the crowd, and every eye was fixed on the lower deck where April and
Joy stood, side by side, smiling happily. April took off his hat and
waved it. Joy fluttered a handkerchief to greet them.
They were both dressed fit to kill. Joy, gay as a peacock, in a dress
striped with yellow bands, and a hat with green ribbons and red
flowers. April looked youthful in a brand-new suit that showed off his
broad shoulders and slim waist well. He held Joy’s hand and led her
carefully over the unsteady gangplank, and she fell into Big Sue’s arms
while April looked on smiling and rubbing his hands awkwardly.
The crowd crushed around them, wishing them happiness, hoping they’d
live like Isaac and Rebecca, wishing them joy and a gal and a boy.
Breeze pressed forward too until he could touch Joy’s hand, and she
bent down and gave him a smacking kiss, then a hug.
“Looka li’l’ Breeze, Cun April,” she said, and April reached out and
shook his hand, and Joy added; “I done told you I was gwine be you’
mammy, Breeze, and Cun April’s you’ daddy, now.”
The people crammed too close around them. Breeze could scarcely
breathe. He got out quickly as he could, and went to the store steps to
wait with old Louder, who sat wagging his tail, and making short whines
of pleasure. Breeze and Big Sue, and most of the neighbors, went with
them to April’s cabin, where a huge fire was built, and the whole room
made light as day.
Big Sue and Bina bustled around cooking supper, and April’s children
and Breeze all helped. Sweetened bread and fried bacon and coffee with
plenty of cream and sugar, were passed around. The cabin was filled
with the fragrance of the food. But Joy couldn’t eat. Big Sue pressed
her to take something, but she said she couldn’t swallow a bite to save
her life.
April had eyes only for Joy. He leaned over and whispered softly, “Is
anyt’ing ail you, honey?”
But she shook her head. She was only weary, too weary to eat.
Some of the young folks suggested a dance, but April said they must
come back another night; Joy was weary. The boat trip was long, and the
chill of the river wind had her trembling yet.
When everybody had something to eat and drink, they said good night,
and tramped out into the night, Breeze and Big Sue last of all.
The dark roads and paths swarmed with merry people, the air rang with
songs and laughter.
“April sho’ is a fool over Joy!” Big Sue grunted as they turned into
the path toward home. “A pure fool. A ol’ fool is de worst fool too.”
Joy and April took supper with Big Sue Christmas Eve, and they helped
fill Breeze’s stocking. He knew, for soon after supper he was sent
to bed. They were in a hurry to get to Maum Hannah’s house where an
all-night meeting was to be held.
Breeze wanted to go too. He wanted to stay up for all the singing and
shouting, and see the cows kneel down and pray at midnight, and the sun
rise shouting in the east in the morning. But Big Sue said he was too
sleepy-headed for her to fool with him, and if he didn’t go to bed like
a good boy old Santy Claw would leave his stocking empty.
They all said good night and went out of the door and Breeze thought
they had gone for good. He was about to hop up and look at his stocking
when Joy ran back in, and, falling on the bed where he was, burst out
crying.
What on earth! Big Sue and April hurried in, and did all they could to
quiet her. Was she sick? Had somebody hurt her feelings? April petted
her and called her tender names, but she cried on even when her tears
were spent and broken sobs shook her of their own free will.
Big Sue called April into the other room and whispered to him. He came
back and asked Joy if she wouldn’t rather stay quietly with Breeze
and rest? He’d stay too if she liked, or go to meeting with Big Sue.
Whatever she wanted was the thing he wanted too. She got up and wiped
her eyes. She’d go home and go to bed. He could do whatever he liked.
Her words sounded cold, almost bitter.
But soon the next morning she came to show Big Sue the Christmas
presents April had given her. A watch to wear on her wrist, and a
diamond ring! The two must have cost twenty-five dollars, if not more.
