intense; for he recognized several of his colored friends on their way
to the City to dispose of their various wares. The pontoon was crowded
with _marchande_ women, with large flat baskets of vegetables balanced
on their heads; the careful arrangement of the shining, dew-washed,
maroon-colored beets, scarlet peppers, pale green lettuce, and the golden
carrots with plume-like foliage, making the baskets from a distance
appear like gigantic, colorful hats decked for a rustic festival.
In the crowd he recognized Lizzie and Chester, each with a basket of
vegetables. If Lizzie had heard anything from Lethe, she would be sure to
mention it. He was relieved when she spoke first.
“Hi! Mr. Felo,” she greeted him, as she came off the boat. “Y’awter
staid longer to de wake Sunday night. We sho did give Aun’ Milly a good
sen’-over. I staid till close on to fo’ clock in de mawnin’. An’ I
wouldn’ a-lef’ den, but de coffee gived out.”
“You know if Lethe goin’ to de burryin’?” Felo inquired artfully.
“I ain’ seen Lethe since Sunday night, Mr. Felo. I pass by ’uh house dis
mawnin’, but it look like nobody was home.”
This information reassured him. Lizzie knew nothing, therefore Lethe had
not told her trouble abroad.
The boat bell rang, and Lizzie and Chester hurried on board, calling
to Felo, they hoped to see him next Sunday. He waved good-by to them,
passing on with a feeling of gratitude.
As he turned into the street where Lethe lived, he looked toward the
house and saw a thin blue reek of smoke curling up from the dilapidated
chimney. A mockingbird was sitting on the corner of the roof, singing;
telling the heedless world of the prodigal beauty of the sunshine and the
fleeting glory of the morning.
“Da’s a good sign,” Felo commented. “Nobody ain’ got no business bein’
down-casted w’en dumb critters kin feel de sperret o’ Gawd wakin’-up
inside ’um, like dat bird yonder shoutin’ ’bout it.”
He looked at the old house and thought how different it seemed from
the other night when he saw it in the silent moonlight. How inviting
it looked, with the sunshine playing over the gallery and its rickety
old posts, covered with flowering vines; a veritable basket of rampant
wistaria and luxuriant honeysuckle.
He opened the gate and went around the side way, without calling. Lethe
was in the back yard, feeding chickens; and she didn’t see him until he
came where she was standing. She made no sign of recognition until he
spoke.
“Lethe, you don’ wan’ tell me good-mawnin’?” He asked quietly. “If you
feel like you don’ wan’ talk, I kin go back whah I come from.”
“Who invite you to come hyuh, any way?” She asked, indifferently.
“I ain’ had to wait for no inv’tation,” he answered curtly. “I come hyuh
’cause my min’ lead me to come hyuh. To see how you gittin’ ’long....
To bring you dis aw’inge-rine purzerve I made for you.” (Offering her a
glass of home-made orange marmalade.)
She looked at him unmoved; without a show of surprise, resentment or
just indignation; wondering what to say to him. Was he conscious of his
meanness, she thought. If so, was she ready to forgive him, having had
time to consider her unwarranted jealousy, provoked by Lizzie’s malicious
gossip? But why did she doubt Felo when he tried to make her know that
Lizzie lied. She knew he never showed any interest in other women as
long as she had known him. And if he came specially to see her today,
surely he would be ready to stand the expense of a few missing teeth.
What was the loss of a few teeth compared with the loss of a friendly
company-keeper like Felo?... And any way, wasn’t she the one who struck
the first blow?...
Having deliberated with herself to her apparent satisfaction, she told
him to put the glass of marmalade in the kitchen, “till I ketch me one
dese chickens to make some soup.”
“You goin’ have comp’ny?” Felo asked. The thought of chicken seeming to
indicate the approach of some festive occasion.
“W’at I wan’ do havin’ comp’ny, wid all dese teeth missin’ out de front
o’ my mouth?” She replied sharply; wondering at his total lack of
judgment. “People can’t eat chicken out dey own yard lessen dey gotta
have comp’ny to eat wid ’um?”
