Next morning, nothing was said about the moon shining or about Mister
Ward. Instead, while Mama was fixing my breakfast, she told me it was a
perfect day to make sauerkraut.
"How come, Mama?"
"Our cabbages are ready, and Doanie and Huldie are up here to fix
them."
"Did Shoogie come?" I jumped out of my chair to run to the side window.
"Probably so."
"I see her! I see her! She's out yonder in the well lot. Mama, lem'me
go play with Shoogie!"
"Not till you eat your biscuits and fried meat. You and that Shoogie
have got the whole morning before you. Come away from the window, now,
Bandershanks. You want syrup on your biscuits?"
"No'm. Just smear on butter."
By the time I got out to the well lot, cabbages were piled everywhere,
and Doanie and Huldie had gone back into the garden to cut more.
Shoogie was sitting down in the sand, leaning back against a big water
tub.
I picked my way toward Shoogie, being careful not to bump into the
mounds of cabbages or the kraut-making stuff spread all the way from
the well curbing to Mama's wash shelter. Even so, I stumbled against a
sack of salt.
Shoogie saw me and grinned. I squatted down beside her to watch her
rake together some sand for a frog house. She already had one black
foot buried in the sand and was heaping a stack of wet dirt on top of
her other one.
"My frog houses fall in, every time!" I said.
"I told you, get water and sprinkle hit on, and pat the sand hard. Pile
hit up high and pat some more. Then, wiggle your toes just a little
speck 'fore you eases out your foot!'
Shoogie knew how to make the best frog houses in the world. So I raked
up a pile of sand and shoved my foot down under it. I smoothed the sand
over, then gave it a pounding with both fists. Next I reached around
behind Shoogie to get some water out of the tub she was leaning
against.
"Let hit trickle 'tween your fingers on the sand. You is doin' good!"
"Look, Shoogie! My house! It's staying up!"
"Get you a dab o' wet sand and patch that little cave-in at the door."
Before Shoogie could show me the best way to fix my door, Huldie called
her to come help with the kraut. I hadn't even noticed that Doanie and
Huldie were back from the garden.
"Get a hustle on! Girl, you is big enough to flop one of these churn
dashers!"
"I'm big too, Huldie! Can I flop some?"
"Sho', baby. We's got two churns and two dashers, and more nice green
cabbage heads than you can shake a stick at!"
Huldie handed one of the churn dashers to Shoogie, the other to me.
Then she and Doanie dumped a thick layer of sliced cabbage leaves into
the bottom of each churn and sprinkled on lots of salt.
"Now, you girls can start beatin' hit down. Here, baby," Huldie showed
me, "make the dasher go up and down just like this was a churn o'
clabbered milk. That's the way! Wham hard! We's gotta mash them leaves
till the water runs out and melts that salt. Then we can put in some
more."
Shoogie and I kept pounding away. I saw her reach down into her churn
and get a handful of the salty, bruised cabbage and eat it, so I tried
some. It was good!
I ate more and more of it, but after a while I got to where I couldn't
bear to put another bite of the briny shreds into my mouth. Jogging the
dasher up and down wasn't fun any more, either.
Shoogie's arms got tired, but Huldie said we couldn't quit. As soon as
her grandma wasn't watching, Shoogie sidled over to me and whispered,
"Bandershanks, tell her your arms is wore slap out. Say, 'Huldie, my
poor little arms is a-killin' me! Please let me and Shoogie quit!'
She'll pay you some mind. Then we can go play!"
"But, Shoogie—"
"Say hit! You wants to play, don't you?" Shoogie scooted back to her
churn.
"Huldie?" I said.
"What, baby?"
"My poor little arms is a-killin' me. Shoogie said— I mean, let
Shoogie— I mean, please let me— My poor little arms is—"
Huldie and Doanie started laughing so I couldn't finish what Shoogie
wanted me to say.
"Law, y'all is a pair o' sly ones! Shoogie, you the one what's puttin'
this baby up to tellin' such as this. Her poor little arms! Why, you is
got the child talkin' just like you does! Tell you what: me and
Doanie'll let you both rest them poor little wore-out arms right now!
