tight-fitting basque spanning her uncorseted luxuriance like a huge
bandage about to give way under the pressure. Her head was bare, and
her hair arranged in innumerable little plaits wound with shoestrings.
Chester wore a stiff-bosomed pink shirt, with a celluloid collar; an
ill-fitting piqué vest, frayed and yellow with age; and a purple cravat
decorated with a splendid blue glass ball, which declared itself a lady’s
hatpin rescued to serve a more eccentric purpose. His clothes were of a
light blue shade; and his shoes, orange yellow.
As they came into the room, Lizzie began singing lustily:
“Tell your mother to hold her tongue,
She had a feller w’en she was young....”
Stopping abruptly, she called out:
“Hi! good cittazun niggers. W’at y’all doin’ up in hyuh? How you do,
Aun’ Susan? Hi! old compair Tom. Good evenin’ evvybody.—An’ you too, ole
roustabout Gussie.”
Chester stood silent, grinning and bowing to everybody.
“Gal, stop yo’ racket,” Susan said, going over to her and speaking
quietly. “Don’t you see somebody sleepin’? W’at ailin’ you? You bin had
somh’n to drink comin’ ’long de road?”
“Who?” Lizzie echoed, unmindful of Susan’s admonition. “Lizzie ain’ seen
nothin’ but gutter water ’long de road, Sis’ Susan; an’ you know Lizzie
too well-raise’ to tackle dat.”
“Chester, how you do?” Scilla coquetted, trying to embarrass him. “You
sho look sweet.”
“Chester do alright w’en he let alone,” Lizzie answered quickly. “But
de boy bin complainin’ he delicate an’ healt’y, an’ you know we comed a
long way to make visit wid y’all dis evenin’; an’ we kind o’ dry roun’ de
th’oat. An’ Sis’ Susan you could’n’ len’ Chester a bucket an’ leave him
go yonder to Mr. Camille sto’ an’ git some col’ stimmalashun, so we kin
drink to each-another healt’; could you?”
“You ain’ on no steamboat ’munks deck-hans, Lizzie,” Susan replied with
sharp sarcasm. “An’ you know good I ain’ ’low no drinkin’ up in my house,
either.”
“O ’scuse me, Miss Smiley,” Lizzie apologized, affecting a grandiloquent
air. “I sho did forgot you was sanctify.”
Tom moved impatiently in his chair, saying:
“Gal, set down, an’ drink some coffee, an’ stop yo’ dev’lish ramblin’.”
“Coffee ain’ sattafyin’ to de stummic, Mr. Tom”; Chester’s mild falsetto
made timely comment, “’specially w’en you bin used to lickers mo’
nur’-shin’.... You goin’ drink coffee, Lizzie?” He asked her wonderingly.
“Boy, set down, an’ don’ show people how ignun you is,” Lizzie answered,
scowling playfully and pretending to be greatly annoyed. “Don’t you know
’tain manners an’ behayviah to scawn de of’rins o’ de house?... Bow yo’
head an’ tip yo’ hat to Miss Smiley coffee. An’ w’en we git yonder to
Gritny, den you kin say thang Gawd to dat cup o’ limmon gin in Mr. Cholly
Groos bar-room.”
Chester sat down obediently, everybody laughing heartily at the amusing
by-play.
Going over to the fire, Lizzie sat down on the floor near Tom’s chair;
took off her shoes and spread out her feet to warm them before the
pleasant blaze. As she settled into a comfortable position, she heard
several grunts of surprise from the women. Gazing at the fire, she said
with delightful unconcern:
“I know I’m simple; but I sho likes to make myself at home, whah-ever
I goes.... An’ dese pair o’ feets Lizzie got, cert’ny is tired; all de
walkin’ me an’ Chester bin doin’ yistiddy an’ today.”
“W’at walkin’ you an’ Chester got to do?... You ain’ workin’?” Came the
chorus of inquiry.