“I ain’ findin’ fault wid you ’bout yo’ likin’s, Lethe,” he apologized.
“I was thinkin’ ’bout you settin’ down by yo’self, eating lonesome; ’dout
anybody to talk wid you, da’s all.”
Her frown seemed to deepen, and her voice assumed a tone of annoyance.
“Wa’t I want wid anybody comin’ hyuh to talk to me, all lavadated like
I is; wid all dese teeth missin’ in de front o’ my mouth? You come hyuh
to make game an’ crow over me, ’stid o’ beggin’ my pardner for de nasty
trick you done played on me?... You ain’ think one li’l ole glass o’
aw’inge-rine purzerve kin make up for de wrong you done commit, is you?
You mus’ be a fatal fool, if you do.”
Felo looked at her appealingly. He was ready to make any number of
apologies, if she would only listen. As for the teeth, she “oughta know
de one w’at broke ’um called on to put new ones in dey place; if ’e any
kind o’ man w’at calls ’imself a man.”
“But some people waits a long time aft’ dey bin called on; makin’ up dey
min’ ’bout de thing dey gotta do,” she told him. “An’ a toothless ooman
ain’ need to have much patience w’en she look in de glass an’ see how
ugly she be.”
“Lethe, for Gawd sake don’ talk so fas’,” he pleaded. “Go ketch yo’
chicken, like you say you wan’ do; den leave us set down an’ talk de
thing over an’ un’stan’ one-’nother. ’Cause my min’ too upset ’bout de
whole business; an’ I wan’ try an’ git straight befo’ I go ’way from hyuh
today. Go ketch de chicken. I kin look to de stove an’ fix de pot o’
scaldin’ water an’ things ready for you, yonder in de kitchen.”
Whereupon he went into the house, Lethe’s silence being a sign of
approval.
As he walked away, Lethe threw a handful of feed from the pan she held,
and the chickens gathered about her and began pecking greedily. After
looking them over carefully, she selected the one she wanted; stooped
slowly and grabbed the unwary chicken by the neck. She took a tight grasp
just below its head and began swinging it around vigorously. Two or
three times it went around in a circle at arm’s length; when suddenly
it was severed, the body of the chicken falling to the ground, the head
remaining in her hand. The frightened hens ran off, squawking; and the
roosters ran over where the bleeding victim lay kicking, pecking at it
and making loud commotion. Lethe stood by and watched it until the last
sign of life was gone; then stooped and picked it up and went into the
house.
Felo was ready with the pot of scalding water, which he poured over the
chicken when Lethe put it in the dishpan. After it cooled a bit, he
began picking off the feathers; while Lethe busied herself with other
preparations for the little meal for two. The time being propitious, Felo
made ready to unburden himself, and began his explanation. His talk was
free and persuasive, and Lethe listened, offering little or no dissenting
comment. She could appreciate his feeling of pride, and assured him that
she would be the “las’ person in dis worl’ to put bad mouth on him an’
roll any stone in his way.”
He told her he was glad that he had not been disappointed in her, and
thanked her profusely. She was the right kind of a woman. He “always
knowed she was’n no shoo-fly, picayune nigger; an’ knowed still better
now, since he done had good chance to tes’ her senserra.” (Sincerity.)
While the chicken boiled they sat talking of Lizzie and Chester; Aunt
Milly’s funeral, which was to take place that day; and many other
things of mutual importance—Lethe getting up from time to time to add
the necessary vegetables and seasoning to the chicken soup to “give it
supshun.” She “stirred up a bowl o’ batter for pan-cakes,” which she
fried in bacon grease; and as soon as she finished dripping a pot full of
strong coffee, they sat down to eat.
It was a veritable feast to Felo, now the old relations were
re-established between them; and he hated the thought of leaving. But
he was obliged to be on duty when Mr. Amos came home in the evening. He
wanted Lethe to go to Aunt Milly’s funeral for a “li’l pleasan’ change o’
mind”; but she said she “felt too ’shame’ to face a big crowd o’ people
wid no teeth in her mouth”; that she would stay at home.
