XVIIHOG-KILLING
Nowthat Joy had come home for good, Big Sue planned to fix up the cabin. April sent Brudge to help Breeze whitewash the outside with oyster-shell lime, burned and crushed right on the beach. Fresh clean newspapers were brought from the store with eggs and each wide sheet spread with white-flour paste and stuck fast to the inside walls over the old soiled worn-out papers that were cracked and broken by last year’s wind and weather. When this was done, the cabin was snug and tight. With the window blinds pulled in and the doors closed, not a bit of cold air could get in except through the cracks in the floor.
But Joy’s blood must have got thin, for she wore her long black cape constantly, and had spells of shivering in spite of its warmth.
The weather was scarcely cold enough for hog-killing, but Big Sue said Joy needed some rich food to thicken and hotten her blood. The girl took little interest in anything. She’d stand and gaze vacantly out of the window as if her soul were gone far away and her eyes tried to follow its flight.
Jeems, the shoat in the pen, must be killed. Joy’s appetite must be tempted somehow before her blood turned to pure water. She ate scarcely enough to keep a bird alive.
Somebody must have conjured her. Those long half-drowsy spells were not natural, and sometimes she sobbedin the night, hag-ridden with evil dreams. Jeems must be killed for Joy to eat.
Big Sue waked Breeze early. She gave him no chance to dawdle, for much had to be done in preparation. Joy offered to help, but Big Sue made her stay in bed and rest. Breeze washed the sleep out of his eyes, then tipped to Joy’s bedside for a word from her, but the dawn showed her eyes closed, and her quiet regular breathing told him she was sleeping. He turned his eyes away quickly to keep them from waking her.
Before the sun was up he had the big washpot in the yard, brimming full of water and a fire built under it. Uncle Bill brought a sound barrel and laid it slantwise and steady in a dug out place in the ground. He’d scald Jeems in that.
He took out his great pocket knife and opening its longest blade told Breeze to look how its sharp point was flashing! That knife was trained. It had sense like people. It was pure itching to stick in Jeems’ throat and slice his neck in two. When he had to kill a hog, he just pointed that knife blade toward the beast and gave it a push. It would fairly leap to the right spot. It never missed the big vein. His eyes twinkled with affection for his faithful tool as he ran a thick thumb lightly over its keen edge and felt its shining point.
“You hold em, Breeze, till I get de ax. De ax has to do a li’l’ work ahead o’ de knife.”
As he walked toward the wood-pile, Big Sue hurried out. “Do don’ knock Jeems, Uncle Bill!” She panted anxiously.
“I’m ’bliged to stun em, honey!”
“You’ll ruin all de brains.”
“I can’ help dat, Miss Big Sue. I couldn’ stick Jeems whilst he was in his right mind. No, ma’am.”
“Knockin’ a hog on de head makes de head cheeseall bloody. Please don’ do dat! Go on an’ stick em. Don’ knock em!”
Uncle Bill stopped and scratched his head.
“I’d do mighty nigh anything to please you, Miss Big Sue, but I can’ suffer a hog any more’n I have to. I got to knock Jeems senseless, or I couldn’ kill em at all. Me an’ Jeems is been friends too long.”
“For Gawd’s sake don’ be so chicken-hearted.”
“I ain’ chicken-hearted, but I couldn’ stan’ to suffer Jeems whilst he was a-dyin’. No. Come on, Breeze. Le’s get dis killin’ over wid!”
Jeems’ black snout showed through a crack, and his short impatient grunts meant he was hungry, for Breeze had not fed him since yesterday noon. Breeze’s heart ached for his friend. How could Uncle Bill bear to knock Jeems in the head with that ax, while the poor beast’s eyes gazed up with such trustful friendliness!
“Jeems, old man! You’ time is out, son. Git ready to meet you’ Gawd!” Uncle Bill’s voice was sad.
Jeems held his fat face up, straining to see them better, for his eyes, almost closed with fat, were hampered by ears flapping over them. Poor Jeems!
Uncle Bill had his coat off, and his rolled-up shirt-sleeves showed the play of his powerful sinews under the skin. The ax rose high in the air, then leaped out and tightened, as Uncle Bill brought it down with a thud on Jeems’ forehead. The squeal in the hog’s throat changed to a strangled gurgle. The short forelegs staggered and gave way. The great heavy body fell sidewise to the ground. But Uncle Bill was already astride it with his knife’s bare blade ready.
A quick sharp stick in the neck brought a spurt of blood which a deeper thrust turned to a stream. Red, warm with life, its steam rising like smoke in the cool sunshiny air, Jeems’ blood poured out and wasted in thefilth of his pen, until Big Sue’s cries brought Breeze to his senses.
“Great Gawd, Breeze! Ketch dat blood! You standin’ like a fool lettin’ em waste! I good mind to kill you! Blood puddin’ is de best o’ de hog-killin’!”
Breeze scrambled over the boards of the pen, and slipped a pan under Jeems’ unconscious head, and held it in place in spite of the kicking death-struggling legs, saving the bubbling red stream for a pudding. The smell of it made him sick, and he couldn’t meet the look of those half-closed staring eyes.
Poor Jeems! His time was out. His kicks were getting weaker. His eyelids were wilting down over his dull sightless eyes. His soul would soon be gone home to God. Breeze looked up at the sky, but Big Sue called out to give her the pan before he turned it over. It had caught enough for a small pudding.
The hog was hurried into the barrel and scalded before the life cooled out of him, and his skin scraped clean of hair. As Uncle Bill worked he told Breeze he must always be careful to see that the moon is right before he killed a hog. A wrong moon will set the hair in a hog’s skin so no knife on earth could move it. Meat killed on a waning moon will dry up to nothing, no matter how you cook it. A certain quarter of the moon will make the meat tough and strong, another will rot it, no matter how much salt you pack around it. If Breeze would learn all the moon signs he’d be spared a lot of trouble long as he lived. White people leave money to their children, but black people teach theirs signs, which is far better. Money can be taken from you, but knowledge can’t.
