleep, she’d get +up and slip out of the door and go back to her mother. She wouldn’t be +afraid of the dark with Son. He’d go with her and keep anything from +hurting her.</p> + +<p>But her clothes were burned up. Her hair was<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_61">{61}</a></span> clipped off. She had +nothing on but Killdee’s old shirt. She couldn’t let them see her like +that. Not like that.</p> + +<p>Sobs wrenched her. She was afraid. Misery made her ache all over.</p> + +<p>Killdee leaned over her, patting her gently, saying: “Good night.”</p> + +<p>She slipped a hand into his big, warm one and held to it. If he would +just stay here by her a little!</p> + +<p>“You mus’ dream a good dream to-night, lil gal. Dis is de fus’ night you +sleep in dis house. All you dream’ll come true,” he whispered.</p> + +<p>Missie looked at him and tried to smile. She would never be afraid of +him any more. No. And if he wanted her, she’d stay here and try to be +happy with Rose.</p> + +<p>“Do, Killdee,” Rose scolded. “Le’ de gal go to sleep.”</p> + +<p>  </p> + +<p>Next morning Missie woke early. She tried to recall her dream. What was +it? She couldn’t quite remember. But it was something pleasant. It +seemed to be something about Killdee.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page_62">{62}</a></span></p> + +<h2><a id="Meeting"><i>Meeting</i></a></h2> + +<p class="nind"><span class="letra">W</span>HEN Missie came to live with Rose and Killdee, she had never been to +church or to prayer-meeting in her life, and the first time she went to +the quarters for meeting with Rose her heart thrilled at what she saw.</p> + +<p>The night was dark, and as they got nearer Maum Martha’s cabin where +meeting was held every Wednesday night, the light from the open door +shone out on black people who stood in the yard, laughing and talking.</p> + +<p>As they went up the weak old steps, Rose warned her:</p> + +<p>“Mine you’ eye an’ don’ fall. Don’ le’ dese steps broke you leg de fus’ +time you come to meetin’.”</p> + +<p>Narrow wooden benches filled the room. Missie took her seat on one of +those back near the door. Rose had explained to her on the way that only +members could sit up in front near the fire. Sinners had to sit far +back. And Missie was a sinner, for she had never sought to find peace, +nor had she been baptized.</p> + +<p>As Rose sat on the front bench, it creaked with her weight.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page_63">{63}</a></span></p> + +<p>“Jedus! Do don’ fall!” she exclaimed with a laugh. “Dese bench is +gittin’ too ol’ fo’ be trusted.”</p> + +<p>Maum Martha, an old, fat woman who sat on one on the opposite side of +the fire, sighed:</p> + +<p>“Lawd, yes. Dey is ol’. My own daddy, Champagne, mek dem befo’ my time. +Da’s how-come dey stay under my house. Da’s how-come meetin’ is heah wid +me. Dey ain’ gwine las’ much longer ef de mens ain’ ca’ful how dey tote +em. Mens is change sense I was young. Dey don’ keer ef dey broke de +meetin’ bench. Dey ain’ got prays een de back side o’ dey head. Dey mind +run too fas’ on gals an’ dancin’ an’ sin. Dey povoke me!”</p> + +<p>Maum Martha’s eyes narrowed as she peered through the half-light at +Missie.</p> + +<p>“Who dat gal a-settin’ by de do?” she asked.</p> + +<p>“Dat de gal Killdee git fo’ me to raise,” Rose owned it proudly.</p> + +<p>“I declea!” Maum Martha approved. “You hab luck fo’ git sich a big gal. +E big ’nough fo’ mind you baby, enty?”</p> + +<p>“Sho,” Rose agreed. “E ain’ so big, but e strong. E kin hoe, too. An’ +cut wood. An’ fetch water f’om de spring. E kin put one bucket on e head +an’ tek one een each hand and walk right up dat steep hill. E stronger’n +me.”</p> + +<p>People were coming in. Men, women, children, followed Daddy Cato, an old +man, who took his<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_64">{64}</a></span> place at the little pine table in the center of the +room. With a splinter from the hearth, he lit the small glass kerosene +lamp.</p> + +<p>What a strange-looking person he was! His arms seemed too long. The +sleeves of his greenish black coat left his bony wrists naked. His vest +was too short. It left part of his shirt showing above his big, loose +pantaloons.</p> + +<p>He rested the finger-tips of his great hands on the table in front of +him and looked over the crowd of quiet people that filled the room.</p> + +<p>One eyelid drooped and covered an eye. One side of his kind old mouth +was twisted.</p> + +<p>“Chillen,” he said in a deep, booming voice, “hell ain’ no hole.”</p> + +<p>The silence was tense. The congregation listened attentively.</p> + +<p>“A hole would ’a’ been full long time ago,” he continued.</p> + +<p>“Do Jedus!” somebody exclaimed, but most of the people stayed silent.</p> + +<p>Daddy Cato rubbed the scattered white hairs on his chin thoughtfully.</p> + +<p>“Chillen,” he said solemnly, “I dunno e-zactly wha’ hell is.” He +hesitated and cleared his throat before he went on. “But I tink e mus’ +be a lake.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, my Gawd! E mus’ be,” somebody answered fervently.</p> + +<p>Missie felt uncomfortable. Rose had told her a lot about hell and God +since she came. God lived<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_65">{65}</a></span> in heaven. He loved Christians and hated +sinners. He burned sinners in a place he called hell.</p> + +<p>All the fire in the world came from hell. God swam it through seven +rivers to cool it before he brought it here. Seven wide rivers.</p> + +<p>The fire in the chimney behind Daddy Cato was so hot that sweat ran out +on his forehead and drops fell from his face. Hell fire is seven times +hotter than that fire. God must be terrible. It scared her to think +about him.</p> + +<p>Killdee was a sinner, Rose said. Killdee laughed when Rose said it. +Killdee wasn’t afraid of God or hell or anything. How could he be so +bold!</p> + +<p>Wind through the open door fluttered the fringe of cut newspapers that +covered the mantelshelf. They began a funny, wild dancing behind Daddy +Cato’s back.</p> + +<p>“De do haffer shet,” he said, and Andrew got up and closed it and put up +the bar to hold it in place.</p> + +<p>Soon somebody knocked and Andrew had to open it again. Maum Hannah came +in, and old Daddy Cudjoe. They hurried past the sinners and went to the +benches where the members sat, away from the draughty back walls. As +Maum Hannah warmed her hands by the fire, she looked behind her.</p> + +<p>“E too col’ to-night fo’ mek de sinners set so far f’om de fire. Gawd +mek de win’ blow. Him know good how col’ e is. Le’ dem chillen come<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_66">{66}</a></span> up +an’ warm. Po’ lil creeter. Gawd ain’ gwine be bex ’bout dat.”</p> + +<p>But the members looked serious and shook their heads and the sinners +stayed where they were.</p> + +<p>Newspapers that were pasted all over the walls swelled out when the wind +blew a hard gust. The paste that held them must be stout! Brown spots +showed where rain had beaten in through cracks and stained them. Age had +yellowed them. But to Missie they looked very fine.</p> + +<p>The rafters overhead were almost hidden with newspapers tied to barrel +hoops and cut into fringes. These swung gently like blossoms.</p> + +<p>Pictures were tacked around the walls. Over the mantelshelf a beautiful +wild bay horse pranced with all four of its feet lifted high.</p> + +<p>A white lady with a pink dress on was near him. She laughed and looked +at a bottle of something brown in her hand.</p> + +<p>On the opposite wall was a double row of large pictures. Awful pictures. +Negroes naked to the waist. All of them broken out with an ugly +sickness. Missie did not know that they were pictures of small-pox +victims sent out by the State, but she felt sick inside to see such +swollen cheeks and bodies.</p> + +<p>What did Maum Martha want with them there? Maybe they were sinners——</p> + +<p>Daddy Cato was singing. The people were getting to their feet, and +joining in the song. How<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_67">{67}</a></span> solemn it sounded! Chills ran over her as she +listened.</p> + +<p>“Roll, Jordan, roll,” were the only words she could make out, but these +were sung over and over.</p> + +<p>Daddy Cato held up his hand and sang some words alone. His deep voice +filled the cabin and roused an aching in Missie’s heart.</p> + +<p>“Roll, Jordan, roll,” he sang, and the firelight flickered over the low, +dark walls. Nobody else made a sound. His voice was enough. So sad. So +pitiful. Missie could hardly keep from crying.</p> + +<p>Poor Daddy Cato, old gray-headed man, was crying out to something for +help. Was he singing to God?</p> + +<p>Then Maum Hannah joined with him and the two old voices swelled upward. +The others swayed from side to side and hummed low. Where was God?</p> + +<p>Missie had never felt so lonely before. She had never felt sorrow +before. But in the cry of those two old voices she felt her own +helplessness, her insecurity against some unknown, strange power. She +wished Killdee could have come. He was yonder at home taking care of +little Jim. But then, Killdee was sinner. God was going to burn Killdee +if he didn’t repent. Rose said so. There seemed to be no escape from +this God. None.</p> + +<p>“Sing, chillen, sing,” Daddy Cato bade, and the whole congregation +united in a heaving flood of<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_68">{68}</a></span> sound that pressed against the very walls +and deadened the moaning of the wind outside.</p> + +<p>“Roll, Jordan, roll.”</p> + +<p>Missie’s lips moved with the words. Her heart moved with something like +prayer. God must be hearing now. Everybody was singing. Calling to Him.</p> + +<p>Daddy Cato began praying. Missie shut her eyes. In her darkness her +mother’s face came before her. How she wished her mother were here to +hold her hand! To keep her from being afraid! For she was afraid. Yes. +Of God. Of this singing. Of those sick people on the walls. Of the +darkness. Of everything. Yes, everything.</p> + +<p>Cold, or maybe it was fear, made gooseflesh break out on her body.</p> + +<p>“Chillen,” Daddy Cato said.</p> + +<p>The congregation answered: “Yessuh.”</p> + +<p>“Dey’s a stranger een de lan’,” he told them.</p> + +<p>“Enty?” they answered in surprise.</p> + +<p>“Somebody duh meet da stranger eby day.”</p> + +<p>What was Daddy Cato talking about? A stranger. Who? The members facing +Missie from the other side of the fire had their eyes fixed on Daddy +Cato’s face. Maum Hannah nodded sorrowfully at him. She understood him.</p> + +<p>“Chillen, da stranger pass me by, mighty close one time,” Daddy Cato +said.</p> + +<p>“Enty?” they mumbled back.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page_69">{69}</a></span></p> + +<p>“So close tell I felt e breat’,——”</p> + +<p>Somebody cried out: “Do, Jedus!”</p> + +<p>“Yinner see my face—— how e lef’ em——”</p> + +<p>A tremble cramped Daddy Cato’s black lips. He held up the smoky lamp and +pointed to his motionless cheek. His face was wrong. One whole side of +it. It was still. It didn’t move at all. Even when the other side cried +it was quiet.</p> + +<p>“E pa-lyze,” somebody whispered. “Da wha’ ’e duh talk ’bout——”</p> + +<p>There were grunts of sympathy.</p> + +<p>“Chillen——” Daddy Cato’s voice broke, then he went on earnestly: “When +da stranger kiss you—an’ e gwine kiss eby one—eby one!”</p> + +<p>The good side of his face began crying. It twisted like a child’s. The +members on the front benches began praying and groaning and moaning: +“Do, Jedus! Hab mussy, Lawd!”</p> + +<p>Some of them rocked from side to side and begged Daddy Cato to go on.</p> + +<p>“Tell em, brudder! Tell em! Heah em, sinners! Heah em fo-true!”</p> + +<p>Missie shivered. She was a sinner. Rose said so. A sinner. And it made +her afraid to look at Daddy Cato’s face, all crooked—wrong——</p> + +<p>“Chillen,” he began again with his voice low and tight in his throat, +“yinner know wha’ da stranger leab when e kiss you?”</p> + +<p>“No, suh,” they answered him softly. The firelight shone bright in their +wide-opened eyes.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page_70">{70}</a></span></p> + +<p>“When da stranger kiss you—’e ain’ gwine leab nuttin’—nuttin’!”</p> + +<p>Daddy Cato’s lips stumbled with what he wanted to say. “<i>Nuttin ain’ +leab but a box o’ col’ meat. Col’ meat!</i>”</p> + +<p>His words fell cold. Flat. There was no answer to them. A gust of wind +shrilled around the corner of the cabin. The newspaper fringes on the +mantelshelf shook with a smoky draught that sucked down the chimney. The +heavy, black log made a crunching, frying sound. It had burned through, +and it broke in the middle and sent a shower of sparks crackling up the +wide, black chimney.</p> + +<p>Daddy Cato wiped his eyes on his sleeve and one of the members began to +sing: “Hush! Hush! Somebody’s a-callin’ my name.”</p> + +<p>Missie thought at first he meant what he said. He said it solemnly. But +the others began saying it with him. They sang it. Over and over again +they sang it, and a wailing chorus followed it:</p> + +<p>“Oh, Lawd, what am I gwine do?”</p> + +<p>It was so pitiful. They sounded so humble. So helpless. The little +children got closer together. Their lips moved too, as they sang the +words. When the song was ended, Daddy Cato called out:</p> + +<p>“Come an’ pray, Brudder Andrew.”</p> + +<p>Missie knew Andrew. He was Rose’s cousin. She watched him as he came +forward to the table and knelt down. He stepped in a slow, easy, +care<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_71">{71}</a></span>less way, and after he knelt by the table the light of the kerosene +lamp in his wide-open eyes made Missie think of a rattlesnake’s eyes in +the sun. His head came out from a stoop in his big shoulders. As he +folded his arms on the table, his lean, sinewy hands grasped his elbows +firmly. His hair was clipped close from his head. The ridges in it +showed plain. His nostrils swelled out and his thin lips quivered with +the words that burred over them. And his eyes—maybe talking to God made +them shine so and glitter—and stare——</p> + +<div class="poetry"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“Our Fader—we, Dy chillen, is bow heah be-fo<br></span> +<span class="i1">Dee to-night——<br></span> +<span class="i1">Come close—an’ listen——<br></span> +<span class="i1">Don’ le’ de win’ tek de wud we say.<br></span> +<span class="i1">An’ scatter dem——<br></span> +<span class="i1">We ain’ strong ez You. No. We weak.<br></span> +<span class="i1">You put we heah. You tek we ’way when You ready.<br></span> +<span class="i1">You ain’ ax we nuttin’. Nuttin’!”<br></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<p>Sweat oozed from his smooth black forehead. From his flattened nostrils. +He held his words to a smothered singing that almost ran them together.</p> + +<p>Missie stood up to see his face better, but somebody touched her and she +sat down again and let the words flow over her.</p> + +<div class="poetry"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O Gawd,<br></span><span class="pagenum"><a id="page_72">{72}</a></span> +<span class="i0">I know de time ain’ long<br></span> +<span class="i0">When my room gwine be lak a public hall,<br></span> +<span class="i0">My face gwine be lak a lookin’-glass,<br></span> +<span class="i0">An’ my teet’ll be shet ’gainst a silence.<br></span> +<span class="i0">No mo’ breat’ll heave een my breas’;<br></span> +<span class="i0">My han’s’ll be col’ an’ empty,<br></span> +<span class="i0">An’ be layin’ folded pun-top ’em.<br></span> +<span class="i0">Dese ol’ feet’ll be tu’n todes sunrise-side,<br></span> +<span class="i0">An’ dis head’ll be tu’n todes de wes’.<br></span> +<span class="i0">Tain’ no use den fo’ my eyes to crack dey-se’f open.<br></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">De life ob a man is same lak de pat’ ob de sun.<br></span> +<span class="i0">Een de mawnin’ e rise up bright een de east—<br></span> +<span class="i0">Ebyting look shine an’ beautiful.<br></span> +<span class="i0">’E soon sta’t plowin’ e furrow ’cross de element ob de sky.<br></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">’E strong, e brabe—<br></span> +<span class="i0">When de cloud come stan’ een ’e way, ’e fight em.<br></span> +<span class="i0">E knock em—e ain’ faid;<br></span> +<span class="i0">De lightnin’ flash een e han’<br></span> +<span class="i0">Tell de cloud fall down een rain.<br></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But de time haffer come w’en ’e strengt’ gwine fail.<br></span> +<span class="i0">E ceasted f’om climbin’ higher.<br></span> +<span class="i0">’E sta’t fo’ drap todes de wes’.<br></span> +<span class="i0">’E moan tell de sky tu’n red.<br></span> +<span class="i0">But ’e haffer go to ’e res’.<br></span><span class="pagenum"><a id="page_73">{73}</a></span> +<span class="i0">’E sink.<br></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">’E gone.<br></span> +<span class="i0">’E gone down behime de hill,<br></span> +<span class="i0">De hill whe’ de pine trees is t’ick,<br></span> +<span class="i0">De hill whe’ de night be’s black.<br></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Dey’s pine trees a waitin’ yonder now<br></span> +<span class="i0">Fo’ drap needle ober my grabe.<br></span> +<span class="i0">Oh, Lawd! dat’s de time!<br></span> +<span class="i0">My hea’t git weak w’en I t’ink on em—<br></span> +<span class="i0">Dat how-come I down on my knees!<br></span> +<span class="i0">Fader, stan’ by me den!<br></span> +<span class="i0">Be a light on da da’k crooked pat’;<br></span> +<span class="i0">Be a shade f’om da’ hot bunnin’ sun;<br></span> +<span class="i0">Be a bridge fo’ me ober deep water;<br></span> +<span class="i0">Hol’ my han’ tell I git across,<br></span> +<span class="i0">Tell I git Home!<br></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<p>Andrew’s black eyes were staring at something beyond the wall. His big, +strong teeth were bared. They ground together harshly, and his hands +strained at each other.</p> + +<p>The room was still. Too still. Maybe Andrew was in a trance. Rose said +people went into a trance when they looked on the face of God.</p> + +<p>But suddenly Andrew smiled and said: “Amen!”</p> + +<p>He got up and walked slowly back to his seat, and wiped his face on his +sleeve as he went. The congregation sat up straight and Daddy Cato began +singing:</p> + +<p>“Jedus is my maul and wedge<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_74">{74}</a></span>——”</p> + +<p>Everybody sang it with him. Then Daddy Cudjoe was called on to pray.</p> + +<p>Daddy Cudjoe is old and crooked. His face was lined and creased with +deep wrinkles. His teeth were all gone so he speaks with a funny, +childish lisp.</p> + +<p>Everybody smiled in a kindly way when he went forward and knelt by the +table. He bent over so low that his head almost touched the floor. The +lamplight fell on his snow-white hair and he rubbed his knotted, old, +trembling, black hands together.</p> + +<p>Some of the children grinned when his thin cracked high voice cried out:</p> + +<p>“Massuh Jedus—dis duh me—ol’ Cudjoe——!</p> + +<p>I know good fo’-true I ain’ nuttin’!</p> + +<p>Des’ a po’ ol’ black nigger!</p> + +<p>But de Book say You know all dem lil sparrow-bud an’ ting——</p> + +<p>Dat how-come me, Ol’ Cudjoe, hab de hea’t fo’ ax You fo’ don’ fo-git me.</p> + +<p>I don’ be f’aid—not liken I nusen to be.</p> + +<p>Seem lak—sometime—de grabe’ll be sweet——”</p> + +<p>He began to sob, but the members encouraged him to go on.</p> + +<p>“Go on, Daddy! Talk wid Him! E ain’ gwine fo-git you! E know you!”</p> + +<p>Heartened by them, the old man tussled on with his prayer.</p> + +<p>“When I git to heab’n I wan’ leddown an’ res’ tree week. On a big white +counterpane bed. Da’s all I wan’ do. Dis res<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_75">{75}</a></span>’.</p> + +<p>I ain’ no count, not fo’ wuk, no mo—I all de time wanter set down. +Yessuh.</p> + +<p>I don’ wan’ no gol’ shoe, please, Suh—Shoe eber did hu’t my feet—Don’ +gi’ me no okra an’ tomattus soup fo’ eat, Suh—I so lub clabber and +sweet milk. An’ honey an’ white flour bread.”</p> + +<p>The children laughed out loud at this. Daddy Cato looked at them and +shook his head, then he said:</p> + +<p>“Dat’ll do now, Cudjoe. You done talk wid Him good. You done say +a-plenty. Say ’Amen’ now.”</p> + +<p>And Daddy Cudjoe did. He got up painfully from his curved knees and went +hobbling back to his seat by the fire, brushing the tears out of his +eyes.</p> + +<p>Andrew began a spiritual, clapping his hands slowly together as he sang,</p> + +<div class="poetry"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“I’m gwine to see my Jedus,<br></span> +<span class="i1">Set right by His side!<br></span> +<span class="i1">Set right by His side!”<br></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<p>“Push de bench back, chillen,” Daddy Cato directed.</p> + +<p>There was a great fuss and clutter and rattling. Everybody was moving. +Missie felt dazed by the crowding and cramming. The benches were hurried +outside and put back under the house, except those placed around the +walls.</p> + +<p>Sinners and Christians were all mixed together, the men singers in one +corner, and the women form<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_76">{76}</a></span>ing a ring in the middle of the room where +the table had been.</p> + +<p>The shouting was starting.</p> + +<p>Missie didn’t see Rose, so she got close beside Maum Hannah in a corner +out of the draught.</p> + +<p>Women in the circle took short, shuffling steps and their hands were +held out in front of them limp from the wrist.</p> + +<p>As the men’s singing and handclapping went faster, the women’s short, +shuffling steps became nimbler.</p> + +<p>Mothers with babies in their arms stood close to the wall and sang in +sharp, high, piercing voices and shook the babies in time. Little +children with round, black eyes and spindling bare legs moved their lips +earnestly and beat time with small, bony palms and heels.</p> + +<p>The cupped hands of the men in the corner made deafening claps. Their +knees bent and stiffened with frantic jerks. How could they do it? Their +strained throats were corded. Veins swelled in their temples. Their set +eyes glared. Sweat poured off their faces. Over and over they shouted +fiercely:</p> + +<div class="poetry"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“I’m gwine to see my Jedus!<br></span> +<span class="i1">Set right by His side!