"Does it look like anybody you ever saw, Aunt Chloe?"
"It do an' it don't," she answered critically. "De feet is like hern,
but de eyes ain't."
"Who?"
"Oh, Miss Nannie." And she leaned again on her broom and looked down
on the floor.
I heaped up a little pile of pigments on one corner of my palette and
flattened them for a high light on a fold in the satin gown.
"Who was Miss Nannie?" I asked carelessly. I was afraid the thread
would break if I pulled too hard.
"One o' my chillen, honey." A peculiar softness came into her voice.
"Tell me about her. It will help me get her eyes right, so you can
remember her better. They don't look human enough to me anyhow" (this
last to myself). "Where did she live?"
"Where dey all live--down in de big house. She warn't Marse Henry's
real chile, but she come o' de blood. She didn't hab dem kind o' shoes
on her footses when I fust see her, but she wore 'em when she lef' me.
Dat she did." Her voice rose suddenly and her eyes brightened. "An'
dem ain't nothin' to de way dey shined. I ain't never seen no satin
slippers shine like dem slippers; dey was jes' ablaze!"
I worked on in silence. Marny had cautioned me not to be too curious.
Some day she might open her heart and tell me wonderful stories of her
earlier life, but I must not appear too anxious. She had become rather
suspicious of strangers since she had moved North and lost track of
her own people, Marny had said.
Aunt Chloe picked up her pail and began moving some easels into a far
corner of my studio and piling the chairs in a heap. This done, she
stopped again and stood behind me, looking intently at the canvas over
my shoulder.
"My! My! ain't dat de ve'y image of dat frock? I kin see it now jes'
as Miss Nannie come down de stairs. But you got to put dat gold chain
on it 'fore it gits to be de ve'y 'spress image. I had it roun' my own
neck once; I know jes' how it looked."
I laid down my palette, and picking up a piece of chalk asked her to
describe it so that I could make an outline.
"It was long an' heavy, an' it woun' roun' de neck twice an' hung down
to de wais'. An' dat watch on de end of it! Well, I ain't seen none
like dat one sence. I 'clar' to ye it was jes' 's teeny as one o' dem
lil biscuits I used to make for 'er when she come in de kitchen--an'
she was dere most of de time. Dey didn't care nuffin for her much. Let
'er go roun' barefoot half de time, an' her hair a-fiyin'. Only one
good frock to her name, an' dat warn't nuffin but calico. I used to
wash dat many a time for her long 'fore she was outen her bed. Allus
makes my blood bile to dis day whenever I think of de way dey treated
dat chile. But it didn't make no diff'ence what she had on--shoes or
no shoes--her footses was dat lil. An' purty! Wid her big eyes an' her
cheeks jes' 's fresh as dem rosewater roses dat I used to snip off for
ole Sam to put on de table. Oh! I tell ye, if ye could picter her like
dat dey wouldn't be nobody clear from here to glory could come nigh
her."
Aunt Chloe's eyes were kindling with every word. I remembered Marny's
warning and kept still. I had abandoned the sketch of the chain as an
unnecessary incentive, and had begun again with my palette knife,
pottering away, nodding appreciatingly, and now and then putting a
question to clear up some tangled situation as to dates and localities
which her rambling talk had left unsettled.