Y'all trot down yonder to the gully at the syrup mill and fetch us two
good-sized rocks so's we can hold down the kraut in the brine water.
Don't just pick up the first ones you sees. Find some that is nice and
flat and smooth."
Shoogie grabbed my hand. "Come on, Bandershanks, let's go. I's gonna
show you how I can jump clean 'cross that gully—where hit's way deep!"
We ran through the horse lot, past the pigpens, and down the lane as
far as the calf pasture. Then we climbed the rail fence and went
farther on toward Huldie's house and the syrup mill, till we came to
the place where Shoogie wanted to jump across the gully.
The gully was deep, and wide—too deep and wide for me. But Shoogie
leaped back and forth across it so many times she was out of breath.
"Let's get them rocks now, Bandershanks. I sees some just right, there
in the bottom. All we's gotta do is pick 'em up and wipe off the gully
dirt."
The two rocks Shoogie picked out were so heavy it took us a long time
to lug them up to the well lot. When we did finally get back, we saw
that Huldie was in the garden again, and Doanie was gone. Shoogie said
she must be in the kitchen helping Mama cook dinner.
"Bandershanks, you reckon they gonna cook cake?"
"No. We don't have no cake or pie, 'cept on Sunday."
"Let's make us some more frog houses."
"I wanta play like we're big. You be Huldie, and I'll be my mama. Let
me tell you to stir up nice 'tater pies and cakes, 'cause the
preacher's gonna come!"
"Iffen we plays like we's wimmins, where we gonna get some snuff? When
I's Grandma Huldie, I gotta have me some snuff!"
"Run in the garden and ask Huldie."
"Bandershanks, is you outta your head? Snuff's too good. She ain't
gonna gim'me none o' her'n. You gotta go get hit from your grandma! She
got some, ain't she?"
"Yeah, but Grandma Ming says I must never, never in this round world
take a dip."
"Tell her hit's for me. That'll be the truth."
"I better not. I know what! I'll get Mama to stir up sugar and
chocolate. It's just like snuff."
"Is it good?"
"Yeah. Gooder'n candy!"
Mama wasn't in the kitchen; neither was Doanie. So I got the chocolate
box and the sugar bowl by myself. I grabbed a spoon too and ran outside
before I filled my mouth.
"This sho' is sweet!" Shoogie mumbled after she had packed three
spoonfuls of the mixture down between her lower lip and her front
teeth. Then she handed the bowl and spoon back to me.
"My mama don't dip snuff. She's a nice lady. She says nice ladies don't
dip—just old grandma women."
Huldie walked up while I still had the spoon in my hand. She was
puffing, wiping sweat off her forehead, and talking to herself.
"Mercy, this is one more hot day!"
The basket Huldie balanced on her head was heaped up with cabbages. If
she was going to make me and Shoogie churn them all down, we'd never
get to bake Preaching Sunday mud pies!
"What's you girls doin'?"
Shoogie's eyes got big. She gulped, stretched her neck, and beat
herself on the chest. In trying to answer, she nearly choked!
"We're dipping snuff," I told Huldie, as soon as I could swallow.
"Good Lawd 'a mercy!"
Huldie grabbed for Shoogie! She caught her arm, but she was having such
a time trying to get the basket down from her head that Shoogie
snatched away. The basket tipped over, spilling cabbages all over the
well lot.
Huldie whirled around and grabbed Shoogie with both hands. She started
screaming. I hid behind a tub.
"I'll learn you! I'll learn you! Cuss your black hide, young'un, I's
gwine to break you from this snuff-stealin' and dippin'."
Shoogie wasn't listening. She was shrieking and kicking as if her
grandma were tearing her apart, and Huldie still hadn't hit her the
first lick. The next second, though, she bent Shoogie over her knees,
yanked up her dress tail, and started giving her pink bloomers and her
bottom one hard "whap, whap, whap" right after another!
"What's going on out here?"
