VIUNCLE BILL
Breezeroused from a doze when a man’s deep booming voice called from the outside, “How you feelin’ to-night, Miss Big Sue?”
And Big Sue called back heartily:
“Come in, Uncle Bill. I too glad fo’ see you! I’m lonesome as kin be.”
Cracking his eyes Breeze peeped at the tall raw-boned man who shambled in, bringing a tin bucket which he put on the shelf, saying he’d brought some sweet milk for the little boy and a few sticks of wood. Reaching up stiffly he pushed his hat farther back, then he scratched his head awkwardly, while his deep voice rolled out, “You sho’ looks fine, Miss Big Sue! I declare to Gawd, you could pass fo’ a flowers garden!”
“Do shut you’ mouth,” Big Sue returned playfully. “You talk too much sweet-mouth talk, Uncle Bill. Some day you gwine miss an bite you’ tongue in two. Better mind! You couldn’t preach no mo’.”
He declared he was not to blame. How could his mouth fail to talk sweet when he saw her? It was a wonder the bees didn’t eat her. He dropped the handful of sticks on the hearth, saying they were a few pieces of driftwood he’d brought to put on her fire for luck to-night while the old moon was in her bed.
“You must be feelin’ mighty peart to go all de way to de beach to pick up driftwood, Uncle Bill.”
“Sho’, I feel good. Like a lamb a-jumpin’. I couldstart now and travel till to-morrow’s sun shine, an’ I wouldn’t feel noways weary.”
“Lawd, you have luck,” Big Sue sighed. “But do lend me de loan o’ you’ pipe befo’ you fix de fire. I’m pure weak I want to smoke so bad. I’m scared to smoke my own. I believe it’s conjured. It ain’ smoked right since I lent em to Leah last Sunday a week gone, right yonder at Heaven’s Gate Church.” Her breath had been cut off shorter than ever to-day. She ate a ’possum leg last night for her supper and it was kinder spoiled from being kept too long. She hadn’t felt exactly well since. Spoiled food ever did make her sick. She didn’t know why.
“It’s because you’s such a delicate lady!” Uncle Bill declared. “You ought to learn to drink milk. Nice sweet milk. And eat honey. De angels lives on ’em. So de Book says.”
“I dunno,” Big Sue answered doubtfully. “I never could stand nothin’ ’bout a cow. Not de milk or de meat or de ways. Gi’ me a hog all de time.”
Uncle Bill got his pipe out of his side coat pocket, twisted its rough wooden stem tight into its bowl and handed it to her, his lean face brightening with a smile.
“E ain’ gwine smoke good by its new. I went to de fig trees no longer’n yestiddy an’ cut dis stem, by my old stem was wore out altogether. E’s gwine bite you’ tongue. I’m too sorry. I wanted you to talk some sweet talk to me to-night!”
“Lawd, Uncle Bill, you ought to know my tongue better’n dat. I got a strong tongue in my mouth. E’s trained. I done got em used to tastin’ all kinds o’ red pepper an’ seasonin’. E kin make friends wid any pipe stem ever was. But you go look at my li’l’ boy.”
Breeze shut his eyes tight as Uncle Bill leaned down to look at his face.
“E’s a good-size boy, but you’d be better off wid a husband, Miss Big Sue. You see dese sticks? I went all de way to de beach to git em. Dey’s driftwood, an’ I’m gwine burn ’em on you’ fire to-night, an’ make a wish whilst dey’s green.”
“Wha’ dat you gwine to wish to-night?”
“I’m gwine wish fo’ you to marry me.”
“Great Gawd, Uncle Bill!” Laughter almost choked her. “I can’ marry you! I got a livin’ husband right now! You must be forgot Silas ain’ dead!”
“Silas is been gone seven years, Miss Big Sue. Gawd don’ expect no lady to live single longer’n seven years. No, ma’am. You kin marry me if you want to.”
“I dunno,” Big Sue tittered. “Sometimes my mind do tell me to marry again. But didn’t you promise Aun’ Katy you wouldn’ marry nobody? What ’ud she say?”
Uncle Bill heaved a deep sigh. “I can’ help dat. I miss Katy so bad, I mighty nigh goes crazy yonder to my house by himself. If you would marry me Katy wouldn’t mind. Not a bit. Katy had sense like a man. Lawd, how I miss dat ’oman! I done made up my mind to marry again an’ I’m gwine wish a weddin’ dress on you whilst I burn dese same sticks on you’ fire to-night.”
He spoke solemnly, and kneeling on the hearth he laid the driftwood sticks carefully crossed on the coals. Then he blew deep breaths until a slow green flame curled up. “Fo’ Gawd’s sake, Uncle Bill! Quit you’ crazy doin’s! You might miss an’ conjure me fo’ true.” Big Sue giggled until her fat sides shook.
“Hush you’ laughin’ till I makes my wish, Miss Big Sue! You got me all eye-sighted!”
“Mind how you wish in de face o’ dat fire!”
A woman’s voice flung the drawled words into the room so unexpectedly that Big Sue jumped to her feet,calling, “Who dat?” and Uncle Bill gave such a start that his wish was knocked clean out of his head.
“Don’ git scared. I ain’ nobody but Zeda. How yunnuh do dis evenin’?”
“Lawd, Zeda, you ought not to slip up on people dat way!” Big Sue scolded, but Zeda broke into a laugh. She stood in the door where the white cloth on her head made a clear spot against the darkness, but her face and hands were one with the night.
“Don’ le’ me stop you’ wishin’, Uncle Bill. Go on. I might give you luck.” Zeda’s teeth flashed as she sauntered in with noiseless barefoot steps. She couldn’t sit down; she was on her way to Bina’s birth-night supper at the Quarters. She just came by to see the boy-child Big Sue had brought from Sandy Island.