<br></span> +<span class="i1">Set right by His side!”<br></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<p>Keen treble voices chimed above the thundering rhythm. Missie felt +terrified.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page_77">{77}</a></span></p> + +<p>“Send de sperit, Jedus!” Daddy Cato cried, and the good part of his face +laughed with joy.</p> + +<p>Rose was in the ring of shouters with her hat in her hand.</p> + +<p>“Hol’ my hat tell I done,” she yelled to Missie as she passed. The hat +was tossed forward.</p> + +<p>The exhausted singers stopped with a breathless laugh. The door was +choked with people trying to push out into the yard for air.</p> + +<p>“I decla’ to Gawd, I ain’ got a dry t’read on.” Rose patted her thick +wet body as she said it.</p> + +<p>“But you sho is shout nice, Cun Rose,” Andrew assured her politely.</p> + +<p>There were two ways home. At Maum Hannah’s cabin, the road divided. One +way went around the fields and the other dwindled to a path that ran +through the woods and across the duck-dam gully.</p> + +<p>“Le’s don’ go home t’rough dem woods, not to-night,” Rose suggested to +Missie, who was holding fast to her hand. “I ain’ ’f’aid de da’k, but +dem woods always hab a kinder strange look when de moon is young lak e +is to-night.”</p> + +<p>Missie was glad to go around the long way, even if it did lead by the +graveyard. God was everywhere, Rose said, but the fields couldn’t hide +Him the way thick woods might do. As they walked on, Rose talked +pleasantly.</p> + +<p>“You know, gal, ef you trabble roun’ at night,<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_78">{78}</a></span> ’specialty een de spring +endurin’ de small o’ de moon, you more’n likely to see a plat eye,” Rose +changed to a husky whisper.</p> + +<p>“Long up yonder by Gilliken’s sto’ at de cross-road, close by de two +notch mile post, a lil dawg’ll come runnin’ up by you and kinder rub +hisse’f up on you’ leg. Ef you shoot em e’ll tu’n to a hog. You shoot em +agin an’ e’ll tu’n to a hoss. Shoot em agin, an’ e’ll tu’n to a man +’thout no haid. Ef you keep on a shootin’ em e’ll tu’n to a fog—to dis +something nudder kinder like a cloud.</p> + +<p>“Den you better run hard ez you kin. Dey say: ’A cowardly man don’ tote +no broke bones.’<span class="lftspc">”</span></p> + +<p>Missie listened, and shivered. A plat eye was as bad as God.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page_79">{79}</a></span></p> + +<h2><a id="Mount_Pleasant"><i>Mount Pleasant</i></a></h2> + +<p class="nind"><span class="letra">T</span>HE next Saturday morning Rose said to Killdee:</p> + +<p>“I ain’ been to Mount Pleasant Church een so long, man. Lemme hab ol’ +Mike an’ de wagon. Me an’ Missie could go by an’ tek Maum Hannah long, +too. Missie is a ign’ant gal. E ought to go to a reg-lar preachin’ one +time.”</p> + +<p>“Sho. Go ef you wanter,” Killdee agreed cheerfully.</p> + +<p>And so on Sunday morning before noon, Rose and Missie were dressed, +ready to go. Missie’s dress was white and a red ribbon was tied around +her waist. Rose washed her face clean and greased it with nice white hog +lard. It shone, Killdee said, and he laughed out loud when he looked at +her all ready to go.</p> + +<p>Missie hardly knew Rose in her fine flowered purple muslin. It stayed in +the trunk in the shed room. Rose had on a corset, too, and her wrapped +hair was completely covered with a black, wool wig she had bought from +the cross-roads store. This fitted smooth and tight and it had a knot +right in the back. It made Rose’s black sailor hat almost too small for +her head, but it looked very grand.</p> + +<p>Rose had no shoes that were whole, so she<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_80">{80}</a></span> borrowed a pair from Mary +West, and Mary sent along her gold-rimmed spectacles, too, for Rose to +wear. Mary was a sinner. She hardly ever bothered to go to church, but +she was very kind about lending her things.</p> + +<p>Rose’s feet were short and thick and Mary’s were long and narrow, but +that didn’t make much difference, because Rose didn’t put the shoes on +until she got in sight of the church. Shoes were just for looks.</p> + +<p>Killdee helped them into the wagon and handed Rose the rope lines.</p> + +<p>“Wait,” she said. “Git a quilt offen de bed fo’ put ober my lap. Dese +lines ain’ so clean.” Killdee hurried in and got the prettiest one, the +log-cabin one, red and blue and white and yellow.</p> + +<p>Missie, sitting up on the plank seat beside Rose, covered her lap, too. +Her dress was so beautiful and clean and white she could not bear for +dust to get on it.</p> + +<p>Maum Hannah was ready and waiting for them when they reached her cabin. +She wore a black sailor hat, too, over her black and white +head-handkerchief. She had on shoes and stockings, and a big, white +apron over her plain black calico dress. She was so neat. So clean. So +kind.</p> + +<p>“See my new shoe?” she asked happily, holding out a foot. “I git dem +f’om de sto’ yestiddy. I been want a slim nine, but I had to tek a wide +eight, by de man ain’ had nuttin’ else.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page_81">{81}</a></span></p> + +<p>Mike stood patiently and switched his close-clipped tail at the stinging +flies, while Maum Hannah climbed up into the wagon and took her seat +beside Rose. Missie sat on a box behind them.</p> + +<p>“Lawd, dis is settin’ up mighty high, enty! It good Mike duh walk slow +or we-all sho would fall out.”</p> + +<p>Mike did walk slow, and Rose and Maum Hannah talked as they rolled on +over the rough, dusty road.</p> + +<p>They said that Reverend Duncan was getting mighty old, and he was too +fat. But where would they ever get another pastor like him? He and his +wife were so large they had to ride in two buggies and drive two horses. +But he did preach powerful sermons.</p> + +<p>Rose thought the assessment of a dollar and a chicken and a peck of corn +for each member was too heavy, for there were nine hundred members at +Mount Pleasant Church alone, and he had two other churches. But Maum +Hannah thought the price was cheap enough to hear the word preached as +Reverend Duncan could preach it. Every other Sunday, too. Not once a +month, as many churches had.</p> + +<p>Rose thought a preacher ought to know how to read, but Maum Hannah said +reading out of books wasn’t good. It was better Reverend Duncan couldn’t +do it. There were other ways to read. So many things in books were not +so. If Reverend<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_82">{82}</a></span> Duncan could read, he might get a lot of wrong notions. +As it was, he had to think things out by himself. He had to ask the +Father up-yonder to tell him what to say. He knew all the hymns. He +could line them out good as if he read them. He could marry people word +for word like it was in the book. He always held the book open in front +of him, and it did as well as if he were reading out of it.</p> + +<p>Young people thought a lot about reading, but she was raised to know it +wasn’t good for everybody to be reading so much. Let the white people do +it if they wanted to take a chance, but the colored people didn’t know +enough about books to know what was good to read and what was good to +leave alone. There were plenty of other ways to find out about things +besides reading out of books. Plenty. All these schools and things were +foolish.</p> + +<p>A sudden bend in the road brought Mount Pleasant Church into sight. +There it stood, facing the big road. A long, low, whitewashed building +with a grove of pines at its back. Mules and wagons and buggies and +people were thick around it.</p> + +<p>Mike walked so slow that other wagons passed them. Clouds of red dust +rose and floated over them, then drifted away to the cotton fields on +each side of the road. Rose jerked at the rope lines. She tried to make +Mike hurry, but he paid no attention at all. He walked steadily, slowly, +quietly.</p> + +<p>Missie wished for the quilt to put over her clean<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_83">{83}</a></span> white dress. This +dust would soon spoil it. And she was hot. The sun shone blinding bright +down on them.</p> + +<p>“Jedus, my haid sho is hot! I wish I ain’ wore my haih to-day,” Rose +complained.</p> + +<p>“I decla’!” Maum Hannah exclaimed. “I been settin’ heah a-lookin’. I +wonder how you git you haih fix sich a way. You buy em outen de sto’, +enty? ’E look nice, fo’ true. But den, I rudder see natchel haih wrop’ +an’ tie’ een a head-hank’cher. Da’s by I’m ol’, I reckon.”</p> + +<p>At last the churchyard was reached. Mike turned in and walked up to one +of the trees. He stood while Andrew came and helped Rose and Maum Hannah +get out of the wagon.</p> + +<p>Missie felt dazed by all she saw. There, right close to the well, with +its long pole sweep for drawing the water, was a square pool of water +sunk in the ground. How still and deep and green it looked in the gray +cement sides that held it. What was it?</p> + +<p>Rose was looking at her and laughing.</p> + +<p>“Lawd! Looka de gal. E ain’ know de baptizin’ pool. E tink people +baptize een de ribber! Git out, Missie. Come heah. Lemme show you wha’ +’e is.”</p> + +<p>Other black people stood around and listened and smiled while Rose +explained to Missie that this was a watery grave. Sinners buried in it +rose up out of it with all their sins left behind them. It<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_84">{84}</a></span> did look +strange. Queer. Green. Full of sins.</p> + +<p>There was to be a baptizing to-day. The pool was filled to the brim. +There were steps at one end—for the candidates to step down into it.</p> + +<p>Andrew said that all the candidates to-day were young people, not much +older than Missie. Rose shook her head sadly and declared that older +people became hard in sin. Hard. They thought more of dancing and +singing reels than of being saved from everlasting fire and torment. +Killdee was in sin right now. Nobody could turn him. Missie must listen +to-day. Listen! Reverend Duncan would tell her how to escape hell.</p> + +<p>Missie stood and thought while Rose and Maum Hannah greeted their +friends. The watery grave looked terrible. She couldn’t exactly +understand just all that Rose meant. Killdee was living in sin. Rose +wasn’t. And yet Killdee was better in every way.</p> + +<p>There was a stir. Reverend Duncan was coming. Missie looked down the +road, where all eyes were turned. It was so dusty she could hardly see.</p> + +<p>First a roan pony came trotting feebly along with a rattly buggy. A big, +fat, black man was driving. Right behind came a gray pony pulling +another buggy. A big, fat, black woman drove that.</p> + +<p>“Yonder dey come,” Rose said, laughing. “All two so fat dey can’ ha’dly +set een de buggy. Good ol’ people, too. Good Lawd, who dat wid Miss +Duncan? Who?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page_85">{85}</a></span></p> + +<p>The people crowded around the preacher and his wife and helped them to +alight. Everybody bowed politely and shook hands with them.</p> + +<p>“I wan’ mek yinner acquainted wid Reveren’ Felder,” Reverend Duncan +said, indicating a younger, slenderer, lighter-colored man, who was with +them.</p> + +<p>“Dis gentleman is de child ob Gawd. ’E’s come to gib de people de +message of salwation to-day.”</p> + +<p>Missie could hardly see for the crowd, but she held to Rose’s hand and +went up the aisle into Mount Pleasant Church. The house of God, Rose +said. Where was God?</p> + +<p>Rose let her sit between Maum Hannah and herself. Both Reverend Felder +and Reverend Duncan went up into the pulpit and sat in the two chairs +there. The people who sang at meeting went up and sat on the front +bench.</p> + +<p>Reverend Felder whispered to Reverend Duncan, then he got up and said: +“Breddern! Sistern! We will sing hymn number 524.”</p> + +<p>Reverend Duncan stumbled forward anxiously.</p> + +<p>“We ain’ hab book, Brudder Felder. De people can’ read. Line em out. Gi’ +’em two line at a time.”</p> + +<p>Reverend Felder seemed to cover a smile with his hand, then he read +slowly, distinctly:</p> + +<p>“Welcome, sweet day of rest, that saw the Lord arise.”</p> + +<p>Andrew raised the tune. The whole church was<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_86">{86}</a></span> filled with the hymn. Some +voices were deep and low, some high. The sound of it all made something +inside Missie’s breast quiver. When the two lines were sung, Reverend +Felder read two more, and so on to the end of the hymn.</p> + +<p>“Let us pray,” he said then, and while everybody stood hushed, quiet, +with heads bowed and eyes closed, he spoke to God.</p> + +<p>Missie had to look at him. His teeth were shiny, like gold. His +eyeglasses were brighter than the ones Mary West lent Rose to wear. His +voice boomed like a bumblebee. Talking to God. He was telling God many +things. He said these people were going straight to hell! He stamped +with a foot on the pulpit floor. He yelled and shouted. Missie held to +Rose’s skirt. Reverend Duncan kept saying “Amen” all the way through. It +all must be so. Rose said Killdee was a sinner. Killdee would burn—she +would too, for she had never been baptized.</p> + +<p>When the prayer was over, the people sang another hymn, then the sermon +began. Missie tried to listen, but she couldn’t stay awake. She had on a +wide-brimmed hat and leaning her head forward made her neck ache. She +was sleepy. She nodded. Maum Hannah took her hat off and whispered: “Put +you haid een my lap, chile, an’ go sleep.”</p> + +<p>When she woke, the people were singing a piti<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_87">{87}</a></span>ful tune. It made her cry. +The words were:</p> + +<p>“Ne-ro—my—Gawd to Dee—— Ne-ro—to Dee——”</p> + +<p>Rose shook her by the arm, and put a hot hand over her mouth.</p> + +<p>“How-come you duh cry, gal? Shet you’ mout’.”</p> + +<p>But Maum Hannah leaned over and patted her and said:</p> + +<p>“Da’s all right, Honey. You ain’ wake up good yet. Set back down on de +bench.”</p> + +<p>Missie did, but she thought of her mother and her brothers and sisters +and wondered where they were and if she would ever see them again, and +she sobbed on and on, until Rose said impatiently:</p> + +<p>“Git up, gal! It time fo’ go to de baptizin’. Don’ wipe you’ dirty face +on you’ dress. You gwine ruint ’em.”</p> + +<p>She had forgotten all about her fine dress. She didn’t want to spoil +that. She brushed the tears away with her bare hands and followed Rose +through the steamy crowd to the churchyard where Old Mike stood waiting +to take them home.</p> + +<p>Reverend Felder and Reverend Duncan and the candidates for baptism +hurried around to the back of the church where a little shed served as a +dressing room. They came out dressed in long, white robes. They and the +deacons and the members formed a line and marched around the church +singing:</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page_88">{88}</a></span></p> + +<p>“We’re marching to Zion, the beautiful city of God.”</p> + +<p>Maum Hannah had a painful knee that kept her from joining the marchers, +though her voice chimed in with them. Missie stood holding her hand.</p> + +<p>When the hymn was finished, the marchers stood still while Reverend +Felder stepped down into the pool. Its green depths quivered. A sudden +playful breeze fluttered under his robe and parted it so everybody could +see his store-bought undergarments. He went waist-deep into the pool, +and while the congregation sang a solemn spiritual, one of the +candidates, a slim black boy, stepped doubtfully into the watery grave. +His face was ashy under the white cloth tied around his head. His +fingers clutched nervously at the front opening of his white robe.</p> + +<p>“Come on, brother,” Reverend Felder exhorted him. “Soon you sin will be +washed white ez snow!”</p> + +<p>“Amen!” shouted Reverend Duncan.</p> + +<p>There was a sudden splash and strangled cough and a snort. A double +spurt of water sprang from his nostrils. He gasped for breath and broke +away from the preacher’s grasp.</p> + +<p>“Wait, son! Come on back! You haffer dip again! You dis been dip een de +name of de Fader and de Son. You haffer dip een de name ob de Holy +Ghost.”</p> + +<p>The members caught the unwilling, frightened candidate by the arms and +led him back to have his baptism completed.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page_89">{89}</a></span></p> + +<p>Once more he was dipped. In the name of the Holy Ghost. That finished +it. He was a saved sinner. Saved from hell. One after another, all the +candidates were dipped three times.</p> + +<p>When the baptizing was finished, Rose and Maum Hannah shook hands with +the preachers and curtseyed as they said good-by to everybody else. +Andrew came forward and politely helped them climb into the wagon and +they started home to Killdee and Jim and the little new baby. Maum +Hannah went along home with them, for the new baby had thrash in its +mouth and Rose didn’t know what to do for it.</p> + +<p>Killdee came out to the wagon and helped them get out.</p> + +<p>“How was meetin’?” he asked pleasantly.</p> + +<p>“Fine! Fine!” Rose answered. “But I too glad fo’ git home.”</p> + +<p>“Lawd, you sho ain’ look like de same ’oman lef’ heah,” Killdee laughed.</p> + +<p>Rose didn’t. Missie held her hat and the wig of thick wool. Maum Hannah +held Mary West’s spectacles. Rose crawled out of the wagon in her +stocking feet, saying:</p> + +<p>“Gawd, I too rabin’ fo’ git off dis heah cosset. It pure got my stomach +a-huttin’. Hurry, Missie, an’ git my pipe. I wan’ smoke too bad. Whe’ de +baby, Killdee?”</p> + +<p>The baby was asleep, so Maum Hannah and Rose sat down to smoke a pipeful +while they told Killdee<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_90">{90}</a></span> all about Reverend Felder and the wonderful +sermon he preached.</p> + +<p>He was coming back when the crop was laid by to hold a revival meeting. +He knew a man who owned a moving picture of hell and he was going to get +him to come bring it. The people could see the misery that was ahead of +them in the next world in that wonderful picture.</p> + +<p>Killdee asked thoughtfully:</p> + +<p>“Who dat mek da picture? Who dat see hell an’ come back fo’ draw ’em?”</p> + +<p>Neither Maum Hannah nor Rose knew, but Reverend Felder did. He knew +about it all. Killdee would have to go see it when it came. He’d change +his mind then about being a member. He’d join the church then.</p> + +<p>Killdee laughed. He said he was willing for Rose to go whenever she +liked. He’d stay at home and keep Jim and the baby any time for her, but +he couldn’t go to church with her. He hadn’t time, he said.</p> + +<p>Missie slipped into the shed room and took off her white dress and +folded it up carefully and put in back into Rose’s trunk. She lovingly +wrapped the red ribbon around her fingers and laid it smooth and shining +on top of the dress. Killdee was the best man in the whole world. He +bought the cloth for that dress and the red ribbon to wear with it, too.</p> + +<p>Rose called her. The baby was awake. Missie<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_91">{91}</a></span> hurried to the bed and took +the child up.</p> + +<p>“Bring em heah, Missie. Le’ Auntie look at ’e mout’. ’E got de t’rash so +bad ’e can’ res’.”</p> + +<p>Missie laid the tiny, black thing in Maum Hannah’s arms. Maum Hannah +peeped through the soft lips at the tender gums that were covered with +whitened patches.</p> + +<p>“T’rash, fo-true. Po’ lil creeter,” she said, pulling the small chin +down so she could see inside better.</p> + +<p>“<span class="lftspc">’</span>E so little, ’e can’ stan’ strong treatment. I dunno wha’ fo’ say. Ef +we had somebody heah—somebody wha’ ain’ nebber look on dey daddy +face—da’ somebody could cure dis t’rash good——”</p> + +<p>Rose beamed. “Looka Missie, Auntie. I doubt ef Missie eber see ’e daddy +face een ’e life. We could try Missie—enty?”</p> + +<p>Maum Hannah turned her bright, old eyes to meet Missie’s puzzled ones.</p> + +<p>“Mebbe ’e ain’ nebber see ’e daddy, fo-true. Who you daddy, honey? Is +you know?”</p> + +<p>But Missie had no daddy. She never had had one. And she shook her head.</p> + +<p>“Le’ Missie try, Rose. Mek em tek ’e finger an’ run em roun’ all een de +baby mout’ eby mawnin’. Ef Missie ain’ nebber look on ’e daddy face, +dat’ll do de baby all de good. You try dat, Missie. ’E ain’ gwine hu’t +nuttin’ fo’ try.”</p> + +<p>Rose repeated, “You heah, Missie, enty? Eby<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_92">{92}</a></span> mawnin’ you do like Auntie +say. Don’ fo-git. Sis mout’ is so so’ ’e can’ eat, eder sleep. You wan’ +em fo’ git well, enty?”</p> + +<p>Missie promised not to forget and she ran to the spring to get a fresh +bucket of water while Rose fed the baby and Maum Hannah helped Killdee +take the dinner from the pots on the hearth.</p> + +<p>As Missie ran lightly down the hill, she was very happy. She had seen so +much to-day. She had worn her new dress and red ribbon. She had heard +how to be saved from hell. How to pray. She must seek forgiveness until +Jesus gave her a sign.</p> + +<p>As the water filled the bucket, she thought some day she’d be a member, +too. And now if she could cure “t’rash” in babies’ mouths, Rose would be +glad to have her here all the time. Sometimes Rose seemed cross with her +and beat her for almost nothing. After this, Rose would like her better. +When she became a member, maybe Rose would never beat her again.</p> + +<p>With the bucket on her head, she climbed the hill thoughtfully. Reverend +Felder was fine-looking. He wore fine clothes and he could read, but +nobody was fine like Killdee. Nobody in the world. Killdee was so good. +So easy. He never got vexed like Rose and said hard-sounding things.</p> + +<p>She’d rather have Killdee for her daddy and look on his face than be +able to cure all the sickness in the world. But he wasn’t, so there +wasn’t any use to think about it.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page_93">{93}</a></span></p> + +<p>Yet Killdee was a sinner. When he died he would go to hell. Rose said +so. He would burn and burn always. Forever. He would never stop burning. +Daddy Cato said that the fire in hell is seven times hotter than the +fire people have here. God swam it through seven rivers to cool it +before He brought it into the world.</p> + +<p>What a strange man God must be!</p> + +<p>When Missie thought about Him, she hurried and stumped her toe on a root +in the path and the water spilled, and she had to pick up the bucket and +hurry back to the spring for more. How cross Rose would be because she +was taking so long! But Maum Hannah was there. Maybe Rose wouldn’t scold +her much.