Mama had come flying out the kitchen door!
"Is somebody hurt? Bandershanks, where're you at? Huldie, what's
wrong?"
Huldie slacked up on beating Shoogie, but Shoogie didn't slack up on
bawling. She got louder and louder!
"Miss, these chillens done stole my snuff!"
"Stole your snuff? I declare to my soul! Bandershanks, come here!"
"Yes'm. They both been dippin' hit up! See all on their faces? This
Shoogie brat, she so black snuff don't show on her'n, but just look
'round that baby's mouth!" Huldie pointed at me and began spanking on
Shoogie again.
Mama pulled me toward the garden fence, where she jerked up a Jimson
weed!
"Mama! It's chocolate, Mama! Just chocolate!"
But Mama couldn't hear me for all of Shoogie's loud bellowing! She
started stinging my legs to pieces!
"Mama! It ain't snuff!" I screamed louder. "It ain't! It ain't! Mama!
Mama!"
She kept flailing my legs.
Shoogie, still bucking and rearing like a young colt, broke loose from
Huldie and ran streaking toward the wagon shelter. All I could do was
dance on one foot and then the other and cry, "Chocolate, Mama!
Chocolate!"
"Come back here, you little heifer!" Huldie screamed at Shoogie.
When she whirled around to see which way Shoogie was running, she
stepped on the sugar bowl. She didn't break it, but she bent the handle
of the spoon and kicked over the chocolate box.
"Law, Miss, how come your pretty sugar bowl settin' down here in this
dirt? And here's your chocolate, all spillin' out!"
Mama stopped switching my legs.
"I declare to my soul! Bandershanks! Huldie, they was just playing like
they had snuff. See? It's sugar and chocolate!"
"The Lawd help! What chillens won't do! That Shoogie can drive me outta
my head!"
Mama used the hem of her apron to wipe away the tears and grit on my
face. She got off all the smeared sugar and chocolate, too, while she
was at it. Then, she kissed my cheek and told me to run on and play.
As soon as Shoogie came slipping out from behind the wagon shelter, we
settled down in the sand and made frog houses until we heard Mama
calling me.
"Ma'am!"
"Com'ere, hon."
"What you want, Mama?"
"Papa's coming home to eat his dinner now in a few minutes. After
dinner, you can go back to the store with him."
"And ride Jake? And help Papa sell stuff?"
"He might let you do that. Come on in here in the side room. I want to
get you on a clean dress. My, you look like you've been playing with
the pigs, instead of Shoogie!"
"Is Shoogie going to Papa's store?"
"No. Just you."
"Mama, you going somewhere?"
"Yes, hon. I want to drive over to see some folks and try to get them
to come to preaching this Sunday, and to Protracted Meeting, when it
starts."
"Who you gonna go see?"
"Nobody that you know. Come on, let's get you ready."
"Mama, lem'me stay here and play with Shoogie."
"No, no. You've got to be with me or Papa one all the time now."
"'Cause Mister Ward wants to shoot me?"
"Bandershanks, just hush about that! We're not gonna talk about it any
more!"
After dinner, Papa and I rode Jake back to the store. "Papa, my
bonnet's choking me! It won't come undone!"
"I'll untie it for you soon as I hitch Jake. Where'd you get that fancy
bonnet, anyhow?"
"Grandma Ming made it."
"It's so blessed hot this evening I think I need a sun bonnet! I know
Jake ought'a have one! Look how he's sweating!"
"Do horses wear bonnets?"
"I was just talking. Now, here we are. Jake, boy, I'm gonna put you on
the East Side of the store, and in about an hour you'll have yourself a
good shade."
As soon as Papa had looped Jake's bridle over the hitching rail, he
lifted me straight from the saddle to the store porch, without my feet
even touching the ground.
"Lemme see if I can help you with that bonnet, Bandershanks. Shucks,
these little strings tied under your chin are plumb wet. There you go!
Now, if I can just find my key, we'll unlock the doors and be ready for
business."
"Lemme twist it!"
"All right. No, Bandershanks, turn it the other way."
