Blessings Begin to Flow
"Well, I say it's a good thing these cousins of yours didn't decide
sooner to recognize you, Judy, because if they had we wouldn't have
had a single chair with a bottom left in it and the hooked rugs your
Grandmother Knight brought to Kentucky would have been nothing but
holes," declared Mrs. Buck. "I never saw so much company in my born
days and constant setting wears out chairs and constant rocking wears
out rugs.
"I don't say as it isn't nice to have company. I've been lonesome, in
a way, all my life, because my mother and father weren't much hands at
mixing, feeling themselves to be kind of different from the folks here
in Kentucky, and then I married young, and trouble came early, and my
poor dear husband's father wasn't the kind to attract the kind of
people my mother felt were our equals--but now, sakes alive, never a
day passes but it isn't cousin this and cousin that, coming to call
or ringing the 'phone or sending some kind of present to Miss Ann.
"What do they expect Miss Ann to do with a bushel of winter onions and
a barrel of potatoes and a keg of cider and a barrel of flour and six
sides of bacon, two jowls and three hams, besides two barrels of
apples and a hind quarter of the prettiest mutton I've seen for many a
day? This morning a truck drove up with enough wood to last us half
through the winter--the best kind of oak and pine mixed and all cut
stove length ready for splitting. That old Billy is mighty nice about
splitting the wood and bringing it in. He's the most respectful
colored person I ever saw and the only one I'd ever have around."
Mrs. Buck paused for breath and then proceeded: "While you were off
teaching to-day somebody Miss Ann called Cousin Betty Throckmorton
came to call and brought two daughters and a grandchild. I was mighty
sorry for them to miss you and I told them so. I think Mrs.
Throckmorton rather thought I ought to have said I was sorry for you
to miss her, but being as she had come to see you and not you to see
her and being as you are a sight better looking than she is or her
daughters or the grandchild, I put it the other way. Anyhow, she was
a very fine lady and couldn't say enough in praise of some of our
furniture.
"She asked me where the secretary in the parlor came from and when I
told her it belonged to my mother's side of the house--the
Fairbankses--and came over on the third trip of the Mayflower she said
no doubt she and I could claim relationship, as she, too, was a
Fairbanks. And then she said to Miss Ann that people in the south paid
so much more attention to relationship than they did in the north and
no doubt she was as close to me as Miss Ann was to you.
"Then I got out that book your Grandmother Knight set such store by,
with all of her family written down in it and a picture of the old
original Fairbanks home, and Mrs. Throckmorton nearly fell over
herself reading it and hunting out where she belonged in it and
finally she found her line and then, sure enough, she and I are closer
relations than you and Miss Ann. Then she called me Cousin Prudence
and asked me to call her Cousin Betty. I'm afraid I can never get the
courage to do that, but it does kind of tickle me for them to be
claiming relationship with me too. We are the same folks we have
always been."
"So we are, Mumsy, but perhaps the other fellow has had a change of
heart. Does Cousin Ann like having so many callers?"
"Indeed she does, and she never stops telling them what a fine girl
you are. Sometimes I can't believe she is really talking about my
little Judy, she makes you out so wonderful. Mrs. Throckmorton--Cousin
Betty--said she had got a letter from Mrs. Robert Bucknor, written
from Monte Carlo, telling all about the good times they are having. It
seems that that Mildred has caught a real beau. Cousin Betty's
daughter said she hoped he'd be more faithful than Tom Harbison, and
Cousin Betty hushed up. Evidently she didn't want me to know about Tom
Harbison--not that I want to know. This beau is a count and rich and
middle aged. It looks as though it might be a match. All of the
ladies, even Miss Ann, thought it would be a good thing if Mildred
married rich and lived abroad. They didn't want anything but good
fortune for her, but I could tell they'd like to have her good fortune
fall in foreign parts.