The winter days passed slowly, many of them dull, gray, with an
overcast sky, where low clouds sailed and cast their murky color over
the ground. The first March day came in bright and warm, with a wind
that roared over the land, whipping the trees, snapping off their
rotten limbs, lifting old shingles off of roofs, sweeping yards and
woods clean, thrashing fields until clouds of dust and sand rose and
floated in the sky. But everybody rejoiced that winter was over and
gone. And besides, a windy March is lucky. Every pint of March dust
brings a peck of September corn, and a pound of October cotton. Let it
blow!
Such a high wind could never last. A March that comes in like a lion
will go out as quiet as a new-born lamb. Let it blow! But watch the
fires! One little spark can easily be fanned into a flame.
New leaves quivered and glittered on the restless boughs. Old leaves,
dead for months on the ground, hopped out from their resting-places
and skipped and flew, making brown leaf whirlwinds that spun around
dizzily, then settled in new sheltered places.
The wind lulled a little at sunset, and the night fell black and
cloudless. A multitude of stars crowded the sky, foretelling rain close
at hand. The rain was waiting for the blustery gale to hold still so
the clouds could gather and agree. In the night the wind rose and beat
against the cabin’s sides. It shook the walls, and whistled and whined
through the cracks. The front door banged wide open, as the nail that
held the bar frame was jerked out by its force. Finally Big Sue made
Breeze get up and get a hatchet and a long nail out of the tool-box
Santy Claw had given him, and she held the door while he nailed it up.
Big Sue was frightened. She kept talking to Breeze, trying to keep him
awake with her, but he was too sleepy-headed to listen. When he woke at
dawn a flood of rain was pouring down, and thunder roared louder than
the rain or wind.
As a fearful crash shook the earth. Big Sue opened the back door and
peeped out and quavered, “Git up, Breeze! Lightnin’ is struck dat big
pine yonder, close to April’s house! It’s afire! Dat bolt shooken de
whole earth. I bet April’ll find it. Lawd! E’s been diggin’ at de roots
o’ struck trees to git a bolt a long time! An’ now one mighty nigh hit
him!”
“What’s a bolt, Cun Big Sue?”
The wind howled as she answered, “Why, son, a thunderbolt is a’ iron
rod. If you finds one, you’ll have de power to rule life an’ death!”
The cabin was closed tight, yet so fierce was the lightning it blazed
through cracks right into the room. Blood-red streaks of light took
turns with others that were blue. Breeze shut his eyes and put the
pillow over his head. He finally dozed off, and slept until the morning
had come, clear of rain and wind, and filled with the warm breath of
the earth.
He was alone. Big Sue had gone to see April’s struck pine, so he
dressed and ran to see it too.
A crowd of people were around the burning tree, and others were coming.
All were talking excitedly. God must have His eye on April to aim a
thunderbolt so close to his house. He had a narrow escape. His house
might catch fire yet, for pieces of burning limbs were falling, and
water could not put out fire started with lightning. Nothing could, but
new milk from a cow with her first calf. Where would April get enough
of that to do any good?
April was brazenly unafraid. He laughed at the notion of getting a
heifer’s milk. He said he’d make water outen this fire, or any other
fire, that bothered his cabin. They’d see.
April sat in front of the fire on his hearth, and when Big Sue
fixed his breakfast in a pan and handed it to him, he called to the
neighbors, standing outside, “Yunnuh come an’ eat some breakfast wid
me. We’s got a-plenty fo’ ev’ybody.” At first all of them answered,
“No, thank you,” but when April insisted, a half-dozen or more went in
and took a piece of bread, or a mouthful of sweetened water.
“How’s Joy?” Bina asked Big Sue politely.
“Joy’s awful nervish since dat tree got struck. I made em stay in bed
dis mawnin’.”
“Joy ain’ been well in a good while,” Bina commented.
Big Sue’s eyes snapped. “Joy ever was a delicate child, Bina. You know
dat good as me.”
The thick high trees, lapping their branches overhead, sheltered the
cabins from a sun that burned down, fierce and bright, drawing a strong
steamy stench up from the heated mud flats left naked by the outgone
tide.