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page_94">{94}</a></span></p> + +<h2><a id="Finding_Peace"><i>Finding Peace</i></a></h2> + +<p class="nind"><span class="letra">T</span>HE big farm bell rang loud. Clear. The noon hour was over. A little +figure lying prone on the ditch bank in the warm spring sunshine rose +slowly and looked around. It was a little black girl. Missie.</p> + +<p>Her big, soft eyes had a rapt expression as they wandered over the wide +cotton fields stretched far out in front of her. Heat waves shimmered +over them, making the dark earth bright and blue as the sky, the blue +sky that held heaven and God and the angels.</p> + +<p>The child’s faded, checked homespun dress was stained purple with +blackberries. So were her fingers and lips.</p> + +<p>As if still in a dream, she took up the tin pail that was near her on +the ground. It was filled to the brim with ripe, black fruit. With +careful-stepping, slim, bare feet, she picked her way through the +thorny, briery vines to the path that led to the cabin barely in sight +yonder at the far edge of the woods. Maum Hannah’s house. She’d go by +there and talk to her a little while before she took the berries to the +store to sell.</p> + +<p>She walked slowly until she could plainly see an<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_95">{95}</a></span> old woman sitting +there in the doorway bent over her sewing. Then she hurried forward and, +when she got near, called out eagerly:</p> + +<p>“Auntie! Auntie! I b’lieb I <i>done fine peace</i>! Kin you heah me? I b’lieb +I is! I seen a house all wash-white. Yes’m.”</p> + +<p>The words came distinct to the old woman’s ears. She looked up from the +clean, ragged garment she was patching. Tenderness shone in her bright +old eyes as she watched Missie coming toward her. They were keen old +eyes, although their black lids were withered and hung in tiny, wrinkled +folds about them.</p> + +<p>“Auntie! Auntie!” the little girl called again, but the old woman +answered with a caution:</p> + +<p>“Mine, gal, mine! You gwine spill dem blackbe’y fus’ t’ing you know. +Walk slow, an’ wait tell you git nigher to me fo’ talk!”</p> + +<p>Missie came carefully up the path and up the steps and put the pail on +the floor by the pile of clothes to be mended. She came close and leaned +on Maum Hannah’s shoulder affectionately.</p> + +<p>Maum Hannah searched her face curiously and sympathy showed in her warm, +gentle voice as she said:</p> + +<p>“Tell Auntie now, Honey. Whe’ you been? Wha’ all you been see? Tell me +’bout em. Whe’ you been when you fine peace?”</p> + +<p>The little girl felt Maum Hannah’s arm around her. It gave her a feeling +of security, of safety,<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_96">{96}</a></span> of courage. Maum Hannah’s voice was saying +again:</p> + +<p>“Tell Auntie, gal.” Her tone was full of kindliness.</p> + +<p>“Auntie——” Missie began, then hesitated. How could she tell it in +words?”</p> + +<p>From the cabin’s narrow doorway the blue hills far over the river yonder +showed plain. They had never seemed so bright to her before. They were +almost the color of the shiny clouds that they touched in the sky +to-day. Something about them held her eyes until Auntie’s arm pressed +her closer and Auntie’s patient voice roused her.</p> + +<p>“Wha’ you duh dream ’bout, chile? Wha’ you duh see?”</p> + +<p>Missie took a deep breath and the little berry-stained dress tightened +across her chest. Maum Hannah’s wise old eyes noticed that coming +maturity had already begun to develop slight, curving breasts there. +Yes, they showed plain with each quick breath that Missie took. Missie’s +little heart seemed very full of something.</p> + +<p>Tears came into the wise old eyes, for it came to Maum Hannah for the +first time that Missie was becoming a woman. A woman. Maum Hannah’s mind +could hardly accept it, yet it was so. Little Missie would soon be a +woman, with all the troubles, the sorrows, of womanhood.</p> + +<p>Lately, Missie had been seeking peace. Peace. And Maum Hannah knew that +womanhood would<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_97">{97}</a></span> bring her no peace. None. Missie was already turning to +religion. To God. Asking for peace. Tears wet the old eyes, but she +could tell Missie nothing. Missie couldn’t understand. Nobody could tell +her. Nobody.</p> + +<p>Old age might bring her peace. It might. But that was far off for +Missie. And old age—— But Missie had started talking. She must listen.</p> + +<p>“Auntie,” the low voice was husky, “dis mawnin’ at I git my bucket full +up wid blackbe’y, I leddown fo’ rest’—I sta’t den fo’ pray.”</p> + +<p>“How much day dis is you been prayin’ and seekin’?” Maum Hannah +interrupted.</p> + +<p>Missie reflected and answered thoughtfully:</p> + +<p>“Dis mus’ be de gwine on een de two week, Auntie.”</p> + +<p>“I reckon e is,” Maum Hannah agreed.</p> + +<p>Missie went on:</p> + +<p>“I leddown right on de ditch bank een de blackbe’y patch. Dut been pile +up high underneat’ my haid same lake pillow. I shet my eye—I pray—an’ +Auntie—it seem like I was gwine todes sunrise-side—’cross de fiel’. It +seem like I was walkin’ deep down een de furrow. Den de furrow, e gone +tu’n to hill! De hill been steep. It labor me fo’ climb up em——”</p> + +<p>The round, black eyes took on a dreamy look, and the little body leaned +heavier on Maum Hannah’s shoulder. But the old woman sat silent. +Serious.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page_98">{98}</a></span></p> + +<p>“It seem lak a house, same like we-own, been by de side o’ de pat’. A +black ’oman come out an’ stan’ een de do’. ’E call me. ’E say: ’Stop +heah an’ res’ awhile,’ but I tell em: ’No.’ It seem like I gone on +a-climbin’ up de hill. I gone an’ gone——”</p> + +<p>The low voice faltered. The soft eyelids drooped drowsily.</p> + +<p>“Den I see—a white house—an’ a man. ’E was a-stanin’ een de do’. ’E +hab face lak—I dunno who ’e hab face lak——”</p> + +<p>Maum Hannah stirred a little. Her shoulder was tired. But she said +nothing, and Missie went on, each word dropping slowly:</p> + +<p>“De man, ’e say: ’Stop an’ res’.’ I stop. I res’. De noon bell—it wake +me.”</p> + +<p>That was all. A silence. Maum Hannah stirred again. She must ask Missie +some questions. But first—she must think. A man?</p> + +<p>“Honey,” she began, “Honey, de man been ol’, enty? Wid long whisker an’ +t’ing? ’E hab somep’n nudder lak sheet wrop roun’ em too, enty?”</p> + +<p>That was the vision that many claimed to see. Had Missie seen it too? +Missie’s lips curved in a smile and she shook her head:</p> + +<p>“No, Auntie. No. De man I talk wid, ’e ain’ been stan’ so—no.”</p> + +<p>Maum Hannah’s eyes narrowed. She turned and scanned the child’s face. +Missie met the look and decided she couldn’t tell more. No, Maum<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_99">{99}</a></span> Hannah +would think strange if she knew the man was Killdee himself. Killdee!</p> + +<p>“Wha’ de man been say, den, Gal? Who ’e been look lak?”</p> + +<p>“I fo-git wha’ ’e say, Auntie——”</p> + +<p>Missie drew away from Maum Hannah’s shoulder. After all, she must have +been mistaken. The house was white, but that may not have been a sign +after all. Not a sign her sins were forgiven.</p> + +<p>“Mine, gal, mine,” Maum Hannah warned threateningly, “don’ you tell me +no lie. You ain’ fo’git a’ready wha’ da man say. No!”</p> + +<p>Missie looked straight at her. The spell of the vision she had seen +seemed broken. Maum Hannah thought she had not seen the right vision. +She had not found peace. Maum Hannah’s face showed it. They had all told +her to pray until she saw something white. That would be a sign. She had +seen something white—and now Maum Hannah seemed cross about it.</p> + +<p>Missie sighed and turned to the pail of berries, saying:</p> + +<p>“See how I got de bucket full-up wid blackbe’y, Auntie? Ain’ dese nice +one?”</p> + +<p>She was sorry she had spoken at all about her dream. The house was white +and yet the man looked a lot like Killdee. That was wrong. Killdee was a +sinner. Killdee was no sign of peace. No.</p> + +<p>“Mebbe you is fine peace, Missie. Mebbe you<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_100">{100}</a></span> is. I dunno,” was Maum +Hannah’s answer. “You go talk wid Brer Cato. Tell em all you see. Ef de +man had-a been ol’, an’ kinder strange fo’ look at, it would ’a’ been +mo’ better. But den—maybe Gawd is gi’ you a diff’unt sign. Anyway, de +house was white.”</p> + +<p>Other words that were in her mind would not come to her lips. She could +not say them. Instead she said brightly:</p> + +<p>“Take you’ blackbe’y on to de sto’, chile. Hurry. Dey is makin’ wine +to-day. Dey needs all de blackbe’y dey kin git. Eby lil bit he’ps em +out.</p> + +<p>“Tell Killdee you find peace to-day. You ought to be baptize nex’ fo’th +Sunday. Tell em des so. ’E might gi’ you a new dress. ’E might. ’E hab a +good heart. Killdee’s a mighty good man, eben ef ’e is a sinner. Sho.”</p> + +<p>Missie’s eyes were shining happily again. Killdee was good indeed. +Better than anybody in the world. She took up her hat from the floor +where she had dropped it. It was an old, worn, dusty man’s felt hat. +Regular slits had been cut in the brim and through these a strip of +turkey-red calico was run with the ends tied in a bow at one side.</p> + +<p>Maum Hannah smiled when Missie put the hat on.</p> + +<p>“How-come you trim up you’ hat so fine fo’ seek een? You put red on you’ +hat when you go fo’ pray! Do, Jedus! A gal is somet’ing else een dis +worl’. When de spring o’ de yeah come, dey sho<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_101">{101}</a></span> is gwine dress deyse’f +up. None o dat ain’ b’longst to seekin’, dough, Missie, or needer to +findin’ peace. No. Red bow don’ bring no peace. No, gal. Red bow bring +somet’ing else!”</p> + +<p>The child’s face was still bright with happiness as she stepped lightly +down the steps. She ran down the path that led to the Big House, but +Maum Hannah suddenly called her back.</p> + +<p>“Come heah des a minute, Missie. I got somet’ing fo’ tell you befo’ you +go. Auntie’s a ol’ ’oman fo’ true. But you know ol’ people is wiser’n +chillen, enty? Ef you see Brer Cato, you talk wid em. But dey ain’ no +need fo’ tell em de man ain’ been a ol’ man. No. Dey ain’ no need fo’ +say ef de man been ol’ or ’nyoung. Go long, now. Sell de be’y. Killdee +might gi’ you a dress fo’ wear to de baptizin!”</p> + +<p>Missie listened and then walked slowly, thoughtfully, down the path. +After all, what difference did it make if she found peace or not? +Killdee was a sinner. She’d just stay a sinner with him. Sinners seemed +better than Christians, anyway, all except Maum Hannah. And Maum Hannah +wasn’t a very strict Christian. Maybe she was too old to be one.</p> + +<p>Missie took the berries to the cross-roads store and got money for them +and took it home to Rose.</p> + +<p>“Dis all you git to-day? How come? Seekin’ mus’ be mek you pick be’y +mighty slow.”</p> + +<p>“I reckon ’e is,” Missie agreed. “I ain’ gwine<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_102">{102}</a></span> seek no mo’. I tired +prayin’, Aun’ Rose. You better lemme wait. I ain’ gwine dead any time +soon. Please lemme wait ’bout prayin’.”</p> + +<p>“It ain’ me. It you. Ef you kin stan’ fo be lost, den stop seekin’. You +de one gwine bu’n een hell. Not me,” Rose said indifferently.</p> + +<p>Killdee had come in and he heard this last.</p> + +<p>“Don’ mek de gal seek. Not now, Rose. I miss ’e laughin’ an’ playin’ too +much. It don’ seem natchel fo’ Missie to be gwine roun’ wid ’e face so +long. A-prayin’. Le’ em res’ off from prayin’ an’ seekin’.”</p> + +<p>“<span class="lftspc">’</span>E kin do like ’e wan’ do,” Rose said curtly. Missie grinned gayly and +cut a little dance step to show how relieved she was not to have to seek +peace any more, but a sharp stinging in the bottom of her foot made her +stop with a wry face.</p> + +<p>“A splinter,” she said, sitting down on the floor and looking in the +sole of her foot to see.</p> + +<p>“You see, enty?” Rose exulted. “Gawd mek you stop you’ dancin’ quick. ’E +mek splinter stick you.”</p> + +<p>But Killdee took out his pocket knife and with its big, sharp blade cut +the splinter out as gently as he could.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page_103">{103}</a></span></p> + +<h2><a id="The_Red_Rooster"><i>The Red Rooster</i></a></h2> + +<p class="nind"><span class="letra">T</span>HE night was hot. The heavy fragrance of the blossoms in the +china-berry tree near Killdee’s cabin door thickened the air and made it +more difficult to breathe.</p> + +<p>The red rooster sleeping high up on one of its limbs stirred uneasily +and crowed in a dull hoarse voice.</p> + +<p>Killdee lying beside Rose inside moved restlessly. He tried to keep +still. He didn’t want to wake Rose. She went hard as she could at her +work all day long. When night came, she was tired. Worn out. Glad to go +to bed and rest. He must keep still and let her sleep.</p> + +<p>She had not mended just right after Sis was born. Maum Hannah said it +was the warm weather. Maybe so. But Rose stayed downhearted somehow. +Dissatisfied. He felt she had lost faith in him.</p> + +<p>To-night he went to meeting because Rose wanted him to go. She wanted +him to get religion and join the Church. Rose thought if he’d be a +member they might have better luck. Killdee pondered over it.</p> + +<p>Being a member could not make old Mike, the<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_104">{104}</a></span> mule, younger; or Mike’s +teeth sound, so he could chew corn and get fat. Mike was too old and +slow to keep up with the grass, especially when dog days came and it +rained every day God sent. Being a member could not stop that.</p> + +<p>The air in the cabin was close. Killdee got up softly and took the bar +down and opened the door wide. Baby Sis moved. Her ears were keen. She +had never been as sound a sleeper as Jim.</p> + +<p>Killdee stood perfectly still until she seemed quiet, then he stepped +out and stood on the doorstep. He breathed deep and looked up at the +stars. How thick and bright they were! A sign of rain to-morrow. More +rain. Always rain. And the grass had already wound its strong roots +around the tender cotton. He would ruin the stand trying to kill the +grass out. Why couldn’t the sun shine awhile?</p> + +<p>A glittering sliver of light shining through the china-berry tree caught +his eyes. He instinctively turned them away from it—then with a wry +smile he turned them back again.</p> + +<p>No use to look away now. He had seen it. He couldn’t fool himself. No. +He knew well enough what it was. The new moon. He had seen it <i>through +trees</i>. More bad luck for a month. More bad luck. Of course. He had +nothing else. Never. He’d cut that tree down and be rid of it. It was +always screening the moon.</p> + +<p>He moved to the side of the door where he could<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_105">{105}</a></span> see the moon clear. +There it was. Thin and white.</p> + +<p>Something in his heart felt sick. Why did he always see the new moon +through trees? To-night he had been out in the open field. Why didn’t he +see it then?</p> + +<p>He didn’t mind work. Nor doing without things for Missie and Rose and +Jim and Sis. The question was, why couldn’t he have a chance to work and +make something? That was all he wanted.</p> + +<p>Bad luck. Shucks! Everything bad that could happen had already happened. +He turned inside and closed the door and put the bar in its place. He +felt in the darkness for the foot of the bed, then laid himself down +again beside Rose. He listened for her breathing. She was very still. +Then a sudden jerk of her body made him know she was awake. Awake and +sobbing.</p> + +<p>“Rose,” he said softly, “why you duh cry, Honey? Don’ do dat. Wha’s de +matter? I tryin’ fo’ do de bes’ I kin. I know you ain’ de one fo’ +complain. I know dat. Not my Rose. Ain’ we got de putties’ lil boy an’ +lil gal een de worl’? Tell me dat. How-come you cryin’, Honey? Please +don’ do em. Jim’s a-growin’ so fas’, an’ Sis, too. An’ Missie—Missie +kin hoe same ez a grown ’oman. We haffer be t’anksful. T’anksful. Da’s +de way. You t’ink I can’ mek a good crop o’ cotton? Shucks!”</p> + +<p>Rose did not answer and Killdee put his hand on<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_106">{106}</a></span> her arm and patted it +gently, then let it rest there. Soon it became heavier and heavier, then +it slipped down limp on the straw mattress beside her.</p> + +<p>Killdee had seemed so downhearted that Rose made him take Missie and go +to the quarter to meeting. She thought if he’d listen to the people sing +and pray and see his friends and hear a sermon he’d feel better.</p> + +<p>She had stayed at home with the children.</p> + +<p>When Jim was asleep she put the creaky little rocking-chair close to the +door where she could see out across the field while she rocked baby Sis +to sleep.</p> + +<p>How bright the stars seemed in the sky! There right up over the +china-tree was a new moon. She saw it clear. Good luck! Thank God for +that! Killdee was at meeting. Maybe he’d decide to pray and seek.</p> + +<p>But Killdee came home from meeting as low-spirited as he had gone. +Nothing seemed to cheer him up. He did work hard. But things kept going +wrong all the time. If Killdee would do like other men——</p> + +<p>If Killdee would seek and get religion—that might help. But he +wouldn’t. Rain came and made the grass eat up his cotton, and no telling +what else would happen unless he changed.</p> + +<p>The red rooster out in the china-berry tree crowed huskily. It was hot. +The blossoms thick on the tree out there were too heavy sweet. Their +fra<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_107">{107}</a></span>grance filled the cabin. They made breathing an effort. Rose +couldn’t sleep. Killdee lay so quiet, he must be asleep.</p> + +<p>Rose sent out a prayer in the darkness; a prayer for her baby, that God, +wherever He was, would take care of her little girl. Then she prayed for +Jim. She prayed again for herself, that she’d get well—well as she was +before Sis was born—— Then she prayed for Killdee, that he would have +longer patience—and be happier—and get saved from sin.</p> + +<p>But her thoughts wandered. She was praying here in the darkness. Where +was God that He could hear her?</p> + +<p>A fear of things crept into her heart—a fear of the dark, of what she +didn’t know. Her fear made her get closer to Killdee and, gently lifting +his heavy arm, she put it over her. She somehow felt protected by it, +and soon fell into a heavy sleep.</p> + +<p>  </p> + +<p>When breakfast was ready the next morning, Killdee got up and ate +hurriedly and went to the field with his mule and plow. Missie followed +with a hoe. Rose stood in the door and watched them going to the field. +Killdee looked tired, though the day’s work had not begun. His lean +shoulders were stooped, and he was only a young man.</p> + +<p>The plow was rickety. Missie did the best she could, but she was little +and the grass was tough and wiry.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page_108">{108}</a></span></p> + +<p>But this was Monday morning. Rose didn’t have time to be standing there +thinking foolish, useless thoughts. No! She had work to do.</p> + +<p>First, she sat down by the hearth and ate a bite of breakfast; then +covered up what was left in the pot and put it closer to the coals to +keep warm until Jim woke.</p> + +<p>She hadn’t slept well last night. The china-berry blossoms were too +sweet, and the red rooster kept crowing all through the night. She had +never heard him crow so loud before. He woke up baby Sis two or three +times. Jim never waked for anything. No. He was a good sleeper. That was +why he grew so fast.</p> + +<p>She went to the bed where he lay asleep. In the early morning light her +two chubby, little black children looked almost exactly alike. One was a +very little larger than the other. Rose looked with pride at Jim’s soft, +round chin; his curved cheek. The full lips, slightly parted, showed +teeth white as new milk. A sturdy little boy, but Rose shook her head as +she looked, and her eyes filled with tears. Jim’s little clothes were +all ragged.</p> + +<p>The red rooster gave a shrill crow right at the doorway. Baby Sis, +asleep in the cradle beside Rose’s own bed, woke and cried out sharply. +Rose went quickly to her and took her up and held her close and +murmured:</p> + +<p>“Did de bad ol’ rooster wake up my baby? E did! E skeery ’em. Go to +sleep<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_109">{109}</a></span>——”</p> + +<p>She sat in the creaky rocking-chair and crooned to the child she fed at +her breast.</p> + +<p>The sun had risen bright and hot. A light breeze fluttered through the +leaves of the china-berry tree outside and came in through the door, +cooler than the fire-warmed air inside the cabin.</p> + +<p>Rose rocked back and forth till Sis’s little eyelids fell, then she +kissed the fuzzy little head gently and, rising carefully, tipped over +to the cradle and laid the baby down.</p> + +<p>The red rooster crowed. Baby Sis’s bright eyes opened wide. Rose leaned +over and patted the soft little body and rocked the cradle till the +heavy eyelids closed tight again. Then she went to the door and waved +her apron fiercely at the red rooster.</p> + +<p>“Git on off!” she whispered angrily at him. “Git on off! Sometime I wish +you was dead! You won’ let nobody sleep een de night wid you crowin’! +Now you keep wakin’ my baby up! Quit you doin’s! I got work fo’ do! I +ain’ got time fo’ be runnin’ you ’way f’om de do’! Shoo!”</p> + +<p>He ran away cackling with terror. Rose began getting up the clothes to +wash. This was Monday morning. She piled them all together in the middle +of the floor. Then she took up each garment, piece by piece. She must +find where there were missing buttons or torn, worn places.</p> + +<p>A small paper box sat on the mantelshelf, a box that had once held +shells for Killdee’s gun. Now it held her one needle and a ball of +coarse thread.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_110">{110}</a></span> She drew the rocking-chair to the door where there was +light, and with her big-eyed needle and coarse thread, she repaired the +clothing carefully.