"Yes, suh, down in the blue grass country, near Lexin'ton, Kentucky,
whar my ole master, Marse Henry Gordon, lived," she answered to my
inquiry as to where this all happened. "I used to go eve'y year to see
him after de war was over, an' kep' it up till he died. Dere warn't
nobody like him den, an' dere ain't none now. He warn't never spiteful
to chillen, white or black. Eve'ybody knowed dat. I was a pickaninny
myse'f, an' I b'longed to him. An' he ain't never laid a lick on me,
an' he wouldn't let nobody else do't nuther, 'cept my mammy. I
'members one time when Aunt Dinah made cake dat ole Sam--he war a heap
younger den--couldn't put it on de table 'ca'se dere was a piece broke
out'n it. Sam he riz, an' Dinah she riz, an' after dey'd called each
other all de names dey could lay dere tongues to, Miss Ann, my own
fust mist'ess, come in an' she say dem chillen tuk dat cake, an'
'tain't nary one o' ye dat's 'sponsible.' 'What's dis,' says Marse
Henry--'chillen stealin' cake? Send 'em here to me!' When we all come
in--dere was six or eight of us--he says, 'Eve'y one o' ye look me in
de eye; now which one tuk it?' I kep' lookin' away,--fust on de flo'
an' den out de windy. 'Look at me,' he says agin. 'You ain't lookin',
Clorindy.' Den I cotched him watchin' me. 'Now you all go out,' he
says, 'and de one dat's guilty kin come back agin.' Den we all went
out in de yard. 'You tell him,' says one. 'No, you tell him;' an'
dat's de way it went on. I knowed I was de wustest, for I opened de
door o' de sideboard an' gin it to de others. Den I thought, if I
don't tell him mebbe he'll lick de whole passel on us, an' dat ain't
right; but if I go tell him an' beg his 'umble pardon he might lemme
go. So I crep' 'round where he was a-settin' wid his book on his
knee,"--Aunt Chloe was now moving stealthily behind me, her eyes fixed
on her imaginary master, head down, one finger in her mouth,--"an' I
say, 'Marse Henry!' An' he look up an' say, 'Who's dat?' An' I say,
'Dat's Clorindy.' An' he say, 'What you want?' 'Marse Henry, I come to
tell ye I was hungry, an' I see de door open an' I shove it back an'
tuk de piece o' cake, an' maybe I thought if I done tole ye you'd
forgib me.'
"'Den you is de ringleader,' he says, 'an' you tempted de other
chillen?' 'Yes,' I says, 'I spec so.' 'Well,' he says, lookin' down on
de carpet, 'now dat you has perfessed an' beg pardon, you is good an'
ready to pay 'tention to what I'm gwine to say.' De other chillen had
sneaked up an' was listenin'; dey 'spected to see me git it, though
dere ain't nary one of 'em ever knowed him to strike 'em a lick. Den
he says: 'Dis here is a lil thing,--dis stealin a cake; an' it's a big
thing at de same time. Miss Ann has been right smart put out 'bout it,
an' I'm gwine to see dat it don't happen agin. If you see a pin on de
fl'or you wouldn't steal it,--you'd pick it up if you wanted it, an'
it wouldn't be nuffin, 'cause somebody th'owed it away an' it was free
to eve'body; but if you see a piece o' money on de fl'or, you knowed
nobody didn't th'ow dat away, an' if you pick it up an' don't tell,
dat's somethin' else--dat's stealin', 'cause you tuk somethin' dat
somebody else has paid somethin' for an' dat belongs to him. Now dis
cake ain't o' much 'count, but it warn't yourn, an' you oughtn't to
ha' tuk it. If you'd asked yo'r mist'ess for it she'd gin you a piece.
There ain't nuffin here you chillen doan' git when ye ask for it.' I
didn't say nuffin more. I jes' waited for him to do anythin' he wanted
to me. Den he looks at de carpet for a long time an' he says:--
"'I reckon you won't take no mo' cake 'thout askin' for it, Clorindy,
an' you chillen kin go out an' play agin.'"
The tears were now standing in her eyes.
"Dat's what my ole master was, suh; I ain't never forgot it. If he had
beat me to death he couldn't 'a' done no mo' for me. He jes' splained
to me an' I ain't never forgot since."
"Did your own mother find it out?" I asked.
The tears were gone now; her face was radiant again at my question.
"Dat she did, suh. One o' de chillen done tole on me. Mammy jes' made
one grab as I run pas' de kitchen door, an' reached for a barrel
stave, an' she fairly sot--me--afire!"
Aunt Chloe was now holding her sides with laughter, fresh tears
streaming down her cheeks.