"At first Miss Ann was right stand-offish with Mrs. Throckmorton, but
that lady went right up to her and kissed her and said, 'See here,
Cousin Ann, you might just as well be glad to see me, because I am
very glad to see you, and to see you looking so well and so
comfortable and I'm also glad to see your pretty white hair and to
know you've got some legs.' And Miss Ann laughed and said, 'Thank you,
Cousin Betty,' and then they began to visit as sweet as you please.
Old Billy went out and made the colored chauffeur go back and see his
house and of all the big talking you ever heard, that old man did the
biggest. I came back to the pantry to get out a little wine and cake
for the company and I could hear him just holding forth."
"Poor old Uncle Billy! He is proud of having a house," laughed Judith.
"His turkey red curtains are up now and his geranium slips started. He
has put on a fresh coat of whitewash, within and without, and his
floor is scrubbed so clean you could really make up biscuit on it. It
is gratifying, Mumsy, that we have been able to make two old people as
happy as we have Cousin Ann and old Uncle Billy. I only hope Cousin
Ann doesn't bother you."
"Lands sakes, child, she is a heap of company for me and she is a
great help. I don't see how such an old person can step around so
lively. She stirred up a cake this morning. She says she has been
clipping recipes out of newspapers for years and years but they have
always made company of her wherever she has visited before and she has
never been able to try any of her recipes. Her cake has got a little
sad streak in it, owing to the fire getting low while it was baking,
but that wasn't to say her fault altogether, as I told her I'd look
after the fire while she picked out walnuts for the icing.
"We had a right good time though while the cake-making was going on
and Mr. Big Josh Bucknor came to pass the time of day. He could not
stop but a minute but he nearly split his sides laughing at Miss Ann
in a big apron, turning her hand to cooking. She laughed, too, and
made as if she was going to hit him with the rolling pin, like that
woman in the newspaper named Mrs. Jiggs. Mr. Big Josh brought some
fine fish as a present. He said he'd been fishing and had caught more
than he could use."
That evening, after the dishes were washed, Judith, instead of
beginning on the photographic work as was her custom, sat silent with
folded hands, her head resting against the back of the winged chair.
Her eyes were closed and her face was tense.
"Child, you look so tired," said Miss Ann. "You do too much. I am
afraid my being here puts more on you than you can stand."
In all her many decades of visiting, that was the first time Miss Ann
had ever suggested to a hostess that she might be troublesome. Judith
insisted she was not tired and that Miss Ann was a help and no
trouble, but the old lady could but see that there were violet shadows
under the girl's eyes and that the contour of her cheek was not so
rounded as it had been in the summer.
That night, when Billy came to her room to see if she needed anything
before retiring--an unfailing custom of the old man--Miss Ann was on
the point of discussing with him the evident fatigue of their beloved
young hostess, but before she could open the subject Billy said:
"Miss Ann, I done got a big favor ter ax you. I ain't 'lowin' ter
imconvemience you none, but I air gonter go on a little trip. It air
goin' on ter fifty years sence I had a sho' 'nuf holiday, bein' as I
ain't never been ter say free ter leave you when we've been a visitin'
roun', kase I been always kinder feard you mought need ol' Billy
whilst you wa'n't ter say 'zactly at home, but somehows now you seem
ter kinder b'long here with Miss Judy an' her maw an' my feets air
been eatchin' so much lately th'ain't nothin' fer me ter do but follow
the signs an' go on a trip."
"But, Billy--" began Miss Ann.
"Yassum, I ain't gonter be gone long. It ain't gonter be mo'n three or
fo' days, or maybe five or six, but anyhow I's gonter be back here in
three shakes er a dead sheep's tail. I kin see, as well as you kin,
that Miss Judy air kinder tuckered out what with teachin' an' servin'
up them suppers to the street cyar men. I'm a thinkin' that when I
goes on my trip I mought fin' a good cook ter holp Miss Judy out. Her
maw am p'intedly 'posed ter nigger gals, but she ain't called on ter
be. Me'n you knows by lookin' on with one eye that Mrs. Buck air mo'
hindrance than help ter Miss Judy. You ain't gonter put no bans on my
goin' air you, Miss Ann? Looks like it ain't 'zactly grabby fer me ter
git a holiday onct every fifty years."
