XIVCHURCH
Sundaymorning rose with a pale clear sky, and a sun that glittered bright and hot as it mounted.
Big Sue was already up when Breeze waked. She was fussing around, cooking dinner to take to church, fixing a basket, and China dishes to hold it. Her best clothes, and Breeze’s, were laid out on chairs to be put on. They must be ready when Uncle Bill came for them in his new buggy. He had to go ahead of time, for he had charge of the communion as well as of the Bury League which would be organized when the service was over and the dinner eaten. The head man of the Bury League had come to preach and to form a Society to Bury. Big Sue baked rising bread yesterday in the Big House kitchen stove. The brown loaves, uncovered, sat in a row on the shelf, waiting to be wrapped up. They’d turn to Jesus’ own body when the preacher prayed over them, and blessed them. Blackberry wine, in the two big demijohns in the corner of the shed-room, would turn into Jesus’ blood. Breeze couldn’t make it out in his head exactly, but Big Sue said it was so. Breeze had picked the blackberries that made the wine, and he’d bought the white flour for the bread from the store. How could they turn to Jesus? But Big Sue said prayer can do anything. Anything! When a fine preacher like the Bury League leader prays. Not everybody knows how to pray right, but he did. Yes, Lord, he did!
Before taking time to swallow down a mouthful ofbread for breakfast, Breeze and Big Sue put the demijohns on the front porch, ready to go to church. They packed up all the fine dinner in one box, and the communion bread in another, so when she was dressed in her Sunday clothes, she’d have nothing to do but sit still and wait and rest.
How different she looked with her body pulled in tight with a great corset full of steel bands! Like a cotton bale pressed too small. The frills of her petticoat were lace-trimmed. Over them, hiding them carefully, was her new purple sateen dress.
She sat down on the porch with a pan of breakfast in her lap and began to eat. Breeze was back in the shed-room dressing when he heard her laugh and scramble to her feet to say in her company manners voice:
“How you do dis mawnin’, Reverend?”
Breeze peeped through the open door in time to see her draw a foot adroitly behind her in a low curtsey to a strange man who answered in a familiar voice:
“Quite well, thank you, Mrs. Good-wine. How you do this morning?”
“Not so good,” she said sweetly. “Bad luck’s been a-hangin’ round de plantation lately.”
“Bad luck ought not to pester a lady who can fix frog legs like the ones you sent us last night for supper. They were elegant.”
Breeze stood still and listened. He knew that voice, sure as the world. The Bury League preacher was his own stepfather. Hurrying into his clothes he tipped across the room to the window to see better, but Big Sue’s antics held his eyes. She was down on her knees, shaking all over in the drollest way, with laughter that took her breath. Her company manners were gone. Between gasps and shouts she gurgled, “Great Gawd!You ought o’ seen dem frogs dis mawnin’. Dat fool Breeze didn’ kill em! He cut off dey hind legs an’ turned dem loose in de back yard! I liken to a broke my foot jumpin’ when I missed an’ stepped slam on one!”
“Who did you say done it?” The Reverend was disturbed. The greenish cast of his long-tailed coat and derby hat spread over his swarthy face, and he sat down so suddenly on the steps that Big Sue’s roars hushed and her company manners came back. Scrambling to her feet and casting a fierce look toward the window where Breeze stood, she sympathized:
“I’m too sorry. No wonder you’s sick! Eatin’ de legs of a livin’ frog! But dey’s dead now. I made Breeze knock ’em in de head a while ago. Breeze is a crazy boy. When I git home to-night, I’m gwine gi’ em de heaviest lickin’ ever was. I ain’ gwine leave a whole piece o’ hide on em. No, suh! I’m gwine bust his crust, sure as you’ bawn.”
“Whe’d you git dat boy? Is he you’ own?” The Reverend’s voice was weakly.
“No, Lawd. My son, Lijah, is got plenty o’ sense. Breeze is a li’l’ boy I got f’om Sandy Island to stay wid me, by I was so lonesome in de night by myself.”
The Reverend took a handkerchief out of the pocket in the tail of his long coat and wiped the sweat off his face, then he leaned his head on his hand. Big Sue was anxious.