The fields were all too wet for plowing, and the blacksmith shop was
the center for the day’s work. Plowshares needed to be filed and
sharpened. Plow-stocks mended. Mules’ feet trimmed. Manes and tails
clipped short. A few of the older, thinner beasts had got lousy. The
hair must be cut off them and their hides wet with tea made out of
china-berry leaves.
The men laughed and talked and chewed tobacco and smoked, as they
worked leisurely at their different tasks. A difference of opinion rose
as to the best place to twitch a mule to make him stand still for his
hair to be cut off. A twine-string could be twisted around an ear, or
tied to the upper lip. Uncle Bill preferred the lip. He said mules have
pockets inside their ears and a string twisted tight enough to hold the
beast quiet, will tear that pocket in two. April objected to the twitch
on the lip, for it often caused a painful swelling.
The question was still unsettled when Brudge came running hard as he
could, crying out that Joy had been taken with a death-sickness. She
was lying on the bed in a trance. She couldn’t speak a word. Brudge
almost popped out his eyeballs showing how her eyes were rolled away
back in her head. Her hands and feet were cold as clabber. Big Sue said
April must hurry or Joy would be gone before he got there!
April did not wait to hear the end of Brudge’s talk, but flew home
ahead of them all with Breeze close at his heels. Lamentations and
outcries met them as they got nearer. Big Sue’s above all the rest. Joy
was dying. Nothing but a death-sickness could strike a young woman down
so hard.
Breeze was almost petrified with terror, but he dragged himself on to
the cabin, which was already filled with the neighbors. Joy lay on the
bed covered over with a quilt, up to her very neck. Her eyes were shut.
Her head moved from side to side. Her lips whispered things nobody
could hear at all.
Big Sue sat near the bed in a low chair, her fat body rocking. Big
tears rolled down her cheeks as she chanted over and over.
“Do, Jedus! Don’ let Joy dead!
“Oh, my Gawd! Help my chile! Help em!
“Oh, Lawd! Oh, my Gawd!
“Don’ let Joy dead dis mawnin’!”
April broke through the crowd surrounding the bed, and taking one of
Joy’s hands from under the cover felt her pulse, then leaned over to
hear what she was saying. “No. No, honey,” he crooned, “you wouldn’
dead an’ leave me. No. No. I couldn’ do widout you nohow. I wouldn’
’a’ left you last night in dat storm, but I was ’fraid de stables
would blow down an’ kill all de mules an’ horses. De storm is gone. De
lightnin’ didn’ hurt nobody. Death is gone away off now. E can’ take
you. No!”
Breeze pricked up his ears. Was death about to take Joy?
As her life fluttered uncertainly, Big Sue’s wailing and misery were
less hard to bear than April’s fierce resolute manner.
Joy had to get well. No matter what ailed her. If she was conjured,
Uncle Isaac had to take off the spell. If the storm had scared her
until her heart-string was strained, she must keep still and rest
until it went back into place. Nobody must come in the room to worry
her with talking. Send for Maum Hannah. No matter if she was at the end
of the earth instead of the end of the “Neck,” go fetch her! Hurry!
Don’t tarry and waste any more time! Fetch Maum Hannah! Joy had a
death-sickness!
Uncle Bill hitched up the fastest horse in the barnyard to the lightest
cart, and went flying down the road for Maum Hannah, who had gone to a
sick woman some miles away. When he got back, several hours later, the
horse was lathered with sweat, and all but broken winded, but Joy was
still alive.
The room was chock-full, the door choked with people, both windows were
dark with heads. Big Sue’s mourning that had fallen into a low mumbling
prayer to Jesus now changed and livened to:
“Do, Maum Hannah! Help my Joy!
“Do, Maum Hannah! Don’ let Joy dead!
“Do, Maum Hannah!”
