“I say: Who you mean, Chester Frackshun?... I say: Dis de place he live;
but he ain’ bin home hyuh for over a week.... I say: Chester yonder
’cross de lake, workin’ in a saw mill on Blind River. An’ I know he ain’
seen no kind o’ switch light yonder in dat swampy lonesome country.”
“An’ Chester was already gone away?” Felo wanted to know.
“Who?” Lizzie laughed, pleased with the remembrance of her little
stratagem. Chester was right there in the kitchen, down on his knees,
she went on to relate; close enough for the man to hear the sound of the
scrubbin’-brush swishin’ up an’ down the kitchen flo’, right behind where
she was standin’ in the door-way.
“But soon as de man shet de gate an’ went away, I say: Chester, put dat
scrubbin’-brush an’ bucket out yo’ han’s, an’ git up from hyuh an’ pack
yo’ clo’se quick as you kin git ’um together.... You gotta go ’way from
hyuh tonight,—an’ not a _word_ from you.... Hyuh come another death done
layed at you do’. So you ain’ got a thing to do, but hurry ’way from dis
place, an’ stay ’way from hyuh till all dis commotion pass over an’ times
come to be natchal again.... ’Cause you know, I’m goin’ yonder to Lafoosh
to de grindin’; an’ you ain’ got strank enough to fight all dese Gritny
w’ite folks w’en dey commence pickin’ on you, an’ Lizzie ain’ hyuh to
puhteck you.... So git together all yo’ few l’il scat’rin rags; ’cause I
wan’ see you leave dis house tonight, soon’s it git dark....”
“An’ you made ’im go ’way?” Felo interrupted.
“Who? Chester ain’ no fool,” she answered. “Chester know too good,
how he gotta listen w’en Lizzie lay down de law an’ preach ’im somh’n
cuncernin’ of ’is welfare.... Yas indeed, he went away,” she continued.
“Went away wid ’is li’l bundle und’ ’is arm, quick as I could git yonder
to de boat landin’ on de Basin, an’ make ’rangements wid de man on de
charcoal lugger to take Chester ’long wid ’im to do de cookin’ on de trip
over.”
“So da’s w’at Chester goin’ do now? Go back to cookin’ on de charcoal
luggers for de winter?” Felo inquired.
“I ain’ told you Chester was goin’ stay on no charcoal lugger all
winter,” Lizzie informed him sharply.
“Den whah Chester gone?” Felo demanded.
“To furren parts,” Lizzie replied with tantalizing artfulness.
Felo looked at her with a scowl of displeasure, feeling that she meant to
withhold something important from him. What made her act so tight-mouth,
and try to keep things so secret? He asked with impatience. Did she have
to hide things like that from close friends like him and Lethe?... Didn’t
she know that both of them would be ready to stand by Chester if he got
into any trouble with the white folks?... What ailed her, anyway?
Mr. Felo had to excuse her, Lizzie informed him politely; but she just
natchally couldn’t trust no ’ceitful niggers, any more than she could
trust some of the white folks.... ’Specially white folks like some of
them shoo-fly offsprings they had sittin’ up in the court house....
“But who is you, in de name o’ Gawd?” Lethe asked in a surprised voice,
looking at her quietly and speaking very slowly. “Settin’ hyuh talkin’
’bout niggers bein’ ’ceitful,—wid all dis mighty ’thawity to criticize
yo’ own color?... _You_ ain’ ’ceitful, is you?... Scandalizin’ w’ite
folks you done growed up wid; w’en you oughta be proud to give ’um
respec’ for all de ’sistance you got from ’um in de needed time.... Gawd
knows, Lizzie, you sho oughta be shame to make little o’ yo’ Gritny
people like dat.”
“Leave Lizzie ’lone, an’ quit talkin’, Lethe; an’ le’s go yonder to
Gussie wake whah things is peaceful,” Felo suggested with sudden
abruptness. “Lizzie ain’ bin use to nothin’, no-how; an’ da’s w’at make
her so scawnful ’bout de w’ite folks. She jus’ like de res’ o’ dese po’
ignun niggers, ain’ got no inher’tunce.”