“Would you like a li’l’ sweetened water, suh?”
He shook his head.
“How ’bout a li’l’ cookin’ soda? Dat might settle you.” He didn’t need a thing. He must go now. He and Miss Leah were to talk over the hymns so she could lead the choir. He was subject to spells of swimming in the head, but they didn’t last long.
His mention of Leah’s name changed Big Sue’s tone altogether. She laughed out.
“Lawdy, I bet Leah’ll strut to-day. April took em to town an’ bought em some teeth. Dey don’ fit good like you’ own, dough. Leah wouldn’ trust to chaw wid ’em, not fo’ nothin’. I don’ blame em, dough. I’d hate to broke ’em if dey was mine. Leah is sho’ tryin’ to look young dese days. E natural hair is white as cotton, but e polishes em wid soot an’ lark.”
Except for Big Sue’s displeasure about the frogs, Breeze would have told her that the Reverend was his mother’s husband who disappeared the day his grandfather cut the big pine, but the boy’s one wish was to have her forget him, and maybe she’d forget the licking she promised to lay on his hide.
When Uncle Bill drove up to the door with one of the biggest pertest mules from the barnyard hitched to a one-horse wagon, Big Sue, instead of praising the beast’s fresh-clipped mane and tail, looked doubtfully at the cloth strings tying the harness in many places.
“If de mule gits to kickin’ or either runnin’, how you gwine rule em?” she asked anxiously, but Uncle Bill laughed at her fears and helped her to the seat in front, putting the basket of dinner and the communion bread and wine back where Breeze sat on the floor.
At first the mule could not be moved out of a slow walk, but when the wagon crossed over a root in the road and the wheels made a creak and a bump, the mule jumped so that one demijohn turned over, its stopper flew out and some of the wine spilled. Big Sue scolded Breeze for letting it happen and told him to steady the jugs the rest of the way. She couldn’t. She couldn’t even bend with her corset on. It cut her wind and had her so heated she had to take off her big sailor hat and fan herself to catch air.
The wagon wheels ground slowly along in the deep sandy ruts. White clouds of dust rose above the slow-moving hoofs of mules and oxen that toiled along, pulling buggies and wagons and carts crowded with black people going to Heaven’s Gate Church. Other church-goers were walking, many of the women in their stocking feet, carrying their shoes in their hands along with their dinner baskets. Well-greased faces shone, everybody saluted everybody else, some with simple bows, others with bows beneath upraised arms.
Heaven’s Gate Church stretched its whitewashed length from the road clear back to the picnic tables made of clean new boards nailed together and fastened to wide-spreading trees whose shade made the grounds cool and darkened. The sweep of the open well was kept busy drawing water. The churchyard swarmed with people hurrying about like a nest of ants before summer rain. Women crowded behind the church, putting on shoes, fixing hair, smoothing crumpled dresses and aprons. Big Sue sucked her teeth at the sight of Leah who was strutting, sure enough. Big Sue grumbled bitterly because Leah was not only the choir leader to-day, but chairman of the lemonade committee. Leah had no judgment. The last time she fixed the lemonade, she had it sour enough to cut your very heart-strings. Leah pushed herself. She gave nobody else a chance. No wonder she got salivated.
The chain of wagons and buggies and carts that had stretched along the road crowding out people on foot, now filled the churchyard completely. Every low tree limb, every bush, held a tethered beast. Oxen chewed cuds. Mules dozed, roused to switch off gnats and stinging flies with close-clipped tails, then dozed again.
Every bench inside the long low whitewashed church was finally packed with people, waiting respectfullyuntil the time came for the Reverend to get up in the pulpit and preach God’s word. He was very different from Reverend Salty, the kind old preacher who had lately died and left the congregation of Heaven’s Gate Church like sheep without a shepherd.
Reverend Salty was fat and easy to laugh, but this Reverend was slim and tall and solemn. He was so educated that he could read scripture right out of the Book. No word could trip his nimble tongue, but he said he had to wear glasses because he had strained his eyes searching the scriptures day and night to find out how to lead the people.