When Jeems was scalded and scraped and washed and cleaned, he was hung up by a hickory stick run through the white sinews in his hind legs. The carcassmust cool before it was cut up, for meat, like bread, is spoiled if cut while it’s warm.
Bina had come to help Big Sue, and the two women bent over a wooden washtub, sorting out the liver and lights and chitterlings, putting the small entrails aside for sausage casings. The hog’s fine condition made Big Sue cheerful. She declared she’d make a lot more lard than she’d expected, for all of Jeems’ insides were coated with fat.
The higher the sun rose the faster they worked, even when the neighbors dropped by for a little neighborly talk and to see how the hog-killing went on.
At noon they stopped for a breathing spell and bite to eat. Hot brown corn-bread and bits of fried liver were washed down with sweetened water. The grown people smoked one pipeful apiece, then set to work again, for Jeems had cooled enough to be quartered.
The back door slipped off its hinges made a table large enough to hold him. Uncle Bill’s big knife cut off the huge head, and separated the hams and shoulders and sides from the long backbone. He trimmed them neatly, throwing the scraps of lean meat into one tub for sausage meat, and bits of firm white fat into another for to-morrow’s lard making.
He wanted to give Breeze the pig-tail to roast on the coals right then, but Big Sue said Breeze had no time to be playing with pig-tails now. If he’d work hard Uncle Bill might find the hog’s bladder for him, and to-night he and Brudge could pleasure themselves blowing it up like a balloon.
A number of the plantation dogs had gathered, and they had to be watched, specially the hounds and cur-dogs. The bird dogs were better-mannered. Big Sue wanted to scald the lot of them for the pesky way they nosed around, but Uncle Bill wouldn’t let her. Godmade dogs so they hankered after hog-meat. It was sinful to be short-patienced with them.
One pot simmered and stewed with liver and lights and haslets and rice liver pudding. Another pot slowly, carefully sputtered and spat as the blood, mixed with seasonings, thickened into pudding. The brains were taken out of the skull, which was put on for head cheese.
Breeze felt neither sadness nor squeamishness now. His mouth watered as his nose sniffed at all the appetizing smells.
The sun began throwing long shadows and Big Sue kept him hurrying. Every single hog hair had to be picked up and saved to plant in the potato patch next spring. Every hair would make a potato.
The waste had to be thrown in the creek. Breeze cast it in, a bucketful at a time. Horrid filthy stuff. It made him shiver, but the water swallowed it down with scarcely a splash, then flowed on smooth and clear, reflecting the bright clouds in the sky, shimmering in the last sunbeams, rising with the incoming tide to water its banks, which were yellow with marsh daisies. The willows were almost bare of leaves, and the slim naked trunks and branches bent over, looking away down into the Blue Brook’s quiet depths.
Sunset gilded the earth and cabins and trees, and streaked the white sandy yard with golden light. Uncle Bill hoped that such stillness would not bring rain soon, for the hay was in shocks in the field yet, and the corn not all broken in. He looked up at the sky as he spoke, and at once a light breeze sprang up to tell him to-morrow would be fair. He laughed with relief, and the big trees bowed gently, saying that they knew the little breeze had told the truth. Even the frost-faded grasses nodded and waved!
To stay fair the weather must turn cooler, and thatwould be good for Big Sue’s fresh killed meat. It would have a good chance to take the salt well. Such big hams needed careful curing.
Breeze must clean up the pen to-morrow and scatter ashes all over it, so Uncle Bill could bring Big Sue one of Melia’s red pigs to grow and fatten into a fine shoat by late spring.
Each piece of pork was rubbed well with salt and stored in Uncle Bill’s small log barn. There, they’d be safe until the morning, when they’d be rubbed again with salt mixed with sugar, and packed into a barrel to cure.
Old Louder sat on his thin haunches, patient and polite. He knew better than to beg, but his long ears failed to hide the pleading, wistful look in his eyes. Breeze tossed him a morsel of meat now and then and before one could touch the ground Louder caught and swallowed it with a deft snap of his jaws. Big Sue fairly screamed out:
“Feedin’ a dog wid my good meat, enty? I seen you. I’ll learn you better’n dat to-morrow mawnin’.”
As a rule Breeze said nothing, but the falling dusk looked so mournful, his body felt tired, his legs sore, his back and arms achy with so much work. This was the time of day he gave Jeems his supper, after the chickens and guineas were gone to bed. Now the pen was empty. Jeems was dead.
Pity for Jeems and himself made a sob heave up into his throat. Big Sue must have heard it, for her big moist salty hand closed over his mouth, “Shut up dat cryin’. You ain’ nuttin’ but a gal-baby! A-cryin’ here an’ me fretted half to death ’bout Joy! Drop you’ pants. I’s gwine lick you.”
Next morning, not a streak of daylight was showingthrough the house cracks when Breeze heard Big Sue up, stumbling around, dressing. She fumbled with the door-bar, taking it down, then went outside. She wanted to see how her meat was. Breeze turned over, but his dozing was broken up by a long terrible shriek. Without putting on even his breeches, he hopped out of bed and ran out to see what was wrong. Somebody’s house must be afire. Joy followed him, her teeth chattering, although she had a quilt wrapped around her.
