SOMETHING DOES TURN UP.
Dr. Hathern had been gone two weeks and in that time had written but one
letter to his daughters. This was addressed to Fanny and in it he said
that the business which had taken him to Boston was progressing
favorably and he should soon feel at liberty to tell what it was and
return home a happier and more prosperous man than when he left it.
Meanwhile his daughters were to enjoy themselves and get whatever was
needed for their comfort. Then he added as if it were an afterthought:
“By the way, I think it would be well for Phyllis to give the whole
house a regular overhauling,—housecleaning they call it at the north,
and I remember when I was a boy that every thorough housekeeper did
this twice a year,—taking up and beating carpets, washing curtains and
blankets and paint and floors and putting the furniture out to air. I
have no doubt southern housekeepers do the same, and it seems to me
there were some such upheavals which made me very uncomfortable when
your mother was living; but nothing of the sort has occurred since.
You were too young when your own mother and Katy’s died to know about
such things, and Phyllis, who has been in charge so long, has not
thought of it. Negroes are apt to be slack.
“Consult Mrs. Fullerton, if you don’t know what to do, and if extra
help is needed for Phyllis, get it, of course. Tell her to take
especial pains with my room. I think I have detected a faint musty
smell in it when the air was damp. This can be remedied by beating the
carpet thoroughly and letting in a great deal of sunshine. I may have
kept it shut up too much. You will hear from me again in about two
weeks and then I shall tell you when to expect me.
“Your loving father,
“SAMUEL HATHERN.”
This letter Fanny read aloud to Annie, with running comments upon it as
she read.
“Is father growing crazy, or what has got into him to write in such a
strain. _Must_, indeed, in his room! It’s his old boots and shoes and
saddlebags of medicines which he keeps in his closet. House cleaning
twice a year, with everything turned out of the windows! Thinks we have
never had one since mother died! Haven’t we?”
Annie didn’t think they had, and the most she could recall during her
mother’s lifetime was a faint remembrance of bare floors and dirt and
straw and litter, and soap and suds and discomfort generally, with a
scurrying here and there of negroes with Phyllis at the helm; then a
great quiet, with the fireplaces full of green boughs and peonies and
snowballs and herself and Fanny told not to put their little soiled
fingers on the window panes because they had just been washed. This was
very far back, and neither Annie nor Fanny could remember any
housecleaning since so extreme as that. Certainly there had been none
since Katy’s mother died, and Phyllis had managed the household. In
short, as they confessed to each other, they were rather easy-going
young ladies, who, accustomed to many servants before the war, had
fallen into the habit of leaving everything to Phyllis. And that
functionary was very willing to have it left to her, and waited upon
them and petted them and scolded them alternately with all the freedom
of an old and trusty family servant.
In the days of slavery there had been no more valuable negro in Lovering
than herself, and she knew it, and prided herself upon it and the
respectability of her ancestors generally as proven by the fact that
there was not a drop of white blood in her veins.
“I’d be ashamed if there was, and blush for my mother. Black is a good
color, which wears well, and I thank de Lord I am as black as a Guiney
nigger,” she said; but she was equally proud of the fair faces of the
twins and little Katy, whom she loved as if they were her own.
She had nursed them when they were babies; had walked the floor with
them many a night when they were teething or had the colic; had drawn
them miles and miles from cabin to cabin in a baby cart—proud of her
twins and proud of herself as “Mas’r Hathern’s nigger, who was worth
more’n a thousand dollars, and who he wouldn’t sell for nothin’;” she
had closed the eyes of both her mistresses, and prepared them for the
grave. She had comforted the two little motherless girls with cake and
honey and a most wonderful rag doll, and taken the new-born baby, Katy,
to her bosom and bed. She had tried to run away with a part of the
Federal army, but found that she could not, so great was her love for
her master and his family. She was a part of them, or rather they were a
part of her, and after she assumed the entire management of the
household she owned them just as they once owned her, and sometimes
ruled them more rigorously than she had ever been ruled.
In this condition of things it was natural that the young ladies should
settle down into a state of listless dependence, allowing her to do what
she pleased and when she pleased, and giving but little thought to what
was done or left undone, provided they were comfortable and the general
look of the house was neat and tidy. At long intervals she had her times
of “clarin’ up,” when the house was full of brooms and brushes and mops
and clouds of dust and the odor of soap suds. On these occasions, in a
petticoat patched with many colors, which stopped half way between her
knees and her feet and a knit jacket left by one of the soldiers,
Phyllis would march from room to room, rating the young ladies soundly
for the disorderly condition in which she found them, and wondering what
their poor mother would say if she knew how they slatted their things
and left them for her to pick up, when every bone in her old body ached.
But if they tried to help her she spurned their offers disdainfully. She
reckoned she knew what “de quality ought to do, an’ it wan’t for her
young misseses to sile dar white hands, when dar was a big pair of black
ones, made to soil and spin. What did cussed be Canan mean if it wan’t
that the blacks was to sweat an’ slave and have der bad times in dis
world an’ de whites der good, an’ in de nex’ _wise wersa_.”
Phyllis was great on theology and powerful in a prayer meeting, where
she could be heard for nearly a quarter of a mile, when she was moved by
the _sperrit_ to let herself out. Naturally her arguments prevailed when
she brought forward the Bible to prove their validity, and Annie and
Fanny usually succumbed and let her have her way.