He told her good-by at the front gate, and started home feeling like he
had a “whole nes’ full o’ butterflies turned loose in his stummick.”
Lizzie Cole was one of those ignorant, reckless children of Nature,
utterly disregardful of the simplest rudiments of anything resembling
law or religion; in consequence of which, she was unable to live at home
with her God-fearing father and conventional step-mother. For a long time
she had lived by herself, in a decrepit-looking two-room hut, far across
the pasture in the East Green, away on the other side of the town.
The old shanty sat back in the yard, partly hidden from the road by a
high, dilapidated picket fence and a hedge of giant cocklebur bushes;
with two scraggy persimmon trees on one side by way of ornament.
If you happened to pass by on wash day, and saw the cocklebur bushes
decorated with innumerable articles of clothing of every imaginable
color, you soon learned their usefulness and lost sight of the
unnecessary expense of a clothes-line. It also gave you a better
understanding of Lizzie’s impatience with anyone who stupidly advised
cutting the cocklebur bushes down as worthless weeds and dangerous
breeding places for snakes and mosquitoes.
From time to time, Chester made “guests visits” to the retired hut; doing
the cooking, washing, sewing and other domestic work; while Lizzie walked
out selling blackberries and vegetables; or went gallivanting here and
there in search of friendly entertainment.
To Lizzie’s cheerful way of thinking, there was no form of pleasure more
enjoyable than a “good funeral.” The news of anybody’s dying always
wakened up her spirits; and she “never missed goin’ to a wake or burrin’
if Gawd lef’ her strank to git there.”
It was just about sunset when Lizzie came back from Aunt Milly’s funeral.
Chester was in the yard, washing, under the persimmon trees; and long
before he saw her, he heard her coming across the pasture singing gaily.
As she opened the gate and came in, she called to him good-naturedly:
“Leave dem ole tubs alone for tonight, Chester, an’ come-in-doahs; I wan’
tell you ’bout evvything w’at happened.”
He followed her into the house, eager to hear all she had to tell.
The room was dark, and he lit a candle and put it on the mantelpiece.
A sickly fire was smoldering on the hearth; and after raking the coals
together and starting it to burn well with a few shingles, he threw a
large piece of wood across the andirons, and sat down on the floor.
The place was orderly; the floor, spotlessly clean. Near the window was
a deal table with a few dishes and pans on it, and a wooden bucket
of drinking water and a dipper. Across from the chimney in the “guest
corner” of the room, was a low cot covered with a patch-work quilt, a
trophy from one of Carmelite’s raffles; a gay masterpiece of bewildering
design which she called the “fifty revalashuns of de forty-seven
wonders.” The walls were covered with newspapers, ornamented here and
there with gay-colored circus posters and magazine covers; and the
mantelshelf, decorated with a towering pyramid of empty coffee, tomato
and baking-powder cans, bright and shining as “any natchal silver on de
w’ite-folks side-boa’d.”
While Chester was fixing the fire, Lizzie had gone into the adjoining
room and taken off her shoes and exchanged her “good street clo’se” for
a “sloven fit”; so her body, as well as her mind, might enjoy perfect
freedom of movement throughout the evening conference.
“Now, I kin talk to my natchal comfut,” she said to Chester, coming into
the room and drawing a stool before the fire and sitting down near him.
Chester was all attention, so there was little need for useless
preliminaries. Looking at the fire meditatively Lizzie began her
interesting soliloquy, her voice low and quiet.
“Nobody can’t say that ole Aunt Milly didn’t have a fine burryin’,” she
told him.... “Look like people had come from every direction to sing
over Aunt Milly just for ole time sake; and because she come from so far
away.... Look like some people shed tears over Aunt Milly because she was
gone; and some for the good she did.... And she never knowed one woman
her own color, old or young, to have so many fine flowers at one time;
flowers so natchal till they looked artificial....