</p> + +<p>The big, black, iron wash-pot sat out in the yard not far from the +woodpile. Killdee and Missie had filled it on Saturday. Rose built up a +hot fire under it. She took the two wooden washtubs out from under the +house and put them up on a bench by the cabin, in the shade of the +china-berry tree. Then she brought out the clothes and separated the +white ones from the colored ones. With a tin bucket she dipped hot water +from the big, iron pot and poured it into the tubs. Soon she was bending +her body up and down, up and down, over the wash-board, and white +soap-suds foamed through her fingers.</p> + +<p>She sang as she worked, a low, spiritual melody. She felt happier, +somehow. Work was good, after all. It helps people to shed their +troubles. As she washed each garment in one tub, she dropped it into the +other tub to be washed again. They’d all be clean when she finished with +them.</p> + +<p>The red rooster hopped up in the doorway. Rose did not see him. He +peeped around carefully to see if she heard him, but she was thinking +just then she would have to be careful or the soap would not last +through this washing. Jim and Killdee used so many clothes this rainy +weather. So many more than she did, or Missie. They got them so dirty +too. She didn’t mind that, bless their hearts, if the<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_111">{111}</a></span> soap would hold +out. Rubbing clothes without soap made sorry washing.</p> + +<p>The red rooster stepped cautiously inside the cabin. He was hungry and +curious, and with Rose out of sight he was bold.</p> + +<p>He looked at the pot on the hearth. The fire coals near it blinked red +and hot. He was afraid to go closer to them.</p> + +<p>He looked all around the room. A few white threads were scattered on the +floor. He pecked at one. It hung on his beak, a tasteless, annoying +thing. He shook it off with a croak of disgust.</p> + +<p>Jim was a sound sleeper. He did not wake. But Baby Sis’s ears were keen. +Her eyes opened wide and caught sight of the red rooster’s glossy, +bright feathers and his scarlet comb. She cooed with delight.</p> + +<p>The red rooster listened and walked timidly up to the cradle. He +stretched his neck and looked over the side to see what was there. Tiny +dimpled fists and small black feet jerked uncertainly, quickly. Two +black eyes danced and sparkled.</p> + +<p>The red rooster leaned a little closer. The child seemed harmless +enough.</p> + +<p>He was hungry. He had not had a single grain that morning. Not a crumb. +Rose and Missie and Killdee had all forgotten to feed him.</p> + +<p>The hens were scratching for worms, but it was very hot. They had to +hold their wings out away<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_112">{112}</a></span> from their bodies while they scratched. A +tiresome thing.</p> + +<p>Maybe these two, bright shiny eyes would be good to eat. He would have +to be quick to get them. They didn’t keep still like blackberries. No, +but maybe they tasted better.</p> + +<p>His yellow beak was sharp and his long neck was strong, and he gave a +swift peck.</p> + +<p>Rose outside was washing and singing, but she heard the strangled gasp +of terror, the silent held breath, then the shrill, heart-breaking +scream.</p> + +<p>She flew up the cabin steps, stumbling over the frightened red rooster. +He squawked and cackled with terror and tried to fly past her out +through the door.</p> + +<p>It was easy to see what had happened. A bloody hole gaped, then it +poured out red tears.</p> + +<p>Rose’s eyes dazzled. She picked up the child and held her close while +she stumbled blindly, wildly over the soft furrows to where Killdee +worked to kill grass in the field. Killdee would know what to do. He’d +know.</p> + +<p>“Killdee—Killdee——” she moaned as she went, “mah po’ lil baby—— +Looka wha’ de rooster done to em, Killdee——”</p> + +<p>Killdee heard her and went running to meet her. Missie ran too. Killdee +looked once at Sis’s poor little blood-stained face and turned away with +a breath that whistled sharp through his teeth. His mouth went hard. His +lips taut.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page_113">{113}</a></span></p> + +<p>Why couldn’t he speak? What was the matter with him?</p> + +<p>Rose put out a hand to touch him, then drew it back.</p> + +<p>He was laughing—no—not laughing, either, but his face was working +curiously——</p> + +<p>Missie followed his eyes as they looked wistfully across the fields +where heat waves danced merrily in the hot sunshine. What was Killdee +thinking? Why was he so quiet?</p> + +<p>“Yinner mus’ be blame me—yinner won’ say nuttin’,” Rose sobbed. Killdee +said slowly, hoarsely:</p> + +<p>“No—I dunno nuttin’ fo’ say——”</p> + +<p>Rose turned away crying. Killdee was blaming her. She had let the +rooster get in. It was Monday. She had to wash. He knew that.</p> + +<p>“Look lak you’d come kill de rooster—Killdee—— Don’ look lak you’d +stan’ up dere an’ don’ say nuttin,—an’ don’ do nuttin’——”</p> + +<p>Killdee held out his arms.</p> + +<p>“Gi’ Sis to me, Rose. Lemme tote em home fo’ you. Missie, you go walk +behime Mike. He kin keep to de row an’ plow tell I git back. You des +hol’ de plow up fo em.”</p> + +<p>With the child in his arms, he walked toward the cabin. Rose followed +him, sobbing and saying as she went:</p> + +<p>“I can’ wash no mo’ to-day. No. Not at mah <span class="pagenum"><a id="page_114">{114}</a></span>baby eye done pick out—— +You haffer kill da rooster, Killdee. I can’ stan’ fo’ hab em roun’ de +do’ no mo’—no—not at e pick mah baby eye out. I know all de time +somet’ing been gwine happen. Nobody wouldn’ lis’n at me when I +talk—nobody wouldn’ pray, but me.”</p> + +<p>Killdee did not answer, but he remembered how the new moon hid behind +the china-berry tree last night. Bad luck had come. Yes.</p> + +<p>When he killed the rooster, he’d cut the damned tree down too.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page_115">{115}</a></span></p> + +<h2><a id="Teaching_Jim"><i>Teaching Jim</i></a></h2> + +<p class="nind"><span class="letra">K</span>ILLDEE walked home beside the load of wood. In a kind voice he urged +Mike on. The sun was going down.</p> + +<p>Far across the cotton field it shone red. As Killdee lifted serious eyes +to look at it, his lean, gaunt, black face saddened.</p> + +<p>The sun that set in Baby Rose’s grave was red, just like this sunset. +Red like the fire that burned her tender baby flesh and killed her. He +never saw a red sunset without thinking of little Baby Rose.</p> + +<p>Now as he thought, his tired eyes filled with tears, and through the +tears, the red coppery glow glistened, and flashed and gleamed mockingly +before him.</p> + +<p>Killdee heaved a deep sigh—a sigh so deep as to be almost a sob. He +thought of Baby Jim there at home. Chubby little Baby Jim. Bright-eyed, +brown, dimpled, with fuzzy little black wool just beginning to grow on +his head.</p> + +<p>Little Jim knew his daddy—knew him as well as Rose and Missie did. Jim +loved him, too. He always came toddling with funny, uncertain steps to +meet him.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page_116">{116}</a></span></p> + +<p>Jim had already learned not to fall out of the door any more. He had +learned that by falling over and over. He knew how it hurt. When he +stood in the doorway, ready to go down the steps now, Rose and Missie +laughed at the way Jim’s tiny fingers clutched the door-facing.</p> + +<p>Jim laughed with them too. Perhaps he didn’t know why they laughed, but +he always tried to join in whatever other people did. Good little Jim!</p> + +<p>The thought of Jim cheered Killdee. Jim was his. His son. For Jim he was +willing for hard work to crack his very sinews. For Jim’s sake he tried +to be careful. Never again would he stir the earth on Green Thursday. +Never.</p> + +<p>Jim was a part of himself. Jim’s little hands, his funny little words, +his stumbling, uncertain little feet, were the most precious things on +earth.</p> + +<p>Jim thought his old daddy was the greatest thing. The greatest man. Jim +thought he was great as God! Jim didn’t know any better.</p> + +<p>He liked to play in the fire just as Baby Rose had liked to do. He must +be taught not to do it. He must learn that fire burns.</p> + +<p>Baby Rose lay yonder in the graveyard in the little pine box Andrew made +to fit her, with the heavy red earth piled up on her, all by her little +lonesome self, because the thing she loved best to play with had killed +her.</p> + +<p>He ought to have taken her and shown her how it felt to be burned. She +would not forget pain.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_117">{117}</a></span> No. But he didn’t think about it. He thought she +would learn by herself.</p> + +<p>Why did God make people like the things that would hurt them? Kill them? +Why didn’t He let them know danger?</p> + +<p>Winter was here. Fire had to burn big and bright in the chimney to keep +the cabin warm. All day it must burn and at night be banked deep with +ashes so it wouldn’t die out.</p> + +<p>Cold weather was here. Even on fair days, Jim would have to stay inside +the cabin to keep warm. Rose would be in the field. Missie, too. Rows of +brown stalks still held fluffy, white cotton.</p> + +<p>Rose and Missie would have to help pick the cotton. Killdee couldn’t +gather it by himself. Sometimes nobody would be left at home with Jim.</p> + +<p>If Jim were a little older he would be safe, for he’d know that fire +burns. But Jim, happy little Jim, did not know it yet. Already he tried +to take straws and sticks and hold them in the fire to see them blaze. +When Rose or Missie scolded him and made him drop his pretty plaything, +Jim didn’t understand why. He’d watch it when they made him drop it on +the hearth, and his little lips would quiver because he couldn’t keep it +in his hand.</p> + +<p>Killdee sighed as he trudged on homeward. The time had come. He must +teach little Jim that fire burns! Telling him so did no good. He’d have +to show him. To-night he’d have to show him. He and Rose and Missie had +talked it over. They had<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_118">{118}</a></span> decided. It must be done. Jim must learn that +fire burns.</p> + +<p>When Killdee got nearer the dusky little cabin by the side of the road, +two little black children stood on the doorstep waving at him. Black +smoke rushed briskly out of the broad clay chimney. Bright sparks rose +with it, shone and died.</p> + +<p>A strange thing, fire! Burning inside there, hot, strong, fierce, while +Rose cooked the supper. That fire was a good, kind friend that cooked +food for them and kept them warm. Yet, it could scorch and kill a baby’s +body, too.—Just as it ate up strong wood and turned it to ashes.</p> + +<p>When those bright sparks rose and went out, where did they go? Killdee +watched them. They sparked, raced, and were gone. Where?</p> + +<p>Where did Baby Rose go?</p> + +<p>Missie and Jim were coming running to meet him. Killdee stopped Mike and +waited. Jim must have a ride. Missie was picking Jim up in her arms to +bring him. He walked too slow to keep up with her.</p> + +<p>Killdee took Jim from her and set him on the pile of wood in the wagon +and put the rope lines into the chubby hands. Missie shouted and laughed +when Jim shook the lines and tried to make patient, old Mike go faster.</p> + +<p>When Mike stopped with his head at the wide gate of the barnyard, +Killdee took Jim down and gave him back into Missie’s arms. He +struggled<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_119">{119}</a></span> and kicked and screamed to stay with his daddy, but Killdee +smiled, and said gently:</p> + +<p>“Tek him on een de house, Missie. Night air ain’ good fo’ lil chillen. +Jim don’ know no better. Tek him on.”</p> + +<p>As Killdee loosened the collar from Mike’s neck, he said to himself:</p> + +<p>“Dey’s a lot he don’ know, po’ lil Jim! But I reckon none o’ we don’ +know much, atter all.”</p> + +<p>When Killdee went into the house, Rose was cooking supper on the open +fire.</p> + +<p>The chimney’s wide, black, sooty mouth, which stretched across one side +of the room, was filled with logs of wood. A great fire licked at them +with smacking, hungry tongues. Yellow flames crackled and roared up the +chimney, devouring the logs, while red and blue flames played over the +coals.</p> + +<p>Pot hooks fastened firmly in the stone and clay held black iron pots in +the blaze. The sandy hearth held three-legged pots. Pots with handles. +Iron kettles. Iron spiders. All had tight-fitting covers. They sat black +and comfortable. Missie had just scoured them clean and they were +waiting there, ready to be used.</p> + +<p>Ashes piled in one corner on the fireplace lay very still, until a puff +of steam from underneath raised them like dust, and a fragrant smell +went out into the room. Sweet potatoes were roasting there.</p> + +<p>In another corner, corn shucks showed through<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_120">{120}</a></span> a mound of ashes. Spurts +of steam sizzing out made the mound heave like a small volcano. Ash cake +was cooking there.</p> + +<p>A frying-pan sat on live coals pulled out on the hearth. Slices of fat +bacon sputtered and spit and curled around the edges as Rose dropped +them on it. Good smells filled the room and streamed out of the open +door to where the two little black children sat in the half-light.</p> + +<p>They sniffed and laughed and got up and came running inside. Both +hurried to the cupboard for a pan. Then to the shelf for a spoon. Little +Jim did whatever Missie did. The frying bacon was the supper bell. They +knew supper was ready when they smelled it. Killdee, coming in, saw them +and smiled wistfully.</p> + +<p>When their pans were helped, Missie and Jim sat on the floor to eat. +When all the pans were empty, Missie washed them and put them away. Jim +crawled up into Killdee’s lap.</p> + +<p>“Sonny,” said Killdee, “is you lub you ol’ daddy?”</p> + +<p>Jim answered with a bear-like hug.</p> + +<p>“Sonny—” Killdee’s voice sounded queer and broken, “wha’ mek you play +een de fire?”</p> + +<p>Killdee took the baby’s fat fingers and looked at them.</p> + +<p>Rose sat by the firelight with her patching.</p> + +<p>“Killdee——” She leaned forward. Fear warped her face. “Killdee, wha’ +you gwine do?”</p> + +<p>“Honey——” Killdee met her eyes, then turned<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_121">{121}</a></span> his own to the fire. Jim +sat up and looked at each of them. Reaching up, he patted Killdee’s +rough cheek.</p> + +<p>“Ol’ Pa,” he said, laughing mischievously, “Ol’ Pa.”</p> + +<p>Killdee looked at Rose. Her face was queer and drawn.</p> + +<p>“I can’ ha’dly stan’ fo’ do em, Rose, but looka da fire. +S’pose—s’pose——”</p> + +<p>The strong oak logs were already crumbling to ashes, turning from fiery +red to gray.</p> + +<p>“Jim will play een de fire. Nobody can’ stop em. ’E’s a lil, ign’ant, +trus’ful baby. ’E is. I better show em how fire kin bu’n. I better. Don’ +look at me sorrowful, Rose. It hu’t me clean to my heart.”</p> + +<p>Rose’s hands clasped and unclasped. Tears rolled down her cheeks. +Killdee kept trying to comfort her.</p> + +<p>“People mus’ try fo show dey chillen how t’ings kin pain ’em. An’ kill +’em. Mebbe ef we had a show lil Rose ’bout fire—I dunno. Some t’ings +<i>is to be</i>, I reckon. Maum Hannah say Baby Rose’s time was out.</p> + +<p>“Tellin’ people don’ do no good. You haffer show em. Suffer em.”</p> + +<p>The bright flames rippled innocently. They gave out a warm, kind light.</p> + +<p>“You might be right, Killdee,” Rose tried to agree, but her breath +caught with a sob.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page_122">{122}</a></span></p> + +<p>Killdee turned up Jim’s small brown palm and looked at it. How could he +burn it? How? Yet he must.</p> + +<p>His strong fingers tightened sternly. He leaned forward and yook up a +hot, live coal off the hearth, and laid it on Jim’s tender fingers.</p> + +<p>The baby’s scream, the woman’s cry, the man’s groan, sounded all +together. Missie came running to see what was wrong. Big tears rolled +down her thin cheeks. She looked at Killdee with big, solemn eyes, then +turned away without a word and went slowly back to bed in the shed room.</p> + +<p>She understood. Little Jim had to be taught his lesson. Killdee had to +do it. It was the only way.</p> + +<p>Jim sobbed himself to sleep in Killdee’s lap. Sorrow had come to him +without warning from the very one he loved best. His hand was burned and +his baby heart was cut to the quick.</p> + +<p>Killdee gave him to Rose and walked out into the night. He looked up at +the stars. They shone up there like sparks that never did go out. He +wondered if Baby Rose was up there—up there with them, and God.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page_123">{123}</a></span></p> + +<h2><a id="Catfish"><i>Catfish</i></a></h2> + +<p class="nind"><span class="letra">K</span>ILLDEE came home from the Cross-roads store one Saturday afternoon and +his black face was bright with enthusiasm.</p> + +<p>“Rose,” he said, taking a chair and putting it up close to the hearth +where an iron pot simmered industriously with catfish stew, “I got a +good plan. A good one. Lemme tell you ’bout em.”</p> + +<p>Rose looked up from her sewing.</p> + +<p>“Wha’ e is?” she asked with interest.</p> + +<p>“I dunno wha’ you gwine t’ink ’bout em. We can’ hab much catfish fo’ eat +ef I do em.”</p> + +<p>Killdee breathed in the appetizing smell thoughtfully.</p> + +<p>“Wha’ you duh talk ’bout, Killdee?” Rose asked, puzzled indeed.</p> + +<p>He laughed and said teasingly:</p> + +<p>“Guess wha’ e is.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, go on an’ tell me,” she urged him.</p> + +<p>“Well, dis is it. A man sellin’ futilizer wuz at de sto’ dis ebenin’. I +heah him talkin’ ’bout de crops an’ t’ing. ’E say fish-scrap is de bes’ +futilizer een de bunch. It’ll mek cawn an’ cotton grow off faster dan +anyt’ing. De futilizer man say de factory meks de pure, naked fish into +fish-scrap.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page_124">{124}</a></span></p> + +<p>Rose forgot all about the fish-stew in the pot there on the coals while +Killdee described to her what he had heard. How big boats go on the +ocean with wide, long nets, which they spread around schools of fish. +How the fish are caught and carried to a place where they are ground up +and sacked and sold to farmers for high prices.</p> + +<p>“Lawd, Rose, ef I could mek my own futilizer! Ef I didn’t hab to buy +none! We’d hab mo’ money dan we’d know wha’ fo’ do wid.”</p> + +<p>Rose listened thoughtfully. It sounded wonderful indeed.</p> + +<p>“But you ain’ got nuttin’ fo’ grind up de fish wid, Killdee.”</p> + +<p>“No. Da’s so. But de fish don’ haffer be grind up. I could easy put dem +een de groun’ an’ dey’d rot befo’ you know it. I gwine try em.”</p> + +<p>Before many days passed, Killdee had fish traps made of split hickory +strips set all along the bank of the tawny river. He used corn meal +cooked into thick lumps for bait.</p> + +<p>Every morning by daylight he was there at his traps getting out the fat +catfish.</p> + +<p>“How-come you goes to de ribber so reglar, son?” Maum Hannah asked him +one morning, as he passed her cabin.</p> + +<p>“I’m a-tryin’ fo’ git catfish,” he answered.</p> + +<p>Maum Hannah thought he had a guilty look. She wondered what Killdee was +doing back there on the river every day. Maybe he had a still.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page_125">{125}</a></span></p> + +<p>“Better mine,” she warned, “you gwine ketch de fever. Too much o’ ribber +swamp ain’ good. You better not be mekkin’ whiskey back dere. Mine! I +heah you been gittin’ a lot o’ cawn mek eento meal, too. Mine!”</p> + +<p>Killdee kept on patiently, persistently, until every stalk of corn in +his field had a catfish right at its root. When those fish rotted, what +a crop of corn he would have! His crop would be ahead of all the other +crops, and he’d have no fertilizer bill to pay.</p> + +<p>His fingers were often sore with poison from the catfish fins, and it +did take a lot of meal for the bait, but Killdee felt he’d more than +make it all back.</p> + +<p>In the Fall he’d have more corn than he needed. He’d sell some. The barn +would be full. The mule fat. The hogs would make bacon enough to last +all year. Killdee was happy over the good work he was doing.</p> + +<p>When every stalk was fed with a fish at its roots, he decided to go over +and tell Maum Hannah all about it. He’d give her a load of the corn when +it was made. She was so good to his folks. Now would be his chance to do +something for her.</p> + +<p>That night when supper was over, he took the path across the field and +went to her cabin. His heart and step were light.</p> + +<p>“How you dis ebenin’, Auntie?” he greeted her, as he walked right in +through the open door.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page_126">{126}</a></span></p> + +<p>“Come een, son. You had supper yet? I’m des’ now sta’tin’ fo’ eat.”</p> + +<p>Maum Hannah was always glad to see him. She pointed to a chair.</p> + +<p>“Yes’m, I done eat. You go on. Don’ stop. I des’ come fo’ talk wid you a +lil, an’ fo’ see how you do.” His face was beaming. Maum Hannah’s eyes +twinkled mischievously as she rallied: “I’d do better to-night ef I had +catfish stew fo’ eat wid my bread. How-come you don’ bring me catfish no +mo’?”</p> + +<p>Killdee grinned.</p> + +<p>“Da’s de bery t’ing I come fo’ talk wid you ’bout,” he said.</p> + +<p>“I don’ see no fish een you han’, dough,” she answered.</p> + +<p>“No’m, but I come fo’ tell you wha’ I duh do wid all dem catfish I +catch. I feeds my cawn fiel’ on dem fish, ’stead o’ you an’ Rose an’ de +chillen.” Killdee laughed heartily at his joke.</p> + +<p>“Yes’m. Da same cawn fiel’ out yonder is got a catfish to eby stalk. You +wait tell it rain. Da’s gwine be de fines’ piece o’ cawn een dis +country. Da’s de reason I been gwine to de ribber so reg’lar. I been +baitin’ fish wid all da meal.”</p> + +<p>Maum Hannah grunted.</p> + +<p>“Whe’ you heah o’ sich a t’ing, son?”</p> + +<p>Killdee told her how he had heard the white man talk about fish-scrap +and of his decision to make his own fertilizer. She listened gravely.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page_127">{127}</a></span></p> + +<p>“It soun’ good fo’ true. But I dunno,” she added doubtfully.</p> + +<p>“I dunno. A buckra might could do em. But a nigger—somehow, a nigger +don’ hab luck when ’e try fo’ outdo hisse’f. It might be a good t’ing. I +hope e is.”</p> + +<p>Killdee was confident.