What kind of inheritance did some of the white folks sittin’ up in the
court house have? Lizzie wanted to know. Did Mr. Felo ever take notice
how many of the people holdin’ high office in the court house, ain’t been
connected with nothin’ but cows, one generation to another?... Who?...
She could look back long as she knowed, and could tell about the time
when their gramma and grampa went grassin’ ’long-side the railroad track
with a wheel-barrow.... And the many times she seen their parents pushin’
cows to the pasture back and forth.... And right now, she could call
the name of _plenty_ of them drawin’ pay from the court house, what was
makin’ extra change, sellin’ cream cheese and buttermilk from the cows
they had in their yard.... And was that kind o’ practice-habit the thing
Mr. Felo wanted to call inheritance?... Who? She asked him, laughing with
great amusement.... A grass sickle, cows, and some cream cheese moulds
wasn’t nothin’ she could see to make people set up and put on airs like
folks what comed from a family of ’ridginy people....
“But w’at all dis hist’ry got to do wid Chester goin’ away from Gritny?”
Felo asked with eager curiosity.
It had plenty to do with it; Lizzie assured him. She was sharp enough to
know what would happen if people kept on talkin’ about Chester and Tempe
and the needle and the fatal switch engine; tryin’ to make him answer for
somethin’ when he wasn’t guilty.... No indeed. She wasn’t goin’ to take
no fool chances with court-house people she knowed so good.... White
folks what always bin used to somh’n, never was hard on niggers; even way
back in Reb’-time days. And anybody ever bin had any traffic with them
could tell you the same thing.... And Mr. Felo could ask his Ma Fanny,
and find out for himself she wasn’t tellin’ no lie. ’Cause all the people
along the coast knowed the hist’ry about the Derbignys and the Garderes
and the De Gruy family, and some them yuther plantation people what
always had somh’n; and how they was good to their cullud folks.... Even
today....
“But who wan’ put inny pennunce in shoo-fly people an’ off-springs?” She
asked indignantly. “No indeed, Lawd! Not Lizzie Cole.... No matter if
her father is a preacher o’ de gospel, an’ tries to make her b’lieve she
gotta love her neighbor like she love herself.... Who? Mr. Felo think she
goin’ study ’bout givin’ people love an’ trus’, w’en she look back an’
ain’ see nothin’ behin’ ’um but a ginneration o’ cattle an’ cows?” ...
“An’ you ain’ goin’ leave none yo’ own color know whah Chester gone to?”
Felo asked.
No. Lizzie answered positively. She had passed her hand ’cross her mouth,
and wasn’t goin’ to say nothin’ to _nobody_ till she came back from the
grindin’ after Christmas, with a pocket full of money.... Then she would
bring Chester back to the castle yonder ’cross the pasture, and spread
joy for all the hongry niggers in the East Green.... But now that she had
the boy out of danger, she was goin’ to Lafoosh to have a good time, with
Scilla and Nookie and Carmelite and Pinkey, and all the other wimmins
that said they were goin’.... Soongy said she was countin’ on goin’, if
she could fix it so Dink could stay at Aunt Fisky’s house till she come
back.... Now that Gussie was gone, Dink would be a good help to Aunt
Fisky; runnin’ to the groc’ry and washin’ dishes and ’tendin’ to her
ducks and things. ’Cause Soongy cert’ny had raised Dink handy and nice.
“But none y’all ain’ goin’ to Gussie funeyul tomorrow?” Lethe asked her
dubiously.
“Who?” Lizzie exclaimed, greatly surprised at the question. “You ain’
think Lizzie goin’ run to de country careless, an’ leave a fine brass
ban’ behind her, like dey say dey goin’ have tootin’ music in front o’
Gussie, is you?... No indeed.... Lizzie too crazy ’bout music to go ’way
from hyuh till after dey done put Gussie away an’ all de purrade over.
Den she kin git on de train wid happy membunce o’ Gussie, an’ go to de
grindin’ well pleased.”