“But de one thing goin’ keep my min’ rollin’ for a long time,” she
continued, stressing every word with dramatic fervor, “was de soun’
o’ dat water gluggin’ in de coffin w’en dey let Aun’ Milly down in de
grave.... De same way you hyeah it go glug-glug-glug w’en you hol’ a
empty bottle und’ de water, an’ de soun’ keep on’ gluggin’ till de bottle
be filled up.... Yas, Lawd.
“It sho was a soun’ dat made me cunsider w’at I want y’all do wid me
w’en de time come for puttin’ me away.... An’ Chester, I want you look
to it; you hyeah me?... You know dis lan’ is a swampy lan’; an’ it hol’s
de water a long time; ’specially aft’ a heavy rain bin fall. An’ you kin
bail de water out a grave much as you want, but you can’ keep it from
seepin’ back in agin.... So you make ’um put me way up on a top shelf in
dat big tomb ’long-side de back fence, yonder in de Gates o’ Mary, high
an’ dry out de flood. ’Cause I sho don’ wan’ think ’bout bein’ drownded
aft’ I done died in my bed natchal.... No Lawd, not me!”
“Sho mus’ bin made Aun’ Amy felt bad,” Chester commiserated.
“Who?” Lizzie exclaimed with sudden animation. “Aun’ Amy ain’ knowed a
single thing w’at went on w’en dey put Aun’ Milly way.... She fell to
sleep in de ca’idge on de way to de graveyard; an’ w’en dey reached de
place, an’ wan’ try an’ make Aun’ Amy git out an’ walk to de grave-side,
leadin’ de moaners; de po’ ole soul was so helpless drunk, dey had to
leave ’uh settin’ up in de ca’idge in de road.... An’ she ain’ took no
part in _none_ de excitement.”
Chester laughed heartily. “Lawd! I’m sho sorry I missed goin’ wid you,”
he remarked. “But stop talkin’ ’bout dead people, Lizzie; an’ tell who
else you seen yonder.”
“Chester, you ain’ expec’ me to tell you ’bout all dat mult’tude o’
niggers dey had to Aun’ Milly funeyun, is you?” Lizzie asked, playfully.
“De main thing I got to tell you, is ’bout Sis’ Tempe. Me an’ her walked
home together; an’ chile, w’at she had to say, sho got my min’ upset
thinkin’ ’bout it.”
“W’at make you wan’ worry ’bout anything Sis’ Tempe tell you? Don’t you
know Tempe ain’ bin right ever since Unc’ Peesah died? An’ her min’ comes
and goes?” Chester reminded her.
“Da’s de very thing I’m comin’ to,” Lizzie answered. “Tempe
simple-minded, I know. But if she keep on goin’ ’roun ’munks people an’
talkin’ like she talk to me today; ’tain goin’ be but _one_ po’ nigger
land in jail befo’ de end o’ dis year be over; a’ dat nigger ain’ goin’
be nobody but Chester.”
“W’at thing dis is Tempe done mixed me up in?” Chester asked in dull
amazement.
Lizzie told him how Tempe complained to her about everything going to
ruin since Peesah died, leaving her with nobody to take care of the
place. How the garden needed plowing, and nobody wanted to do it for
her. How she thought of selling her mule and dump cart to Nat, because
she had no money to keep them; and what money she got by selling them
would buy food and clothes and all she needed.... That she knew somebody
was burning a candle over her to keep bad luck in her way just for
“envy-stripe”.... That she was sure of it; because she found red pepper
and buzzard feathers and candle-sperm tracks on her front door steps,
three Friday mornings hand-running....
But they couldn’t fool her. She knew who it was; and wasn’t afraid to
tell, either.... It wasn’t nobody but the same sly nigger that lived
next-door to her the time Peesah died so sudden.... Couldn’t be nobody
else.... That’s why he moved away from next door.... To keep people
from knowing anything about the needle.... But Gawd don’t sleep. And
everything got to come out when God command you to speak your mind....
And Peesah had come to her in her sleep three times already. And she saw
the needle in his hand plain as day. And he called out to her so loud,
her sleep was broke for the rest of the night....