The lock clicked. Papa turned the knob and gave the thick double doors
a shove.
Inside, it was much cooler, but I could hardly see a thing. I rubbed my
eyes good, and still the room was black and I couldn't half see.
I could smell plenty of stuff: hoop cheese, chewing tobacco, coffee
beans, musty sacks of chicken feed, and Papa's coal-oil drum with its
old pump that always squeaked so loud. All those smells were mixed up
with the good smell of the leather harness and the big pretty saddles
hanging across the back wall.
"Papa, let's light the lamp."
"Your eyes will get used to the dark. I'll go open up the back door.
That'll help."
I followed Papa around behind the counters and down the aisle as far as
the candy showcase. I stopped to see the candy, but he kept going—and
talking.
"If we don't have any customers this evening, Bandershanks, I tell you
what we can do: we can sweep and clean up and start taking inventory.
It's a good day for that."
"Take what, Papa?"
"Inventory. We'll count things. Go from shelf to shelf to see how much
flour and salt and all such as that we've got on hand. Then, next week
when I'm in town, I'll know what all to buy. That's taking inventory."
"Oh."
"For one thing, I've got to lay in a good stock of sardines and soda
crackers. Lots more cheese, too, 'cause when cotton ginning starts, men
will be flocking in here at dinner time—'specially on days when they
have to line up their wagons to wait their turn at the gin. That's when
I make my money, Bandershanks."
I wasn't half listening to Papa. I had already lifted the lid of the
candy showcase and poked my head inside so I could see all the boxes of
good candy.
"Fact is, Bandershanks, fall of the year is the only time folks in the
settlement have any cash to speak of. See, when they sell cotton, they
can settle up what they owe me. 'Course I have to turn right around,
get on Jake, and go to town to straighten up my own debts. Most times,
there's not much left. But thank the Good Lord, looks like crops are
pretty good this year. I'm expecting to come out even—maybe better."
"Papa, we gonna count candy?"
"Gal! I see what sort of inventory you'd take! Get your head out of
that showcase, hon, before you break my lid!"
"I ain't gonna break nothing, Papa."
"It'll be one piece of candy today! That's all. You want an all-day
sucker or a gumdrop?"
"I want a jawbreaker!"
"Which color?"
"I can't see 'em."
Papa held me up so I could poke my head farther into the wide glass
case.
"Give me yellow!"
"One yellow jawbreaker coming up!"
"Papa? Lemme have a green one too? Please?"
"Good grannies! Just this one time, now mind you."
Papa started laughing as soon as I popped the hard candy balls into my
mouth.
"You look just like a little fox squirrel toting two big hickory nuts!"
My mouth was so stretched I couldn't answer a word. I could move my
tongue, but not my lips. And I wanted to tell Papa the candy tasted so
much like lemonade that I didn't mind my cheeks being funny as a
squirrel's.
"Want to do a little dusting for me now?"
I nodded my head.
"The feather duster's right over yonder in the corner, hanging on a
nail. See it?"
I nodded my head again.
"Start up there at the front window, hon. And while you do that, I'm
gonna be back in the back straightening up the sacks of oats and cow
feed."
I began brushing up and down on the window panes. A feather broke off
the side of the duster and fluttered to the floor. I stooped to pick it
up, but I didn't know what to do with it, so I just put it on the
windowsill. Then, I looked out the window—down toward Mister Hansen's
gin, on past Mister Goode's grist mill, and up the road toward home.
"Pa—" I had to grab both candy balls out of my mouth. "Papa, yonder
comes somebody riding on a little bitty mule with a dog following him."
Papa came over and looked out between the window bars.
"That's Ned Roberts, Bandershanks. I don't reckon you know him. He
lives over across the creek on Mister Ward Lawson's place. Or I should
say the old Crawford home-place. Ward's just renting it. And that's not
a little mule Ned's riding. That's a jack, a donkey. Some folks would
call it a 'jackass.' But you don't say that, Bandershanks. It don't
sound pretty."
"Ooh, Papa, look how fat that dog is!"