Never in his whole life had Breeze heard such screams as Big Sue was making. Everybody in the Quarter came hurrying, nobody fully dressed. At first all stood dumb, panic-stricken with amazement, while Big Sue wailed out, between body-wrenching sobs, Jeems was gone! Stolen! Not a hair nor hide was left! The iron hasps holding the chain and lock in the door were pulled clear out of the door-frame. Outraged shouts broke from the crowd. Who here was mean enough to do such a thing? They eyed one another suspiciously. Even fists were clenched, for no such thing was ever heard of. If a ham or a side or a shoulder had been taken, that would have been bad enough, but a whole hog! It was too terrible to think about.
They tried to find some trace, maybe some tracks on the ground around the barn, but nothing was there plainer than Big Sue’s own flat barefooted ones.
She shrieked and beat her breast by fits and starts, weeping bitterly all in between.
Jeems was the finest hog ever butchered! She had never seen one lined thicker with fat! His meat would have lasted until next summer! And now it was gone! Stolen!
She jerked off the white cloth that bound her head and threw it down. Howling with rage she beat her head against the side of the barn until the blows of her skullhad it fairly quivering. The neighbors’ efforts to console her failed. Not even Joy could make any impression on her raving. Breeze was at his wits’ end. The sunny day itself got somber. The birds chirped low and sorrowfully.
Leah was the last person to come. Fat, wabbly, she strolled up, smoking her pipe, one arm akimbo, and beneath her red headkerchief, her eyes gleamed strangely.
“Wha’ dat ail Big Sue? E’s gwine on like e got in a hornet’s nest!”
They told her the news, but instead of grieving Leah sucked her teeth. Big Sue was just trying to make fools of them. Who’d take a whole hog? How could anybody do such a thing? Just as likely as not Big Sue had the hog right yonder in her shed-room.
They all looked in that direction, then back at Big Sue, who had paused in her wailing.
“Wha’ dat you say, Leah?” She was panting with rage, and only a narrow piece of ground lay between them, but Leah gave a taunting wicked laugh. “You hear me good enough. It ain’ no use to say all dat over.”
“You low liar! You varmint!” Big Sue’s voice was heavy. Her reddened eyelids, puffed with fat and tears, squeezed as tight as her clenched fist.
“Yunnuh hear Big Sue cuss me, enty?” Leah cried.
“Hush, Leah! You come on home wid me!” April stepped up and would have led her away by the arm, but with the fury of a cyclone, she shook him off and with a savage yell rushed up to Big Sue and spat in her face.
Like a flash they closed. Arms, fists, heads, bodies, whirled, staggered, fell, rose. All efforts to pull them apart were useless. Leah was the first to waver. After an awful blow in the face her arms dropped. She stoodstill, then tilted back on her heels trying not to fall. As she struggled for breath her mouth stretched wide open, gasping as fish gasp out of water.
April ran up and caught her and eased her gently down on the ground. Horrible fear rose in Breeze’s heart, for the glazed look in Leah’s eyes was the same that filled Jeems’ yesterday, when death struck him.
People crowded around her. Somebody ran for a bucket of water and poured it all over her head and face.
Breeze could hardly see for the mist in his eyes, but he knew Leah was dying for one of her girls gave a long piercing death-cry.
“You is sho’ ruint now, Big Sue!” Bina said distinctly.
“You spit in my face an’ I’ll kill you de same way!”
“Hush, Ma. Fo’ Gawd’s sake, hush!” Joy plead.
“Leah’s de one stole my hog,” Big Sue bawled, “Leah’s de very one!”
“Hush, Ma! Fo’ Gawd’s sake, hush! Uncle Bill, do come make Ma go home.”
Next morning Big Sue was too ill to get out of bed. Joy kept cool green collard leaves tied on her forehead, and rubbed the palms of her hands and the soles of her feet with tallow, but she groaned and complained with every breath.
Joy sent Breeze with some sweetened bread for Leah’s children to eat with their dinner, but he took a long time to get there. Dread made his feet lag. He slunk along the path, scared by every moving shadow. Ready to jump out of his skin at the crackle of a twig.
He felt relieved when he saw Uncle Bill in April’s yard helping make Leah’s coffin out of clean pine boardslately sawed at the saw-mill. As the sharp plane smoothed the wood, yellow curls fell on the ground. One string exactly Leah’s length and another her breadth, showed how to fit the box to her size.
Breeze finally had to go inside the house to deliver the bread and Joy’s message that Big Sue would not be well enough to attend Leah’s burying. He gave both to Bina, who had a wilted mock-orange bough in her hand, fanning flies away from the bed where Leah lay covered over with a sheet.
“Big Sue’s right to stay sick. You tell em I say so, too,” Bina said tartly. But in a more kindly tone she asked Breeze if he wanted to see Leah. When he shook his head, Bina said Leah looked mighty nice. Just as peaceful as if she was sleep.
That day was as long as a week. The sun hung still for hours at a time. There was scarcely a breath of wind. Breeze was afraid to stay alone, and both Joy and Big Sue kept to their beds. Once he whispered, “Joy, is you sleepin’?” and she answered gently:
“No, son, I’m wake. Come lay down on de bed ’side me. I know you is lonesome. I is myself.”
Reaching her hand out to meet him, she drew his burning face down against her own soft cheek which was cold and wet with tears. He raised up and met her eyes, and the look in them was so sad, so sorrowful, it cut him clean through to the heart.
At last the sun dropped westward, setting in Leah’s grave. Curiosity made Breeze want to see what went on, but fear of death kept him in calling distance of Joy. He went up the road far enough to see the dust raised by the funeral procession, but the wailing death-cries ran him home.
Joy stood by the open window listening. When one lone cry rose high above all the rest, her full lipstwitched, her sad eyes stared more gloomily and farther away, big bitter tears rolled down her cheeks.
Big Sue stayed in bed in the darkened shed-room, drinking root teas that smelled strong and rank.