“She say she hyeah’d Unc’ Peesah call to ’uh:
“Tempe, take dis needle back!
Put it in de place whah de needle b’lonks.
Lissen w’at I tell you, an’ do w’at I say!”
“An’ dah whah she say she seen de needle in ’uh own han’; but Unc’ Peesah
was gone clean out o’ sight.”
Chester looked about the room uneasily; and got up and closed the front
door. Lizzie watched him, waiting for him to speak. He went over to the
cot and sat down, looking at her questioningly.
“You think Tempe seen Peesah sperret sho’ ’nuff?” He asked her.
“Da’s de very thing I wan’ know myself,” she answered. “But ain’t you say
Tempe min’ comes an’ goes?... Maybe ’tain’ nothin’ but Tempe ’maginashun
make ’uh think she seen Unc’ Peesah sperret.”
“But ain’ she say she had de needle in ’uh own han’ aft’ he done lef’?”
Chester reminded her.
“Da’s w’at she say,” Lizzie answered. “An’ if you wan’ b’lieve ’uh, it
sho look like de needle p’intin’ to’ads you bein’ de lawful owner; Tempe
nex’-do’ neighbor, de time Unc’ Peesah died. Don’t it?”
He couldn’t deny that Tempe had come to him for the needle and that he
had given it to her. Lizzie knew that he had always been an obliging
neighbor to Tempe, lending her anything she needed if he happened to have
it.
The evening Uncle Peesah “took down wid de colic,” Tempe ran over to
Chester to borrow a needle and thread to “sew up a salt-sack full o’
hot bran, to lay on Peesah stummick to ease de mizry.” Chester gave her
the needle and thread and she went home with it. Late that night Uncle
Peesah died; and Tempe told every one that his death was caused from
eating cucumber salad and buttermilk. It was a reasonable excuse, and
as nobody bothered about making any sort of examination to ascertain
the real cause, Tempe felt perfectly secure. But Chester had his doubts.
Tempe had long confided her troubles to him, and he knew how Peesah’s
unfaithfulness had aroused her jealousy on numerous occasions; and how
she had threatened to wreak vengeance, and “git even wid ’im for runnin’
wid yuther wimmins.” Therefore it was natural for Chester to suspect her
of using the borrowed needle for a secret instrument of fatal despatch.
“But who you think goin’ pay any ’tenshun to Tempe ramblin’ talk ’bout
who de needle b’lonks to?” Chester asked, after thoughtful consideration.
“Nobody ain’ goin’ know w’at she mean.”
“Nobody ain’ goin’ know?” Lizzie demanded. “You better look ove’ yo’
min’, boy; an’ think on Felo an’ Soongy an’ ole treach’ous Gussie, an’
all dem yuther niggers dey had to Susan house Sunday, w’en you was
tellin’ ’bout how Unc’ Peesah died.... You ain’ think you safe from
suspicion wid all dem tongues waggin’; once dey done learned Tempe
puttin’ de blame on you. Is you?”
“How you reckon I’m goin’ keep ’um from talkin’?” He appealed to her. “I
ain’ see no way I kin stop ’um, if dey wan’ lissen at w’at a crazy ooman
say.”
“Da’s de very thing you gotta consider,” Lizzie advised him. “You gotta
go see Tempe, an’ talk to ’uh bol’ an’ brazen; an’ make ’uh un’stan she
gotta keep still; lessen you give way de whole truth ’bout de thing; an’
bring ’uh up befo’ de law, an’ make ’um prove who de guilty one. Da’s
w’at you gotta do.... An’ you better go dis very night; aft’ you done had
a li’l somh’n to eat. So come on; lessus git somh’n ready right now. An’
you go yonder to Tempe house soon’s you git thoo.”
Chester got up, and placed two bricks at the front of the hearth, then
raked out a small pile of coals between them. He filled a pot with water
from the bucket on the table and put it over the bricks, to boil for
coffee: Lizzie cut a few slices of salt pork which she took from a basket
hanging from a rafter near the window; laid them in a skillet with some
grease and sliced onions, and put it over the fire to fry. She cut some
cheese, broke a loaf of twist-bread in several parts, put the bread and
cheese on a plate, and placed it by the side of the hearth. When the
coffee was made and the meat was fried, she filled a pan for Chester and
one for herself, and they sat down before the fire and began eating.