Maum Hannah hurried up the steps as fast as her crippled knee would
let her. She was all out of breath, but instead of pitying Big Sue,
she stopped still and eyed her with an impatient grunt. “Do shut you’
mouth, Big Sue! You ought to be shame’ to cut all dis crazy! You can’
fool dese people. No! Everybody knows wha’ ails Joy, ’ceptin’ April.
An’ e ought to take you out an’ duck you good in de creek fo’ makin’
such a fool out o’ him! Dat fine horse is most dead! Bill made em run
so fas’, de wind likened to ’a’ cut my breath off. You people go home.
Gi’ Joy a chance to turn dat chile loose. Joy done well to hold em dis
long but e can’ hold em no longer. Yunnuh go on! Go on, Breeze! Yunnuh
clear de room!”
Big Sue stopped grieving and stared, but Maum Hannah’s talk stung
April to the quick. He stepped up to her angrily, but she stopped
taking off her cloak long enough to pat his arm, “Don’ be vexed wid
me, son. I’m tellin’ yunnuh what Gawd loves, de truth! Joy’s done well
to hold dat chile dis long. You married in de Christmas, enty? Well,
Joy can’ hold em six more months. I know dat. Dat gal’s got to turn em
loose, no matter if it do hurt you’ feelin’s!”
Joy trembled like a leaf in a storm. Her dazed eyes turned from Maum
Hannah to April, who was silent, except for one word. “Bitch,” he
snarled, and his eyes blazed like lightning flashes, as he turned and
left the room.
Breeze left too, but he scarcely knew where he was, or where he was
going. April had cursed Joy and she a-dying!
He dragged himself home and fell across Joy’s own bed, for Big Sue was
not there to stop him. He wept until his tears failed him. He tried his
best to pray, “O Gawd, don’ let Joy die--” but he went fast asleep. He
slept heavily until a harsh hoarse voice waked him. He came instantly
to his senses, and tried to stammer out some excuse, but Big Sue’s grim
swollen face made his words falter, and the slap her hand laid on his
jaw brought shining stars in front of his eyes.
“Git up and go borrow a piece o’ fire f’om somebody! Hurry, too, befo’
I kill you!”
He ran to April’s house, but stopped at the step for a tiny baby was
crying inside. He ran all the way to Zeda’s and borrowed a piece of
fire, then flew home. As he made up the fire for Big Sue, she walked
around the room unsteadily, mumbling between her teeth. If April
mistreated her Joy now, she herself would put a “hand” on him; one
so strong that it would wither his hands! And his feet! She couldn’t
keep still or stop talking. Her tongue lashed April and Joy too, and
each word was a poison sting. Who was he to blame Joy? He had children
scattered from one end of this “Neck” to the other. Now he cursed Joy
as if she were lowest of the low. It was a shame! A heavy shame! Joy
must leave him at once!
The wind had risen and whistled through the trees, tossing the
branches, making them moan. Big Sue talked on and on. Breeze was glad
when she went back to April’s cabin, although she left him without a
bite to eat. He’d go somewhere and get supper. Maybe Uncle Bill was at
home. He’d go see.
To his surprise April was there too, sitting by the fire, miserably
dejected, while Uncle Bill talked to him, trying to cheer him.
Breeze had hardly got inside when Zeda arrived and, brushing past Uncle
Bill, walked up to April and put a hand on his shoulder. “Look at me,
April. I got somet’ing to say to you.” Bitter spite hurried her words.
But April, instead of looking up as she bade him, leaned forward and
spat in the fire.
“Wha’ ails you, now, Zeda?” he asked curtly.
“I kin easy say what ails me; dat new-born child yonder ’side Joy is
my gran’! But e’s you’ gran’, too! Joy had dat chile for Sherry, an’
you ain’ gwine put no dis-grace-ment on em. No. If nobody else can’
hinder you, I kin. I already got you’ feet so dey can’ rest. Wid Leah’s
death-sheet.”
April heard her, and although he didn’t answer, his jaw set his teeth
hard enough to bite a ten-penny nail in two. Zeda smiled.