“Workin’?” Lizzie echoed, looking around from one to the other. “I know
I ain’ bin play’n.... An’ dem nasty heroes sho ain’ goin’ think Lizzie
play’n, if ever I ketch up wid ’um close enough to lay my han’s on ’um,
an’ leave my passion run reckless.... Who?... Dey sho will call it
workin’, w’en Lizzie commence workin’ on ’um.”
“Chester, w’at ail Lizzie?” Gussie asked. “She talkin’ out her right
min’, ain’t she?”
“Lizzie got her good sense,” Chester answered. “She know w’at she sayin’.
An’ she ain’ fraid to tell you, if you wan’ know.”
Acting as spokesman for the assembly, Nat said:
“Be still, evvybody.... Now go ’head, gal, an’ speak yo’ testament.”
Lizzie inquired cautiously:
“But how many settin’ in dis room goin’ be witness Lizzie done right if
dey go to put Lizzie in jail?”
“Great-day-in-de-mawnin’!” Nat exclaimed. “You ain’ kilt nobody, is you?”
“I ain’ mean to kill nobody, Unc’ Nat,” she assured him. “All Lizzie wan’
do, is wreck de nasty heroes so dey own fam’ly won’ recanize ’um; da’s
all.”
“Gal, stop makin’ riddles, an’ talk plain, for Gawd sake,” Susan said,
impatient to learn the scandal. “Who you talkin’ ’bout, any way?”
“Ain’t y’all hyeah’d w’at dey done to Chester las’ Saddy night, w’en
he was comin’ home from ole Aun’ Critty Briscoe wake, yonder to my Pa
church?”
“Who?... Done w’at?... Tell it.” They prevailed upon her with eager
curiosity.
“Ain’ found out yet,” Lizzie informed them, with growing enthusiasm.
“But Gawd ain’ goin’ leave me miss ’um. Da’s de main reason I’m goin’ to
church wid Chester tonight w’en we leave hyuh.... So I kin follow behin’
an’ lay ’um out, if dey start any humbug like las’ week.”
“But you ain’ tol’ yet anything ’bout w’at dey did,” Gussie said to her
casually.
Somewhat indifferently she remarked:
“Some y’all kin laugh, if you like, ’bout w’at dey done to Chester.” Then
with a look of suspicion towards Gussie: “An’ some yuther ones better
think on w’at dey hyeah me tell I’m goin’ do, if I ketch ’um dead to
rights.”
Frowning sullenly, Gussie asked her:
“W’at make you gotta look at me so crittacul? I bin had any traffic wid
Chester, you wan’ th’ow suspicion on me ’bout w’at was did to ’im?”
“Chester,” Lizzie called to him peremptorily, “ain’t you said you could
see in de moonlight plain, dey was’n all dark-skin mens w’at meddled
you an’ pulled off yo’ clo’se, an’ sont you runnin’ thoo de street wid
nothin’ on but yo’ undershirt?”
“Sho did,” Chester answered firmly. “Dey had one de mens sho did look
bright-skin to me.”
“Whah all dis thing took place?” Felo asked, laughing.
“Right down on de Morgan railroad, jes befo’ you git to de pastur,”
Chester answered. “I was goin’ along, singin’ to myself; ain’ stud’in
’bout nobody; w’en all at once, three or fo’ mens spring out de bushes,
an’ say to me: ‘Pull off dat lady undershirt you got on, ole Betsy!’ ...
An’ befo’ I had time to cunsider w’at was goin’ happen, dey had grab hold
o’ me, an’ pulled off my clo’se befo’ I knowed it.
“I commence strug’lin’ wid ’um to git loose; an’ I bit at ’um an’
hollered so loud, till dey had to lemme go. Den I broke out runnin’, an’
ain’ stop till I got home.... An’ ain’ had a Gawd’s blessed piece o’
clo’se on but a thin undershirt.”
“A lady undershirt?” Carmelite asked, hesitatingly.