Neither one seemed inclined to talk, feeling that conversation of
any kind would cause delay; and Chester’s visit to Tempe had to be
accomplished that night.
As soon as he finished drinking his coffee, Lizzie said to him: “Leave
evvything be, jes like it is, an’ you go straight off. An’ be sho you
make Tempe un’stan good, dat you know w’at you know.... An’ don’ talk too
timmasun (timorous) either.”
Chester nodded assent; put on his hat and coat, and started off across
the pasture, on his way to Tempe’s.
At every second street corner of the town, as a protection in time of
fire, there were large underground wells, bricked-in and covered over
with heavy boards. In time of drouth, when the supply of cistern water
had to be economized for drinking purposes, the villagers used the well
water for their cattle, truck gardens, and for washing clothes; but owing
to the earthy, swampy taste of the water, it was unfit for drinking.
The floor-like tops of these wells were delightful gathering places for
the colored children of the neighborhood on moonlight nights. Here they
would congregate for their merry games and romping; the pleasant sound of
their happy voices becoming a sort of evening service for the old folks
who came out of doors to sit on the gutter-curb and doorsteps, eager to
enjoy a bit of friendly gossip after a long day’s toil.
Tempe was sitting in the doorway of her house, in the glowing moonlight,
smoking her pipe and listening to the singing children at the corner,
when Chester came up to her.
“’Deevnin’, Sis’ Tempe,” he greeted her politely. “I was wond’rin if I
was goin’ fin’ you at yo’ house. You know who dis is, don’t you?”
She looked at him quietly, making no sign of recognition.
“Dis me, Sis’ Tempe,” he said, taking a seat near her. “Dis Chester.
Chester Frackshun, w’at use to live ’longside you, yonder ’cross de
green.”
“I ain’ forgot who you is,” she told him, looking at him searchingly. “I
ain’ forget nothin’.... An’ you ain’ need to tell me w’at you come after,
either. Cause I’m sho goin’ give de thing back to de lawful owner, now
you done come hyuh.”
Getting up to go into the house, she said to him: “Set hyuh on de
do’-step till I come back.”
“Lemme come inside wid you, Sis’ Tempe,” Chester suggested, getting up to
follow her. “I wan’ talk wid you on a li’l business.”
“Stay right whah you is till I come back, I tell you,” she commanded,
looking at him fixedly for several seconds before going inside.
Chester sat down again and waited on the steps for her to return.
After a while she came back with a cup of salt in her hand, and stood
mumbling some unintelligible words, as she sprinkled the salt across the
threshold, in the form of a cross. Having finished, she said to him:
“De one dey call Chester kin come in, now. But w’at be fol’rin ’im, gotta
stay out-do’s.”
He made no comment about the strange invitation, but got up and went
inside.
The room was in semi-darkness; the only light being the reflected glow
of a candle in the back room, and a narrow stream of moonlight coming
through the open door at the front, falling across the well-scrubbed
floor like a stripe of tarnished silver.
“Set hyuh whah I kin seen you,” Tempe said; placing a chair near the door
where the moonlight would fall across him.
Chester took the offered seat, and Tempe sat down opposite, half-hidden
in the shadow.
“You mus’ bin know I wan’ see you?” she asked. And without waiting for
his reply, she went on speaking in a kind of ecstasy:
“Boy, de sperret o’ Gawd don’ never work in vain.
“An’ don’t you never try to b’lieve de sperret gives up.
“E knows ’is own strank; an’ ’e knows ’is time.
“An’ soon or later, ’e sho goin’ track you down, an’ all de wrong-doin’
you done commit in de dark, de sperret o’ Gawd goin’ drag it fo’th an’
shame you in de light o’ day!
“Yas, Jesus.... You hyeah me talkin’?”