"But Marse Henry never knowed it. Lawd, suh, dere ain't nobody round
here like him, nor never was. I kin 'member him now same as it was
yisterday, wid his white hair, an' he a-settin' in his big chair. It
was de las' time I ever see him. De big house was gone, an' de colored
people was gone, an' he was dat po' he didn't know where de nex'
mouf'ful was a-comin' from. I come out behind him so,"--Aunt Chloe
made me her old master and my stool his rocking-chair,--"an' I pat him
on the shoulder dis way, an' he say, 'Chloe, is dat you? How is it yo'
looks so comf'ble like?' An' I say, 'It's you, Marse Henry; you done
it all; yo' teachin' made me what I is, an' if you study about it
you'll know it's so. An' de others ain't no wus'. Of all de colored
people you owned, dere ain't nary one been hung, or been in de
penitentiary, nor ain't knowed as liars. Dat's de way you fotch us
up.'
"An' I love him yet, an' if he was a-livin' to-day I'd work for him
an' take care of him if I went hungry myse'f. De only fool thing
Marster Henry ever done was a-marryin' dat widow woman for his second
wife. Miss Nannie, dat looks a lil bit like dat chile you got dere
before ye"--and she pointed to the canvas--"wouldn't a been sot on an'
'bused like she was but for her. Dat woman warn't nuffin but a
harf-strainer noway, if I do say it. Eve'body knowed dat. How Marse
Henry Gordon come to marry her nobody don't know till dis day. She
warn't none o' our people. Dey do say dat he met her up to Frankfort
when he was in de Legislater, but I don't know if dat's so. But she
warn't nuffin, nohow."
"Was Miss Nannie her child?" I asked, stepping back from my easel to
get the better effect of my canvas.
"No suh, dat she warn't!" with emphasis. "She was Marse Henry's own
sister's chile, she was. Her people--Miss Nannie's--lived up in
Indiany, an' dey was jes's po' as watermelon rinds, and when her
mother died Marse Henry sent for her to come live wid him, 'cause he
said Miss Rachel--dat was dat woman's own chile by her fust
husband--was lonesome. Dey was bofe about de one age,--fo'teen or
fifteen years old,--but Lawd-a-massy! Miss Rachel warn't lonesome
'cept for what she couldn't git, an' she most broke her heart 'bout
dat, much's she could break it 'bout anything.
"I remember de ve'y day Miss Nannie come. I see her comin' down de
road totin' a big ban'box, an' a carpet bag mos's big's herse'f. Den
she turned in de gate. ''Fo' God,' I says to ole Sam, who was settin'
de table for dinner, 'who's dis yere comin' in?' Den I see her stop
an' set de bundles down an' catch her bref, and den she come on agin.
"'Dat's Marse Henry's niece,' he says. 'I heared de mist'ess say she
was a-comin' one day dis week by de coach.'
"I see right away dat dat woman was up to one of her tricks; she
didn't 'tend to let dat chile come no other way 'cept like a servant;
she was dat dirt mean.
"Oh, you needn't look, suh! I ain't meanin' no onrespect, but I knowed
dat woman when Marse Henry fust married her, an' she ain't never
fooled me once. Fust time she come into de house she walked plumb in
de kitchen, where me an' old Sam an' ole Dinah was a-eaten our dinner,
we setten at de table like we useter did, and she flung her head up in
de air and she says: 'After dis when I come in I want you niggers to
git up on yo' feet.' Think o' dat, will ye? Marse Henry never called
nary one of us nigger since we was pickaninnies. I knowed den she
warn't 'customed to nuthin'. But I tell ye she never put on dem kind
o' airs when Marse Henry was about. No, suh. She was always mighty
sugar-like to him when he was home, but dere ain't no conniption she
warn't up to when he couldn't hear of it. She had purty nigh riz de
roof when he done tell her dat Miss Nannie was a-comin' to live wid
'em, but she couldn't stand agin him, for warn't her only daughter,
Miss Rachel, livin' on him, an' not only Miss Rachel, but lots mo' of
her people where she come from?
"Well, suh, as soon as ole Sam said what chile it was dat was a-comin'
down de road I dropped my dishcloth an' I run out to meet 'er.
"'Is you Miss Nannie?' I says. 'Gimme dat bag,' I says, 'an' dat box.'
"'Yes,' she says, 'dat's me, an' ain't you Aunt Chloe what I heared so
much about?'