</p> + +<p>“You wait. I gwine dribe up to you do’ nex’ fall wid a wagon load up wid +cawn an’ say: ’Looka wha’ I brought you, Auntie.’ You gwine be glad I +fine out dis same t’ing.” He laughed and she joined in.</p> + +<p>“Great Gawd, son! Dat do sound fine. I wish you luck wid em. When you +git t’rough feedin’ de cawn, dough, do bring me a string o’ catfish.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, ma’am. I gwine do dat, too,” he promised cordially.</p> + +<p>When her supper was eaten, she took out her pipe and lit it. Between +short puffs she said:</p> + +<p>“I glad you ain’ been duh mek liquor back een da swamp. I been ’f’aid +you wuz doin’ dat.”</p> + +<p>“No’m,” Killdee laughed. “I ain’ been doin’ dat. But nex’ fall I gwine +hab so much o’ cawn, I reckon I haffer mek a lil fo’ drink fo’ +Christmus.”</p> + +<p>Maum Hannah said gayly:</p> + +<p>“Ef you do, don’ fo-git me. I needs some right now. All de root medicine +I meks fo’ sick people don’ keep any time. I can’ get no liquor fo’ seep +em een. It spiles too quick.”</p> + +<p>“Nex’ fall, I gwine mek you plenty o’ liquor fo<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_128">{128}</a></span>’ all you medicine,” +Killdee promised. “An’ I’ll gi’ you a load o’ cawn too.”</p> + +<p>He got up to go. It was getting late.</p> + +<p>“Good night, Auntie. I got to git on home,” he said. He went away +whistling down the path towards home. Maum Hannah closed the door and +went to bed.</p> + +<p>Before day she waked up. Something unusual was happening. A strange +growling sound came with the breeze from the direction of Killdee’s +field. What was it? She got up and went to the door and opened it and +listened. Dogs. What were they doing? Not running rabbits. Nor treeing +anything. No. They were fighting. Could a wildcat have come up out of +the river swamp?</p> + +<p>There was sharp yelp and a man’s voice whooping. Was it Killdee’s voice?</p> + +<p>She went down the steps and followed the path. The moon had risen and it +was light enough to see some distance ahead. When Killdee’s field was in +sight, she knew that the growling, fighting, was there.</p> + +<p>She hurried on. The corn, high as her head, rustled in the breeze, but +there were other sounds. Killdee was shouting, running through the corn, +swearing, cursing, raving. Dogs were everywhere in the field. They were +digging up the fish.—Fighting over them.—And the smell of those +catfish! Poor Killdee!</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page_129">{129}</a></span></p> + +<p>There was nothing she could do. She turned and went slowly back over the +path to her cabin.</p> + +<p>She made up a blaze in the fireplace and sat down to smoke and think. +She hated to see Killdee after this. He’d be so disappointed. Without +fertilizer, his corn would not make much. The land was too old and worn +out. Poor Killdee. All his hard work for nothing. The dogs would not +stop until every fish was eaten.</p> + +<p>Well, life is like that. She had learned it. Women learn it early. Yes.</p> + +<p>Men take trouble harder.—Harder.</p> + +<p>The sun was high in the sky next morning when she heard Killdee coming +down the path. His step was heavy. Different from the step of last +night. Heavy hearts make heavy steps.</p> + +<p>She was not prepared for the drawn look on his face. It was thin and +haggard, and his eyes were red and sullen.</p> + +<p>“Auntie——” he stopped with a harsh laugh. “Dey ain’ gwine be a stalk +o’ cawn lef’ een my fiel’.—Not a stalk. Not much ez one year. My fiel’ +is ruin’!—Ruin’! De dawgs’ll dig up eby stalk o’ cawn to git dem +catfish.”</p> + +<p>His hard hands clenched as he spoke. He looked at her helplessly.</p> + +<p>“Dey ain’ gwine stop tell dey dig up all. I wouldn’ mine ef I hadn’ a +tried so hard. Ef I didn’ done ebyt’ing I could a-tryin fo’ mek a good<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_130">{130}</a></span> +crop. De rain mek de grass eat up all de cotton, but I did count on +plenty o’ cawn fo’ eat. An’ now—now—dem Gawd-damn dawgs——”</p> + +<p>Killdee, hurt, spent with disappointment, sat on the doorstep with his +chin in his trembling hands. Maum Hannah remembered the little boy who +used to come to her long ago. So good, so hard-working, so easily +cheered up when things went right. So pitiful when things went wrong.</p> + +<p>She got up and went to him and put her wrinkled hand on his hard, sinewy +shoulder.</p> + +<p>“Son—son,” but what could she say? Life was hard to understand +sometimes. He must try to have faith in the rightness of things. How +else could she help him now? She felt the strong muscles under her +fingers. Killdee was no weakling. No.</p> + +<p>“Son,” she said, “eby back is fitted to de bu’den. Dis one seem heaby. +But you kin bear em. I know you kin. You gwine hab plenty—fo’ +eat.—Sho! You ain’ no chillen. You mus’n’ git downhea’ted. No! You’s de +stronges’ man een dis country. An’ de bes’, too. I know.”</p> + +<p>It was hard to think of anything more to say to him as he sat there, +bitter rebellious, hard. She spoke as much to herself as to Killdee when +she added:</p> + +<p>“We ain’ got no help anywhe’ but Up-Yonder, son. We haffer trus’ een +Him. Haffer!”</p> + +<p>Killdee raised his weary eyes to her face. A sneering smile came to his +lips. His bared teeth<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_131">{131}</a></span> gleamed in a savage way that made her shiver. He +laughed boisterously.</p> + +<p>“Rose all de time talk de same fool way. Trus’ who?”</p> + +<p>He laughed again. “Who?” he repeated, mirthlessly.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page_132">{132}</a></span></p> + +<h2><a id="Son"><i>Son</i></a></h2> + +<p class="nind"><span class="letra">A</span>LL night long Son was restless. Under the bed where Killdee slept, he +twisted and stretched his lean neck and thin paws,—and clawed and +scratched and bit and snapped at the hungry fleas that lived on his +rough, yellow hide.</p> + +<p>Killdee woke and listened and pitied and studied and tried to go back to +sleep again.</p> + +<p>Fleas had to be. Dogs always had them. Son ought to know that and keep +quiet. He kept himself from sleeping with all this uneasy, impatient +fidgeting. Son ought to learn to rule himself. To hold steady.</p> + +<p>As long as Son lived, fleas would stay on his hide and lay and hatch and +bite and sting and breed more fleas to keep doing it.</p> + +<p>Killdee reached down a hand to find and pat the poor, tormented beast. +But the hand couldn’t see and it stirred the darkness with long, sleepy +fingers, until a moist nose touched it gratefully.</p> + +<p>Then the fingers grasped the harsh, warm hair, they tenderly felt the +sharp edges of narrow bones and rubbed a limp ear.</p> + +<p>“Son,” Killdee murmured, “don’ fight dem fleas<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_133">{133}</a></span> too hard. You claw’s +mighty sharp. Dey gwine tear a crack een you hide. Den mange’ll git een. +Mange is wusser’n fleas. Fleas is natchel. Fleas can’ do nuttin’ but mek +you on-res’less. Mange’ll mek you ugly an’ mean.”</p> + +<p>Son patted his bony string of a tail on the floor. Killdee’s interest +made his breathing husky with joy. Even after Killdee’s hand was +withdrawn, Son gave faint whimpers of pleasure.</p> + +<p>But soon he was restless again. He got up and went to the door and +whined and scratched to be let out.</p> + +<p>Killdee followed him and took down the bar and Son slipped by and went +down the steps into the night.</p> + +<p>First he stood still and listened. Then he trotted away down the weedy +path. He knew where he wanted to go. Knew exactly.</p> + +<p>Killdee looked out and listened, too. The dwindling old moon cast a gray +light that made the frosty night chillier. There were very few sounds at +all.</p> + +<p>An owl whooed far away in the river swamp, but Son cared nothing for +owls.</p> + +<p>Something rustled and scurried in the fence corner, but Son’s light, +patting feet went steadily on—without slacking.</p> + +<p>Cocks near by crowed and got answers faint and far away.</p> + +<p>Little chickens hovering under a mother hen gave<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_134">{134}</a></span> a few uneasy, troubled +peeps and were hushed with a drawling cluck. That was all.</p> + +<p>Son had listened at none of these. Something else had called him. He +sniffed the air and then went straight to where he wanted to go. Son had +keen ears. His nose was hard to fool.</p> + +<p>Killdee smiled to himself and closed the door and put up the bar to hold +it. He went back to bed and eased himself down beside Rose. But he kept +smiling to think how shrewd Son was. How wise.</p> + +<p>Son’s faithful interest in love-making made him get up and break his +night’s rest and go far in the cold and dark. More than likely, he’d be +late getting to the lady’s house. He’d have to fight other dogs there +for a chance to get the lady to even notice him. Fight dogs that were +younger and bigger and stronger.</p> + +<p>If the lady happened to choose him, he’d soon come away and leave her. +He’d forget all about her. He would never even know his own children.</p> + +<p>It was hard luck to be a dog when you had as much sense as Son. If Son +were a man—a man——</p> + +<p>Something Maum Hannah said long ago came into Killdee’s mind and mocked +him: “It’s a wise man kin tell his own chillen.”</p> + +<p>An unpleasant saying. And yet—even a man had to take somebody else’s +word—about children.—Whose they really were.</p> + +<p>Of course, Rose’s children were his. But Mar<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_135">{135}</a></span>y’s—since Bully left, +children had come to Mary just the same.</p> + +<p>How did any man know if they were his or not? Did Mary herself know for +certain? She always laughed and said: “My chillen daddy ain’ nobody een +pa-ticular.”</p> + +<p>After all, maybe fathers don’t matter much. Son knew that. He went about +his business and did what he thought was his duty, and then he bothered +himself no more about it. Maybe Son’s way was good as any.</p> + +<p>Killdee went to sleep and forgot about Son until the next day when +dinner-time came. Even then he didn’t remember until his pan of peas and +rice was almost empty.</p> + +<p>It was Son’s custom to sit patiently by and watch Killdee eat and catch +bits of food that his master tossed to him.</p> + +<p>Where was Son to-day?</p> + +<p>Killdee got up and whistled and called him. He wondered and whistled and +called again before Son came creeping out from under the house where a +dark corner hid his fresh wounds from meddlesome flies.</p> + +<p>Poor Son. One limp ear was torn. His wishful eyes were bloodshot and +battered. His thin legs tottered unsteadily. His coarse, yellow hair was +reddened and wet. Above open cuts on his body, flies hummed and buzzed +and frolicked.</p> + +<p>Killdee knelt and took Son’s head ruefully in his<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_136">{136}</a></span> big hands. He stroked +the sensitive nose and patted a cheek and whispered sorrowful words.</p> + +<p>“Po’ ol’ Son. Po’ ol’ man. Dey got you all cripple up, enty? It hu’t me +clean to my heart fo’ see you all bung up like dis.—Po’ ol’ Son. Better +lef ’oman lone, Son. Better lef em lone, ef you kin.”</p> + +<p>Rose stood in the doorway watching. She didn’t love Son, and Killdee was +not deceived by her show of sympathy when she suggested kindly:</p> + +<p>“You wan’ me fo’ git you a clot’ so you kin tie em up, enty?”</p> + +<p>No, he didn’t want a cloth. Son’s hurts were better left uncovered. +Son’s tongue could lick them and keep them clean. Son could cure them +himself. No other medicine would do as much good as the medicine within +Son’s own mouth.</p> + +<p>Men have to tie up their sores and grease them. Not dogs. Dogs have +learned to cure themselves. Son knew how.</p> + +<p>Killdee went to the haystack by the barn and got a bit of fine dried +grass. He crawled away back under the house and fixed Son a bed in a +dark warm corner.</p> + +<p>Son followed and laid himself down with a sigh and wagged his tail +weakly.</p> + +<p>A lump came in Killdee’s throat to see him so downhearted. Son couldn’t +help wanting to go courting last night. Something inside him compelled +him. Drove him. Son wasn’t to blame.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page_137">{137}</a></span></p> + +<p>Son wasn’t to blame that he wasn’t strong enough to fight other dogs +away, without getting himself beat almost to death.</p> + +<p>Who was to blame? What? Why couldn’t things be fair to dogs?—And to +men—and women?</p> + +<p>A face came before Killdee’s eyes—black—eager—young—with a bluish +bloom on the cheeks—a pointed chin where a dimple came and went—dark +red lips where white teeth gleamed with laughter—lips that quivered in +such a pitiful way when things went wrong—little Missie—good little +Missie.</p> + +<p>She was so little—so tender—so trustful. Could he ruin her because she +was what he loved best?</p> + +<p>Love was a disease. It was wilting all the joy in her—in himself. It +was a poison that would burn and shrivel—that would change her clean +freshness to shame.</p> + +<p>Son could go and love when he liked. Where he liked. If he came home +bruised and torn, he could go off and hide and lick his bloody hurts and +get well.—But a man—has to lie—and seem hard and mean——</p> + +<p>If a man could only learn to cure his hurts too—that would be good. +Maybe a man has to learn to do it. Maybe so.</p> + +<p>Killdee crawled out from under the house with a gloomy, frowning face. +Rose turned away when she saw him and he walked slowly down the path.</p> + +<p>Gray clouds hung low and drops of cold rain were<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_138">{138}</a></span> falling on the damp +ground. Dull, reddish puddles of water shivered in the wind, as if they +were hurt.</p> + +<p>Killdee gave a bitter laugh.</p> + +<p>“Me and Son ain’ de onlies’ one hab trouble. Mud-puddle hab ’em too! ’E +can’ be still. ’E haffer stan’ pain. De wind trouble em. De sun-hot’ll +dry em up. Po’ mud puddle! Do Jedus!”</p> + +<p>What was the use to try? To want to do anything? Something got +everything. Even mud-puddles!</p> + +<p>  </p> + +<p>Heavy clouds bunched over the wide river swamp. In the distance their +rough, dark edges touched the tree-tops, and the hills on the other side +were hidden. Down under the trees the rivers were swollen and muddy. +They swirled and lapped and rushed along disregarding their rightful +channels.</p> + +<p>Killdee stood at the edge of the steep hill and looked down. The water +was rising. Everything in the swamp would be flooded. Cattle and hogs +left down there would be caught soon. Traps would be washed away unless +they were fastened strong to trees.</p> + +<p>Where was Son? He’d been gone since first daylight, and his hurts were +hardly well.</p> + +<p>Thinking about him made Killdee automatically give a long, shrill +whistle. He missed Son when he went away like this. Son was getting +along in years. Since rations were short, Son was weak.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page_139">{139}</a></span></p> + +<p>He wouldn’t stop scratching at the fleas. Mange had him. His eyes were +dimmer than when he was young. Fighting ruined them. He wouldn’t stay +home at night and rest. He’d rather go running around and getting into +trouble with other dogs. Son was foolish. He’d be better off asleep.</p> + +<p>Killdee whistled again before he turned towards home. He had no hogs in +the swamp to bother him to-day. Cholera got them all last year. He +didn’t have to go hunt in the swamp for them now. That was something. +Those rivers down below were men to-day. Good all his traps were chained +to trees.</p> + +<p>The solitude was disturbing. Killdee drew his rough shirt together at +the neck and buttoned it across his throat. He peered into the +colorless, blurred distance. There was something troubling about it. +Bare tree-tops hid wicked streams that tore at things to destroy them.</p> + +<p>Where was Son? Son knew that swamp too well to risk it now. Killdee +wanted to shout and shake those dull clouds. To make those quiet +tree-tops rustle. He drew in a full breath and forced it out with all +the power of his lungs.</p> + +<p>The clouds hung still. The tree-tops did not move. Only the heavy +silence was stirred. A deep echo came back to meet his cry and two +voices seemed to meet. Something within his breast moved with hope and +courage. If Son was<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_140">{140}</a></span> down there in trouble, he’d hear that call and take +heart and fight his way back home.</p> + +<p>Something more than an echo answered. What? A faint yelping. A weak +whining. Could Son make a puny yapping like that? It was almost like a +fox bark.</p> + +<p>Killdee strained his ears to hear. Yes, it was a dog calling for help. +Somebody’s dog. Maybe it was Son!</p> + +<p>Killdee whistled and called and encouraged, then listened again. The +sound was nearer, but still uncertain—then a sharp outcry came. And +silence.</p> + +<p>Killdee plunged down the hill in the direction of the cry. Through +tangled vines and low-growing bushes he went following the bank of the +foamy, trashy river, but there was nothing to be seen of Son.</p> + +<p>He climbed slowly back up the hill and went home to Rose and the +children.</p> + +<p>It was night when a scratching at the door made him get up and take down +the bar. Biting, cold rain rushed in and hurried Son with it. Wet, +shivering, dirty with mud and blood, Son limped toward the fire on three +legs. Red drops spattered on the floor, for the fourth leg, a front one, +was gone, nipped off close to his body.</p> + +<p>“My Gawd, Son,” Killdee whispered, “who dat done you so!”</p> + +<p>Then he knew. A trap. Nothing but cold,<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_141">{141}</a></span> hard steel could cut Son’s +bones and meat like that. Son had gone looking for food. For meat. The +trap treated all alike. Possums. Coons. Dogs. Son’s leg was too thin to +stand the pinch of it. It came off. Poor Son! Down in the swamp hunting +something to eat. To eat!</p> + +<p>Son might be wrong to scratch fleas and get mange, and to go fighting +dogs for a mate, but Son couldn’t help being hungry. He wasn’t to blame +because he wanted a taste of meat.</p> + +<p>Son’s hide was no good to anybody, but the trap didn’t care. It caught +anything that came in reach of it. Anything.</p> + +<p>“You gwine tie em up wid clot’, or le’ em stay so ’e kin lick em?” Rose +asked.</p> + +<p>Killdee did not answer. He took Son in his arms and held him close to +the fire. The poor stub trembled and bled.</p> + +<p>Light, flickering flames gave out little warmth. Their yellow fluttering +mocked. With an impatient kick, Killdee shoved the logs further back +into the chimney. A shower of sparks crackled and flared.</p> + +<p>“Son—Son——” It was all Killdee could say. The pain in his breast hurt +him through.</p> + +<p>What was the use of anything? Something always gets you. Son never +harmed anybody. Never! He did his duty the best he knew how.</p> + +<p>Fleas wouldn’t let him rest. They made him scratch. His own claws tore +holes in his hide and let mange get in.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page_142">{142}</a></span></p> + +<p>Son would have stayed around home at night too, but some bitch was +always calling him to come breed his kind. Son had to go. Something +inside him drove him. Son had sense. He knew he would meet other dogs +there. But he couldn’t help taking the risk of being beat.</p> + +<p>Son needed meat. His appetite stung him. He was too old to catch +rabbits. The bait in the traps was his best chance. Son thought so. Son +didn’t know traps were jealous of dogs the same as of possums or coons. +Son was too suspectless.</p> + +<p>Now his front leg was gone. Cut off. Some possum had gnawed it by now.</p> + +<p>It wasn’t good to trust anything. No. Not anything. There was no escape. +Some day, Son, he too, would lie still with a mouth full of dirt. Yes, +dirt.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page_143">{143}</a></span></p> + +<h2><a id="A_Sunday"><i>A Sunday</i></a></h2> + +<p class="nind"><span class="letra">S</span>UNDAY morning was the one day in the week when everybody on the +plantation could sleep as late as they liked.</p> + +<p>The front room of Killdee’s cabin was dim and gray in the early dawn. +Gray, like the oak ashes banked over last night’s fire in the wide, open +fireplace. Gray, like the wisp of smoke that struggled feebly through +them to rise out of the wide open chimney.</p> + +<p>The corners of the room were still dark. The night seemed to linger, too +deep-dyed to be overcome by the weak light of the fog-veiled morning. +The wavy mirror in the new bureau made the one bright spot in the room.</p> + +<p>Fresh newspapers, cut into fringes and hung on wires, stretched across +the ceiling, fluttered uneasily in the damp breeze that slipped in +through the two small, square, open windows.</p> + +<p>The window blinds were made of rough boards. One was propped back and +held against the side of the cabin by poles. It didn’t fit the window, +for it was warped and crooked from the weather. On blustery nights it +creaked on its rusty hinges. Teased them. Pestered them. Threatened to<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_144">{144}</a></span> +break them. It couldn’t. Those hinges were strong. Hand-wrought. The big +nails that held them to the solid window facing were deep in the wood. +Hard to break or pull out.</p> + +<p>That window blind’s creaking often woke Killdee and made him restless, +but it was easier to leave it on than to take it off. The head of the +bed was opposite the windows. The gray light fell on its bright, +turkey-red and white cover, and on the two black heads resting there on +the white pillow.</p> + +<p>One head lay still. Heavy, open-mouthed, snoring. The other moved +tetchily whenever the window blind creaked.</p> + +<p>Habit was too strong for Killdee. He could never sleep late on Sunday +mornings. He woke at daylight, the same as on week days. He always tried +hard to lie still, to go back to sleep, to stay in bed until Rose woke +and got up to fix breakfast. But every Sunday it was the same old thing. +He’d move his body and turn over and try to wait. He’d think over +everything he ever knew in his life. Then finally, utterly worn out with +trying, he’d get up, stir the coals in the fireplace, start the fire +going, and dress. It was the same thing every Sunday.