We watched Ned and his donkey and the bulged-out dog come on up the
slope. It took them a long time. They stopped at the edge of the porch,
where Ned tied the fuzzy, slow-walking donkey to one corner of Jake's
hitching rail, but he was careful not to let the donkey stand close to
Jake. A good thing, Papa said, for Jake could, and would, kick him.
"I see Ned aims to buy coal oil."
"How come he's got that old wrinkled Irish 'tater sticking on the spout
of his can, Papa?"
"To keep his oil from sloshing out when he starts home."
The dog clambered up the steps behind Ned and followed him inside. As
soon as she could spread herself out in the middle of the floor, she
took a long, deep breath and closed her eyes.
"'Evenin', Mister Jodie."
"'Evening, Ned."
Papa looked back down at the tired, fat dog. "'Pears to me like you're
in the dog-raising business, Ned."
"Yes, suh. Sylvie, she gwine t' find puppies pretty soon."
"Is she any 'count?"
"Yes, suh, Mister Jodie. She sho' is. Sylvie 'bout the best coon hound
I's raised yet. She sho' know how to tree 'possums, too. Folks done a'
ready askin' for the puppies. But I saves one for you, Mister Jodie,
iffen you wants hit."
"I wouldn't mind having two, Ned. 'Course I've got five or six young
dogs, but a man can't hardly get too many good dogs. Well, what can I
do for you this evening, Ned?"
"I needs me a nickel worth o' coal oil, Mister Jodie. And I wants to
talk with you. I wants you to 'vise me, Mister Jodie." Ned let his
talking go down low. "Hit's Mister Ward. He don't act right. I's
uneasy."
"What's he done? Does he want you to move?"
"No, suh. I wish he did. I wish he'd run me off. He don't do that,
'cause ain't nobody else gwine t' move on his place."
"You could leave, couldn't you?"
"No, suh. Not 'zactly. You see, I owes Mister Ward a right smart money.
And I ain't movin' off owin' a man. That ain't right. 'Tain't right, no
more'n it's right for a white man to run off a colored man when the
crops is half made. You knows that, Mister Jodie."
"Yeah, I know, Ned. Still, we see a good bit of both. It's like Doctor
Elton says: 'Rascals come in all colors, 'specially black and white.'"
Ned didn't say anything.
"Mister Ward drinks considerable, don't he?"
"He sho' do, Mister Jodie. I tell you the big trouble. When Mister
Ward's drinkin', he say one thing. Then when his head's clear, he do
somethin' else."
"That's the way with a drinking man."
"Mister Jodie, you knows that white folks has got their ways, and us
blacks has got our'n. We all works the ground together; then our roads
just naturally parts at the field gate. That's awright. Everybody knows
where he stands. A man likes to know where he stands."
"Yeah, Ned."
"When a white man wants to talk crops and such, he sends for you. He
don't come to your house. Mister Ward, he funny. One time, he come and
say his wife sick and want my Eulah to come do the wash. Eulah, she
gets up there, Miss Ophelia not sick! She not to home. Miss Dink, she
gone, too. And he come 'bout this and 'bout that all the time. Yestidy
he done brung a hoe. Wants me to sharpen hit with a file. Mister Jodie,
there just ain't no call for sharp hoes here this time o' summer. Crops
is near 'bout laid by. Gardens, they's dried up. There ain't no hoein'
to do!"
"Well, Ned, I—"
"I's uneasy, plum uneasy, Mister Jodie."
"Well, to tell you the truth, Ned, I don't hardly know how to advise
you. I reckon about the best thing would be to sit tight one more year,
try to pay out next fall, then find you another man. I know a Mister
Taylor down on the State Line Road. He's looking for a good family with
plenty of big boys, like yours. If we have another good year, and you
don't owe Mister Ward too much, Mister Taylor might pay you out and
move you down to his place."
Ned didn't answer. Instead, he eased over closer toward the counter so
that he was standing right in front of Papa.
"I ain't telled you the worst, Mister Jodie."
"Yeah?"