As he adjusted his glasses, carefully placing the curve of the gold frames behind his small ears, Maum Hannah, who sat next to Breeze on the front bench of the Amen corner, boomed right out with an earnest, “T’ank Gawd for life, son! T’ank Gawd! Praise be to His blessed name! I too glad I could git here to hear you read Gawd’s book dis day!”
The Reverend cleared his throat and stared sternly at her, but when his eyes slipped a glance at Breeze, they turned quickly to another direction. Big Sue in the choir on the other side of the pulpit shook her head, but Maum Hannah was wiping her joyful tears on an apron string, and she saw nothing until Uncle Bill’s old Louder trotted in and lay down near her feet, then she smiled and welcomed him with a gentle, “I glad you come to pray, Louder.”
The first scripture lesson told how Moses led the Children of Israel over Jordan on their journey toward Canaan, the promised land. The Reverend stopped, and took off his fine glasses with fingers that trembled, and it seemed to Breeze the preacher looked more at him than at Maum Hannah. Getting a white fresh-ironed pocket handkerchief out of his pants pocket, he unfoldedit and made little delicate wipes at the corners of both his eyes. He polished each spectacle glass, cleared his throat and coughed until his voice was clear, then he read the second lesson. April, who had come in late, listened intently. Lord, how the man could read. He used to read at meeting on Sandy Island sometimes. He read now, about charity, which he said meant love, and as the familiar words fell clear on Maum Hannah’s ears, the beauty of them stirred her heart. Her eyes closed, her body rocked from side to side. She murmured low praise to God, then louder words of encouragement to the preacher. “Tell de people, son! Don’ hold back! You’s a stranger in a strange land, but you’s a child of Gawd! Read em, son, read em!” she crooned. “Read de word of Gawd. Let de people hear all wha’ Jedus say! We got to love ev’ybody! Sinners an’ all! Love de sinners! Hate de sin!”
Old Reverend Salty had never objected to Maum Hannah’s taking a part in the service, but this preacher was new. He didn’t understand that Maum Hannah’s heart was so moved that she had to speak out. He got more and more nervous and fretted. Every now and then he turned his head to one side and cast a disapproving frown toward her, but she was too happy to notice that anything was wrong.
When he began lining out the hymn:
“Come ye that love the LordAnd let your joy be known,”
“Come ye that love the LordAnd let your joy be known,”
“Come ye that love the Lord
And let your joy be known,”
Uncle Bill leaned close and whispered in the old woman’s ear, “You mustn’ talk out loud, Auntie. Dis preacher is used to town ways.”
Leah raised the tune, and her strong voice, swelled by the congregation, made it hard to hear what UncleBill said. Maum Hannah gave him a puzzled questioning look, and her old lips haltingly inquired:
“Enty?”
Whole stanzas were sung before she joined in with the great volume of harmony. Did Uncle Bill say she mustn’t talk out loud because the preacher was used to town ways! Breeze nodded. That was exactly what Uncle Bill said. Maum Hannah sighed, and mumbled. She didn’t mean any disrespect. His beautiful reading had moved the spirit in her and stirred her heart so deep, her tongue could not lie dumb in her mouth. She’d try not to talk out loud again.
When the hymn was done Reverend stepped to the side of the pulpit to say he would add something new to the service. The Ten Commandments. People must understand what the laws of God are before they can keep them rightly. He would read them, one at a time, and at the end of each the congregation must pray.
“Do, Lord, help us to keep this law.”
“Does everybody understand?”
A roar of answers came back, “Yes suh, we understan’ good, suh!” but Maum Hannah shook her head and objected in clear distinct words, “No, son, dat’s how de white folks pray! Gawd ain’ used to we prayin’ dat way!”
April smiled, but Uncle Bill was worried. “Hush, Auntie! You’ll git de preacher all tangled up.”
She gave up. Her eyes fell. Her hands caught at each other and held fast. The thin-veined, blue-nailed fingers, knotted at every joint, twisted into a tight uneasy grip, then sank into a fold of her white apron. Tears ran out from under her shut eyelids.
The preacher opened the Bible, and turned the leaves over for the right place. When it lay under his eyes he began a solemn,
“‘Thou shalt have no other gods before me’!”
When he raised his eyes to the congregation Uncle Bill led a ragged wave of voices into a loud, “Do, Lawd, help us to keep dis law!”