"Honey, you ain't never gwine to git de kind o' look on dat picter
you's workin' on dere, suh, as sweet as dat chile's face when she said
dat to me. I loved her from dat fust minute I see her, an' I loved her
ever since, jes' as I loved her mother befo' her.
"When she got to de house, me a-totin' de things on behind, de
mist'ess come out on de po'ch.
"'Oh, dat's you, is it, Nannie?' she says. 'Well, Chloe'll tell ye
where to go,' an' she went straight in de house agin. Never kissed
her, nor touched her, nor nuffin!
"Ole Sam was bilin'. He heard her say it, an' if he was alive he'd
tell ye same as me.
"'Where's she gwine to sleep?' I says, callin' after her; 'upstairs
long wid Miss Rachel?' I was gittin' hot myse'f, though I didn't say
nuffin.
"'No,' she says, flingin' up her head like a goat; 'my daughter needs
all de room she's got. You kin take her downstairs an' fix up a place
for her 'longside o' you an' Dinah.' She was de old cook.
"'Come 'long,' I says, 'Miss Nannie,' an' I dropped a curtsey same's
if she was a princess. An' so she was, an' Marse Henry's own eyes in
her head, an' 'nough like him to be his own chile. 'I'll hab ev'ything
ready for ye,' I says. 'You wait here an' take de air,' an' I got a
chair an' sot her down on de po'ch, an' ole Sam brung her some cake,
an' I went to git de room ready--de room offn de kitchen pantry, where
dey puts de overseer's chillen when dey come to see him.
"Purty soon Miss Rachel come down an' went up an' kissed her--dat is,
Sam said so, though I ain't never seen her kiss her dat time nor no
other time. Miss Rachel an' de mist'ess was bofe split out o' de same
piece o' kindlin', an' what one was agin t'other was agin--a blind man
could see dat. Miss Rachel never liked Miss Nannie from de fust, she
was dat cross-grained and pernicketty. No matter what Miss Nannie done
to please her it warn't good 'nough for her. Why, do you know, when de
other chillen come over from de nex' plantation Miss Rachel wouldn't
send for Miss Nannie to come in de parlor. No, suh, dat she wouldn't!
An' dey'd run off an' leave her, too, when dey was gwine picknickin',
an' treat dat chile owdacious, sayin' she was po' white trash, an'
charity chile, an' things like dat, till I would go an' tell Marse
Henry 'bout it. Den dere would be a 'ruction, an' Marse Henry'd blaze
out, an' jes 's soon 's he was off agin to Frankfort--an' he was dere
mos' of de time, for he was one o' dese yere ole-timers dat dey
couldn't git 'long widout at de Legislater--dey'd treat her wus'n
ever. Soon 's Dinah an' me see dat, we kep' Miss Nannie 'long wid us
much as we could. She'd eat wid 'em when dere warn't no company
'round, but dat was 'bout all."
"Did they send her to school?" I asked, fearing she would again lose
the thread. My picture had a new meaning for me now that it looked
like her heroine.
"No, suh, dat dey didn't, 'cept to de schoolhouse at de cross-roads
whar eve'ybody's chillen went. But dey sent Miss Rachel to a real
highty-tighty school, dat dey did, down to Louisville. Two winters she
was dere, an' eve'y time when she come home for holiday times she had
mo' airs dan when she went away. Marse Henry wanted bofe chillen to
go, but dat woman outdid him, an' she faced him up an' down dat dere
warn't money 'nough for two, an' dat her daughter was de fittenest,
an' all dat, an' he give in. I didn't hear it, but ole Sam did, an'
his han' shook so he mos' spilt de soup. But law, honey, dat didn't
make no diff'ence to Miss Nannie. She'd go off by herse'f wid her
books an' sit all day under de trees, an' sing to herse'f jes' like a
bird, an' dey'd sing to her, an' all dat time her face was a-beamin'
an' her hair shinin' like gold, an' she a-growin' taller, an' her eyes
gittin' bigger an' bigger, an' brighter, an' her little footses white
an' cunnin' as a rabbit's.