Occasionally when she wished to try some fancy dish Fanny made a raid
upon the kitchen, greatly to the discomfiture of Phyllis, who fluttered
like a hen when its brood of chickens is disturbed, while a close
observer might have thought she was fearful of having something
discovered which she wished to hide. But Fanny knew better, and after
the time she found the nutmeg grater in Phyllis’s pocket and the rolling
pin, which had been lost for two or three days, on the floor under the
table, she abandoned the kitchen, and the old negress was left monarch
of all she surveyed.
Now, however, there must be a general cleaning,—a thorough
overhauling,—and Fanny was deputed to notify Phyllis, whom she found
eating her dinner on a stool outside her cabin door, her turban somewhat
awry and her usually good-humored face clouded over as she shoo-ed the
chickens and screamed at the dog, which from an adjoining garden had
strayed into her domains.
“A reg’lar overhaulin’, wid de carpets all up and whaled, an’ de
furniture turned out of do’ to a’r, an’ his room smellin’ of musk,” she
said, when Fanny told what her father had written. “Is Mas’r Hathern
’sinuatin’ that I’m dirty, an’ I sarvin’ him so long an’ faithful? I
wouldn’t have ble’ved it,” and her voice trembled and her head shook
till her turban was displaced and took an upward turn, as it was wont to
do when she was displeased.
It was a saying of the young ladies that they could tell Phyllis’s state
of mind from the height of her turban, and when Fan saw it begin to
lengthen she knew there was a storm brewing, and braced herself to meet
it.
“Who’s to take up dem carpets an’ wallop ’em, and put ’em down again I’d
like to know. Last time I clar’d up I done cotched such a misery in my
back and laigs that I’ve had rheumatis’ ever since, and I didn’t hist up
de carpets nuther.”
Fanny explained that she was to have help, but this only brought out a
snort from the old woman, who went on: “Extra help, as if I was an onery
nigger like old Patsey. An’ for de Lord’s sake whar’s de money to come
from to pay de help? Mas’r can’t pay de bills now, unless he sells me,
an’ sometimes I think I’ll ’vise him to do dat an’ get out of debt.”
“But you are free. We can’t sell you, and wouldn’t if we could; that is
all in the past,” Fanny suggested.
“Dat’s so; more’s de pity,” Phyllis rejoined, and went on to say that
she reckoned she wan’t so old yet that she couldn’t wallop a carpet and
put it down, if her knees were not too stiff and she should do it, too;
and begin the next day; help indeed, when she was ’round.
By this time the Fullerton chickens were on the strawberry patch again
and the Fullerton dog had his nose in the refuse pail, which he finally
upset. But in her excitement Phyllis did not notice it. She was too
intent upon the housecleaning, which was commenced the next morning with
a vengeance, and without the slightest system or order. Every room and
closet from cellar to garret was turned upside down, with carpets up and
furniture out, and not a spot where one could sit and be comfortable.
They ate on the pantry shelf and slept on the floor while the worst of
the pandemonium continued. True to her determination Phyllis _walloped_
the carpets herself and did it so effectually that one of them, the
oldest and most tender was _walloped_ into tatters and could not be used
again. When it came to putting them down Phyllis gave out. Her knees
would not bend, and her back and arms were too lame, while not a negro
was to be found willing to help. Fortunately in this emergency Jack had
an off day, which he spent with Fan-and-Ann, who pressed him into
service. Arrayed in one of Phyllis’s clean turbans and aprons, and armed
with hammer and nails, he attacked the carpets vigorously and with the
help of the young ladies and with a great deal of joking and fun they
were put down as few carpets were ever put down before,—crooked and
puckered, and loose, while Jack had a blood blister on his thumb and
Fanny a bruise on her knuckles, where she struck them with the hammer,
and Annie a headache, which lasted two whole days. But they were down
and seemed very fresh and clean, as did the entire house when Phyllis
was through with it and free to nurse her swollen arms and hands, the
result of so much lifting and carpet beating. The odor of must, if there
had ever been any, had disappeared from the Doctor’s room, with his old
boots and saddlebags. As it was his carpet which had been beaten to
tatters, its place had been supplied with some light, pretty matting
bought at a reduced rate at a forced sale.
“I wish we could afford a new chamber set, too,” Fan said, looking
ruefully at the high post bedstead, with its canopy and valance, and at
the bureau and chairs older than she was, as they had come from the
south with her mother.
But this was out of the question. The family purse was too low. The
chamber set was given up. The post bedstead, with its feather bed, was
made high and soft, and the best white counterpane put upon it. There
were clean covers upon the bureau and square stand, where the Book of
Psalms, which the first Mrs. Hathern had used, was still lying, and with
it a prayer-book which had belonged to Katy’s mother. Fan brought a
pretty pin cushion from her room, with a slipper case and tidy, and when
all was done, called Phyllis to see the effect.
“Mighty fine and invitin’;” Phyllis said, “’pears like you’re expectin’
a bride, te-he-he.”
The laugh had in it a sound of sobbing, rather than of merriment, and
Phyllis’s turban was slightly elongated as she went back to her work.
All her insinuations, however, were lost upon the daughters, who, with
no suspicion of her meaning, sat down to enjoy the quiet and freshness
of their home, daily expecting a letter telling when their father was
coming to enjoy it with them.