The preacher smiled and nodded approval, then bent over the Book to read the next commandment. It was a long one. The people didn’t know exactly when it ended, but he started them off, and they responded with an eager rush, “Do, Lawd, help us to keep dis law!”
The Reverend lost his place, his long forefinger had to help his eyes find it, but presently he began with a loud, “‘Remember the Sabbath day’!” He read on and on. The congregation listened breathlessly for the end, and when his voice fell, every soul broke into the crashing prayer, “Do Lawd, help us to keep dis law!” April frowned.
Maum Hannah’s head dropped, her chin was on her breast, her eyes were shut tight, her lips moving in whispers. Breeze could tell she was praying alone, quite apart from the preacher and the congregation which had strangely become two beings: one, a lone, black, shiny-skinned, shiny-eyed man in the pulpit, repeating God’s commandments, in the high sing-song, and clapping his hands for the people to respond; and the congregation, now knitted into a many-mouthed, many-handed, many-eyed mass, that swayed and rocked like one body from side to side, crying to God in an agonized, “Do, Lawd, help us to keep dis law!” A shrill voice screamed out of the rumbling body, “Hallelujah! I feel de sperit!” A chill crept over Breeze. He felt something strange himself. He couldn’t hear his own voice in the flood of shouted praying, but he knew he was one with the rest. The preacher’s tall form swayed this way and that, his long slew-feet patted the floor. He was like a tree rocked by a strong wind.
“Honour thy father and thy mother,” he chanted. His upheld hands opened and clenched into straining fists, but the congregation was too full to wait for the rest. Their fierce, full-throated cry rang out, “Do, Lawd, help us to keep dis law!”
“Thou shalt kill!” His voice swelled and thickened with hoarseness, his arms swung about.
“Do, Lawd, help us to keep dis law!”
The preacher’s tongue was twisted by his fervor, the ears of the congregation deafened by their own shouting.
“Thou shalt commit adultery!” he yelled.
“Do, Lawd, help us to keep dis law!” they yelled back.
Breeze’s blood seethed hot, his heart beat wildly, the whole church full of people boiled with commotion. Shouts of praise to God broke into the din and tumult of prayer.
“Thou shalt steal!” came like wind on a flame and the congregation’s answer sprang hot from the heart, “Do, Lawd, help us to keep dis law!”
Maum Hannah jerked up her head and listened. Her hands wavered apart, then reached out toward the preacher. She got to her feet and waved her arms, “You got em wrong, son! Wrong! Great Lawd, don’ say em dat way!”
Nobody paid her any attention but Uncle Bill, and he pulled her by the arm and made her sit down, “Wait, Auntie! It ain’ time to shout yet. Set down till after de sermon.” Then he joined in with the others, whose words lost in feeling, surged back and forth, throbbing, thundering, until the old church trembled and shook.
“Thou shalt bear false witness against thy neighbor!”
The preacher’s flashing eyes blazed with fire, as theygazed at the people, his shortened breath panted his words, and the congregation burst into prayer, “Do, Lawd, help us to keep dis law!”
From his seat in the Amen corner Breeze could see every face. Standing out by itself, April’s bold daring countenance was lit with a cool sneering smile.
The Ten Commandments were all said, but the preacher knew others.
“Thou shalt be a father to the fatherless!”
“Do, Lawd, help us to keep dis law!” The holy spirit filled the close-packed swaying crowd.
“Thou shalt be a husband to the widow!”
The ever-rising tide of prayer rolled into a flood that swallowed every soul but April. He sat upright. Unmoved. Passionless. When the preacher’s ranting halted to give out a hymn, April got up and walked down the aisle, and on out of the door. A no-mannered brazen thing for anybody to do. Every eye gazed at him, the preacher stared, but Uncle Bill hurriedly raised the hymn.
The congregation sang it as the preacher lined it out two lines at a time. When it was finished, then he opened the Bible and took his text. “Hold fast and repent!” He read it twice and closed the Book, then shut his eyes and prayed in silence before he asked the question:
“Does all o’ you members fast?” Throughout the church a solemn silence fell, then a great cry answered:
“Sho’! Sho’! Yes, suh.”