"De only place whar she did go outside de big house was over to Mis'
Morgan's, who lived on de nex' plantation. Miss Morgan didn't hab no
chillen of her own, an' she'd send for Miss Nannie to come an' keep
her company, she was dat dead lonesome, an' dey was glad 'nough to let
dat chile go so dey could git her out o' de house. Ole Sam allers said
dat, for he heared 'em talk at table an' knowed what was gwine on.
"Purty soon long come de time when Miss Rachel done finish her
eddication, an' she come back to de big house an' sot herse'f up to
'ceive company. She warn't bad lookin' in dem days, I mus' say, an' if
dat woman's sperit hadn't 'a' been in her she might 'a' pulled
through. But dere warn't no fotching up could stand agin dat blood.
Miss Rachel'd git dat ornery dat you couldn't do nuffin wid her, jes'
like her maw. De fust real out-an'-out beau she had was Dr. Tom
Boling. He lived 'bout fo'teen miles out o' Lexin'ton on de big
plantation, an' was de richest young man in our parts. His paw had
died 'bout two years befo' an' lef him mo' money dan he could th'ow
away, an' he'd jes' come back from Philadelphy, whar he'd been
a-learnin' to be a doctor. He met Miss Rachel at a party in
Louisville, an' de fust Sunday she come home he driv over to see her.
If ye could 'a' seen de mist'ess when she see him comin' in de gate!
All in his ridin' boots an' his yaller breeches an' bottle-green coat,
an' his servant a-ridin' behind to hold de horses.
"Ole Sam an' me was a-watchin' de mist'ess peekin' th'ough de blind at
him, her eyes a-blazin', an' Sam laughed so he had to stuff a napkin
in his mouf to keep 'er from hearin' him. Well, suh, dat went on all
de summer. Eve'y time he come de mist'ess'd be dat sweet mos' make a
body sick to see her, an' when he'd stay away she was dat pesky dere
warn't no livin' wid her. Of co'se dere was plenty mo' gemmen co'rting
Miss Rachel, too, but none o' dem didn't count wid de mist'ess 'cept
de doctor, 'cause he was rich, dat's all dere was to 't, 'cause he was
rich. I tell ye ole Sam had to tell many a lie to the other gemmen,
sayin' Miss Rachel was sick or somethin' else when she was a-waitin'
for de doctor to come, and was feared he might meet some of 'em an'
git skeered away.
"Miss Nannie, she'd watch him, too, from behind de kitchen door, or
scrunched down lookin' over de pantry winder sill, an' den she'd tell
Dinah an' me what he did, an' how he got off his horse an' han' de
reins to de boy, an' slap his boots wid his ridin' whip, like he was
a-dustin' off a fly. An' she'd act it all out for me an' Dinah, an'
slap her own frock, an' den she'd laugh fit to kill herse'f an' dance
all 'round de kitchen. Would yo' believe it? No! dere ain't nobody'd
believe it. Dey never asked her to come in once while he was in de
parlor, an' dey never once tole him dat Miss Nannie was a-livin' on de
top side o' de yearth!
"'Co'se people 'gin to talk, an' ev'ybody said dat Dr. Boling was
gittin' nighest de coon, an' dat fust thing dey'd know dere would be a
weddin' in de Gordon fambly. An' den agin dere was plenty mo' people
said he was only passin' de time wid Miss Rachel, an' dat he come to
see Marse Henry to talk pol'tics.
"Well, one day, suh, I was a-standin' in de door an' I see him come in
a-foot, widout his horse an' servant, an' step up on de po'ch quick
an' rap at de do', like he say to himse'f, 'Lemme in; I'm in a hurry;
I got somethin' on my mind.' Ole Sam was jes' a-gwine to open de do'
for him when Miss Nannie come a-runnin' in de kitchen from de yard,
her cheeks like de roses, her hair a-flyin', an' her big hat hangin'
to a string down her back. I gin Sam one look an' he stopped, an' I
says to Miss Nannie, 'Run, honey,' I says, 'an' open de do' for ole
Sam; I spec',' I says, 'it's one o' dem peddlers.'
"If you could 'a' seen dat chile's face when she come back!"
Aunt Chloe's hands were now waving above her head, her mouth wide open
in her merriment, every tooth shining.