At last night fell. Bedtime came. Breeze knelt down and tried to whisper his prayers. “O Lawd,” he began, but he got no further for Uncle Bill’s old hound, Louder, who had been resting and scratching fleas on the porch, suddenly lifted up his voice in a long mournful howl, and Breeze jumped into bed and covered his head.
Early next morning Bina came, pretending to ask about Big Sue’s health, but her eyes were round and her breathing quick with excitement. Had they heard the news? No? Everybody on the plantation was talking about it!
Somebody had put an awful conjure on April! Leah’s death-sheet had been folded and laid across the foot of April’s bed. When he woke this morning, there it was, tucked in at each side so it couldn’t slip off on the floor. Nobody knew who did it.
April wanted to throw it in the fire, but Maum Hannah stopped him. Burning a conjure bag, or a death-sheet, is the worst thing you can do. They have to be drowned. Maum Hannah sent for Uncle Isaac, and they both tried to make April drown the sheet in the Blue Brook, but he was too stubborn and hardheaded to mind them. Before they could stop him he dashed it on the red-hot coals. Uncle Isaac grabbed it out, but it was all blackened and scorched and burned.
Uncle Isaac took what was left of it and tied a rock up in it to make it sink. When he threw it in the Blue Brook the water splashed and bubbled and made a mournful groan, then turned green as grass! That sheet must have been loaded with conjure poison. UncleIsaac stood just so and counted to ten like the old people used to do. Bina got up to show them. Holding out the fingers of her left hand she counted them over twice wuth the forefinger of her right, singing as she did it.
Dis-sem-be! Jack-walla!Mulla-long! Mullinga!Gulla-possum! Gullinga!Sing-sang! Tuffee!Killa-walla! Kawa! Ten!
“Uncle Isaac done it just so.”
Big Sue was glad. Anybody could see that. She got up and started putting on her clothes. She seemed to shed her worries. To get almost cheerful. Once in a while she sighed. “I’m sho’ sorry for April. Too sorry. E ought not to ’a’ scorched dat sheet.”
The day turned off rainy, dreary, the whole world was wet and blurred. Big Sue said rain always falls after a burying to settle the dust on the grave.
Joy’s head ached, and she went to bed. Big Sue dampened a cloth with vinegar and tied it on Joy’s forehead, then she went slushing toward the Quarters.
She had hardly got out of sight when Joy jumped up and began a hurried dressing. She put on a dark dress, and tied a white towel over her head.
Breeze cried out in astonishment. Where was she going?
“Nowhere!” answered Joy. “If Ma comes and asks where I is, you don’ know nothin’ at all. Nothin’!”
“Tell me whe’ you’s gwine, Joy.” Breeze begged.
With a sad little smile she leaned over and hugged him.
“I’s comin’ back, Breeze. I’m gwine be you’ mammy after to-day. Ma can’ lick you no more. But don’t youtell nobody. I’m gwine to see if de boat brings me a letter from Sherry.”
“Lemme go, Joy.”
“No, you stay home till Ma comes.”
He let her go, out in the rain. He couldn’t help himself. For a while he pottered about the room, for there was no use to go out into the mud and rain. Then he crawled back into bed, and went sound asleep. Once he roused, and heard the boat puffing on the river. It blew for the landing and stopped, then went pounding on into the distance.
Big Sue came in at noon, vexed about something or other. She began abusing Breeze for letting the fire die, soon as she entered the cabin.
“Whe’s Joy?”
“I dunno, ma’am.”
“How come you dunno?”
“I dunno how come.”
“You ain’ got no sense, dat’s how come! Blow up dis fire befo’ I lick you to death!”
Fear put strength into Breeze’s blowing, and the fire soon blazed up, cheerful and bright, but Big Sue was bursting with gall which she vented on Breeze.
He ran about trying to please her, his mouth dumb-stricken with misery. But her bitter abuse stung him to the very quick and overcame him completely. He burst out crying, just as the soft mud outside sucked loud at somebody’s footsteps.
Uncle Bill called in through the door, “Is anybody home?”
Big Sue’s voice shifted into a pleasanter key as she invited Uncle Bill to come in, then upbraided Breeze for crying like a baby about nothing.
Uncle Bill took Breeze’s part, and with a big red pocket handkerchief wiped Breeze’s face and eyes withgentlest care, and stroked his hands and tried to comfort him.
“Don’ cry, son. You’ eyes is like scraps o’ red flannel. Joy’ll think you’s a baby fo’ true. She wouldn’ b’lieve you kin shoot a gun an’ plow an’ ride a mule good as a man.”
Uncle Bill slipped off his wet shoes to dry them, and sat in his bare feet. “Whe’s Joy?”
“I dunno an’ Breeze wouldn’ tell me whe’ Joy went. I reckon e’s yonder to Zeda’s house a-listenin’ at Zeda’s brazen talk.”
“Zeda’s talk ain’ brazen since Sherry’s gone,” mused Uncle Bill. “No, Zeda’s down-hearted as kin be.”
His shoes and feet steamed in the heat, and he drew both back to a safe distance. Then he showed Breeze how his ankles were marked with tiny scars. “See my snake-cuts? Uncle Isaac fixed me when I wa’n’t no bigger’n you. You ought git him to fix you next spring.”
He explained how the short gashes were made near a vein, and poison from a rattlesnake and a moccasin rubbed in. This was repeated until the dose no longer caused sickness. No snake could ever harm him again. They knew it. They kept out of his way. Yet snakes had him out in the rain now, taking a bucket of milk to April’s children. Snakes had been worse than usual this fall. They were not satisfied with eating all the eggs out of the hen nests, but they sucked the cows dry too. April’s cow might as well be dry so far as giving milk for the family to drink.
“April’s got a lot o’ hogs. Hogs’ll suck cows same like a calf,” Big Sue reminded him.