“You can not pray rightly without fasting.”
“No, suh! It’s de Gawd’s truth.”
“The longer you fast, the better you can repent!”
“Yes, brother! You right!”
“The longer you fast, the quicker your sins will be forgiven!”
“Praise His name! Hallelujah!” Leah led the women of the choir into a low humming tune.
“Jesus fasted forty days and forty nights!”
“Yes, Gawd!” The choir’s humming swelled and spread to the women of the congregation.
“He got stronger and stronger as He fasted.”
“Yes, suh!” Bodies rocked and swayed to the mournful tune.
“He got strong as the devil!” The preacher’s eyes flashed bright behind his glasses, but Maum Hannah jumped forward at such reckless words.
“He beat the devil at his own game!” The Reverend shouted as he shook his clenched fists.
“Glory! Hallelujah!” The congregation cried loud above the women’s solemn wordless chanting.
“Yunnuh hold fast! Get strong like Jesus!” The preacher stamped on the floor.
“Yes, Gawd! Praise His name!” The women were getting to their feet and patting time.
“God’ll feed you on the bread of life!”
“Do, Master!” Maum Hannah cried out so clear, that he looked at her and caught Breeze’s eye. The holy spirit left him all of a sudden. Maybe he thought of the frog legs, maybe of old Breeze, but he stopped short and cleared his throat and fumbled with the leaves of the book. He presently said the time had come for making their offerings. They must sing an old hymn, and the people must come forward and lay their gifts on God’s holy altar, which was a small pine table in front of the pulpit. They crushed into the aisle, an array of gaudy dresses, weaving in and out among the dark men. Both aisles were choked with singing people. Waves of hot breath smote Breeze in the face. Sunday shoes squeaked. Outside in the churchyard a mule brayed long and loud. Coins rolled and clinked against one another on the table. One rolled on the floor and fell through a crack, lost, as Uncle Bill gave Breeze a brownie to carry up.
The hymn was all sung, and the preacher went behind the pulpit again. In a high voice he declared that the stay of Jesus on earth was divided into four parts: the birth, the life, the death and the resurrection. “Which was the biggest part? Which, brethren? Speak out!” he urged them, for the congregation was hushed with interest.
“De resurrection!” Uncle Bill shouted.
“De life!” somebody else chimed.
“No, son!” Maum Hannah stood up. “No! De birthin’ was. If his mammy didn’ birth em Jedus couldn’ live or either die. No, suh! De birthin’ was de biggest part.”
But the preacher wasn’t listening. He blared out his answer to his own question:
“The resurrection of Jesus took the sting out of death! Brethren! Sisters! The resurrection brought angels to the tomb! The resurrection showed Heaven in the sky!”
Breeze’s head ached as the sermon went on. His neck hurt. His feet went to sleep.
When it was at last ended, sinners were invited to come up to the mourner’s bench and kneel for prayer, the preacher plead with them not to wait and be damned, but to come up and promise God they’d seek forgiveness for their sins until He gave them some sign by which they’d know they were saved. A multitude thronged forward and fell on their knees, sobbing and calling on Jesus for mercy.
The preacher begged God to look down. To come near and bring His holy spirit to save these souls. Breeze’s heart beat hammer strokes against his breast. He wanted to be saved too. He wanted to go kneel with the rest of the sinners. The fear of Hell, and timidity, combined, shook his knees, and broke him out in a coldsweat. All his blood felt frozen, leaking through his skin as he staggered forward and knelt down, and shut his eyes, and tried his best to pray.
A rough hand gripped his shoulder, and Big Sue whispered harshly in his ear, “Is you gone plum crazy, Breeze? Git up an’ go on back an’ set down. Don’t you jerk ’way from me! You ain’ got no business seekin’! If you miss an’ find peace an’ git religion you couldn’ bat ball on Sunday wid li’l’ young Cap’n when he come! Not if you’s a Christian! Git up! You don’ know nothin’ ’bout prayin!”