"This mornin' Mister Ward show me how he gwine t' start makin' whiskey!
Say I gotta help him! Say he gwine t' put in the biggest still you ever
seen. I's plain a-feared, Mister Jodie! He say my chillens gwine to
help chop and tote the wood!"
"He can't—"
"He say he shoot me 'tween the eyes iffen I tells hit, Mister Jodie!
But Lawd, Mister Jodie, I's got to think 'bout my chiliens. Little
Stray, too. He that pitiful one what's not mine. I calls him my chicken
coop stray boy."
"Chicken coop?"
"Yes, suh, Mister Jodie. Years back I finds that chile—one freezin'
mornin'—all scrooched up in my chicken house. He near 'bout starved to
death and shakin' like a leaf—he can't talk. Me and my wife, we warms
him up and feeds him. And we tries to take him back to his mammy. She
don't want him. So we keeps him. That's 'fore I comes to Mister Ward's
place, and—"
"Papa! Look! Yonder comes somebody to buy stuff!" I dropped my duster
and ran to the door to get a better look at the man and horse up the
road. "He ain't got no coal oil can, Papa. He's got a shotgun!"
"Oh, Lawd, Mister Jodie! That's him! That's Mister Ward! He follow me!"
"Yeah! Can't see his face from here, but it's him. He's the only
red-headed man anywhere around."
I grabbed hold of Papa's pants so I could hide behind his legs.
"Is he gonna shoot me now, Papa?"
"Mister Jodie, don't tell him nothin'! Don't tell that man what I say!"
"Bandershanks, hon, you come back here to the back of the store real
quick. I want you to do something—play a game for Papa. Come on!"
Papa thought I wasn't walking fast enough, so he scooped me up in his
arms and ran with me to the back corner.
"What we gonna do, Papa?"
"We're gonna have a cat and mouse game. It's fun. You scrooch down
right here behind this sack of oats and make like you're a little
mouse!"
"A sure 'nuff mouse?"
"Yeah! You be a little bitty one, hiding from a cat! Be still, now.
Don't make a noise. A mouse is real quiet when he thinks there's a cat
coming. Just a minute, I'll bring you a whole handful of jawbreakers. A
store mouse likes to nibble on candy."
"Mister Jodie, come look at the man! He gwine t' fall own his hoss. He
drunk. That hoss, he know when Mister Ward's done been at the bottle.
He walk easy with him. I's done seen him afore. What's I gwine t' do?"
"Just act natural, Ned. I won't let on to a thing. Anyhow, Mister
Ward's probably already seen your donkey, and there lies your mammy
dog. He'll know her."
"Yes, suh."
"I'll walk out on the porch. Then, when he staggers in. you just hold
your tongue, 'less he asks you something."
Ned must have followed Papa out to the porch, for I could still hear
talking. I slid farther down in my corner and put a purple jawbreaker
in my mouth. Then, a green one. The others I stuffed into my pocket. I
wondered why Papa had decided to let me have so much candy, and why he
wanted me to play cat and mouse.
Ned sounded excited about something. Glad, too.
"Praise the Lawd! Look, Mister Jodie, he ain't gwine t' stop here! That
horse ain't turning to come up the trail. Praise the Lawd!"
"Yeah, he's going on somewhere else."
"Mister Ward tryin' to tell you somethin', Mister Jodie. The man so
drunk he can't talk."
"'Evening, Ward. What's that you say?"
"I say, 'Don't waste time!"
"I won't, Ward."
"Don't pay— Don't pay no mind to—to what Ned tells! It's wastin' time!"
"Ward, where're you headed, such a hot evening?"
"John Mason's. Gotta get John to fix this damn gun. Hammer's stickin'.
If this Goddamn horse would just move on. Get up! You sway-back fool,
get up! Mister Jodie, you got any shells?"
"Yeah."
"I'll be back directly and buy some. Soon's John gets this damn piece
o' gun fixed."
"All right, Ward."
"Ts glad he's gwine to Mister John's."