If the band of music was the only thing leadin’ Lizzie to stay over to
go to the funeral, she ought to be more decent and not tell it; Felo
reprimanded, batting his eyelids crossly. If she didn’t want to give
any respect to Gussie, she ought to stay at home, and not play hypocrite
so brazen before a whole crowd of people, right in front of Aunt Fisky’s
face.
She never did care nothin’ for ole no-nation Gussie; Lizzie told him
frankly. And she didn’t have respect to study about. But a brass band
was a diffunt queshtun.... _Goin’_ to the funeral wasn’t the main part
she had to consider. It was comin’ back, dancin’ to the music, all the
way from the graveyard to the Gritny ferry-boat.... Who?... That was
enough to make her don’t care if she missed forty Morgan trains goin’ to
the grindin’.... Everybody knowed how all them Gritny niggers would come
skippin’ and prancin’ up Main Street, when they heard that brass band
commence soundin’ them teasin’ blues.... And if they just started playin’
“O Didn’t He Ramble,”—she cert’ny knowed there wasn’t _nothin’_ goin’ to
keep her from shakin’ her fool-self to a fraz’lin finish....
“Lethe!” Felo exclaimed, exasperated; rolling his eyes ominously. “You
sit hyuh quiet, an’ listen at dis Hell-bound ooman talk like dat, an’
ain’ say nothin’ to ’uh?... Git up from hyuh an’ come on, if you goin’
wid me to Gussie wake tonight. An’ leave Lizzie hyuh to do like de devil
lead ’uh to do.... ’Cause I done los’ all patience wid ’uh. An’ I know
Gawd ain’ goin’ bother wid ’uh.... So come on!”
“You goin’ to de wake?” Lethe asked her, getting up and reaching for her
shawl, hanging on a nail behind the door.
“No,” Lizzie answered, smiling placidly. “You go ’head an’ take yo’
pleasure wid Mr. Felo, yonder munks de Chrishtuns. I’m goin’ stay hyuh
for a li’l w’ile an’ make me some weak coffee, if you don’ mind.... But
I’ll sho meet you tomorrow, dancin’ in de road, comin’ back; befo’ I take
de train in de evenin’ for Lafoosh plantation.”
Lethe told her to make herself at home, and started for the front door
with Felo following her, his eyes fixed on Lizzie with a glowering look.
“Good night, Mr. Felo,” she called to him in a derisive tone. “An’ I hope
Gawd take care o’ yo’ th’oat w’en you singin’ over Gussie so bol’ an’
manful, yonder munks de Chrishtuns.”
On reaching home in the evening, Mr. Amos was somewhat surprised to find
all the windows and doors open and lights burning in all the rooms,
seeming to anticipate the arrival of some friendly guest. The table was
set for one person, and the pots on the kitchen stove gave evidence that
everything was ready for the evening meal; but Felo was not in sight.
Going to the kitchen door, Mr. Amos found him in the back yard, quietly
hoeing his little hill of snap-beans, growing along the side fence; so
intent upon his gardening that he was not aware of being watched until
Mr. Amos spoke; inquiring what all the illuminations meant, and if he
were expecting anybody.
“Nobody but you,” Felo told him placidly. “Lessen somebody comin’ hyuh
unbeknownce.”
“Then, why all the lights?” Mr. Amos faltered.
“Man, go inside an’ set to de table; an’ don’ be so hard to please,”
Felo went on. “W’at dey is wrong, you can’ come home now an’ den, an’
fin’ de house lookin’ like things givin’ you welcome, aft’ a hard day
struggle?... If dis yo’ resident, an’ de place whah you look to find
yo’ peace an’ comfut; I ain’ see how you gotta think ’bout makin’ a
whole lot o’ extra show for out-side people, an’ don’ wan’ make none for
yo’-own self.... ’Specially w’en you cunsider you ain’ got so long to
enjoy yo’ life; an’ dey ain’ nobody to ’preshate de place no better’n you
an’ me.... Go set down, for Gawd sake. An’ don’ try to make me feel any
wusser’n I feel already.... Disappointed like I bin today wid people I
sho thought I could count on....”
What could have happened to bring on a mood like this? Mr. Amos wondered.
Did anything go wrong at the wake or the funeral? “I thought you would
come home bubbling over with news, and couldn’t wait to tell what you
saw,” he said to Felo, as he came in from the yard and began making ready
to serve dinner.