“W’at business you got to know?” Lizzie demanded, speaking with growing
excitement. “It make any diffunce to anybody if Chester feel like he wan’
put on a lady undershirt? Dat ain’ give people no right to meddle Chester
on de high road, an’ ’zamine his body to see w’at kind o’ und’-clo’se de
boy got on.... But wait till Lizzie ketch up wid ’um! Jes’ wait.... Y’all
_sho_ goin’ see how Lizzie goin’ ’zamine de nasty Hellians, once she got
her two han’s on ’um! Who?... None y’all ain’ never seen Lizzie Cole w’en
her passion done struck her powerful!”
“Cha-cha-cha, Lizzie,” Susan said contemptuously, “stop yo’ tongue from
runnin’ so fas’. You know guinea-hens kin make a loud racket w’en dey be
in de weeds, off to dey-self.”
“Who? Aun’ Susan,” she answered quickly, “You ain’ think Lizzie talkin’
random to make y’all laugh, is you? You know I ain’ never bin had no
chillun, an’ all my strank is my own.... An’ I promise my Gawd to sho do
my bes’ an’ a li’l mo’, w’en de time come for me to take my sattafaction.”
Squinting his eyes humorously, Nat asked:
“You mus’ be think’ you Goliah, ain’t you?”
“Strank ain’ de onlies’ thing Lizzie countin’ on, Unc’ Nat,” she assured
him. “You know it don’ take no time to stick a needle in somebody nabel
w’en you wan’ do ’way wid ’um.”
This statement was greeted with general laughter, during which Lizzie’s
expression was one of serious amazement. As soon as their laughter and
playful comment subsided, she continued:
“I ain’ makin’ up nothin’ out my ’maginashun. W’at I’m say’n is natchal
fac’s. You pass a needle thoo somebody nabel, an’ tain nobody but _Gawd_
kin tell w’at dey died from.”
“An’ you expec’ we-all to b’lieve a tale like dat?” Felo asked with
disdain.
“Y’all know how Unc’ Peesah died sudden las’ New Yeahs,” Chester
announced solemnly. “But you ain’ never hyeah’d w’at kilt ’im, is you?”
“Colic; so dey tell me”; Soongy answered, “from eatin’ too much
buttermilk an’ cucumber sallit befo’ he went to bed.”
“Whah Unc’ Peesah could git cucumbers in Jannawerry?” Nat demanded.
“Don’t you re’lize w’at you say’n ain’ sinetiffic?”
“You sho right, Unc’ Nat,” Chester concurred. “Colic ain’ had a thing
to do wid it. ’Twas a fatal needle sont Unc’ Peesah ’way from hyuh. An’
nobody don’ know it better’n me.”
“Lawd, Chester!” Nookie exclaimed in surprise. “W’at hidden myst’ry dis
is you done got mixed up in? Lemme hyeah you tell ’bout it.”
“Chester,” Lizzie called to him abruptly, “pass yo’ han’ ’cross yo’ mouf
an’ wipe it dry.... You know, dey got mo’ ways o’ spreadin’ de news
besides puttin’ it in de newspaper.... Wipe yo’ mouf, boy, an’ say no
mo’.”
For a few moments there was a general silence, all eyes fixed upon
Chester expectantly. Presently Gussie spoke:
“Lizzie, w’at make you wan’ control Chester an’ keep de boy from talkin’?”
“’Cause talkin’ is ketchin’,” Lizzie answered. “An’ some people got a
reckless way o’ speakin’ dey words twice an’ makin’ ’um diffunt. So you
gotta watch out an’ keep from tellin’ too much. An’ any way, de boy done
wiped his lips; an’ me an’ Chester jus’ ’bout ready to fix we-all mouf
for some o’ Sis’ Susan gumbo, befo’ we start out for church, yonder to
Gritny.”
Getting up from the floor, she shook herself like a hen emerging from a
dust bath, kicked her shoes aside, and called out with energy:
“Come on, Sis’ Smiley, lemme help you fix de plates. Dey got two hongry
niggers hyuh kin outeat a mul’tude o’ Izzalites.” Then looking at
Chester, she said to him boisterously: “Boy, drap yo’ ole long self over
to dis side de table an’ try’n’ look like you got a intrus’ in de things
goin’ on!... You ain’ never heah’d tell ’bout gumbo befo’?”