"Well, if--" Miss Ann tried again.
"Yassum, I done filled all the wood boxes in the house an' on the
po'ch. I done split up enough kindlin' ter las' a week. I done
scrubbed the kitchen an' cleaned out the cow shed an' put fresh straw
in Cupid and Puck's stalls. I done pick a tu'key fer Miss Judy an'
blacked the stove. I ain't lef nothin' undone, an' she ain't gonter
have no trouble till ol' Billy gits back. I done already ax her what
she thinks 'bout my goin' on a trip an' she say fer me ter git a move
on me 'kase I needs it an' what's mo' she done rooted out'n the attic
a top coat an' a pair er boots an' I'm a gonter go off dressed up as
good as a corpse."
So Billy departed on his trip. When he had been gone four days and no
message from him had come, Miss Ann was plainly a little uneasy about
the old man.
"You ain't called on to be worried," said Mrs. Buck. "That old man can
take care of himself all right. I must say I never expected the time
to come when I'd confess to missing a darkey, but Uncle Billy is a
heap of help around the place. He saves Judy a lot of work--things she
never would let me do. I certainly hope nothing has happened to him."
Nothing had--at least nothing that his mistress or Mrs. Buck could
have feared. When Judith went to the kitchen on Sunday morning, the
one day she allowed herself to relax, she found the fire crackling in
the stove and the kettle filled and ready to boil. Standing by the
table, rolling out biscuit, was a small, old mulatto woman, wiry and
erect. She was dressed in a stiff, purple calico dress and on her
head was a bandanna handkerchief, the ends tied in front and standing
up like rabbit ears.
Uncle Billy looked at Judith and grinned sheepishly. "Miss Judy, this
air Mandy!"
"How do you do, Aunt Mandy? I am so glad you have come to help me. You
have come for that, have you not?"
The old woman continued to roll the dough and cut out the biscuit with
a brisk motion, at the same time looking keenly at Judith.
"Yes, I reckon that's what I come for mostly, and at the same time I
come somewhat to be holped myself. As soon as I git these here
biscuits in the oven I'll tell you what Billy air too shamefaced to
own up to."
She whisked the biscuits into the oven and then proceeded, "Billy air
kinder new to this business, but bein' as it's my fifth I'm kinder
used to it. Billy an' me done got ma'id yesterday."
"Got what?"
"Ma'id! I'm his wedded wife. He done come down to Jefferson County
courtin', an' bein' as I done buried my fo'th jes' las' year I up'n
says yes as quick as a flash. I reckon Billy's been 'lowin' that so
long as he couldn't be my fust, owin' to delays an' happenin's, he'd
make out to be my las'. I been kinder expectin' that Billy'd come
along for fifty-odd years an' every time I'd git a chance to git ma'id
I'd kinder put it off, thinkin' he mought turn up, an' every time I'd
bury a husband I'd say to myself, 'Now maybe this time Billy'll be
comin' along.' I been namin' my chilluns arfter him off an' on.
There's Bill an' Billy an' Bildad an' William an' Willy an' one er my
gals is named Willymeeter. Of course I knowed he wa' kinder 'sponsible
fer Miss Ann, an' I ain't never blamed him none, but I sho' wa' glad
ter see him when he come walkin' in las' Wednesday an' jes' tol' me he
wa' a needin' me an' he had a home er his own with a po'ch an' all.
An' so we got ma'id."
Old Billy had realized his dream at last--a house he could call his
own, with a porch and geraniums growing on it, and married to Mandy.
It mattered not to him that he was her fifth venture in matrimony.
"Come next summer, we'll have a box of portulac a bloomin' befo' the
house," he said to Judith. "I'm pretty nigh scairt ter be gittin' so
many blessings ter onct. Sometimes I kinder pinch myself ter see if I
ain't daid an' gone ter Heaben."