</p> + +<p>This morning he tried hard to wait for Rose to wake. He settled his head +on the pillow again and again and tried to lie still.</p> + +<p>Then his long black arms just would stretch out from under the quilt. He +gave a wide-mouthed yawn, a shiver, and a sudden snuggle back down<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_145">{145}</a></span> +under the covers. The early morning air was damp. Chilly.</p> + +<p>He wished it was Monday morning. Then he’d be up getting to work. He +liked his work better than anything else. Planning it. Watching things +grow and bear and ripen under his hand. That was what he liked. Work.</p> + +<p>Already the land was plowed and ready for planting. Everything was +waiting for the weather to turn warmer, when he’d plant the cotton.</p> + +<p>Sundays were a nuisance. He was always glad when they were over.</p> + +<p>The other Negroes looked forward to them. Rose did. She liked to dress +up and go to church. To sit high up in front and sing in the choir.</p> + +<p>He looked at the back of her head, there close to his face. What a funny +smell it had lately! Rose was using some sort of stuff to take the kink +out of her hair. A funny thing to start doing at her age. Why did she +want straight hair? She was married. He was satisfied with her hair as +it was.</p> + +<p>He really liked the natural hair better. Straightened hair had a stiff, +queer look. He liked the older women with their heads tied in pretty, +bright head-kerchiefs. Rose didn’t. She wanted to be stylish. Stylish. +He smiled at the word, then frowned as he thought. Reverend Felder was +stylish.</p> + +<p>Women are funny things. All of them. Like<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_146">{146}</a></span> children. Men have to humor +them. He hadn’t always humored Rose, but since he had begun doing so, +these last few years, things had gone better with them.</p> + +<p>He rose up and sat on the side of the bed, making it creak. He rubbed +his lean, black face all over with his hard hands. He scratched his +woolly head and yawned again. Then got to his feet and walked slowly to +the front door, and took down the wooden bar that held it shut.</p> + +<p>He looked out at the big trees in the woods near by. Cedars, oaks, +sycamores, were all strangely magnified by the mist. They seemed to be +brought near to him. Even the crape-myrtle and china-berry trees in the +yard seemed bigger and closer.</p> + +<p>“It’ll clear off befo’ twelve to-day,” Killdee muttered to himself. He +turned to the hearth and stooped and stirred in the ashes, uncovering +the coals that still lived there.</p> + +<p>A quick pattering of light feet sounded. A sniffling. A glad whine. Son. +The little three-legged cur ran in through the open door. With a great +wagging of his tail and wriggling of his lean body, and a licking at +Killdee’s bare feet and hands and face and neck, the dog expressed the +greetings of the morning.</p> + +<p>Killdee patted the yellow body gently a few times, then said a gruff +“Git on off wid you, now. Lemme mek up dis fire.”</p> + +<p>The dog ran under the bed and lay down. He<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_147">{147}</a></span> scratched and licked and +snapped at fleas, while Killdee added kindling and pieces of wood to the +coals.</p> + +<p>Bright blazes flamed up. Killdee watched them leap through the wood. The +draught moving steadily up the chimney drew the chill damp air in +through the door. Killdee got up and closed it. He put the wooden bar in +its place, and with a slight shudder, crawled back into bed beside Rose.</p> + +<p>How warm she was! He got closer, but she moved away when he touched her.</p> + +<p>Under the bed the little dog was snoring, snoring, and Rose breathed +heavily too. Killdee, alone, was awake. Awake and restless. Hungry, too. +Rose would be cross if he woke her.</p> + +<p>Sometimes she did get cross, but most of the time she did pretty well.</p> + +<p>Wouldn’t she be in a rush when she woke this morning! She was going to +bring Reverend Felder home to dinner with her to-day. Rose had a hen +ready to bake. A cake was already made.</p> + +<p>The thought of Reverend Felder was unpleasant. Why did women like +preachers? Funny. Preachers were like women. Weak nothings. But women +always liked them.—Always. Except women who were like Mary. Mary’s kind +didn’t bother with preachers often.</p> + +<p>The smell of the hair-straightener became unpleasant. Killdee turned +away. He’d get up. He wanted his breakfast. Rose had slept long enough<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_148">{148}</a></span> +anyway. He sighed heavily. What would he do while she went to church?</p> + +<p>She was a good wife. Cross sometimes, but a good wife. She was a good +cook, and she kept the house clean. She didn’t nag often. Hardly ever +now, for he knew how to stop her when she began it.</p> + +<p>One good thing about her, she never had cared about any other man’s +attention. Now some women—— But he never would put up with a thing +like that. Never! Rose, on the whole, was a good wife. A good wife. +Maybe a better wife than he was a husband. He stirred under the covers.</p> + +<p>Men are different from women. God made men different. The stronger a man +is, the more different from women he is. Women are made to love one man. +One. Men—he wondered if any man ever loved one woman all his life. All +the way through. He loved Rose——</p> + +<p>Here Killdee turned over. Somehow he felt uncomfortable—for his +thoughts ran to little Missie. He couldn’t deny it to himself. No. His +heart beat with a quiver when he thought about her. But that was because +he couldn’t help worrying about her.</p> + +<p>There was something about Missie—Killdee didn’t know just what it was. +He lay quiet, rapt. Picturing the supple, slender figure, the way her +eyes shone when she laughed, the dark purplish red<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_149">{149}</a></span> lips, the dimple +that came and went in the pointed chin.</p> + +<p>Lately Rose was often cross with Missie. Cross. It was wrong. But women +are so. They don’t like anybody else to look good, or to be pleasant. +No. Women are all jealous. All.</p> + +<p>Sometimes he wished he was fool enough to get religion. To get +interested in church. It would give him something to do on Sundays. +Somewhere to go.</p> + +<p>And yet, it was nice to sit here at home, or to walk out into the +fields. To plan the week’s work ahead. He liked to be different from the +other men on the plantation. To show them he was different.</p> + +<p>He thought for himself. He wasn’t a man who could be scared by the +preachers. No. He smiled to himself when he thought how he teased Rose +by telling her the members paid the preachers just to keep them scared. +He said it in fun, but he meant it, down in his heart.</p> + +<p>Yes, he did try to think for himself. He wasn’t a sheep. No. He was a +goat. A strong he-goat.</p> + +<p>A rooster hopped up on the doorstep and crowed shrilly. It was time to +get up. Somebody was coming! Killdee laid his hand on Rose’s shoulder. +Her firm flesh was good to touch.</p> + +<p>“Ain’t you ready fo’ wake up yet?” he asked her gently.</p> + +<p>  </p> + +<p>Before twelve o’clock, the clouds lifted and the<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_150">{150}</a></span> sun shone warm on the +wet earth. Spring was in the air.</p> + +<p>When Killdee finished breakfast, he drew a chair out on the little front +porch. With his feet up on the narrow banister railing, he leaned back +and smoked his cob pipe with short puffs. Jay-birds chanted harsh love +words to each other in the trees. Crows caw-cawed. Thrushes thrilled +over new-made covenants. Cardinals whistled gay assurances. +Mocking-birds, perched in budding trees near the cabin, poured out +joyful songs. It was spring.</p> + +<p>Inside, Rose bustled around. Missie fed the children. Fat pots, full of +food, sat on the hearth close to the hot fire. Rose leaned to stir one, +then another. The preacher was coming home with her. Reverend Felder was +coming. Rose was cooking before she went to church. She couldn’t trust +Missie to season the things. No, not for Reverend Felder. Missie could +put a cloth on the little table and set the dishes on it. She could put +a clean, white apron on over her Sunday dress and wait on Rose and +Killdee and Reverend Felder while they sat and ate, but Rose herself +must do the seasoning. Rose had everything planned in her mind.</p> + +<p>Reverend Felder was handsome. So slim and tall. So educated. So stylish.</p> + +<p>Rose came to the door and glanced up at the sun. It was getting high in +the sky. Soon it would be time to go. She must hurry. She had to dress +yet.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page_151">{151}</a></span></p> + +<p>“Better come an’ go wid me to chu’ch to-day, Killdee,” she said. “You’ll +heah a mighty fine sermon.”</p> + +<p>Killdee puffed at his pipe a few times before he answered:</p> + +<p>“No. I reckon not. I don’ feel lak settin’ still to-day. Not for so +long. You an’ Missie go. I’ll stay an’ tek keer o’ de chillen to-day.”</p> + +<p>But Missie had to stay to watch the precious pots. She couldn’t go to +church to-day.</p> + +<p>“I’m gwine put a few green walnuts een a sack an’ drag ’em ’roun’ een de +pond. Enough to git a few fish. Fish’ud tase mighty good to-night fo’ +supper,” Killdee said with sudden inspiration.</p> + +<p>Rose was shocked.</p> + +<p>“Why, Killdee! On Sunday? You’d stun fish on Sunday! You’s a case, +Killdee. What ’ud Reverend Felder t’ink ef he’d find you doin’ sich a +t’ing? Do wait tell nex’ Sunday. Don’ mek me shame o’ you to-day.”</p> + +<p>Killdee gave a short laugh.</p> + +<p>“Lawd! I bet dat nigger preacher ’ud eat dem fish same as me. Shucks!”</p> + +<p>“I bet he wouldn’t do no sich a t’ing,” Rose defended indignantly. “You +ought to be ’shame’ to talk ’bout a preacher so, an’ ’bout gittin’ fish +on Sunday. You don’ know yet, Sunday is Gawd’s Day?”</p> + +<p>Killdee smoked on in silence and Rose hurried her preparation. When she +was ready to go, Kill<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_152">{152}</a></span>dee had the mule hitched to the wagon ready for +her to drive.</p> + +<p>How fine she sounded with her rustling, stiff-starched petticoats and +new shoes that squeaked with each step! A corset, too! And Hoyt’s German +Cologne from the cross-roads store!</p> + +<p>“Lemme git a quilt to put ober you lap,” Killdee suggested, “Dese lines +gwine git you’ dress dirty.”</p> + +<p>“No. You go git a clean sheet out de trunk, Missie.”</p> + +<p>Missie did, and away Rose went down the road and out of sight. Killdee +watched until he could see her no longer.</p> + +<p>How beautiful the day had turned out to be, and the morning had been +dark and threatening.</p> + +<p>Who was that coming down the road? A woman.—Mary West.—Killdee knew +that walk. That slender, lithe body. It was a good thing Rose had gone. +Rose hated Mary. Killdee smiled. You couldn’t blame Rose.</p> + +<p>What was Mary coming here for? Something about her farm-work, maybe. He +rose to meet her. How neat and nice her homespun dress was! Plain, +cheap, but on Mary it looked as nice as silk.</p> + +<p>Mary’s face was cheerful, pleasant.</p> + +<p>“How you do dis fine day?” she inquired, and Killdee answered cordially, +as he held out his hand:</p> + +<p>“Fine, fine! An’ you look lak a flowers yard dis mawnin’.”</p> + +<p>“I ain’ feel lak one,” Mary answered soberly.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_153">{153}</a></span> “I’m totin’ lightnin’ fo’ +strike somebody right now.”</p> + +<p>“Who? Me? Le’ ’em come. I kin stan’ a stroke out you’ han’.”</p> + +<p>Killdee laughed at his own wit, but Mary stayed serious.</p> + +<p>“Better don’ laugh yet, Killdee. Wait tell you heah wha’ I come fo’ say. +I don’ know ef I right fo’ come tell you or no.”</p> + +<p>She did seem to hesitate about something. Her steady, bright eyes seemed +to be searching his face. Killdee laughed at her discomfort.</p> + +<p>“You look lak you een chu’ch, Ma’y. But come een an’ set down.”</p> + +<p>Mary followed him up the steps, but she would not sit in the chair he +offered. She preferred to stand. How droll!</p> + +<p>“Better not tell me de bad news. Ef it is so turrible, I might not could +stan’ to heah ’em,” he rallied, but his words fell flat. Mary’s face +kept its woeful look. She shook her head.</p> + +<p>“But you gwine heah it sometime. Boun’ to! All de mens in de quarter is +laughin’, makin’ spote o’ you, right now. An’ you settin’ heah an’ don’ +know nuttin’ ’bout ’em.”</p> + +<p>Killdee’s face changed. This was a different thing. Who had dared make +sport of him? Laugh at him? What did Mary mean?</p> + +<p>“Wha’ you talkin’ ’bout, gal!”</p> + +<p>Killdee felt the very hair on his body bristling. His blood swelled and +hottened.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page_154">{154}</a></span></p> + +<p>“It ain’ easy fo’ tell you, Killdee! I don’ know ef you gwine b’lieb me +or no——” Mary looked full in his eyes.</p> + +<p>“Go on an’ tell me! Don’ act fool! Tell me wha’ you mean!”</p> + +<p>He must hold still and make her tell all she knew. Mary couldn’t lie to +him without flinching. No. She was in earnest. She was uneasy, too, and +Mary was no coward of a woman.</p> + +<p>“I might be wrong to dip een it. It ain’ none o’ my business. I des’ +hates fo’ people speak light ’bout you, Killdee. I ain’ fo’git how good +you been to me sence Bully gone off an’ lef’ me——”</p> + +<p>“Aw——” Killdee was impatient. “Ef you got anyt’ing fo’ tell, go on an’ +tell! I don’ wan’ none o’ you’ sweet-mout’ talk.”</p> + +<p>Mary looked at his eyes.</p> + +<p>“You call ’em sweet-mout’ talk, enty?” she laughed scornfully.</p> + +<p>“Killdee,” she sneered, “you is a plain fool. A fool! You duh set home +an’ smoke an’ all de people een de quarter right now is laughin’ ’bout +Rose. Rose is fool ’bout da preacher Felder!”</p> + +<p>“Wha’ you mean, nigger?” Killdee asked furiously.</p> + +<p>He’d like to kill her. Devil!</p> + +<p>“Killdee,” Mary answered coolly, “when Rose gone to da convention down +de country, e stay een de same house wid Felder. An’ you heah home. So +sati’fy. Mens ain’ got no sense. You is bad as<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_155">{155}</a></span> any. You wife cuttin’ de +buck an’ you blind ez a bat.”</p> + +<p>“Who dat talk sich a talk?” Killdee demanded. He grasped Mary’s arm.</p> + +<p>“You mus’ be mean who dat <i>ain’</i> talk em!” Mary answered with a wry +laugh.</p> + +<p>Killdee was confused by this unexpected news. Rose? Reverend Felder? It +was impossible. Ridiculous. He tried to laugh carelessly—easily—— But +when he looked at Mary’s face, the laugh dried and stuck in his throat.</p> + +<p>“Who sta’t dis talk, Mary? Is it you? I know you ain’ nebber lak Rose. +But dis is a low-down talk. Ef you had feelin’ fo’ me, you wouldn’ do +em, needer. You couldn’.”</p> + +<p>Mary’s lips curled.</p> + +<p>“I didn’ t’ink you was sich a ass, Killdee! I is one, myse’f, to come +heah an’ tell you. I wish now I ain’ come.”</p> + +<p>Mary turned to go. With arms akimbo she stopped in the path.</p> + +<p>“Wha’ I keer ef de people laugh een you’ face?” she jeered. “How much +you keer ’bout me? Wha’ I keer ef de deacons tu’n Rose out de chu’ch? I +ain’ no member. No. I’d scorn to be one. You hanker fo’ ’oman lak Rose, +enty? A ’oman who kin set up een de choir. An’ sing. An’ pop chewin-gum +een e mout’. An’ wear fine clo’es. An’ shout ’bout Gawd an’ Jedus. Dem +is de kinder ’oman you crave, enty? Good day! I gwine!”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page_156">{156}</a></span></p> + +<p>Mary flung down the path.</p> + +<p>Killdee was perplexed. What was Mary trying to do? Could what she said +be true? Rose—Rev. Felder——</p> + +<p>“Come back heah, Mary!” Killdee called with sudden decision. “Come heah +an’ tell me all you know ’bout dis t’ing.”</p> + +<p>Mary stopped. She looked at him.</p> + +<p>“Wha’s de nuse?” she asked. “You don’ b’lieb me. You t’ink I’m workin’ +some trick on Rose fo’ git you. I—I—— I wouldn’t hab you, Killdee! +Not ef you was de las’ man ’pun top dis yearth. I kin stan’ a fool but +not a damn one.” She laughed.</p> + +<p>Killdee seized her wrist and thundered, “Shut you’ mout’! Don’ you call +me no name. I’ll kill you right heah ef you do.”</p> + +<p>Mary smiled, but Killdee talked on. He had to talk. Words rushed to his +lips. First abuse. He couldn’t help it. He knew he was wrong. But he had +to strike out at somebody. And all the time he knew Mary told the truth. +Rose had no sense. Felder could easily turn her head. After the flood of +bitter words passed, he blurted out: “Felder might be got her haid tu’n +fo-true. Might be. I gwine fine out. But ef you lie to me—I—I’ll——”</p> + +<p>He could not say “kill” to Mary again. Instead, he said:</p> + +<p>“I’ll fine out de trut’. An’ ef you’s a-lyin’——”</p> + +<p>As Mary met his gaze, she felt pity for him.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_157">{157}</a></span> He saw it. He released her +arm and she walked away down the path that wound around down the hill, +then up to the quarter, where she lived.</p> + +<p>Killdee went back to his chair and sat down. He filled his pipe. Soon he +filled it again. His quick, short puffs burned the tobacco fast.</p> + +<p>What was the best thing for him to do? What? Mary might be lying. He +couldn’t sit here and think. This was one time he couldn’t hold still. +No! He’d get out and walk.</p> + +<p>He went out into the yard, then around the house, and followed the path +down the hill and on toward the river.</p> + +<p>He wandered along the path at first, then he suddenly turned in another +direction. He remembered old Daddy Cudjoe. He’d go see him.</p> + +<p>Daddy Cudjoe lived away back on the river. He was a cunger doctor. A +hoodoo man. He really did work wonders with people. He was feared as no +other man in the country was feared. Killdee remembered when he was a +little boy how he used to tremble at the sight of that old, bent figure.</p> + +<p>Since then, he had learned much from the old man. Not of cungering, but +of plain sense. As he grew older and needed advice, there was nobody who +could understand his problems, his perplexities, as well as that little, +old, shriveled man who lived all alone, away back there in a log-cabin +on a hillside above the river. And, to-day, Killdee felt that old Cudjoe +could advise him better than anybody else.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page_158">{158}</a></span></p> + +<p>It was past noon when he reached the little clearing where the +one-roomed cabin stood. Smoke puffed out of the clay chimney, saying +that the old man was at home and not in the river-swamp digging roots.</p> + +<p>Killdee walked right in without knocking.</p> + +<p>“Hey, Daddy?” he said.</p> + +<p>“Hey, son!” the keen-eared old man greeted him, looking up from the +roots he was assorting. “Come on een. I glad fo’ see you. How you do?”</p> + +<p>He held out his bony hand. It was more like a claw than a human hand. +Killdee clasped it gently.</p> + +<p>“I well, Uncle. How you do?”</p> + +<p>“Fine. Fine. Busy. Busy,” he answered in his queer, cracked voice. Then +he chuckled. The wrinkles deepened in his small, wizened face, and his +bright eyes twinkled kindly.</p> + +<p>“Wha’ de matter ail you to-day, son? You’ foot movin’ mighty heaby, +enty?”</p> + +<p>“Dey ain’ nuttin’, Daddy,” Killdee answered, drawing up a small +home-made chair to one side and sitting down. “I des ain’ had nuttin’ +much fo’ do to-day, bein’s it wuz Sunday. I t’ought I’d come see how you +wuz a-gittin’ along.”</p> + +<p>“Shut you’ mout’, boy. Go on an’ tell me wha’ dat got you fretted. You +t’ink I too blind fo’ see how you’ face is all squinched up een a knot? +Who dat got you bex’, now? A ’oman. I kin tell.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page_159">{159}</a></span></p> + +<p>Daddy’s toothless, red gums shone as he cackled with laughter.</p> + +<p>“Daddy Cudjoe, you sho is got a second sight!” Killdee laughed, too. “I +don’ b’lieb nobody could fool you. No. How you kin know so much?”</p> + +<p>“I dunno,” the old man answered simply. “De buckra read book. I read +face. You kin read cloud, enty? An’ sky? You kin tell when it gwine +rain? Sho! I practise a diff’unt readin’. Da’s all. Face an’ book an’ +sky. All is de same at you know how fo’ read ’em. Sho.”</p> + +<p>Killdee listened thoughtfully.</p> + +<p>“I reckon dey is ef you know de sign good. Yes. I reckon dey is.”</p> + +<p>“Who dis you wan’ me fo’ cunger, now?” Daddy Cudjoe asked, chuckling +again.</p> + +<p>“Nobody, Daddy. Nobody. But I’s worriet. Worriet. I got to do somet’ing +or nudder. An’ I don’ wanter mek mistake.”</p> + +<p>Killdee pushed his worn, stained hat back from his forehead, then he +took it off and laid it on the little bare, pine table beside him.</p> + +<p>“Mistake is a bad t’ing,” Daddy Cudjoe admitted seriously. “Bad,” he +added.</p> + +<p>Killdee looked at the fire and blurted out:</p> + +<p>“Women is de Debbil, Daddy Cudjoe.”</p> + +<p>Daddy Cudjoe nodded his old, white head. Then he turned to Killdee with +a merry light in his eyes.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page_160">{160}</a></span></p> + +<p>“Who dis duh talk? Dis ain’ Killdee! Dis can’ be Killdee! My Gawd, son! +You don’ mean fo’ say you l’a’n sich a t’ing. Can’ be!” and he laughed +softly.</p> + +<p>A wistful smile played over Killdee’s face as he sensed the old man’s +amusement.</p> + +<p>“I’ve know it a long time, Daddy,” he said, toying with his hat.</p> + +<p>“Well, da’s good. Good,” said the old man, wiping the tears out of his +eyes. “At you know a t’ing is de Debbil, den you know how fo’ deal wid +’em. Sho.”</p> + +<p>“But I don’ always know how fo’ deal wid ’em. Da’s de trouble right now. +I don’ know.”</p> + +<p>“Who’s de ’oman, son?” Daddy Cudjoe asked. “Diff’unt kinder ’oman need +diff’unt kinder treatment.”</p> + +<p>“It Rose,” Killdee said simply.</p> + +<p>“Rose?” The old man looked astonished.</p> + +<p>“Rose? You don’ mean <i>you’</i> Rose?” he asked, incredulous.</p> + +<p>Killdee nodded his head. It shamed him to say it, even to Daddy Cudjoe.</p> + +<p>“Wha’ dat Rose done, now?”</p> + +<p>“It’s dat damn preacher,” Killdee asserted fiercely.</p> + +<p>“Preacher? Wha’ preacher? You mean Andrew, enty?”</p> + +<p>Daddy Cudjoe remembered things he had heard years ago.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page_161">{161}</a></span></p> + +<p>“No. I mean Felder! ’E’s de one. Gawd-damn his black soul!”