Chester simpered good-naturedly and took a seat at the table. When the
gumbo was served, Lizzie sat down alongside of him and they began eating.
Dink’s whimpering music was heard over in the corner of the room, waking
like a timely invitation, and several members began humming softly.
Gussie, eager for conversation, was about to speak; when Nat, preferring
to have no irrelevant distraction, held up his hands for silence, rolling
his eyes ominously. Gussie obeyed the sign, and the humming flowed on
uninterrupted. By degrees it gathered volume, sustained and fervent;
every one surrendering unconsciously to the ingratiating lilt of the
pulsing melody.
Tom sat humming with his hands to his head, his elbows resting on his
knees. Susan was sitting opposite, swaying to and fro in rhythmic
contemplation. Nat sat upright with his head resting against the back of
his chair, his brawny hands clasping the chair legs. Uncle Foteen sat
with his eyes closed, every now and then intoning a low “A-men.” The
women accentuated the rhythm as they hummed, with a gentle patting of
the feet. And Felo’s spasmodic interpolation of a picturesque word or a
fragmentary line from the song proper, added rare charm to the fleeting
tuneful moments.
Lizzie and Chester were eating with evident enjoyment, apparently
interested in the obligato of voices. Having finished her gumbo, Lizzie
leaned back in her chair, and in a spirit of careless mischief began
singing lustily the old street song,
“Mama got a baby called “Ti-nah-nah-’nah
’Ti-nah-nah ’nah, ’nah....”
Felo’s loud reprimand brought her song to an abrupt close. Glowering with
indignation, he called to her:
“Gal, git out o’ hyuh wid yo’ strumpet ways! W’at you take dis place to
be, anyhow? You better go out yonder on de road, an’ play wid yo’ kind,
if you can’ ack right w’en you git ’munks people w’at know how to be
decen’.”
“But no, Mr. Felo,” Lizzie answered with genuine surprise. “You ain’ mean
to call me out my name like dat, is you?”
“W’at you is, if you ain’ a strumpet?” Felo asked with vehemence.
“I ain’ hesitate to call you a _double_ strumpet; reckless as you
is;—on-cuncernin’ of you bein’ a preacher daughter, an’ plenny ole enough
to know better.”
Foreseeing an altercation, Susan interposed.
“Look!” She called to Lizzie. “Ain’t you say you an’ Chester was goin’ to
church yonder to Gritny?”
Lizzie looked at Susan without replying. Going over to her, Susan took
her by the arm, saying:
“If you _is_ goin’, den y’all two better start befo’ it git too late.”
Then turning to Felo, she said: “Felo, go yonder in de side yard an’
fetch me a pitcher o’ cistun water.”
As Felo left the room, Lizzie muttered:
“Good thing I ain’ let my tongue cut loose an’ say evvything my min’ tol’
me to say to dat ole rusty w’ite-folks nigger.... It mus’ bin Gawd tol’
you sen’ him out de room. Sis’ Susan.”
Shaking her head and smiling pleasantly, Susan said:
“An’ Gawd expec’in you to go ’way from hyuh befo’ Felo git back. So don’
was’e time talkin’, but go ’long ... Chester, yonder yo’ hat. Take Lizzie
wid you to de New Hope church an’ see ’f you can’ make her pray. Go
’long, now, bofe of you; an’ no hard feelin’s.”
Fully aware of Susan’s positive character, and feeling convinced that
further argument was useless, Lizzie made ready to leave with silent
magnanimity. She walked over to the fireplace proudly, saying with a
haughty air:
“Chester, pay Miss Smiley de change comin’ to her, till I put on my
shoes.”
Chester settled the account, and they walked towards the front door.
“Good-night to y’all fellow-Chrishtuns,” Lizzie said with spurious
geniality. “An’ much oblige’ for yo’ manners an’ behavior.”
Just as she finished her lofty farewell, Felo came in from the back room.
“Da’s right, Lizzie”; he said to her, “don’ go ’way from hyuh wid yo’
feelin’s upset ’bout somh’n was said to you. Good-night to you; an’ Gawd
go wid you.”