Uncle Bill was sure the hogs were innocent. And besides, April’s cow came from a fine breed. She wouldn’t let a hog suck her. But snakes are tricky.While the cow was dozing, in the night, they’d slip up and wrap themselves around her leg and suck her dry as a bone and never wake her. Hogs were too awkward to get all the milk. And a fine nice cow like April’s wouldn’t stand any foolishness from a hog.
“Maybe de cow is lost her cud. Dat’ll dry up de milk,” Big Sue suggested again.
Uncle Bill dismissed that with a shake of the head. Cows did lose their cuds. One of his own cows lost hers every time the hags rode her, and that was mighty near every young moon. Giving her an old greasy dish-rag to chew on helped her get it back for a while, but she got so bad off, even that failed. Finally he had to go to Uncle Isaac and get him to take the conjure off her. She was conjured, no doubt about that.
“Who you reckon done it?” Big Sue’s ears had pricked up with the word “conjure,” but Uncle Bill wouldn’t say. It was better not to talk too much about such things. When they come, rid yourself of them the best you can, but don’t talk about them after they go. The less they get into your mind, the better off you are.
“Cows suck dey own se’f, sometimes,” Big Sue went back to the old subject. “April’s cow might be a-doin’ dat.”
Uncle Bill was certain that wasn’t so. Somebody would have seen her. Cows did it, he knew. He once owned a fine one that did it and her mother before her did it. Every daughter she had did it too. They had to wear pens around their necks, but nothing could ever break them from the ugly habit. It was born in their blood, just as some dogs are born gun-shy. It’s in the breed. People and dogs and cows are born to be what they are. They may cover it up for a long time, but it will come out sooner or later.
Big Sue nodded, agreeing, “Dat’s how come I wentclean over de river to Sandy Island when I wanted a boy to raise. I knowed Breeze come f’om good seed. E’s good stock.”
“You’s right. Sho’! If you want to raise corn, plant corn seed, not cotton seed.”
“April ever was a mighty rash man, Uncle Bill.” Big Sue hinted at something dark, and Uncle Bill slipped a look at her, then turned his eyes to look out in the rain, where a mocking-bird was whistling exactly like a young turkey. Big Sue got her sewing and sat down to talk.
“April wouldn’ rest not till e pizened dem boll-evils. I couldn’ hardly sleep in de night all las’ summer fo’ dem machines a-zoonin’. Everybody was scared to look out de door whilst April an’ Sherry was gwine round de fields. De pizen dust was same as a fog. Lawd! I slept wid my head under a quilt ev’y night. April better had left dem boll-evils right whe’ Gawd put ’em. I don’ kill no kinder bugs exceptin’ spiders. Not me! Fightin’ Gawd’s business’ll git you in trouble. April’s got off light so far, but e better quit tryin’ to do all de crazy t’ings de white people says do. E sho’ better! Bad luck’s been hangin’ round ever since dat radio-machine at de Big House started hollerin’ an’ cryin’ an’ singin’ year befo’ last. People ain’ got no business tryin’ to be Gawd. Not black people anyways. Let de white people go on. Dey is gwine to hell anyhow!”
She took a fresh thread and moistening the tip of a finger in her mouth made a fat knot in its end. But before she stuck it into the cloth, she looked at Uncle Bill with bright points of light in his eyes. Her words troubled him.
“You is talkin’ mighty fast now, daughter. I been workin’ wid white people all my life an’ I ain’ got nocomplaint to make of dem. No. Ol’ Cap’n raise’ me to have respect fo’ everybody.”
“Whe’ you reckon Ol’ Cap’n is to-day, Uncle Bill?”
The old man pressed his lips tight together until they puckered, and shook his head.
Big Sue laughed, “You don’ want to say, enty? I don’ blame you. But between you an’ me I spec’ e is whe’ I hope e ain’t; a hoppin’ in Hell dis minute!”
“Shut you’ mouth, gal! Gawd’ll strike you dead first t’ing you know!” Uncle Bill gave her a hard look. “Ol’ Cap’n had his faults, but e was a man! Yes, Gawd! A man!”
Uncle Bill wasn’t listening. He had gone back to the past, “Lawd, I kin see Ol’ Cap’n now. High an’ straight. Slim till de day e died. His eyes could go black as soot an’ flash wid pure fire when e got vexed, but dey could shine soft as gal-chillen’s eyes too.” Uncle Bill’s own eyes brightened as he talked.
“Dat man could ride horses dat would ’a’ killed anybody else,” he boasted. “An’ Uncle Isaac, yonder, used to be a man too! E drove de carriage wid a pair o’ coal black horses. When dey’d pass you in de big road dem horses’ breath was hot as pure steam. Dey nostrils was red as any blood! De gold an’ silver on de harness would blind you’ eyes same as a flash o’ lightnin’! You’d have to stop an’ stand still an’ cover up you’ face. Dem was de days! You young people don’ know nothin’! Not nothin’!”
A merry laugh crinkled up his eyelids, and filled the hollows in his thin old cheeks. It tickled him when he thought about the case Ol’ Cap’n was. He was a case. A heavy case! Sometimes his company would get drunk and reckless with pistols. Cap’n would always caution them to be careful not to shoot any of his servants. He’d always brag that he had the best stock of niggers anddogs and horses in the state, and he didn’t want any of them hurt.
“I ’member. E was powerful big-doin’s. But when death come for him, he had to go same as anybody else. Whe’s e now, Uncle Bill?”
Uncle Bill made a wry face at Big Sue, “I dunno. An’ you dunno. But Gawd knows Ol’ Cap’n had a big heart. A good heart. E wan’ no po’ buckra, or either white trash.” A sly smile lightened his solemn face.