</p> + +<p>Daddy Cudjoe could not restrain a relieved laugh, as he said:</p> + +<p>“Oh, Felder. Don’ be a fool, son. No. You mus’n’ t’ink hard ef Rose +pleasure ’e’se’f a lil wid de new preacher. Ki! You’s wrong. De preacher +mought be a nicer man’n you, Killdee. Preachers is mighty sweet-smellin’ +creeters mos’ ob de time. You ought not to be bex wid Rose.”</p> + +<p>Daddy Cudjoe laughed at his joke. He felt easier. But Killdee’s face was +gloomy. He couldn’t treat it lightly.</p> + +<p>“Don’ plague me, Daddy Cudjoe. I can’ stan’ it. I ready right now fo’ +kill da low-down son of a bitch. But I ain’ sho it bes’ for’ do em. De +t’ing gits me is dis: Mary West say all de people on de plantation know +’bout dis t’ing befo’ me. Dey all is a-laughin’ at me fo’ a fool. Dat’s +de t’ing riles me. I des’ like to sho ’em—sho ’em I ain’ on de lebbel +wid common niggers lak dem. Sho ’em I don’ give a rip ’bout all dey +say——”</p> + +<p>Daddy Cudjoe listened, but said nothing.</p> + +<p>“I could kill Rose. Killin’ a ’oman’s easy fo’ do——” Killdee stopped.</p> + +<p>“Talk on, son. Talk on. You’ own mine’ll tell you wha’ fo’ do, +toreckly.—Talk on. Talk. You’ mine’ll listen. It de one fo’ tell you +wha’ fo’ do. You ain’ chillen fo’ me fo’ say wha’ you mus’ do. No. You +own mine kin tell you better’n me.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page_162">{162}</a></span></p> + +<p>Killdee looked at him. Daddy Cudjoe was right. He himself must decide.</p> + +<p>Daddy Cudjoe looked at the fire. His old face was sad. His voice +cracked.</p> + +<p>“I nuse to be a nyoung man, too, Killdee. I wuz strong one time ez you. +I had trouble, too. Plenty. When I fus’ hab trouble, I’d talk it to +people. Dey’s plenty o’ people fo’ listen when you talk ’bout you’ +trouble.</p> + +<p>“But, I soon fine out dat wa’n’ good. No. Den I begin gwine een de woods +fo’ talk to myse’f. I talk t’ing out wid myse’f. You kin talk close-talk +out een de woods. Dey ain’ nobody fo’ heah you. It’s de bes’ place, son. +De bes’ place. Go talk dis t’ing out wid you’se’f. I can’ do you no +good. You go off een dem woods an’ talk ’em. Da’s de bes’ way. Nobody +can’ do you no good. You de onlies’ one kin do you’se’f good. Go talk +’em out wid you’se’f, son.”</p> + +<p>Presently he added:</p> + +<p>“You ain’ ’f’aid nobody, enty?”</p> + +<p>’F’aid? ’F’aid, nuttin’!” Killdee answered fiercely.</p> + +<p>“Den you ain’ hab no trouble. No. Trouble ain’ nuttin’ but bein’ ’f’aid. +Bein’ ’f’aid! No! Ebbybody’s ’f’aid o’ somet’ing. You lucky ef you ain’ +’f’aid o’ nuttin’. Talk it ober wid you own se’f, son. Fine out wha’ mek +you ’f’aid. You ’f’aid o’ somet’ing, or you wouldn’ o’ come fo’ see ol’ +Daddy dis mawnin’.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page_163">{163}</a></span></p> + +<p>Killdee looked at the fire. Presently he said:</p> + +<p>“Mebbe you’s right, Daddy. Mebbe I’s ’f’aid. Mebbe I’s ’f’aid o’ dem +niggers laughin’. I ain’ gwine be ’f’aid no mo’. Not me! Not Killdee! Ef +I is, Daddy, an’ you heahs ’bout it, you come gi’ me a dose o’ pizen. +Yessuh. You gi’ me a good dose, an’ lemme die!”</p> + +<p>Killdee rose to go. Daddy Cudjoe nodded approval.</p> + +<p>“Da’s right, son! Da’s de way fo’ talk! Sho! Lemme tell you dis one +t’ing befo’ you go. Dese preacher, dese member, all dese Christian, dey +is ’f’aid, too! You ’member dat! You mus’n’ be ’f’aid dem! Not no mo’.”</p> + +<p>Killdee took the skinny, old, outstretched hand and held it +affectionately, then he dropped it and followed the path to the woods.</p> + +<p>It was almost dark when Killdee reached home. Missie and the other +children were out in the yard. Missie said Rose was sick with a +headache. She was lying down on the bed.</p> + +<p>Killdee went inside. He couldn’t tell whether Rose was asleep or not, +for she did not move or speak to him. “How you’ feelin’, now, Rose?” he +asked somewhat gruffly.</p> + +<p>Rose sniffled.</p> + +<p>“I t’ink I feelin’ a lil better right now. I mek Missie git a collard +leaf an’ tie on my haid. Dat he’p ’em some.”</p> + +<p>Killdee turned from the bed.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page_164">{164}</a></span></p> + +<p>“I t’ink so much chu’ch ain’ good fo’ you.”</p> + +<p>Rose moved and sniffled again, but said nothing.</p> + +<p>“Whe’ Revern’ Felder? ’E ain’ come home wid you? At you fix so much fine +eatin’ fo’ eb e ain’ come?” Killdee demanded.</p> + +<p>“<span class="lftspc">’</span>E ain’ come to Mount Pleasant to-day. ’E sen’ a answer ’e mighty +sick,” Rose answered humbly.</p> + +<p>“How-come you hab de haid-ache? You mus’ be eat too much.”</p> + +<p>Killdee sat down in the doorway and took out his pipe and lit it again. +His tongue was sore from so much smoking to-day, but he puffed fiercely +on. It was hard to keep from saying what was in his mind. Hard. How he +would like to wring the necks of a lot of people. Rose among them. +Headache! He knew well enough she was only scared. That was what ailed +her. She ought to be scared. Worse than scared.</p> + +<p>He had stopped and talked to Mary again on his way home. Things were +even worse than he suspected. Rose had made a fool of herself. Of him. +The deacons were going to meet at the church next Sunday and consider +what they would do with Rose and Felder. They’d mouth and rant and then +turn them out. He knew.</p> + +<p>Whether Rose had done wrong or not, she had gotten herself talked about. +That was almost as bad as being guilty. She had gotten Felder talked<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_165">{165}</a></span> +about too. Andrew was spreading the news as fast as he could. Scoundrel!</p> + +<p>The only thing to do was to meet the whole crowd of them face to face +and say what he had to say to them all together. How could he do it? +Where? Killdee smoked and thought.</p> + +<p>  </p> + +<p>Rose stayed sick all the week. Even Killdee began to be worried about +her, although at first he thought she was pretending. Night after night +he could hear her crying, and she scarcely ate enough to keep her alive.</p> + +<p>When the next Sunday morning came, Killdee got up early and bathed and +put on the best clothes he had.</p> + +<p>“Whe’ you duh gwine, Killdee?” Missie asked him with a mischievous grin. +“To church?”</p> + +<p>“I gwine off a piece,” he replied with dignity.</p> + +<p>Over and over he anxiously cast his eyes up at the sun to tell the time. +When the hour before noon arrived, Killdee went into the barnyard and +put a bridle and saddle on the mule, mounted him, and rode away. When he +was gone, Rose sat up in bed and called Missie.</p> + +<p>“Whe’ Killdee duh gwine?” she asked.</p> + +<p>But Missie knew no more than Rose.</p> + +<p>  </p> + +<p>When Killdee rode up he could see through the windows that a large +congregation was gathered at<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_166">{166}</a></span> Mount Pleasant Church. There was no +preacher, and the deacons were gathered all together in the pulpit.</p> + +<p>Daddy Cato announced the hymn and lined it out two lines at a time. The +congregation sang it slowly, solemnly. Daddy Cato called on Andrew to +pray, but before Andrew’s prayer was ended, Killdee could see that the +congregation was becoming restless. Instead of bowing their heads with +closed eyes while Andrew told God the purpose of their gathering +together, they craned their necks to look at him, as he stood waiting in +the door for Andrew’s prayer to be finished.</p> + +<p>Killdee could tell by the way Andrew yelled out his words that he must +feel terribly annoyed. He prayed well. He must have studied up this +prayer last night. It was like one old Reverend Duncan used to pray. But +it was being wasted because the congregation did not listen.</p> + +<p>Andrew’s eyes were open. He could see that the people did not hear his +fine prayer. When he said “Amen” every eye was turned to the door. +Killdee was there. He stood in the door waiting. As soon as “Amen” was +said, Killdee walked right up the aisle to the little steps at the side +of the pulpit. He did not stop there. He went right up where the deacons +sat in the pulpit.</p> + +<p>What in the world was Killdee thinking about? Was he crazy? The +congregation sat with open mouths. No such behavior had ever been seen +in<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_167">{167}</a></span> Mount Pleasant Church before. Killdee, of all people in the world! +Here to-day, when Rose’s misconduct was to be discussed. And up in the +pulpit with the deacons themselves. He must be going crazy. Rose had run +him crazy. Killdee could see it all in their faces. It made him smile. +His heart had been beating uncomfortably, but now that the time had come +it troubled him no more.</p> + +<p>There was silence. The deacons could not speak for astonishment. What +did Killdee mean?</p> + +<p>Killdee stood there before them with a cool smile on his face. His words +were cool. Quiet. He did not lift his voice one bit.</p> + +<p>“I reckon you-all is surprise’ to see me heah to-day,” he said +pleasantly, looking at each deacon, then at the congregation. Sheep. +Scary sheep all running together. Flustered now. Addled. Andrew cleared +his throat. The other deacons moved uncomfortably in their chairs. None +of them seemed ready to answer, although Killdee gave them opportunity.</p> + +<p>“I ain’ gwine tek up much o’ you’ time. I got to hurry on back home, +bein’s my wife don’ feel so well to-day.”</p> + +<p>He stepped forward a little and put his hand on the Bible. Some of the +congregation took in sharp breaths. What did he mean? Putting his hand +on the Word of God like that! Killdee was a good enough man, but +everybody knew he was a sinner.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_168">{168}</a></span> He didn’t pretend to be anything else. +Then why did he come here? It was too much. Too brazen. The deacons +ought to make him get down. A wonder God didn’t strike him dead for +blasphemy!</p> + +<p>The deacons themselves seemed confounded. They sat staring. Dumb. +Open-mouthed.</p> + +<p>Killdee’s voice was a little tense when he began, but his words soon +flowed distinctly. They were emphatic. Explicit, too. But quiet.</p> + +<p>“I know why yinner come to chu’ch to-day,” he said. “I know all yinner +been talkin’. You been talkin’ ’bout Rose. My wife. I ain’ fool ez I +look,” he added.</p> + +<p>A smile broke over his face as he looked at the congregation. His eyes +twinkled at the deacons. They seemed, somehow, bewildered. Killdee +continued:</p> + +<p>“I come heah fo’ say des’ one t’ing. One! Yinner listen good. I ain’ +gwine say em but one time. You listen. It’s dis——”</p> + +<p>Killdee laid his hand right on the Bible. It was as if he swore to +something. He leaned forward. His words snipped off short. His lips +flared and bared his strong teeth.</p> + +<p>“De fus’ nigger eber call my wife name een dis chu’ch is got to deal wid +me! Me! Killdee Pinesett! Da’s all.”</p> + +<p>Killdee took his hand off the Bible. He smiled pleasantly at them. +Surprise numbed the tense faces. Taut muscles held still.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page_169">{169}</a></span></p> + +<p>“I’ll say good day to yinner now. I see you-all done heah me good.”</p> + +<p>He went down the pulpit steps. Down the aisle. On out of the church. He +unhitched his mule and rode away down the red dusty road.</p> + +<p>  </p> + +<p>Afterward Killdee heard many stories of what was said and done when he +left. But Rose’s name was not mentioned. That was certain.</p> + +<p>Resolutions that asked Reverend Felder never to darken the door of Mount +Pleasant Church again were passed. Daddy Cato was appointed to carry the +message to him. But it wasn’t possible to turn Rose out without calling +her name. She remained a member in good standing.</p> + +<p>Before Daddy Cato got down the country to see Reverend Felder, news came +that the preacher was dead. Dead with lockjaw. It was whispered that the +lockjaw was caused by a wound. A strange wound. Somewhere in his leg. +But nobody ever said how he got it.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page_170">{170}</a></span></p> + +<h2><a id="Plum_Blossoms"><i>Plum Blossoms</i></a></h2> + +<p class="nind"><span class="letra">T</span>HE soft dusk of the enervating spring evening had come, but Killdee +plowed on. Since dawn, with only an hour at noon for food and water, his +easy-stepping, bare, black feet had trudged up and down the cotton rows, +his steady hands had held the plow stock in place.</p> + +<p>All day his eyes had watched for sprigs of grass. Every slight blade +told of deadly roots that were sneaking down to strangle the tender +cotton.</p> + +<p>Deftly he turned and guided the plow’s sharp steel edge, cutting grass +away without injuring the plants he protected.</p> + +<p>Monotonous. Yes. But as Killdee walked and walked, dreams came to him. +Here, alone in his field, between the warm earth and the sky, dreams +filled the hours. They kept fatigue and discouragement away. Kept hope +bright in his heart. Hardships were forgotten. Disappointments paled.</p> + +<p>He pictured to himself a time when things would be better. Easier. When +his labor, his striving, would bear fruit.</p> + +<p>He’d give his folks a better house to live in. Give them pleasures. He +himself would be different. Better. Happier. Freer.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page_171">{171}</a></span></p> + +<p>The picture was never quite finished. Even the clearest, plainest dreams +melted, faded—without ever telling the secret of what would make them +come true. They went away and left him nothing but this unending +struggle, day after day, to provide a bread and a roof for himself and +his family.</p> + +<p>The spring always made them glow. They quickened and stirred something +in his blood. He was glad to live. Glad to strive.</p> + +<p>Maybe he was only like the grass here underfoot. Like those trees +yonder. Everything was restless with life. Everything gave some sign. +Maybe the joy in his heart was just his sign, his way of showing the +rising sap that the spring called up.</p> + +<p>To him the whole world was only the bit of surface lying quiet around +him. The long low line of soft blue hills trembling into haze yonder +over the river, the narrow band of purple pines, showing dark against +the bright afterglow, and rimming the brown fields, these seemed the +boundary of things, the farthest edge.</p> + +<p>The fields, cut at intervals by narrow, rough, red roads and dotted with +small, gray, weather-stained cabins, lay quiet and still. Nothing showed +that life here was precious, and pain bitter or how men here strove and +women trembled when love and joy were threatened.</p> + +<p>Turning around at the end of the row, Killdee stopped and looked at the +dark, ragged edge of the<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_172">{172}</a></span> pines where the sun had set. The light had +grown too dim for him to see the grass. He must stop. The moist, brown +earth gave the air a rich, warm smell. It was good. To breathe it deep +rested him. The smell of it roused him.</p> + +<p>He unhitched the mule and, leading him by one of the rope plow-lines, +walked down a furrow towards home.</p> + +<p>The firelight in his cabin yonder shone from its wide, open door. It +gleamed like a great, red star just risen from the edge of the field.</p> + +<p>Rose would have his supper there waiting. He would eat and smoke a +pipeful, and then he ought to go straight to bed, so he’d be fresh and +ready for work in the morning.</p> + +<p>To-day was Friday, the last working-day in the week for everybody on the +plantation but Killdee. But he worked on Saturdays too. Work was the way +to make his dreams come true.</p> + +<p>For years after he and Rose were married, he had worked an old, slow +mule. Poor old Mike. Dead now. In Mike’s place he had gotten Joe. Young. +Fast-stepping. Steady. Plowing had become a pleasure. A satisfaction.</p> + +<p>Mike had always been tired. He couldn’t hurry. His teeth were worn out. +Even with the ground meal Killdee fed him, Mike stayed weak and poor. +Joe’s teeth were strong and sound. At night Killdee heard them crunching +ears of corn, and it sounded like music.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page_173">{173}</a></span></p> + +<p>Killdee had bought Joe himself. He had gone into debt to get him. He +bought a new set of harness too, and the harness had cost a lot of +money.</p> + +<p>When Mike died, he had tried plowing two oxen that he raised and broke. +But they couldn’t keep ahead of the grass. He bought Joe. He worked +every fair day but Sunday. He would pay for Joe in a year or two. Sure!</p> + +<p>Every Sunday now Rose could go to church in the wagon. The new harness +was strong. Joe never could run away with a harness like that. Never.</p> + +<p>Missie was big enough to stay at home and take care of the children. +Missie was almost a grown woman. Little and black and dry, but wise. She +was young, and old too.</p> + +<p>That was a lucky day for Rose and himself when they took little Missie +to raise. Poor little girl! As he walked across the mellow, fresh-plowed +earth, the smell of it filled his nostrils. Missie came before his eyes. +The slender, unformed figure in its straight, homespun dress. The small, +black head, with its wool wrapped tight with ball thread. The dark, red +mouth, almost purple. The bluish bloom on the black cheeks. The pointed +chin where that dimple showed when she laughed. The soft, black eyes, +the curved lashes, the slim, black feet that touched the ground with +such lightness. Missie—good little Missie——</p> + +<p>Killdee was passing close by a thicket of wild<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_174">{174}</a></span> plums near the edge of +the field. They were just bursting into full bloom. He stopped and threw +back his head and shoulders and took a deep breath of fragrance. Spring +was come! Plum blossoms!</p> + +<p>Moonlight whitened the dusk, frogs chanted merrily, crickets were +chirping. Killdee closed his eyes and murmured:</p> + +<p>“Sing, brudders! Sing! You been sleepin’, enty! But now you’s a-wakin’ +up.”</p> + +<p>He walked on, whistling a low tune.</p> + +<p>  </p> + +<p>With Rose, the day had been a hard one. Many things had gone wrong. A +stray dog had come and broken up a nest full of eggs that would soon +have hatched. The clothes she and Missie washed on Monday did not dry +because it rained on them, and now some of them showed signs of mildew. +Her very best petticoat, the one she wanted to wear to church Sunday, +was ugly with it. Sparrows had scratched up seed in the garden. +Everything seemed to be wrong!</p> + +<p>There was a frown on her face as she rolled the sleeves back from her +plump arms. Holding her skirts aside, she drew red coals out on the +hearth. She placed an iron griddle carefully on them, and going to the +shelf where she kept the groceries, she dipped up a measure of meal out +of the sack, put it into a pan, and added water from a bucket on the +shelf.</p> + +<p>With a sigh she thought how glad she was the<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_175">{175}</a></span> children were fed and +asleep in bed. She wished Killdee would come on. It was late. She +glanced out of the open door. It was nearly night, yet she saw nothing +of him. She was tired. The spring days were getting long.</p> + +<p>Killdee loved work. He was strong and able to go all day. All night too, +if he wanted to. But she was jaded when night came. Glad to rest. +Killdee ought to think of her and come on.</p> + +<p>Missie came out of the shed-room, where she had been putting the +children to sleep. She still hummed the tune she had sung to them, +“Bye-and-bye, when the morning comes.”</p> + +<p>“Do don’ keep on a-singin’,” Rose said complainingly.</p> + +<p>Missie sang too much. She was always singing. Rose jerked the spoon as +she stirred the meal and water together. It was aggravating to have +somebody always singing and happy. There was nothing to be so happy +about.</p> + +<p>If Missie cared about things as she ought to do, she wouldn’t be +singing. Not with Mike dead and Killdee in debt for the new mule—and +that new harness. Missie was old enough now to feel responsibility.</p> + +<p>Yet why should Missie care? She got her good three meals a day. And +clothes. A bed to sleep in. Her mother before her hadn’t cared about +things. That was why somebody had to take Missie to raise her. Rose +sighed, and stirred the<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_176">{176}</a></span> meal with such energy that bits of it fluttered +over the side of the pan and fell lightly on the fresh-scoured floor.</p> + +<p>“Git a broom an’ sweep up da meal befo’ you’ foot step on ’em,” she said +abruptly to Missie.</p> + +<p>How quick and sharp her words sounded! Missie glanced at Rose’s face, +then got the field-straw broom from its place in the corner and began to +sweep. She had scoured the floor that day, and the bare room had a +fresh, clean, cozy look in the warm, flickering light.</p> + +<p>She had taken a few fresh eggs to the cross-roads store and exchanged +them for clean newspapers. These cut into fringes fluttered from the +wide mantelshelf, where a coco-cola bottle filled with water held a +spray of plum blossoms, white, fragile, already shattering.</p> + +<p>“Dem plum blossom duh mess up de flo’ wusser’n de meal,” Rose said +crossly. “Sweep ’em up!”</p> + +<p>Missie carefully swept the bits of meal and the delicate petals into the +fire, and then put the broom back where it belonged.</p> + +<p>She stopped to look at the mantelpiece. How pretty it looked! Killdee +liked things to look pretty. He didn’t mind if they littered the floor a +little.</p> + +<p>Rose turned to her impatiently.</p> + +<p>“Fo’ Gawd’s sake, don’ be stannin’ dere a-gazin’. Heah lately you all de +time doin’ like you’s a-walkin’ een you sleep. Wha’ de matter ail you, +gal?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page_177">{177}</a></span></p> + +<p>Missie’s eyes lifted to Rose’s face. She was startled by its hard, +accusing look.</p> + +<p>“You—you wan’ me fo’ do—anything—Aun’ Rose?” she asked timidly.</p> + +<p>“I can’ be a-tellin’ you wha’ fo’ do eby minute.” Rose answered, as she +took the long fire-stick and impatiently shoved pieces of blazing wood +farther back in the fireplace. “Looks like old ez you is, you could see +wha’ fo’ do.”</p> + +<p>There was a cheery clinking of trace-chains and a whistled tune outside. +Killdee was coming. Missie went to the door. She leaned against the +lintel and listened. How she loved the thud-thud of the new mule’s feet. +He came home brisk, almost trotting, after plowing all day. And Killdee +was whistling.