"I tell you, Ned, if he thinks John Mason's gonna sit right down and
work on that shotgun this evening, he's badly mistaken. Mister Mason
can mend anything, make anything. But he sure takes his time. He never
hurries 'cept when he's building a coffin. He works like lightning on
coffins."
"Yes, suh."
"Thank goodness, he's outta sight. Come on in, Ned. I'd better measure
up your oil. Now, where'd I set that can?"
"Here 'tis, Mister Jodie."
I fell asleep, or something, for the next I heard was Papa yelling at
some man and a big blamming racket that sounded like chairs falling
over.
"You're a fool for thinking up such a notion! A plain fool! I ain't
gonna let you have money to set up no whiskey still! I don't care who
you threaten!"
I raised up to see who Papa was calling a fool.
It was Mister Ward!
"God damn! It wouldn't take no heap to get me my copper cooker! Folks'd
never suspicion nothin' neither, you bein' a church-goin' man—Miss
Nannie's husband, to boot. Ever'-body knows she's purt nigh a walkin'
saint!"
"Ward Lawson, don't call my wife's name when you're talking whiskey,
cussing every breath!"
"You tryin' to tell me how to talk? You goody-goody church deacon!"
"You'd better go on home, Ward, and—"
"'Fore Chris'mas I could pay you back! Whiskey sells quick! Good money
in it! Why, I'd pay up what's done charged on your store books! Think
o' that!"
"I told you no, Ward! I mean it!"
Mister Ward hauled off and hit Papa so quick it knocked him down! He
straightened up and gave him back a big wallop!
"This ain't nothing to fight over, Ward!"
"I ain't gonna fight. I'm just gonna knock hell outta you!"
Next minute they were down in the middle of the floor, fighting like
all get out, rolling over and over! Both of them jumped up! Down on the
floor they sprawled again—but just for a second. Mister Ward leaped
behind the heater, but Papa went at him and started banging him to
pieces! Mister Ward grabbed Papa's arms and threw him against the wall.
His head hit the side of the phone, and he slid to the floor, blood
running out of his nose! Mister Ward jumped on Papa! More blood came
streaking across his face from a gash by his ear!
I had to do something!
I thought of the time Mama dashed cold water on some fighting dogs to
make them quit, so I ran for the water bucket. The thing was slam
empty! Then I saw the coal oil drum. I snatched the measuring can off
its hook and dipped up all the oil it would hold!
By the time I could get to Papa and Mister Ward, Papa was just lying on
the floor doing nothing! And Mister Ward was astraddle of him, beating
his head with both fists!
Mister Ward hadn't seen me, so I ran up close and splashed the oil on
him! I didn't mean for it to go in his eyes and ears, but that's where
it all landed. He screamed and grabbed at his face!
"God A'mighty! You little devil! Tryin' to blind me?"
He jumped up. Before I could run around the heater, he yanked up a
chair and threw it at me. I ducked. The chair crashed against the
stovepipe and it fell tumbling from the ceiling. Two joints hit right
across Mister Ward's shoulders; the other rolled toward Papa. Soot flew
everywhere. But not on me! I was already under the candy counter.
Papa was coming to. He caught hold of the piece goods counter and
dragged himself to his feet. But quick as Mister Ward could kick the
stovepipe out of his way, he rammed his head at Papa's stomach and
tried to knock him down again.
Papa jumped to one side and whirled back around. He leaped at Mister
Ward, giving him a shove that sent him skidding through the front door
and out onto the porch!
"Get out, you drunken wretch!"
Mister Ward scrambled to his knees, then up to his feet, and staggered
back toward us. To keep from falling he had to grab hold of the door
facing.
"God damn you, Mister Jodie! You'll pay for this! I'll get both y'all!
Ain't no little bowlegged witch gonna put my eyes out and get away with
it!"
I was afraid he was coming right back inside, but he didn't. He sort of
shook himself and stumbled out to his horse. He had a hard time
climbing into the saddle, but, when he finally made it, he turned round
and shouted at Papa: "You gonna rue the day your little witch was
born!"