Breeze got up sheepishly and went to his seat, but he thought bitterly; Big Sue didn’t care if he burned in Hell. Many a time she had told him how those wicked, hell-bent buckras spent Sundays in sin. Riding horses. Singing reels. Dancing and frolicking on God’s day. Young Cap’n played ball, baseball, under the trees, on the holy Sabbath, just as if it were the middle of the week. Big Sue said God didn’t like people to even pick a flower on Sunday. And now she wanted him to have sin right along with those brazen white people. She didn’t care how much he burned in Hell. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair. When he got bigger he was going to pray, no matter what Big Sue said.
The prayer for the sinners was done, and the sinners went to their seats. The deacons passed the Lord’s Supper; small squares of bread piled up on a plate, and water glasses full of blackberry wine. Each member took a crumb and a sip, no more.
Maum Hannah’s fingers shook and fumbled over the bread and a tiny crumb fell off the plate in her lap. A bit of Jesus’ own body. Broken for the sins of men. As soon as Maum Hannah stood up, it would fall on the floor and be trampled under foot. Why not get it and eat it? Nobody’d know.
Breeze watched it. Once it seemed to move toward him, to creep nearer to his fingers. The congregation was singing. Their voices rose, some high, some low, Maum Hannah’s and Uncle Bill’s with the rest.
Nobody was looking. Why not take that crumb and taste it?
Breeze’s unsteady, frightened fingers stole sidewise, following the apron’s folds until they got in reach of the bit of bread. They closed over it and eased back to safety, then they slowly, slyly thrust it into Breeze’s mouth.
It fell on his tongue which kept still, trying to get its flavor. But it was small. Too small. It melted quickly and slipped down his throat before Breeze could stop it. A bit of Jesus’ own precious body. The preacher said it was that. Poor Jesus. Sold by His friend to bad people who killed Him, hung Him on a cross. He let them do it. He wanted to show God how sorry He was to see poor sinners going down to Hell. Hopping. Burning. Weeping. Gnashing their teeth for ever and ever. Jesus was a good man to do that. Breeze’s heart was rapt with pity. His body quivered. Tears ran down his cheeks in floods. God must have a a hard heart to let Jesus suffer so bad.
“Nee-ro my Gawd, to thee—Nee-ro to thee——”
“Nee-ro my Gawd, to thee—Nee-ro to thee——”
“Nee-ro my Gawd, to thee—
Nee-ro to thee——”
the congregation sang. Old Louder raised up his head and bayed, like his heart ached too. Nobody noticed him but Maum Hannah who leaned and patted his head. “Hush, Louder. Keep quiet. Pray easy, son. Easy.”
The service was finally over, the benediction said, people crowded the aisles, poured out through the wide-opendoors, slowly, quietly, until the church was empty and its yard full.
An empty hogshead, got from the store, was half filled with water from the spring at the picnic grounds. Lemons were cut and squeezed and added. A great cloth bag full of sugar was poured in. A great block of ice was stripped out of its sack and washed clean of sawdust, and dumped into the barrel with the lemons and sugar and water.
Maum Hannah disapproved again, and some of the old people sided with her. She said ice wasn’t a healthy thing. But the fine stylish town preacher said she was mistaken. Once, a long time ago, people used to think ice was not healthy, but everybody knows better now. In town people never drink lemonade without ice. Never.
Uncle Bill was worried because the ice’s coldness seemed to soak up the sugar. The lemonade didn’t taste at all right. There was no more sugar to put in unless they sent all the way to the store, and this was Sunday. It would be a sin to buy sugar on Sunday.
The men on the lemonade committee were arguing about what to do, when the Reverend, who had been walking around through the crowd shaking hands with the people and patting the children’s heads, came up with Leah, who was smiling and talking and putting on many fine airs. The preacher said he was sure, Leah, Mrs. Locust, knew all about lemonade. She could tell exactly if they’d have to send for more sugar or not. Just give her a taste. She’d decide for them.
Zeda laughed out. Big Sue muttered something, but both stood aside to make room for Leah, who giggled happily, and stepped up to the barrel.
The Reverend took up the long clean hickory paddle Uncle Bill had used to mix it, and leaning over, gave it a vigorous stirring. He must have stirred too hard, forthe cold air rose up out of the barrel into Leah’s nose, and before she had time even to turn her head, she gave one loud sneeze and all her white teeth flew out of her mouth right into the barrel of lemonade.