“You may as well give in, April,” she persisted. “Sherry’s you own, an’
who is Breeze, but you’ own? Ev’body knows dat. It’s a wonder somebody
ain’ cut you’ throat long time ago. If you wa’n’t so lucky you’d ’a’
been in hell wid some o’ dem women you sent dere.”
“How come you meddlin’ in my business so raven?” April suddenly flashed
out.
“Dat li’l’ chile is my business. Joy had em fo’ Sherry, a li’l’
boy-chile, too. You go on home an’ tell Joy to hurry up an’ git well.
’Tain’ no use to hold hard feelin’s ’gainst em. No! Joy’s had you a
gran’son.”
When he did not stir, she blazed out: “You’ neck is stiff, enty! So’s
my own! An’ I hope a misery’ll gnaw you’ heart in two. I hope you’ll
die of thirst an’ hunger. I hope ev’y lawful yard-chile you had by
Leah’ll perish. I hope you’ feet’ll rot----”
“You shut you’ mouth, Zeda. If you cuss me again I’ll choke you’ tongue
down you’ throat.” April got up and fled from her bitter words.
XVIII
JOY AND APRIL
For days after Joy’s child was born, Big Sue kept to her cabin. Joy
had disgraced her, made her ashamed to show her face in company. She’d
never forgive Joy as long as she lived. Never. Joy saw Leah drop dead
in her face, yet she went straight on and married Leah’s husband. A
shame! Joy would sup sorrow yet. She might bewitch April and make a
plumb fool out of him, but she’d pay for bringing disgrace on her
mother who had worked her knuckles to the bone to keep Joy in school!
If Joy had behaved herself, she might have married anybody instead of
a man old as her daddy, and conjured to boot. That death-sheet had put
a spell on April. Sure as preaching. He’d never be the same man again.
He’d have run Joy out of his house if he had been in his right mind.
She talked so fast and loud one morning she didn’t see Uncle Bill until
he was at the door-step. “How come you tiptoes around so easy dis
mornin’!” she asked tartly.
“Gawd knows how I’m a-walkin’, I’m so fretted.”
“Wha’ dat ail you now?”
“Joy sent me to tell you.”
“How come Joy don’ fetch e own answer?”
“Joy’s too troub-led.”
Big Sue shot a look at him and sucked her teeth. “Joy’s mighty late
gittin’ troub-led,” and a hard, wicked smile touched her mouth.
“Joy’s troub-led about April. April ain’ well, Miss Big Sue.”
Big Sue sniffed and said April was due to have something wrong with
him, wicked as he had lived, hard as he had been with everybody that
crossed him. What kind of sickness did April have?
“Somet’ing ails his feets.”
“Dat ain’ surprisin’. April slept wid a death-sheet on ’em a whole
night.”
“Uncle Isaac took dat spell off em.”
“Well, who put dis spell on em, den?”
Uncle Bill sat down on the step. He was so troubled in his mind, it
was difficult for him to say what ailed April. At first it favored
chilblains; then ground-itch, for April went out barefooted in the
dew every morning God sent, and any little scratch that lets dew get
inside your skin may give you ground-itch. But none of the chilblain or
ground-itch cures helped him at all. His appetite was clean gone. He
had eaten nothing but spoon-victuals for a week. He was thin as a fence
rail.
Big Sue made an ugly mouth. What did she care? Why hadn’t April
married a settled woman who could cook decent rations instead of a
scatter-brained girl like Joy who didn’t know the name of one pot from
another? He needn’t be sending word here about victuals. Let April eat
what Joy fixed for him. Love would season up lumpy hominy and make
doughy bread taste good.
Uncle Bill sat frowning, chewing his tobacco wearily, studying. Joy
had said she hated to worry Big Sue. She was sorry for all that had
happened. Joy was a good girl. She had slipped up once, and made a bad
mistake, but any young inexperienced girl is likely to miss and do
that. April did right to excuse her.