“Go to Hell!” She told him; pushing Chester through the open door and
slamming it after her.
The road which Lizzie and Chester had to take from Susan’s cook shop down
to church in the village, was a lonely, desolate stretch of about two
miles. The few homes along the river front were poor, depleted reminders
of old plantation days, few and far between, and setting far back from
the road. If one took the railroad track running parallel with the high
levee, unless the moon was shining, there was no other light to show the
way but the clear glimmer of the stars; provided there was no mist in
the sky or dripping fog creeping along the land. If one took the path on
the top of the levee, the reflection from the electric lights on the New
Orleans’ side of the river helped to point out the puddles and uneven
places, and the vagrant cows that selected the grassy prominence for
their somnolent ruminating.
After a while one came to the cotton seed oil mills with their spreading
wharves built over the water, and the numerous electric lights and
occasional patrolling nightwatchman offered a certain sense of
protection. But it was not until one had passed through the long aisles
of cotton seed in sacks, and bales of lint piled to a great height and
covered with suspicious-looking tarpaulins, from under which imaginary
ruffians might spring unawares, that a wholesome feeling of courage
came to one before entering the village. Then, there was Mr. Cholly
Groos’s bar-room, just at the edge of the town; and the thought of his
inspiriting lemon-gin always made one “step light an’ ready to face the
devil.”
Having traipsed the lonely distance with little or no conversation
between them, Lizzie at length proposed going to Mr. Cholly’s for a
comforting cup before proceeding to her father’s church at the back
of the town. Chester was agreeable and they hurried forward, talking
pleasantly.
“Chester, you got any money?” She asked him.
“W’at you wan’ know for?”
“Well, I jus’ wan’ know sho if you got money. ’Cause I don’ care if I get
good an’ drunk tonight; ole Felo done got me feelin’ so upset,—callin’ me
out my name like he did, yonder befo’ all dem people.”
“W’at good gittin’ drunk goin’ do you?” Chester asked reprovingly.
“’Tain’ goin’ hurt Felo none, is it?”
“Nasty, scawnful, w’ite-folks nigger,” she muttered with deep contempt.
“I ain’ goin’ leave myself res’ till I git even wid ’im.... You watch me.”
“Ain’ Felo a member de New Hope church?” Chester insinuated with
artful meaning. “Felo over hyuh evvy Sunday night; an’ dey ain’ got no
under-groun’ workers kin tell you somh’n ’bout Felo tracks?”
“Boy, you sho got a good head,” Lizzie answered. “Stay wid me; an’ no
matter w’at happen, ’twon’ be nobody but Chester an’ Lizzie.... W’at you
say?”
“Gawd grant it,” he answered. And laughing merrily, they walked on
towards the glimmering light from the bar-room door, a welcome beacon at
the head of the street.
They soon reached the place, and as Lizzie entered, followed by Chester,
she called out gaily:
“Two big cups o’ limmon-gin, Mr. Cholly. An’ po’ ’um out heavy; ’cause me
an’ Chester feelin’ kind o’ weak an’ puny dis evenin’.”
Across the room several men were playing cards. Recognizing Lizzie, one
of them said to her:
“How come you don’ stop play’n wid Chester, an’ git you a sho-nuf man
w’at kin give you a good time, an’ show you somh’n natchal befo’ ole age
come creepin’ up on you?” Lizzie stopped drinking, and glaring at him
angrily, she answered with clinched teeth:
“Good thing Mr. Cholly stannin’ hyuh, ole nigger. ’Cause I sho would
tell you somh’n mo’ besides ‘damn yo’ nasty soul an’ go to Hell.’” After
which, she gulped the remainder of her lemon-gin and stalked out of the
room, leaving Chester to take care of the payment.
She waited for him outside, and when he came to her, they started off
together. As they walked along, the awkward silence was broken now and
then by Chester’s subdued humming. Lizzie appeared to be occupied with
some burdening thought.