He didn’t feel like talkin’, Felo answered. He had to look after them
snap-beans, and twist them around the cane-reed poles he brought from
home; before the wind broke all the runners and fixed them so they
wouldn’t make no beans; after all the bother he had with them, waterin’
and ’tendin’ them like he did every evenin’....
“So set down an’ eat, an’ don’ plague me,” he said, appealingly.
“Evvything hyuh on de table for you. An’ if you want somh’n, I’ll be
right hyuh in de yard, an’ you kin call me.... Da’s alright?” He asked
hesitatingly.
“Go on,” Mr. Amos told him with an amused smile. “Maybe the fresh air
will revive you; and later on you’ll be more sociable.”
He didn’t need no fresh air to revive his feelin’s; Felo argued with
himself as he worked with his beans. Wasn’t he out in the fresh air
nearly all day? But that didn’t keep him from gittin’ down-casted. Even
with music playin’, and the Peefus members marchin’ back and forth around
Gussie’s tomb, callin’ out to the devil and beatin’ him off with their
battle axes. And with the people singin’ and talkin’ and goin’ on like
they did.... Excitement ain’t had nothin’ to do with his feelin’s bein’
upset. It was what people did to him that made him feel troubled in
his mind.... Just like Mr. Amos thinkin’ he wasn’t sociable. Somebody
onsociable was ’most as bad as somebody what wasn’t no Chrishtun.... He
went on ruminating.
What make Mr. Amos think he ain’t sociable, after he done come back from
Gritny plumb disgusted with evvything; glad to git home where he could
look over his mind peaceful, when he was doin’ his cookin’ and tryin’
to make things look nice and invitin’ to please nobody but him.... That
wasn’t no way to talk to an ole-time fellow-servant, just because he
ain’t ready to stretch his eyes and grin the minute somebody look at
him.... It sho was disencouragin’.... Couldn’t Mr. Amos keep patience,
and wait till he got through twistin’ them snap-beans? And finished up
evvything in the kitchen, so he could talk to him free and light-minded,
after both of them went upstairs?
It sho was strange, for people what was raised together, and played with
each-another from the days of their younger youth, not to be able to
’zern anybody condition when they seen them lookin’ like somh’n heavy was
layin’ on their mind....
“De man ain’ know me yet; an’ hyuh I bin servin’ ’im thoo evvy kind o’
close quarters all dese many years? Lawd, Lawd! Hyuh somh’n else done
comed up povokin’,” he went on cogitating aloud; hurrying through his
work to get upstairs, where he knew he would find Mr. Amos in his room,
lying down, reading.
Hearing Felo’s habitual goat-like sniff with which he playfully announced
his arrival, Mr. Amos turned and saw him leaning against the door frame,
waiting to be invited to have a seat. Knowing Felo’s propensity for all
kinds of “good stimalashun,” and wanting to see him in a pleasant frame
of mind, Mr. Amos gave him the keys of the armoire, and told him to get
the bottle of Scotch whiskey he would find on the shelf, and help himself
to a comforting drink.
Felo brought the bottle and two glasses and put them on the washstand,
and sat down, looking at the bottle without speaking.
“Don’t you want a drink?” Mr. Amos asked in surprise. “Lord knows you
look like you need one.”
“How long you bin had dis bottle o’ w’iskey?” Felo asked with quiet
artfulness.
“About two weeks.”
... “Is you know de bottle open, an’ some de licker gone from out it?”
Felo asked, with a knowing side glance at Mr. Amos.
“Yes. I opened it,” he told him. “What about it?”
“So da’s de way you does now,—drinks yo’ licker _secut_!” Felo accused
him playfully. “You sho is a nasty ’ceitful w’ite man,” he went on,
resuming something of his natural humor. “Done got you a nice full bottle
o’ w’iskey settin’ up in yo’ cubbud, locked up; an’ ain’ say a word to
nobody,—an’ me right hyuh in de same house wid you; an’ comes up hyuh to
yo’ room on de sly, an’ drinks to yo’ ease; an’ den got de cheek to tell
me ’bout bein’ onsociable!... Man, you oughta go ’way from hyuh.”