“Dat new preacher preaches dat de Great I-Am is a nigger! Don’ let em fool you, gal. Gawd is white. You’ll see it too when Judgment Day comes. An’ E ain’ gwine be noways hard on a fine man like Ol’ Cap’n. He knows gentlemens. Sho’! An’ if Ol’ Cap’n couldn’ exactly make Heaven, I bet Gawd is got him a comfortable place in Hell, wid plenty o’ people to wait on him. An’ dat’s all e wants, anyhow. E had plenty o’ milk an’ honey an’ gold an’ silber down here, an’ e didn’ count none o’ dem much, nohow.”
The stillness was so intense that when the clock on Big Sue’s mantel banged out an hour, Uncle Bill jumped with a start at its call back to the present. He must be going on to April’s house with the bucket of milk. Time was moving. He had a lot of work to do before the white folks came. Some of the fences needed patching. Blinds had to be fixed in the rice-fields for the duck-hunters and the old trunks had to be mended in places so the ducks could be baited. There were many things waiting for him to do them.
“Did you hear f’om de buckra lately?” Big Sue’s little eyes got smaller as she asked it.
“Not so lately,” Uncle Bill admitted, “but I don’ fret. No news is good news wid dem. I sho’ will be glad to see li’l’ young Cap’n, dough. It’s hard to believe dat one li’l’ boy is de onliest seed de ol’ Cap’n is gotleft in dis world. E’s de last o’ de name. De last o’ de race. It make me sad to think on dat!”
“Dat same boy is a chip off de ol’ block! Lawd, e’s a case!”
Uncle Bill started up. “You sound like you got somet’ing against de boy? Dat ain’ right. No. When e mammy died, all o’ we promised we’d help raise dat baby to know right f’om wrong. You promised de same way like I promised.”
Big Sue did not answer and Uncle Bill went on, “Ol’ Cap’n, neither young Miss, wouldn’ rest still in dey graves if we didn’ do right by dat li’l’ boy. I too sorry his stepma keeps em yonder up-North most all de time. It ain’ good. It’s a wonder Ol’ Cap’n don’ rise out de grave an’ haunt em.”
Uncle Bill took up his bucket of milk. He must go. Big Sue asked him to tarry longer. Dinner was well-nigh done. He refused politely.
He got as far as the door, when he stopped still, “Miss Big Sue, I gwine tell you something. Ol’ Cap’n was a lily of de valley. E was a bright an’ mawnin’ star. When Death took him, it took de Jedus of dis plantation. Blue Brook ain’ never been de same since den. No.”
A soft drizzle of rain sifted through the trees, the wind moaned drearily.
Big Sue shook her head. “Gawd made Heaven fo’ de humble, Uncle Bill. Hell’s de place where de proudful goes. When a man, white or black, gits to trustin’ to his own strength, ’stead o’ Gawd’s, e is done for, sho’ as you’ born.”
After Leah’s death April seemed lonelier than ever. He passed Big Sue’s house almost every day, but he never looked in nor spoke. He didn’t even turn his head, but walked by, stern, unseeing. Big Sue always stoppedwhat she was doing to go to the door and watch him. She’d nod her head and wink and shrug. Everywhere on the plantation, the talk was thick with prophecies that April would walk himself to death. Day and night he walked, never sitting down anywhere. A bad way for a man to do. That death-sheet had his feet conjured. They’d never rest again in this world, or in the other, unless April made a change in his ways.
Joy took to walking too. Not like April, day and night; but in the evenings, just after sunset, she’d wrap her long cape close around her and go away down the path. Big Sue paid little attention to Joy for her own troubles filled her mind. Occasionally she sent Breeze to see where Joy went, then got in a rage when Breeze reported invariably he couldn’t find her.
Sometimes Joy walked fast, sometimes slow. Nearly always toward sunset. Sometimes when she sat down on a tree root to rest, she’d talk to herself. At last Breeze felt sure she was trailing April, for when she glimpsed him through the trees she’d stop still, with her eyes fastened on him.
Breeze wondered if Joy was going crazy. Had somebody cast a spell on her too! As the days dragged on toward Christmas, she grew more and more silent. She spent much of the time in bed, but whenever the boat-whistle screeched out it had reached the landing, she either got up and went for the mail herself or sent Breeze to ask if any letter had come for her.
She took less and less notice of people and things, but stood by the open window for long stretches, looking out at the trees or the rice-fields beyond them.
Once when she started out alone in the dusk, Breeze offered to go with her. She smiled kindly and told him to come on, but Breeze felt hurt by her steady silence for it told him plainly that she cared no more for hiscompany than for the wind, although his one thought was to please her.
The first time they met April, face to face, he would have passed without speaking but Joy stopped him. “Cun April——”
April turned his haggard face toward her and looked down with eyes that were deep sunken and reproachful instead of bold. “Is you called me, Joy?”
She stood dumb, motionless, a second, then spoke softly, distressfully.
“Cun April, I want to tell you, Ma ain’ been well, not since Cun Leah died. Ma frets all de time. Day an’ night. I can’ sleep fo’ de way she moans an’ goes on. All night long. It’s so pitiful. Please, suh, come talk to her sometimes. Ma never meant to do such a harm dat day. I wish you wouldn’ hold such hard feelin’s.”
April had aged a great deal. His shoulders stooped. His feet inclined to drag. His voice was low and husky. But he answered Joy kindly.
“I don’ hold nothin’ against you’ ma, Joy. Leah was in de wrong too. Leah had no business to throw Big Sue’s whole hog in de Blue Brook. No. Leah done wrong, I know dat.”
Joy stared at him. What he said made her speechless with astonishment at first, but she controlled herself enough to say.
“Stop by an’ see me an’ Ma, sometimes. Please, Cun April. We gits so awful lonesome after dark.”
April promised he would. Promised in words that were very gentle. Then he stalked on, a tall lonely shadow, moving under the trees.