It was a bad time. Leah said she’d have to have her teeth back right now. But they were mixed up with all those hundreds of lemon skins and that big block of ice. Every man on the committee took a hand at stirring for them, but the teeth rose up and grinned, then hid deep in the bottom of the lemonade before anybody could snatch them out. The preacher said pour the whole hogshead of lemonade out on the ground! The idea! Breeze felt relieved when the committee was firm. Leah would have to wait. The lemonade would soon be low in the barrel. The people were thirsty. They’d drink it up in a hurry. Leah didn’t argue but went off one side and began sniffling and crying with her mouth hidden behind her pocket handkerchief. Big Sue chuckled out loud. Uncle Bill stepped forward with a long-handled dipper and filling it brimming full handed it to the Reverend, with a low bow, “Have de first drink, Reverend. I know you’ throat’s dry after all de preachin’ an’ prayin’ you done to-day! Gawd bless you, suh!”
The Reverend fell back a step, and shook his head and coughed behind his hand.
“If you’ll excuse me——” He stammered it, then coughed again, and walked over to where Big Sue stood with a broad smile on her face.
But April suddenly appeared.
“What’s all dis?” he asked, looking straight at the Reverend, with a glitter in his eyes.
“Your wife—ah—Mistress Locust—has—ah—met with a little accident——”
“Didn’ Uncle Bill hand you a dipper o’ lemonade?”
“Why, yes, Brother Locust.”
“How come you didn’ drink em? Don’ you be brotherin’ me, either.”
“Why—ah, I’m really not thirsty, Mr. Locust.”
“You ain’ thirsty, eh?”
“Why, ah, no.”
April’s Sunday clothes made him look even taller than usual. His hair was newly cut, and his face shaved clean, except for a small mustache. He made a fine-looking, powerful figure to Breeze’s wide-stretched eyes.
His mouth smiled as he spoke to the preacher, but his words snarled. It was plain that he was furiously angry. Breeze felt as if he’d choke with excitement. The breath was squeezed out of his body as the crowd pushed closer, and his bare feet were trod on until he felt his toes were mashed too flat ever to walk again.
The stillness was broken only by Leah’s sniveling, and April’s hurried breathing.
Uncle Bill put up a warning hand when April slowly took off his hat. “Keep you’ hat on, April. Don’t you dare to butt dis servant of Gawd! You’ll git struck dead, sho’ as you do!”
April smiled knowingly, then pulled his hat down tight on his head.
“I doubt if Gawd would knock me ’bout dat, but I don’ b’lieve I want to dirty my skull on such a jackass, not no mo’. I butt him good de last time we met. E ain’ fo’got.”
“Great Gawd! April, shut you’ mouth!”
“Did you cuss me for a jackass?” the preacher shrieked and darted furiously at April.
Women screamed out. Children wailed. Men mumbled protests. But before anybody suspected his intention April leaped forward and seized the preacher’shead with two powerful hands, held it like a vise, and bit a neat round mouthful out of the cheek next to him.
Making a horribly ugly face he spat out the morsel of flesh. Old Louder, Uncle Bill’s faithful hound, caught it and swallowed it down.
A fearful outcry arose. Men groaned. Women shrieked and yelled. Some went off into trances. The wounded preacher toppled, fell over, limp as a rag, his high white collar reddening as it swallowed the blood that streamed out of the hole in his face. Poor man. His face would rot off now. Poison would swell it up, bloat it, then peel it off.
Uncle Bill scolded Louder terribly and frailed him with a stick until the poor dog cried out pitifully. Breeze felt sick and faint enough to die. His hair stood on end. His flesh shook cold on his bones. God would strike April sure as the world.
The people rushed forward, some calling for water, some threatening April. Everybody shouted until the noise and confusion waxed loud and frightful.
Leah and Big Sue vied with each other in stormy torrents of words and weeping.
April’s fury spent itself with the bite. His strained muscles unbraced, unbuckled, he cleared his throat and spat. “Dat meat taste too sickenin’,” he grumbled. Then squaring his shoulders he walked away. Cool. Master of himself. Alone.