At last they reached the church door. The place was quite crowded and the
members were singing lustily. Lizzie recognized the funeral hymn, which
caused her some surprise. As they entered, a young woman named Lethe
greeted them, and Lizzie asked her:
“Who dead, Lethe? I ain’ know dey had any wake to-night.”
“One ole lady dey calls Aun’ Milly,” Lethe informed her. “Sis’ Amy
Hollan’ Ma. Come fum Peach Awchud, yonder to Bayou Bah-tah-yuh.”
“W’en de ole lady died?” Lizzie asked.
“Gawd knows, Lizzie,” she went on, “I ain’ never got de straight ’bout
de thing. You know, Aun’ Amy bin drunk for mos’ a week, an’ nobody ain’
bin able to git de right news fum ’uh.”
“An’ dey bring de ole lady all de way from Peach Awchud hyuh, to sing
ove’ ’uh?” Lizzie asked, half-playfully.
“Lizzie, don’ ply me wid a whole lot o’ queshtun I ain’ able to answer.
All I know, I’m goin’ tell you, if you wan’ lissen.”
“Come set hyuh an’ talk ’bout it,” Chester suggested, leading them to a
bench in the corner and sitting down. “Now, go ’head.”
“Well, you know,” Lethe began again, “me an’ my brether Booguloo took
a skiff soon dis mawnin’, an’ went down Harvey Cunnal to see my cousin
Dootsy, cookin’ yonder at de camp for dem mens pickin’ moss to Li’l
Coquille bayou.”
“How much a pound dey gits for black moss, Lethe?” inquired Chester,
interrupting her story.
“Boy, shet yo’ mouf!” Lizzie commanded sharply. “Lethe ain’ talkin’ ’bout
sellin’ no moss. She talkin’ ’bout de ole lady call Aun’ Milly,—layin’
yonder ’ceasded. (Deceased.) Don’t you hyeah ’um singin’ ove’ ’uh? Shet
up, an’ lissen.”
Seeing Chester offer no argument to Lizzie’s rebuke, Lethe resumed her
story.
“Well, like I was goin’ say: me an’ Booguloo was helpin’ my cousin
Dootsy spread de green moss in de sun to dry on de bushes growin’ on
de side de cunnal bank; w’en w’at we seen comin’ roun’ de ben’ up de
cunnal, but a skiff cov’ud over wid a muskeeter-bar up on cane reed
poles, lookin’ like a natchal bed floatin’ on de water; an’ wavin’ up an’
down,—shinin’ in de sun like a cream-color flag.
“Booguloo say: ‘But w’at dis thing is?... Somebody ain’ use’ to
muskeeters, an’ gotta ride in big daylight, settin’ up und’ a muskeeter
net?... Dis ain’ no cheap people. Dis mus’ be qual’ty folks.’
“I say: Maybe somebody sick, an’ dey bin took ’um to de doctor, yonder to
Gritny. You know muskeeter-bite bad for de fever; so maybe da’s w’at make
dey put up de muskeeter net.
“Bime-by de skiff come a li’l closer, an’ we seen dey had a ole cullud
man pullin’; an’ a big fat dark-skin ooman settin’ on de back seat.
“I say: Booguloo, ain’ da’s Aun’ Amy Hollan settin’ up in de skiff?
“Booguloo give a good look, an’ he say: ‘Sho is, Lethe. Da’s Aun’ Amy
own-self. An’ I bet she drunk as a policeman on Mahdi Gras day!’
“An’ Booguloo was right, too. ’Cause w’en de skiff come close enough for
us to call to Aun’ Amy, she look like somebody simple; an’ she could
hardly talk.
“I say: Aun’ Amy, you mus’ bin heard de muskeeters was bad out hyuh soon
in de mawnin’, ain’t you?
“She look at me like somebody jus’ woke up, an’ she say: ‘Da’s w’at de
tell me.’ Talkin’ slow, like her tongue mos’ pah’lize.
“Booguloo say. ‘Aun’ Amy, whah you goin’ so soon in de mawnin’?’
“She say: ‘To fetch my Ma; yonder to Peach Awchud.’
“I say: Aun’ Amy, she ain’ sick, is she?