"She was white one minute an' red as a beet de nex'. 'Oh, Aunt Chloe,
what did you let me go for?' she says. 'Oh! I wouldn't 'a' let him see
me like dis for anythin' in de wo'ld. Oh, I'm dat put out.'
"'What did he say to ye, honey?' I says.
"'He didn't say nuffin; he jes' look at me an' say he beg my pardon,
an' was Miss Rachel in, an' den I said I'd run an' tell her, an' when
I come downstairs agin he was a-standin' in de hall wid his eyes up de
staircase, an' he never stopped lookin' at me till I come down.'
"'Well, dat won't do you no harm, chile,' I says; 'a cat kin look at a
king.'
"Ole Sam was a-watchin' her, too, an' when she'd gone in her leetle
room an' shet de do' Sam says, 'I'll lay if Marse Tom Boling had
anythin' on his mind when he come here to-day it's mighty unsettled by
dis time.'
"Nex' time Dr. Tom Boling come he say to de mist'ess, 'Who's dat young
lady,' he says, 'dat opened de door for me las' time I was here? I
hoped to see her agin. Is she in?'
"Den dey bofe cooked up some lie 'bout her bein' over to Mis' Morgan's
or somethin', an' as soon's he was gone dey come down an' riz Sam for
not 'tendin' de door an' lettin' dat ragged fly-away gal open it. Den
dey went for Miss Nannie till dey made her cry, an' she come to me,
an' I took her in my lap an' comfo'ted her like I allers did.
"De nex' time he come he says, 'I hear dat yo'r niece, Miss Nannie
Barnes, is livin' wid you, an' dat she is ve'y 'sclusive. I hope dat
you'll 'suade her to come in de parlor,' he says. Dem was his ve'y
words. Sam was a-standin' close to him as I am to you an' he heared
him.
"'She ain't yet in s'ciety,' de mist'ess says, 'an' she's dat wild dat
we can't p'esent her.'
"'Oh! is dat so?' he says. 'Is she in now?'
"'No,' she says, 'she's over to Mis' Morgan's.'
"Dat was a fac' dis time; she'd gone dat very mawnin'. Den Miss Rachel
come down, an' co'se Sam didn't hear no mo' 'cause he had to go out.
Purty soon out de Doctor come. Dese visits, min' ye, was gittin'
shorter an' shorter, though he do come as often, an' over he goes to
Mis' Morgan's hisse'f.
"Now I doan' know what he said to Miss Nannie, or what passed 'twixt
'em, 'cause she didn't tell me. Only dat she said he had come to see
Mis' Morgan 'bout some land matters, an' dat Mis' Morgan interjuced
'em, but nuffin mo'. Lord bless dat chile! An', suh, dat was de fust
time she ever kep' anythin' from her ole mammy. Dat made me mo' glad
'n ever. I knowed den dey was bofe hit.
"But my lan', de fur begin to fly when de mist'ess an' Miss Rachel
heared 'bout dat visit!
"'What you mean by makin' eyes at Dr. Boling? Don't you know he's good
as 'gaged to my daughter?' de mist'ess said. Dat was a lie, for he
never said a word to Miss Rachel; ole Sam could tole you dat. 'Git out
o' my house, you good-for-nothin' pauper, an' take yo' rags wid ye.'
"I see right away de fat was in de fire. Marse Henry warn't spected
home till de nex' Sunday, an' so I tuk her over to Mis' Morgan, an'
den I ups an' tells her eve'ything dat woman had done to dat chile
since de day she come. An' when I'd done she tuk Miss Nannie by de
han' an' she says:--
"'You won't never want a home, chile, so long as I live. Go back,
Chloe, an' git her clo'es.' But I didn't git 'em. I knowed Marse
Henry'd raise de roof when he come, an' he did, bless yo' heart. Went
over hisse'f an' got her, an' brought her home, an' dat night when Dr.
Boling come he made her sit down in de parlor, an' 'fo' he went home
dat night de Doctor he say to Marse Henry, 'I want yo' permission,
Mister Gordon, to pay my addresses to Miss Nannie, yo' niece.' Sam was
a-standing close as he could git to de door, an' he heard ev'y word.