Mr. Amos put his book aside and laughed with hearty enjoyment at the
playful reprimand. He knew by the familiar attitude that Felo was himself
again. It was not the familiarity of disrespect or impudence; but a
wholesome, child-like familiarity born of simple trust and friendly
understanding; a delightful freedom of manner and speech never indulged
in before any unsympathetic outsider, but reserved for the exclusive
entertainment of his “ole-time buzzum friend,” whom he knew would never
misinterpret the intention.
“Then you don’t want a drink, I suppose? Since you feel that you’ve been
slighted,” Mr. Amos said to him.
“Who?” Felo answered, reaching for the bottle and taking out the cork
with a flourish. “Don’t you know I bin too well-raise to refuse?
’Specially good licker like dis bottle look to be?... An’ I’m goin’ fill
up dis glass my own-self, too,” he went on muttering softly. “’Cause you
jus’ natchally tetches a bottle too light w’en you eechin’ out licker to
people. An’ you know I don’ b’lieve in bein’ skimson ’bout no kind o’
stimalashun.”
Having filled the glasses, he gave one to Mr. Amos, then lifting his own
and sniffing with energy, he said:
“Peace an’ happiness to yo’ heart, an’ Gawd keep de castle well-puhvided.”
“That’s a very nice long-sighted wish,” Mr. Amos told him, smiling.
“Here’s to your good health, and a whole lot of excitement when you go
home Sunday.”
“Look! Leave dat be right whah it is,” Felo answered abruptly. He didn’t
want to hear tell nothin’ about any Sunday.... Who wanted to talk
about lookin’ for any excitement, when everybody was gone away to the
sugar-grindin’, and nobody he cared about was left in Gritny to stir up
somh’n anyways interestin’?... He didn’t have nothin’ particular to go
home for Sunday. Ma Fanny could get some of Liza’s lazy chillun to worry
over totin’ slop for that hog.... And anyway, he was disgusted with
totin’ slop like he did every Gawd-blessed Sunday of the world; and ain’t
got nothin’ for it except people criticizin’.... They didn’t have nobody
he cared to see in Gritny. He was goin’ to stay home and go to church in
the evenin’, yonder to Holly Grove, ’cross the New Basin.... Wondering at
this sudden disinterest in things at home, Mr. Amos suggested that Lethe
might be pleased to see him on Sunday.
Who? Felo answered with a tone of evident disappointment. Lethe
wasn’t no diffunt from the rest of them crazy wimmins bin raised on a
plantation.... You can take a nigger out the country, but you sho Gawd
can’t take the country out a nigger.... He went on with vehemence.
Lethe wasn’t satisfied with havin’ a good place to work at Miss Tillie
house; comin’ home soon every evenin’, with half a day off on Sunday,
when the two of them could be together nice and friendly; there she had
to leave ole wild Lizzie Cole put devilment in her head and make her
onrestful,—goin’ yonder to the sugar-grindin’ like all them other cheap
Gritny niggers what think more about money than they do about manners and
behavior....
“An’ ain’ tol’ me a word ’bout w’at she was inten’ to do, till de las’
minute,” he went on.
Now that the cheering drink had loosened his tongue, Mr. Amos knew
that he would continue to talk freely, and it was wise to offer no
interruption. Of course, goin’ to Gussie’s funeral with Lizzie Cole for
her partner couldn’t be helped; Felo went on to relate. Because all the
wimmins had to keep separate from the mens and march to they-self; so
Lethe was _compelled_ to walk ’long-side of Lizzie, when Lizzie just
natchally forced herself on her.... But how Lethe ain’ come to change
her mind and break away from Lizzie comin’ back, was somh’n he couldn’t
understand, no matter how hard he thought on it.... Stickin’ close to
Lizzie like she did, and the two of them comin’ up the big road, dancin’
and shakin’ their reckless bodies to the ratty music the band was
playin’; the same as if they were yonder on the flatform to Mr. Snider
honky-tonk, back of Gritny.... “And mad like I was, there I couldn’t say
a thing to her; ’count o’ bein’ in de purrude wid de Peefus uniform on,
an’ all de ’couterments in my hand an’ ’cross my shoulder....”