</p> + +<p>So different from the days when he plowed old Mike. It was better that +old Mike died. He was too slow, poor old fellow. It took him all day to +plow just a little piece of the crop. And every night Killdee came home +so tired. So downhearted.</p> + +<p>But now with Joe it was different. Joe and Killdee were matched up +together. Both were strong. Stout. Able to work without tiring. Killdee +had the crop all clean and growing fast. Every night he came home happy. +To-night he was even whistling. What if he was in debt? He was a man. He +could work and pay. He had Joe to help him. He had the fine new harness.</p> + +<p>Missie’s heart beat fast with pleasure. It was<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_178">{178}</a></span> right for Killdee to +have the best mule in the world. The best harness. She wished he could +have—well, everything!</p> + +<p>She smiled to think how pleased Killdee would be to see she had oiled +the new harness that day.</p> + +<p>When she finished the scouring, she had taken it down from the peg on +the wall where it hung and greased it all and wiped every buckle clean. +There it hung. Shiny. New as the day it was bought.</p> + +<p>Joe would look fine dressed up in it when Killdee took Rose to Mount +Pleasant Church next Sunday.</p> + +<p>Missie looked up at the starlit sky. It was clear. Sunday would be clear +too. Joe would hold his head high and prance. Killdee would have to hold +the lines tight to rule him. Everybody would look at Killdee and Joe.</p> + +<p>The gentle breeze blowing in Missie’s face seemed to hold some of the +light of the clear sky. Some of the freshness of the plowed earth. The +delicious smell of plum blossoms had never seemed so piercing sweet as +to-night.</p> + +<p>Rose’s voice, sharp, reproving, interrupted Missie’s thoughts.</p> + +<p>“Looks like you’d go help Killdee feed up, ’stead o’ standin’ dere +a-moonin’. Killdee mus’ be mighty tired to-night.”</p> + +<p>“Why—Aun’ Rose,” Missie faltered.</p> + +<p>“Oh, you mek surprise, enty? You t’ink you kin go an’ dress you’se’f up, +an’ stan’ ’roun’ an’ look at de moon, while me an’ Killdee duh wuk.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page_179">{179}</a></span></p> + +<p>“I ain’ dress’ up, Aun’ Rose. I been so dirty—my dress been wet at I +scour.”</p> + +<p>“Mighty strange how I haffer keep on my same one. You kin go put on +clean one,” Rose snapped.</p> + +<p>Missie’s fingers felt the rough cloth of the dress she wore. What Rose +said was true. She had put on a clean one when she finished scouring. +The one she had on was wet and soiled. She had greased the harness and +that made it worse. She had put on a clean one. And Rose had on the same +one she had worn all the week. Rose was provoked about it.</p> + +<p>“Aun’ Rose—I—I ain’——” Missie tried to explain, but there was +nothing to say. There was no excuse. She felt sick inside that Rose +could not understand.</p> + +<p>“You could ’a’ gone an’ put een feed good ez Killdee. You could do ’em +eby night good ez him. You could tek de mule to de branch fo’ drink. But +no. You rudder go dress up. An’ stan’ een de do’. An’ watch me an’ him. +Me an’ Killdee could wuk finger to de bone! Wha’ you keer?”</p> + +<p>Rose poured the batter of meal and water on the hissing hot griddle. She +took pains to scrape every bit from the sides of the pan. She smoothed +it over the top with the big, iron spoon. Missie saw that the spoon was +unsteady. Holding the empty pan and the spoon out to Missie, she said, +without looking up:</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page_180">{180}</a></span></p> + +<p>“Heah! Tek dese an’ wash ’em!”</p> + +<p>Missie took them and went slowly to the shelf where three galvanized +water buckets stood in a row full to the top with water. Keeping these +full was part of her work. With one on her head and one in each hand, +she had learned to come up the hill from the spring with them full, +almost as easily as she went down with them empty.</p> + +<p>Her heart felt troubled. She hardly thought what she was doing as she +took the gourd dipper from the nail where it hung beside the buckets and +poured water into the pan. Rose watched her. Then suddenly railed:</p> + +<p>“You can’ wash nuttin’ clean wid col’ water! Much times ez I don tol’ +you! Gi’ ’em heah to me!”</p> + +<p>Rose reached for the pan.</p> + +<p>“No,” said Missie, holding it back. “No, Aun’ Rose, I kin wash ’em. I +was des a-rinsin’ ’em. We mos’ always wait tell mawnin’ fo’ wash de +supper t’ings good. I kin wash ’em now.”</p> + +<p>She went to the hearth where the big, black iron kettle sat breathing +steam from its spout. She poured hot water into the pan and began +stirring it around. Rose dropped a knife on the door. China plates in +her hands rattled against each other.</p> + +<p>“Aun’ Rose——” Missie hesitated, “you set down an’ lemme fix Killdee’s +supper. I ain’ offer fo’ do ’em-by-it seem lak you would rudder—do ’em<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_181">{181}</a></span> +you’se’f—— You know I be’s glad when I kin he’p you—or eeder him——”</p> + +<p>Missie’s words trailed slower and slower, for she saw the expression on +Rose’s face. Hard. Angry. Missie felt like crying, yet she waited for +Rose’s answer.</p> + +<p>“Ki!” Rose sneered. The water in the kettle simmered loud.</p> + +<p>“How you mean ’Ki,’ Aun’ Rose?” Missie was distressed.</p> + +<p>“I mean ’em des lak I say ’em,” Rose retorted.</p> + +<p>“I mean ’em des lak e soun’. You know ef you had-a respec’ fo’ me, you’d +be cookin’ de supper now. Ef you keered ’bout Killdee, you’d ’a’ been +out yonder een de bahnyahd a-puttin’ up de mule—an’ feedin’ ’em.—No! +You gone dress up! Dress up so nobody can’ call on you to do nuttin’.”</p> + +<p>“I is keer ’bout Killdee. ’Bout you too, Aun’ Rose. Yinner’s all de +mammy and daddy I got. Dey ain’ nuttin’ I wouldn’ do fo’ +Killdee—nuttin’——” Missie could hardly talk.</p> + +<p>“Talk you’ sweet-mout’ talk to Killdee. ’E’ll b’lieb anyt’ing. But you +can’ fool me. No! I know you don’ keer nuttin’ ’bout ’em. You des keer +’bout dem t’ing Killdee buy fo’ you. I know!”</p> + +<p>Rose was putting a dish on the little bare pine table in the middle of +the room. It fell with a crash and shattered into white bits all over +the floor.</p> + +<p>“Lemme git ’em up, Aun’ Rose——” Missie said<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_182">{182}</a></span> quickly. She dropped to +her knees and began picking up the broken pieces.</p> + +<p>“No! Don’ tech ’em! I’m tired tell I’m pure trim’lin’. Da’s how-come I +drap da dish. Keep you’ han’ offen ’em! You pick flowers an’ cut paper +lambrekin all day. You heah Killdee comin’. You wan’ mek out you duh +wuk. No. Git up off de flo’! Git up!”</p> + +<p>Missie got to her feet slowly. What was the matter with Rose? She must +be sick.</p> + +<p>Rose picked up the broken pieces and tossed them into the fire. Then she +got a knife to turn over the hoe-cake baking there on the griddle. It +was burnt black. The smoke from it stung her eyes. Tears sprung, kindled +with anger.</p> + +<p>“Look at dis! Look!” she said furiously. “Bu’n up! De bread fo’ +Killdee’s supper! Bu’n up! Bu’n up!”</p> + +<p>The knife in her fat hand trembled. Her short fingers tightened on its +handle.</p> + +<p>“I reckon nobody didn’ tol’ you fo’ watch de bread, enty?”</p> + +<p>Missie felt queer inside. Rose had often scolded her, but never like +this before.</p> + +<p>“Aun’ Rose,” she said humbly, “I too sorry—I would ’a’ watch de +bread—I des’ fo’git—I des——”</p> + +<p>“Shet you’ mout’, gal! You mek me too cross! Go git een de shed-room +whe’ my eye can’ see you. Respec’! Respec’! You ain’ got a respec’ fo’ +nobody. Go!”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page_183">{183}</a></span></p> + +<p>Rose was in a rage.</p> + +<p>“But, Aun’ Rose——” Rose did not hear the appeal in Missie’s voice.</p> + +<p>“Go, I tell you!” she screamed. “Before my han’ slap you! You le’ +Killdee’s bread bu’n up! You don’ keer nuttin’ ’bout ’em! No! I gwine +tell ’em so, too!”</p> + +<p>“But I is keer ’bout ’em, Aun’ Rose. You couldn’t tell ’em I don’——” +Missie protested sorrowfully. “Aun’ Rose——”</p> + +<p>Missie was miserable.</p> + +<p>“Aun’ Rose——”</p> + +<p>Rose scraped the charred crust off the bread and did not answer.</p> + +<p>“Aun’ Rose—ef you tell Killdee—I ain’ keer ’bout ’em—you tell +somet’ing ain’ so——”</p> + +<p>Rose lifted narrowed eyes to look at her.</p> + +<p>“You mean to call me a lie, gal? Tell me dat!”</p> + +<p>“No’m—but ef you tell Killdee——”</p> + +<p>Rose got up and faced her there in the shed-room door.</p> + +<p>“Well, I gwine tell ’em, heah? I gwine tell ’em soon’s ’e come. I gwine +tell ’em you talk impident talk to me! Soon’s ’e come! Ef I wasn’t a +good ’oman I’d kill you right now!”</p> + +<p>“Aun’ Rose,”—Missie stopped crying. She met Rose’s eyes without +flinching. She spoke firmly. Distinctly.</p> + +<p>“Ef you tell Killdee dat, you is a lie.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page_184">{184}</a></span></p> + +<p>Her little figure seemed to heighten. Killdee was coming up the steps. +Rose heard him and raised her voice.</p> + +<p>“Killdee, dis gal call me a lie! You heah ’em?”</p> + +<p>She began crying hysterically.</p> + +<p>“I try fo mek em do right! You heah em? E call me lie! Lie! E t’ink you +gwine side wid em! E t’ink you gwine uphold em agains’ me!”</p> + +<p>“Fo’ Gawd’s sake, wha’ is dis?” Killdee asked. He was shocked. +Astonished.</p> + +<p>“Who you call lie, Missie?”</p> + +<p>“You heah wha’ e say, enty, Killdee?” Rose quavered. “I glad you come +een time fo’ heah em. You wouldn’ a’ b’lieb’ me. Not lessen you heah +em——”</p> + +<p>“Wha’ you mean by sich a talk, Missie?” Killdee was looking straight at +her. “You mek me feel ’shame’. You would say sich a t’ing.”</p> + +<p>Missie’s knees trembled under her.</p> + +<p>“I decla’ to Gawd!” Killdee lamented.</p> + +<p>Missie stood silent with her head down.</p> + +<p>“No! E ain’ shame! E ain’t got no shame!” Rose sobbed violently.</p> + +<p>“You haffer beg Rose pardon, Missie. You is, enty?” Killdee asked her. +He couldn’t bear to be hard on her.</p> + +<p>Missie lifted great, wet eyes and looked at him. She shook her head. She +couldn’t do it. Killdee did not understand.</p> + +<p>“No, Killdee. No. Aun’ Rose ain’ talkin<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_185">{185}</a></span>’ straight. No. E know good too, +e ain’ tellin’ you wha’ I say to em.”</p> + +<p>She looked at Rose and waited. Rose would have to tell him.</p> + +<p>“Listen at em, Killdee,” Rose wailed. “E duh talk sassy talk to me now.”</p> + +<p>Missie held still. Surprised. Rose was willing to let Killdee believe +what was not so. Rose was not ashamed to stand there and let a lie stand +for the truth. A lie!</p> + +<p>Killdee’s eyes flashed with anger. He took a step forward.</p> + +<p>“Look-a at me, Missie. You dassn’t to talk sassy to Rose!” He came still +nearer. “You would call Rose a lie, too? Me an’ Rose is been too easy on +you. Da’s de trouble. Da’s how-come you pass lie so glib on you’ tongue! +I ain’ lay my han’ on you yet een my life, gal. But, befo’ Gawd, ef you +don’t tek back wha’ you call Rose, I’m gwine lick you to-night! Lie? +Lie? I’ll show you how fo’ call people lie. I’m gwine lick you.”</p> + +<p>He did not wait for Missie to answer him. He jerked the new harness down +from its peg on the wall. He fumbled and tugged and pulled at the oiled +pieces of leather.</p> + +<p>What was Killdee doing? Missie’s heart quivered with terror. She +shivered, for Killdee was holding up one thick leather trace. He looked +at it, then dropped it. Dark thin streaks of grease marked the floor. +Killdee kept fumbling until he<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_186">{186}</a></span> selected one of the holding-back straps. +He unbuckled this from the harness and, with it clutched in one tense +hand, came toward her.</p> + +<p>She was sure now what he meant to do. He was going to beat her. Beat +her! Her mouth felt dry. Icy chills went down her spine. Killdee was +going to beat her with that strap in his hand.</p> + +<p>She tried to say something. To tell him. But her lips were stiff. They +would not move.</p> + +<p>Killdee stood glaring at her and the black leather strap shook in his +grasp.</p> + +<p>“Come heah, gal!” he said sternly, “I gwine l’a’n you some manners +to-night.”</p> + +<p>Missie seemed somehow unable to move. She took one step forward. +Tottering. Uncertain. What was she to do? Killdee mistrusted her.</p> + +<p>“What de matter ail you? Ain’ you heah me say ’Come heah’?”</p> + +<p>He seized her by the shoulder. The grip of his fingers hurt. They were +set on ruling her. Crushing her. Each one of them. Hard. Cruel. Galling.</p> + +<p>They needn’t tighten like that. She wouldn’t try to get away. No. She’d +stand still. Let him beat her if he wanted to do it. Yes, beat her. And +she had thought he was her friend. That he loved her. And he didn’t even +believe what she said.</p> + +<p>  </p> + +<p>Killdee’s breath labored. Blood beat in his ears. He’d teach this girl a +lesson. One sh<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_187">{187}</a></span>e’d never forget. He’d show her he was master in this +house. Rose was watching. She’d see that he’d give Missie her due.</p> + +<p>Bright drops glittered on Missie’s lashes. Her soft lips began trembling +in a pitiful, helpless way. The dimple in her chin came and went. It +seemed to beg for tenderness, gentleness.</p> + +<p>Killdee had made up his mind. He would not be changed. He would do what +he started to do.</p> + +<p>He clutched the slight shoulder tighter. Its thin, narrow blade moved a +little under his taut fingers. His hand holding the strap with resolute +steadiness began faltering. It shook. It let go. For a soft, wet cheek +was pressed close against it.</p> + +<p>The strap fell to the floor. Its shiny buckle made a dull, flat thump. +The length of leather twisted over and lay still.</p> + +<p>Missie staggered a little. She closed her eyes and put up a hand to her +forehead.</p> + +<p>Killdee turned away. He couldn’t bear to look at her again. As he +hurried out of the door, Rose gleeked a scornful “Chicken heart” at him, +but he hardly heard what she said for his blood drummed thick in his +ears.</p> + +<p>He stumbled out into the night and walked blindly across the moon-lit +fields. The warm breath of them filled with the scent of plum-blossoms +was disturbing. Smothering. Like the heated air in his cabin. He longed +for a breath that was cool and clear. It would help him to think.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page_188">{188}</a></span></p> + +<p>What was he to do—What? He had to face things. He couldn’t run +away—not from Missie. Not now. She needed him more than ever. And he +needed her. Yes, needed her—</p> + +<p>He was caught in a trap. Caught fast. How could he ever get loose? Deep +down in his heart, did he want to get loose? He was not sure.</p> + +<p>Voices of the singers at Meeting in the Quarter floated over the fields +and blent with his throbbing pulses.</p> + +<div class="poetry"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“I’m—so—glad—<br></span> +<span class="i1">My trouble—won’ las’—always—”<br></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<p>He knew the singers and the words and the mournful tune well, but +to-night all of them seemed strange. Different. He stopped to listen.</p> + +<p>People singing to God. Asking for help. How far away they seemed. As far +as those faint stars in the glowing sky. As far as God. He was alone in +the night.</p> + +<p>Something in his heart answered the singers.</p> + +<p>“Joy can’ las’ always needer. You sing about trouble. I’m gwine take one +joy whilst I kin.”</p> + +<p class="fint">THE END</p> + +<hr> + +<p class="c"><i>The Borzoi Pocket Books</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>1 <span class="smcap">Taras Bulba</span>, <i>by N. V. Gogol</i></p> + +<p>2 <span class="smcap">Peter Jameson</span>, <i>by Gilbert Frankau</i></p> + +<p>3 <span class="smcap">The Happy End</span>, <i>by Joseph Hergesheimer</i></p> + +<p>4 <span class="smcap">Hunger</span>, <i>by Knut Hamsun</i></p> + +<p>5 <span class="smcap">Andalusia</span>, <i>by W. Somerset Maugham</i></p> + +<p>6 <span class="smcap">The Green Goddess</span>, <i>by Louise Jordan Miln</i></p> + +<p>7 <span class="smcap">Prejudices I</span>, <i>by H. L. Mencken</i></p> + +<p>8 <span class="smcap">Caesar or Nothing</span>, <i>by Pio Baroja</i></p> + +<p>9 <span class="smcap">London River</span>, <i>by H. M. Tomlinson</i></p> + +<p>10 <span class="smcap">The Popular Theatre</span>, <i>by George Jean Nathan</i></p> + +<p>11 <span class="smcap">170 Chinese Poems</span>, <i>translated by Arthur Waley</i></p> + +<p>12 <span class="smcap">The Room</span>, <i>by G. B. Stern</i></p> + +<p>13 <span class="smcap">The Antichrist</span>, <i>by F. W. Nietzsche</i></p> + +<p>14 <span class="smcap">An Adopted Husband</span>, <i>by Futabatei</i></p> + +<p>15 <span class="smcap">Chelkash</span>, <i>by Maxim Gorky</i></p> + +<p>16 <span class="smcap">The Stag’s Hornbook</span>, <i>edited by John McClure</i></p> + +<p>17 <span class="smcap">The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp</span>, <i>by W. H. Davies</i></p> + +<p>18 <span class="smcap">Ventures in Common Sense</span>, <i>by E. W. Howe</i></p> + +<p>19 <span class="smcap">The Little Angel</span>, <i>by L. Andreyev</i></p> + +<p>20 <span class="smcap">A Book of Burlesques</span>, <i>by H. L. Mencken</i></p> + +<p>21 <span class="smcap">Ralph Herne</span>, <i>by W. H. Hudson</i></p> + +<p>22 <span class="smcap">A Hero of Our Time</span>, <i>by M. Y. Lermontov</i></p> + +<p>23 <span class="smcap">The Soul of a Child</span>, <i>by E. Björkman</i></p> + +<p>24 <span class="smcap">The So-Called Human Race</span>, <i>by Bert Leston Taylor</i></p> + +<p>25 <span class="smcap">The Cabin</span>, <i>by V. Blasco Ibañez</i></p> + +<p>26 <span class="smcap">Three Tales</span>, <i>by G. Flaubert</i></p> + +<p>27 <span class="smcap">A Room with a View</span>, <i>by E. M. Forster</i></p> + +<p>28 <span class="smcap">The Blind Bow-Boy</span>, <i>by Carl Van Vechten</i></p> + +<p>29 <span class="smcap">Casanova’s Escape from the Leads</span>, <i>translated by Arthur Machen</i></p> + +<p>30 <span class="smcap">Youth and the Bright Medusa</span>, <i>by Willa Cather</i></p> + +<p>31 <span class="smcap">Jenny</span>, <i>by Sigrid Undset</i></p> + +<p>32 <span class="smcap">Green Mansions</span>, <i>by W. H. Hudson</i></p> + +<p>33 <span class="smcap">The Fair Rewards</span>, <i>by Thomas Beer</i></p> + +<p>34 <span class="smcap">Picture Frames</span>, <i>by Thyra Samter Winslow</i></p> + +<p>35 <span class="smcap">Adolphe</span>, <i>by Benjamin Constant</i></p> + +<p>36 <span class="smcap">Hagar’s Hoard</span>, <i>by George Kibbe Turner</i></p> + +<p>37 <span class="smcap">Tales of the Pampas</span>, <i>by W. H. Hudson</i></p> + +<p>38 <span class="smcap">Jewish Children</span>, <i>by Sholom Aleichem</i></p> + +<p>39 <span class="smcap">The Blood of the Conquerors</span>, <i>by Harvey Fergusson</i></p> + +<p>40 <span class="smcap">Green Thursday</span>, <i>by Julia Peterkin</i></p> + +<p>41 <span class="smcap">The China Shop</span>, <i>by G. B. Stern</i></p> + +<p>42 <span class="smcap">Capitol Hill</span>, <i>by Harvey Fergusson</i></p> + +<p>43 <span class="smcap">The Three-Cornered Hat</span>, <i>by P. A. de Alarcón</i></p> + +<p>44 <span class="smcap">The Three Impostors</span>, <i>by Arthur Machen</i></p> + +<p>45 <span class="smcap">The Lost Mr. Linthwaite</span>, <i>by J. S. Fletcher</i></p> + +<p>46 <span class="smcap">The World in Falseface</span>, <i>by George Jean Nathan</i></p> + +<p>47 <span class="smcap">The Gentleman from San Francisco</span>, <i>by Ivan Bunin</i></p> + +<p>48 <span class="smcap">Where Bonds Are Loosed</span>, <i>by E. L. Grant Watson</i></p> + +<p>49 <span class="smcap">Women and Wives</span>, <i>by Harvey Fergusson</i></p> + +<p>50 <span class="smcap">The Markenmore Mystery</span>, <i>by J. S. Fletcher</i></p> + +<p>51 <span class="smcap">A Book of Prefaces</span>, <i>by H. L. Mencken</i></p> + +<p>52 <span class="smcap">Van Zanten’s Happy Days</span>, <i>by Laurids Bruun</i></p> + +<p>53 <span class="smcap">The Gates of Life</span>, <i>by E. Björkman</i></p> + +<p>54 <span class="smcap">The Middle Temple Murder</span>, <i>by J. S. Fletcher</i></p> + +<p>55 <span class="smcap">Waiting for Daylight</span>, <i>by H. M. Tomlinson</i></p> + +<p>56 <span class="smcap">Zell</span>, <i>by H. G. Aikman</i></p> + +<p>57 <span class="smcap">The Paradise Mystery</span>, <i>by J. S. Fletcher</i></p> + +<p>58 <span class="smcap">The House by the River</span>, <i>by A. P. Herbert</i></p> + +<p>59 <span class="smcap">The House of Souls</span>, <i>by Arthur Machen</i></p> + +<p>60 <span class="smcap">The Borough Treasurer</span>, <i>by J. S. Fletcher</i></p> + +<p>61 <span class="smcap">Strait Is the Gate</span>, <i>by André Gide</i></p> + +<p>62 <span class="smcap">The Herapath Property</span>, <i>by J. S. Fletcher</i></p> + +<p>63 <span class="smcap">Wanderers</span>, <i>by Knut Hamsun</i></p> + +<p>64 <span class="smcap">Shallow Soil</span>, <i>by Knut Hamsun</i></p> + +<p>65-66 <span class="smcap">Growth of the Soil</span>, <i>by Knut Hamsun</i> (2 volumes in one, $2.)</p> + +<p>67 <span class="smcap">Victoria</span>, <i>by Knut Hamsun</i></p></div> + +<p class="c">$1 a volume.</p> + +<div class="trans"><p><a id="transcrib"></a></p> +<p>Typographical error corrected by the etext transcriber:</p> + +<p>look up a hot=> took up a hot {pg 122}</p> +</div> + +<hr class="full"> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77332 ***</div> +</body> +</html> diff --git a/77332-h/images/borzoi.png b/77332-h/images/borzoi.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..d0bc064 --- /dev/null +++ b/77332-h/images/borzoi.png diff --git a/77332-h/images/cover.jpg b/77332-h/images/cover.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..26613a3 --- /dev/null +++ b/77332-h/images/cover.jpg diff --git a/77332-h/images/title.png b/77332-h/images/title.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..ad0b095 --- /dev/null +++ b/77332-h/images/title.png diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6c72794 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This book, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..3355d34 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for eBook #77332 +(https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/77332) |