Now he ain't never said dat, mind ye, to Marse Henry 'bout Miss
Rachel! An' dat's why I know dat he warn't hit unto death wid her.
"Well, do you know, suh, dat dat woman was dat owdacious she wouldn't
let 'em see each other after dat 'cept on de front po'ch. Wouldn't let
'em come in de house; make 'em do all dere co'rtin' on de steps an'
out at de paster gate. De doctor would rare an' pitch an' git white in
de face at de scand'lous way dat Miss Barnes was bein' treated, until
Miss Nannie put bofe her leetle han's on his'n, soothin' like, an' den
he'd grab 'em an' kiss 'em like he'd eat 'em up. Sam cotched him at
it, an' done tole me; an' den dey'd sa'nter off down de po'ch, sayin'
it was too hot or too cool, or dat dey was lookin' for birds' nests in
de po'ch vines, till dey'd git to de far end, where de mist'ess nor
Sam nor nobody else couldn't hear what dey was a-sayin' an'
a-whisperin', an' dere dey'd sit fer hours.
"But I tell ye de doctor had a hard time a-gittin' her even when Marse
Henry gin his consent. An' he never would 'a' got her if Miss Rachel,
jes' for spite, I spec', hadn't 'a' took up wid Colonel Todhunter's
son dat was a-co'rtin' on her too, an' run off an' married him. Den
Miss Nannie knowed she was free to follow her own heart.
"I tell you it'd 'a' made ye cry yo' eyes out, suh, to see dat chile
try an' fix herse'f up to meet him de days an' nights she knowed he
was comin', an' she wid jes' one white frock to her name. An' we all
felt jes' as bad as her. Dinah would wash it an' I'd smooth her hair,
an' ole Sam'd git her a fresh rose to put in her neck.
"Purty soon de weddin' day was 'pinted, an' me an' Dinah an' ole Sam
gin to wonder how dat chile was a-gwine to git clo'es to be married
in. Sam heared ole marster ask dat same question at de table, an' he
see him gib de mist'ess de money to buy 'em for her, an' de mist'ess
said dat she reckoned 'Miss Nannie's people would want de priv'lege o'
dressin' her now dat she was a-gwine to marry dat wo'thless young
doctor, Tom Boling, dat nobody wouldn't hab in de house, but dat if
dey didn't she'd gin her some of Miss Rachel's clo'es, an' if dem
warn't 'nough den she'd spen' de money to de best advantage.' Dem was
her ve'y words. Sam heared her say 'em. I knowed dat meant dat de
chile would go naked, for she wouldn't a-worn none o' Miss Rachel's
rubbish, an' not a cent would she git o' de money. So I got dat ole
white frock out, an' Dinah found a white ribbon in a ole trunk in de
garret, an' washed an' ironed it to tie 'round her waist, an' Miss
Nannie come an' look at it, an' when she see it de tears riz up in her
eyes.
"'Doan' you cry, chile,' I says. 'He ain't lovin' ye for yo' clo'es,
an' never did. Fust time he see ye yo' was purty nigh barefoot. It's
you he wants, not yo' frocks, honey;' an' den de sun come out in her
face an' her eyes dried up, an' she gin to smile an' sing like a robin
after de rain.
"Purty soon 'long come Chris'mas time, an' me an' ole Sam an' Dinah
was a-watchin' out to see what Marse Tom Boling was gwine to gin his
bride, fur she was purty nigh dat, as dey was to be married de week
after Chris'mas. Well, suh, de mawnin' 'fore Chris'mas come, an' den
de arternoon come, an' den de night come, an' mos' ev'y hour somebody
sent somethin' for Miss Rachel, an' yet not one scrap of nuffin big as
a chink-a-pin come for Miss Nannie. Dinah an' me was dat onres'less
dat we couldn't sleep. Miss Nannie didn't say nuffin when she went to
bed, but I see a little shadder creep over her face an' I knowed right
away what hurted her.