“And did you get to see her after the funeral was over?” Mr. Amos
encouraged him.
“Who?... Maybe you ain’ think I didn’t set to her strong w’en I got back
to her house, aft’ I left de crowd at de ferry-landin’,” Felo boasted.
What he said to her sho was goin’ to hold her for a long time; the way he
sasharated her feelin’s for leavin’ ole strumpet Lizzie lead her astray,
and makin’ her expose herself before all Gritny like she did.... No
indeed. He didn’t bit his tongue; when he knowed that the sperret o’ Gawd
had called on him to chastise Lethe, and make her re’lize what was her
fittin’ tahminashun....
“And did Lethe stand for all your severity and offer no resistance, or
try to make an explanation of any kind?” Mr. Amos asked him.
“Da’s de very subjec’ I’m comin’ to now,” Felo continued. “She look like
she ain’ _care_ to answer back; jus keepin’ still, an’ goin’ roun’ de
room, straight’nin’ up, an’ fixin’ some her clo’se w’at was piled up on
de bed.
“I say to myself: Da’s a good sign. She ain’ try’n to start no wrangle,
like she always do. She mus’ be thinkin’ ’bout w’at I say to her; an’ she
goin’ profit by it.
“So aft’ I had talk all I wan’ talk, an’ tol’ her I was goin’ count
on seein’ her nex’ Sunday; she come to de front gate wid me nice an’
frien’ly; an’ I lef’ her lookin’ like she was please’; an’ went roun’
to Ma Fanny house to see how things was gittin’ on, befo’ I start back
’cross de river.
“Evvything had come to look so encouragin’, I never would bin thought
’bout nothin’ diffunt; an’ my ’tenshun was leadin’ me to hurry up an’ git
hyuh to fix things for you quick as I could. But it mus’ bin de sperret
o’ Gawd met me on de road, an’ tol’ me to go by de Morgan station....
“W’en de nex’ thing I knowed: Hyuh was Lethe, wid a bundle o’ clo’se
un’ her arm; stannin’ in line at de railroad station, munks a mul’tude
o’ wimmins, waitin’ to git on de train goin’ yonder to Lafoosh
sugar-grindin’.... Wid Lizzie Cole right ’longside her, grinnin’ at me
like a fatal devil straight out o’ Hell.”
“And what did you do?” asked Mr. Amos, laughing with keen amusement at
the awkwardness of the situation and Felo’s naïve revealment of righteous
disappointment.
“W’at you expec’ me to do, w’en de train was jus’ ’bout to pull out from
de station?” He asked fretfully. “You ain’ think I’m goin’ jump on an’ go
’long wid her, is you?”
“And Lethe never told you anything about wanting to go to the grinding?”
Mr. Amos inquired.
“What Lethe wan’ go to any grindin’ for, w’en she makin’ good money
at Miss Tillie house? An’ got a nice place to live in, decen’ an’
high-minded? An’ got me to lend her ’sistance inny time she lookin’ for a
willin’ han’?” ... Felo argued with growing resentment. “Lethe ain’ never
had no grindin’ to study ’bout, till dat wil’ Hellian Lizzie come ’long
an’ got her worked up ove’ it.... An’ for nothin’ mo’ den to spite me,
an’ git me onsatafied; ’cause she knowed dat nex’ to my church, Lethe was
de secon’ big injoyment to make me count on comin’ over to Gritny evvy
Sunday.... But w’at I got to count on now? De way things done come to be
mixed up, an’ Lethe done gone away?”
There was a note of loneliness in his voice, and his face assumed an
expression of utter bereavement. Mr. Amos regarded him in silence, amused
by his quaint philosophy, at the same time conscious of a feeling of
genuine sympathy.
“To look at you now,” he said to him cheerfully, “anyone would think
that Lethe was dead and buried, and you didn’t have a friend left in the
world. Aren’t there some other worthwhile people in Gretna you can go to
see?... There, take your glass, and have a drink to a new pleasure next
Sunday.”