April came to see Big Sue that very night, dropping by so unexpectedly that the sight of him made her dumb for a while. She tried to be natural, to hide her agitation, but her breath caught fast in her throat every timeshe opened her mouth to talk, and her words were uncertain and stammering.
But April paid little heed to her. He seemed scarcely to know she was there, for his eyes spent much of the time looking at Joy. Breeze thought he saw them flash once or twice, but it may have been the firelight in them.
April declared he had eaten supper and cared for nothing either to eat or drink, but Joy fixed him a cup of water, sweetened with wild honey, flavored with bruised mint leaves, from the mint-bed by the back door. When he tasted it he smiled, and the dull fire in the chimney blazed up, and everything seemed brighter, more joyful than in many a long day.
When April got up to go Joy followed him to the door. She made him shake hands with her and promise to come back very soon.
After that when Joy walked out in the dusk she always let Breeze know she’d rather go by herself. Not that she ever hurt his feelings, but she made some sort of flimsy excuse to be rid of him. He hadn’t shut up the coop where the hen and youngest biddies slept, or he hadn’t cut up enough fat kindling wood, or couldn’t he go fetch a fresh bucket of water from the spring?
Then Breeze discovered that April walked with Joy. He had forgotten Big Sue altogether.
Once Breeze saw them walking shoulder to shoulder, arm touching arm. They talked so softly their words were drowned by the rustle of the leaves under their feet. When April stopped and bent his face so close to Joy’s that she drew back a little, Breeze’s heart almost quit beating. He let them go on unwatched, hidden by the deepening twilight.
When Joy came home Big Sue grumbled as she handed her a panful of supper and a spoon.
“How come you so love to walk out in de night? It ain’ good. You’ll ketch a fever or somet’ing worse. You ain’ been home to eat supper wid me since last Sat’day night was a week.”
But Joy sat mute, looking into the fire, with eyes that gleamed back at the flames.
After that, Joy was always gentle, but except for her evening walk she went nowhere, not even for the mail. For days at a time she scarcely uttered a word. Lying on the bed, or sitting by the fire, she did nothing but think, all the time. When visitors came she said she wasn’t well, and went to lie down in the shed-room. Even Big Sue’s constant scolding got few words out of the girl.
Late one afternoon Big Sue went to see Maum Hannah, whose crippled knee was being troublesome. In the cabin a bright fire blazed merrily, and Breeze and Joy shelled parched pindars to make some molasses candy before time to cook supper. Breeze ran to Zeda’s house to borrow a pinch of cooking soda to make the candy foam up light. When he came back he found April talking to Joy in a strangled husky voice. Both were standing up by the fire, the shelled nuts were scattered on the floor; the smell of the molasses boiling over and burning, made a bitter stench in the room.
“Wha’ you say, Joy?” April asked it very low.
Joy stood dumb, motionless, then she lifted her eyes to his face. “Is you want me fo’ true, Cun April?”
His eyes were on her, so bold, so full of admiration, that she shrank back in confusion, although her white teeth were flashing with excitement.
April leaned closer and whispered, and her beaming eyes darted up sidewise to see by his face if he meant all he was saying. She reflected in silence, with a downcast look. But when she answered him softly, she looked straight up again into his eyes.
His breath came quick. His eyes glinted fiercely. Joy drew back, but she was nodding yes all the time. April caught her and squeezed her to him and kissed her. She started struggling to free herself, but Big Sue’s steps sounded outside and April hurried away out of the door. Joy’s eyes followed him until the darkness had swallowed him, and only the tramp of his feet could reach her ears. She pulled a chair up to the fire and sat down, with her eyes fixed on the flames. She sat there a long time. Once she smiled to herself, then she frowned, but her eyes stayed glittering like a high spring tide under a full noon sun.
“Joy,” Big Sue called her name sternly, “I b’lieve you’s conjured. I know April is. Dat death-sheet is had him walkin’ his feet off ever since Leah was buried. You’s a fool to let dat man talk wid you. I wish to Gawd e’d stay way f’om my house.”
When the boat blew for the landing early next morning on its way to town, Breeze and Big Sue had gone in Uncle Isaac’s cart to the lime mill near the seashore to get lime enough to whitewash the front of her house fresh for Christmas. Every cabin on the whole plantation was being scoured and scrubbed and dressed up with papers. Big Sue wanted hers to be the finest of all. Breeze had wrung next year’s supply of straw brooms out of the old unplanted fields and had swept the yard clean with a new dogwood brush-broom.
Joy had helped some, but in a half-hearted way. She wouldn’t even ride out with them to get the lime. Her excuse was that Julia looked wild. Breeze knew she didn’t mean it, for no mule ever moved more sluggishly. Breeze had to get a stick and frail Julia to make her trot at all.
Noon had passed when they got back home with their load.
Big Sue called Joy to see what nice white fresh-burned lime it was. Like flour. Not a lump in it. But Joy was not at home and Big Sue grumbled.
“Gone to Zeda’s again. Joy keeps hankerin’ to hear news from Sherry. E may as well quit dat. Sherry’s gone! Fo’ good! E ain’ got Joy to study ’bout! Not no mo’! No!”
When the sun went down, a great red ball, floods of brilliant light gushed up around it, foretelling a cold night and a windy day to-morrow. Water birds flew over the rice-fields, crying out in dread. The trees were full of sighs. The open window blinds creaked dismally. A puff of smoke came down the chimney. Winter was coming.
Dusk fell and the night closed in dark. Joy’s supper waited on the hearth. Where could she be so late?
Breeze went to ask Zeda, but she wasn’t at home. Maum Hannah’s house was dark, so he stopped at Bina’s to ask if any one there had seen Joy lately.