Big Sue sneered. Joy had worked one sharp trick. Leah herself couldn’t
have fooled April any slicker. Joy ever was tricky, though. Just like
Silas for the world. Likely as not, Joy had April conjured right now.
Uncle Bill pursed up his lips so tight, they looked as if they’d never
open and speak again, and his eyes were full of worry.
“Whyn’ you go see Uncle Isaac? E might could help April?” Big Sue asked
presently.
“I done seen em. When de bear-grass poultices and de violet-leaves tea
failed, I went an’ got Uncle Isaac. Joy sent me. I don’ like charms. I
don’ trust ’em. I know a Christian man ain’ got no business foolin’ wid
’em. But Joy was so fretted, I done it to please her. I kept a-studyin’
over it; one mind said do it; another mind said, no, I better ask all
de Christian people to hold a prayer-meetin’ an’ ask Gawd to help
April; I listened at dem two minds arguin’ one whole night befo’ I give
in to Joy. An’ now I wish to Gawd I didn’ heed em.”
“How come so? April wouldn’ wear em, I bet you!” Big Sue was listening
with interest now, anxious to know what happened, but Uncle Bill took
his time.
April did everything Joy said. Wilful and unruly as he was with every
one else, he tried to please Joy. And yet when Joy brought that charm
to him and began coaxing him to let her tie it around his neck, he
balked. Joy had to outtalk him.
For a whole day and night April wore it, a little cloth bag, tied with
a white horse hair; but because it didn’t cure his feet right away, he
jerked it off and threw it in the fire. Such a pity. Even strong charms
take time to start working. April ever was a short-patienced man. He
made trouble for himself by hastiness. A man can be hot-blooded and
pettish with people but not with charms or magic.
Joy snatched the bag out of the flames, but it was scorched and a hole
burned in one side. A speck of the mixture inside it spilled out on the
coals and smoked such a strong smoke, April sneezed three times!
Right then, the gristles in April’s feet got hard. Hard as a rock! God
only knew if they’d ever go back to their rightful softness.
Uncle Isaac made Joy take the bag off to the woods and bury it at the
foot of a locust tree, but April got worse and worse. His feet were
numb and hard and dry. Joy wanted to send for a white doctor. They
might get one to come on the boat from town, and with the crop so
promising they’d have money to pay him next fall. But April wouldn’t
have it. He said Maum Hannah knew more than any white doctor.
Big Sue kept shaking her head and grunting shamelessly until Uncle Bill
got up painfully to go. Something in his sad face must have moved her,
for all of a sudden she scrambled to her feet, letting her scraps fall
on the floor. “I made some nice little sweetened breads dis mawnin’.
Take some to April. I sho’ am sorry ’bout his feets. You tell em so.
I’m gwine broil em a fat pullet, too.”
“Ev’y man has to manage his own dueness, but how ’bout gwine along wid
me, to see April, Miss Big Sue? You done chastise Joy long enough. De
gal’s in trouble.”
“I can’ go, not so well, right now, Uncle Bill, but Breeze kin go
if e’ll thread me two or three needles first.” She started to say
more, but she changed her mind and kept silent, her eyes cast down
on her sewing. When she did speak it was to say Joy had been mighty
shut-mouthed about April. Joy had funny ways.
Breeze and Uncle Bill found April with a quilt around him, sitting
alone by the fire, looking at his feet. Looking and looking. His heavy
black brows overshadowed his sad eyes as they lifted and hovered over
Breeze, then Uncle Bill. But as soon as he shook hands and said “thank
you” for the food, they fell, and settled on his feet, which were bare
and on the hearth very close to the fire.
The weather had turned off cool in the night, but there was no reason
for April to keep his feet so close to the fire. Uncle Bill told him
he’d scorch them, but April shook his head and said they felt no heat
at all. Not a bit. They had gone to sleep or something. They felt like
blocks of wood. And he moved them stiffly, as if they were.