"Well, de nex' mawnin'--Chris'mas mawnin' dat was--ole Sam come
a-bustin' in de kitchen do', a-hollerin' loud as he could
holler"--Aunt Chloe was now rocking herself back and forth, clapping
her hands as she talked--"dat dere was a trunk on de front po'ch for
Miss Nannie dat was dat heavy it tuk fo' niggers to lif it. I run, an'
Dinah run, an' when we got to de trunk mos' all de niggers was thick
'round it as flies, an' Miss Nannie was standin' over it readin' a
card wid her name on it an' a 'scription sayin' dat it was 'a
Chris'mas gif', wid de compliments of a friend.' But who dat friend
was, whether it was Marse Henry, who sent it dat way so dat woman
wouldn't tear his hair out; or whether Mis' Morgan sent it, dat hadn't
mo'n 'nough money to live on; or whether some of her own kin in
Indiany, dat was dirt po', stole de money an' sent it; or whether de
young Dr. Tom Boling, who had mo' money dan all de banks in Lexin'ton,
done did it, don't nobody know till dis day, 'cept me an' ole Sam, an'
we ain't tellin'.
"But, my soul alive, de insides of dat trunk took de bref clean out o'
de mist'ess an' Miss Rachel. Sam opened it, an' I tuk out de things.
Honey! dere was a weddin' dress all white satin dat would stand
alone,--jes' de ve'y mate of de one you got in dat picter 'fore
ye,--an' a change'ble silk, dat heavy! an' a plaid one, an' eve'ything
a young lady could git on her back from her skin out, an' a
thousand-dollar watch an' chain. I wore dat watch myse'f; Miss Nannie
was standin' by me, a-clappin' her han's an' laughin', an' when dat
watch an' chain came out she jes' th'owed de chain over my neck an'
stuck de leetle watch in my bosom, an' says, 'Dere, you dear ole
mammy, go look at you'se'f in de glass an' see how fine you is.'
"De nex' week come de weddin'. I'll never forgit dat weddin' to my
dyin' day. Marse Tom Boling driv in wid a coach an' four an' two
outriders, an' de horses wore white ribbons on dere ears; an' de
coachman had flowers in his coat mos' big as his head, an' dey whirled
up in front of de po'ch, an' out he stepped in his blue coat an' brass
buttons an' a yaller wais'coat,--yaller as a gourd,--an' his
bell-crown hat in his han'. She was a-waitin' for him wid dat white
satin dress on, an' de chain 'round her neck, an' her lil footses tied
up wid silk ribbons de ve'y match o' dem you got pictered, an' her
face shinin' like a angel. An' all de niggers was a-standin' 'roun' de
po'ch, dere eyes out'n dere heads, an' Marse Henry was dere in his new
clo'es lookin' so grand, an' Sam in his white gloves, an' me in a new
head han'chief.
"Eve'ybody was happy 'cept one. Dat one was de mist'ess, standin' in
de door. She wouldn't come out to de coach where de horses was
a-champin' de bits an' de froth a-droppin' on de groun', an' she
wouldn't speak to Marse Tom. She kep' back in de do'way.
"Miss Rachel was dat mean she wouldn't come downstairs.
"Miss Nannie gib Marse Tom Boling her han' an' look up in his face
like a queen, an' den she kissed Marse Henry, an' whispered somethin'
in his ear dat nobody didn't hear, only de tears gin to jump out an'
roll down his cheeks, an' den she looked de mist'ess full in de face,
an' 'thout a word dropped her a low curtsey.
"I come de las'. She looked at me for a minute wid her eyes
a-swimmin', an' den she th'owed her arms roun' my neck an' hugged an'
kissed me, an' den I see an arm slip 'roun' her wais' an' lif' her in
de coach. Den de horses gin a plunge an' dey was off.
"An 'arter dat dey had five years--de happiest years dem two ever
seen. I know, 'cause Marse Henry gin me to her, an' I lived wid 'em
day in an' day out till dat baby come, an' den"----
Aunt Chloe stopped and reached out her hand as if to steady herself.
The tears were streaming down her cheeks.
Then she advanced a step, fixed her eyes on the portrait, and in a
voice broken with emotion, said:--
"Honey, chile,--honey, chile,--is you tired a-waitin' for yo' ole
mammy? Keep a-watchin', honey--keep a-watchin'--It won't be long now
'fore I come. Keep a-watchin'."