“E’s sleep right yonder in Joy’s bed.”
“Lawd, you got a sizable boy, enty? E looks mighty long. Long as Leah’s Brudge to me. I wouldn’ gi’ way a boy big as dat. E’s done raised.”
Again Breeze shut his eyes and pretended to sleep while Zeda leaned so low over him searching his face that he could feel her breath on his cheek.
“Don’ gaze at de child so hard, Zeda. You’ll wake em up.”
Big Sue was plainly out of temper, her tone was sour, pettish.
“I ain’ gwine wake em. I just want to see who e looks like. Leah says his mammy had em for April, but e don’ favor April to me.”
“Do, for Gawd’s sake, shut you’ mouth, Zeda! To hear Leah tell it, half de chillen on Blue Brook belongs to April, well as dem on Sandy Island. Leah don’ count nobody when e gits to talkin’ ’bout April.”
Zeda laughed. “I dunno, Big Sue. I told April to-day, if he don’ mind, he’s gwine catch up wid UncleIsaac. De people say Uncle Isaac has fifty-two chillen livin’ right now.”
Breeze peeped up in time to see the grin that lit her face as she turned on her heel, saying she must go, and let Uncle Bill finish his wishing. But he’d wish a long time before he got a wife as good as Aunt Katy.
Uncle Bill sat up straight in his chair. “Now you talkin’ what Gawd loves, Zeda; de truth. Katy was one in a t’ousand. I miss em so bad, I can’ stan’ it no longer by myself. If Miss Big Sue would marry me, I’d treat em white. I sho’ would.”
Zeda took her pipe out of her apron pocket and leaned for a coal to light it. After one or two stout pulls she let the smoke trail slowly out between her smiling lips. “I hear-say Big Sue an’ Leah all two is a seekin’ de second blessin’ since de new Bury League preacher was here last Sunday was a week gone. Is dat so, Big Sue?”
“I know I ain’ seekin’ em. I don’ know nothin’ ’bout Leah, an’ I don’ want to know nothin’ ’bout em.” She snapped the words out fiercely; but Zeda set her arms akimbo and puffed at the pipe between her teeth, her eyes flashing bright in the firelight that flared past her to the framed pictures of faces looking down from the walls.
Big Sue sat grum, silent, until Uncle Bill heaved a great sigh and said he was mighty sorry for Leah. She’d been sick three days. Salivated. Her mouth was raw. Her teeth were loose, ready to drop out. Leah was in a bad way.
Big Sue’s fat body straightened up. She was full of interest. How did Leah get salivated?
Uncle Bill shook his head. He didn’t know what had done it. Leah hadn’t been well since this moon came in. He couldn’t say if seeking a second blessing had madeher sick or if some medicine she’d bought from the store had done it. He caught her wallowing on the ground and praying and crying off in the woods by herself one day last week. Now she was salivated. Zeda looked at Uncle Bill’s sorrowful face and her own became serious.
“Dat’s what Leah gits fo’ prankin’ wid white folks’ medicine. I told em so too.”
“I bet Leah’s conjured,” Big Sue put in cheerfully.
“Who in Gawd’s world would bother to conjure Leah?” Zeda asked. “Any ’oman dat wants April bad enough kin git em. April’s weak as water over anyt’ing wid a dress on.”
“You ought to know,” Big Sue snapped out tartly.
A smile curled Zeda’s lips. “I does know. If anybody knows April, I ought to. April’s de same as a bee at blossoms. You wait. You’ll see. Leah’s a fool to fret ’bout April. I done been to see em an’ told em so. No man livin’ is worth one drop o’ water dat dreans out a ’oman’s eye. It’s de Gawd’s truth. If April buys em rations an’ clothes, Leah ought to be sati’fy, ’stead o’ frettin’ an’ cryin’.”
Zeda’s bright hoop earrings glittered, her teeth flashed, then she turned and spat in the fire. “Leah ought to be used to April’s ways by now. E ought to learn how to meet trouble better. Trouble comes to everybody. If e ain’ salivation or sin or men, e’s somet’ing.” Zeda stretched her arms, then her body to its full height. She must go. She’d promised Bina to help cook the birth-night supper.
Big Sue didn’t turn her head to say good night, but Uncle Bill got up and went to the door and bowed low as she stepped out into the still black night, which came right up to the open door.
In the silence that followed, the muffled roar of thesea rose and fell. Big Sue said Zeda had ruined many a man. She was a bold sinful woman.
“Zeda’s a fine field-hand, dough, an’ de clothes Zeda washes is white as snow,” Uncle Bill defended warmly.
“It’s a wonder some ’oman ain’ cut Zeda wide open befo’ now,” Big Sue came back sharply.
“But if anybody is sick or in trouble, nobody is better to em dan Zeda. If Zeda had been my Katy’s own sister, e couldn’ ’a’ been better to em whilst e was down sick. Gawd ain’ gwine be too hard on Zeda. You’ll see it too.”
“Shucks! Zeda kin grin at you, an’ you fo’git all dat deviltry Zeda’s done; but Gawd’s got it wrote down in a book. Zeda kin fool de breeches off o’ you, but ’e can’ fool Gawd. Zeda’s got ten head o’ livin’ chillen an’ no two is got de same daddy. You b’lieve Gawd is gwine ex-cuse Zeda? You must be crazy. Zeda’s as sho’ fo’ hell as a martin fo’ his gourd. You’ll see, too. Gawd ain’ gwine let people off light as you t’ink. No, suh. Zeda don’ like to see no other ’oman hab no man. Zeda wants ’em all. All!”