“She say: ‘Da’s w’at dey tell me.’
“Booguloo say: ‘She ain’ dead, is she?’
“Aun’ Amy say: ‘Da’s w’at dey tell me.’
“I say: W’en she died, yistiddy?
“She say: Da’s w’at dey tell me.’
“I say: An’ dey goin’ take ’uh all de way to Gritny to wake ’uh, an’ have
de berrin’?
“She say: ‘Da’s w’at dey tell me.’
“Booguloo say: ‘Look Mister; go ’head wid yo’ skiff. Hurry up an’
pull Aun’ Amy yonder to Peach Awchud, an’ leave ’uh learn somh’n mo’
concernin’ w’at dey goin’ do wid ’uh Ma. ’Cause she ain’ look like she
know _nothin’_ ’bout de po’ ole soul.’
“So dah whah de skiff went on down de bayou. An’ I ain’ know nothin’
futher, till I got hyuh to de church dis evenin’, an’ foun’ all de
members singin’ ove’ Aun’ Milly.”
The amusing recital furnished Lizzie with keen enjoyment and she was
laughing heartily. When Lethe had finished, Chester asked her:
“But how dey got de ole lady way from Peach Awchud so quick? Peach Awchud
mo’n eighteen miles down the bayou. How dey brought ’uh up?”
“Dey fetched ’uh up in de skiff, rolled up in a blanket; wid Aun’ Amy
settin’ on de back seat und’ de muskeeter net, speechless drunk, like she
was w’en me an’ Booguloo seen ’uh dis mawnin’. An’ ’uh oldes’ daughter,
Frozine, was waitin’ at de head o’ de cunnal wid Mr. Antoine groc’ry
wagon; an’ dey brung ’uh straight hyuh to de church ’bout two hours ago.”
“Whah dey lef’ Aim’ Amy?” Lizzie asked.
“She settin’ up yonder on de front row, pah’lize drunk, try’n to sing.
An’ nobody can’ get de po’ soul to budge.”
“Aun’ Amy mus’ be got a flas’ hide somewhah in ’uh pocket,” ventured
Chester. “She still drunk from soon dis mawnin’ till now.”
“Mus’ be,” agreed Lethe. “Sis’ Fanny an’ Frozine bin try’n to git Aun’
Amy home to ’uh house, to drink some strong coffee, but she keep on
say’n, talkin’ like somebody goin’ sing:
“Go ’way, Sis’ Fanny,
An’ lemme be.
I’m de onles daughter my ole Ma had,
An’ I’m jew to stay hyuh wid ’uh an’ sing.”
“Den w’en Frozine try to coax ’uh home, she say, jes’ like she singin’:
“Go ’way, chile, an’ lemme be.
I’m po’ Aun’ Milly onles daughter,
An’ she call me to come,
But I went too late.
She call me to hurry,
But de boat was slow;
An’ w’en I got to de bed-side,
Aun’ Milly was gone.”
“Sis’ Fanny keep on say’n to ’uh: ‘Da’s alright, Sis’ Amy; yo’ Ma ain’
goin’ be lef’ alone. Come go home wid me, an’ drink some strong coffee to
bring yo’ strank back, an’ you goin’ feel better.’”
“But Aun’ Amy say:
“Who goin’ sing ove’ po’ Aun’ Milly
W’en Amy gone away?
Lemme be, Sis’ Fanny;
I’m de onles daughter,
An’ I gotta stay hyuh
An’ watch dis evenin’,
An’ sing Aun’ Milly
A long farewell.”
“It soun’ like it oughta be pitiful,” said Lizzie, with a light laugh.
“But it sho goin’ start me gig’lin’, if I go in yonder whah Aun’ Amy
settin’, an’ lissen at w’at she say’n. So set hyuh wid me, Lethe, an’
leave us talk till we feels like joinin’ wid de singin’.”
Chester got up to go. “Well, y’all kin set hyuh long as you please,” he
said, “but I’m goin’ up yonder in front to view Aun’ Amy an’ watch w’at
goin’ on. Look for me, Lizzie, w’en you git ready to go.”