Bina looked at him with searching eyes, “You is tryin’ to be smart, enty? A-actin’ fool to ketch sense!” She sucked her teeth scornfully, but Breeze didn’t understand what she meant.
“Don’ stan’ up an’ lie to me, boy! You know Joy an’ April went off on de boat dis mawnin’.”
Breeze could scarcely believe his ears heard Bina right.
Joy and April gone? Together? Where had they gone?
Why hadn’t Joy told somebody?
He flew to tell Big Sue.
Instead of meeting the news with an outburst of grief, Big Sue chuckled, “Who’d ’a’ thought my Joy could catch April! An’ Leah not yet cold in her grave! Lawd! April’s old enough to be Joy’s daddy! Well,all I got to say is dis! April was born fo’ luck. E ever did git de best o’ ev’yt’ing on dis plantation.”
The boat was due to return three days hence. When the time came the whole plantation was at the landing to meet it.
As the old battered hulk hove in sight, around the bend, a hush fell on the crowd, and every eye was fixed on the lower deck where April and Joy stood, side by side, smiling happily. April took off his hat and waved it. Joy fluttered a handkerchief to greet them.
They were both dressed fit to kill. Joy, gay as a peacock, in a dress striped with yellow bands, and a hat with green ribbons and red flowers. April looked youthful in a brand-new suit that showed off his broad shoulders and slim waist well. He held Joy’s hand and led her carefully over the unsteady gangplank, and she fell into Big Sue’s arms while April looked on smiling and rubbing his hands awkwardly.
The crowd crushed around them, wishing them happiness, hoping they’d live like Isaac and Rebecca, wishing them joy and a gal and a boy. Breeze pressed forward too until he could touch Joy’s hand, and she bent down and gave him a smacking kiss, then a hug.
“Looka li’l’ Breeze, Cun April,” she said, and April reached out and shook his hand, and Joy added; “I done told you I was gwine be you’ mammy, Breeze, and Cun April’s you’ daddy, now.”
The people crammed too close around them. Breeze could scarcely breathe. He got out quickly as he could, and went to the store steps to wait with old Louder, who sat wagging his tail, and making short whines of pleasure. Breeze and Big Sue, and most of the neighbors, went with them to April’s cabin, where a huge fire was built, and the whole room made light as day.
Big Sue and Bina bustled around cooking supper, and April’s children and Breeze all helped. Sweetened bread and fried bacon and coffee with plenty of cream and sugar, were passed around. The cabin was filled with the fragrance of the food. But Joy couldn’t eat. Big Sue pressed her to take something, but she said she couldn’t swallow a bite to save her life.
April had eyes only for Joy. He leaned over and whispered softly, “Is anyt’ing ail you, honey?”
But she shook her head. She was only weary, too weary to eat.
Some of the young folks suggested a dance, but April said they must come back another night; Joy was weary. The boat trip was long, and the chill of the river wind had her trembling yet.
When everybody had something to eat and drink, they said good night, and tramped out into the night, Breeze and Big Sue last of all.
The dark roads and paths swarmed with merry people, the air rang with songs and laughter.
“April sho’ is a fool over Joy!” Big Sue grunted as they turned into the path toward home. “A pure fool. A ol’ fool is de worst fool too.”
Joy and April took supper with Big Sue Christmas Eve, and they helped fill Breeze’s stocking. He knew, for soon after supper he was sent to bed. They were in a hurry to get to Maum Hannah’s house where an all-night meeting was to be held.
Breeze wanted to go too. He wanted to stay up for all the singing and shouting, and see the cows kneel down and pray at midnight, and the sun rise shouting in the east in the morning. But Big Sue said he was too sleepy-headed for her to fool with him, and if he didn’t go to bed like a good boy old Santy Claw would leave his stocking empty.
They all said good night and went out of the door and Breeze thought they had gone for good. He was about to hop up and look at his stocking when Joy ran back in, and, falling on the bed where he was, burst out crying.
What on earth! Big Sue and April hurried in, and did all they could to quiet her. Was she sick? Had somebody hurt her feelings? April petted her and called her tender names, but she cried on even when her tears were spent and broken sobs shook her of their own free will.
Big Sue called April into the other room and whispered to him. He came back and asked Joy if she wouldn’t rather stay quietly with Breeze and rest? He’d stay too if she liked, or go to meeting with Big Sue. Whatever she wanted was the thing he wanted too. She got up and wiped her eyes. She’d go home and go to bed. He could do whatever he liked. Her words sounded cold, almost bitter.
But soon the next morning she came to show Big Sue the Christmas presents April had given her. A watch to wear on her wrist, and a diamond ring! The two must have cost twenty-five dollars, if not more.
The winter days passed slowly, many of them dull, gray, with an overcast sky, where low clouds sailed and cast their murky color over the ground. The first March day came in bright and warm, with a wind that roared over the land, whipping the trees, snapping off their rotten limbs, lifting old shingles off of roofs, sweeping yards and woods clean, thrashing fields until clouds of dust and sand rose and floated in the sky. But everybody rejoiced that winter was over and gone. And besides, a windy March is lucky. Every pint of March dust brings a peck of September corn, and a pound of October cotton. Let it blow!
Such a high wind could never last. A March that comes in like a lion will go out as quiet as a new-born lamb. Let it blow! But watch the fires! One little spark can easily be fanned into a flame.
New leaves quivered and glittered on the restless boughs. Old leaves, dead for months on the ground, hopped out from their resting-places and skipped and flew, making brown leaf whirlwinds that spun around dizzily, then settled in new sheltered places.
The wind lulled a little at sunset, and the night fell black and cloudless. A multitude of stars crowded the sky, foretelling rain close at hand. The rain was waiting for the blustery gale to hold still so the clouds could gather and agree. In the night the wind rose and beat against the cabin’s sides. It shook the walls, and whistled and whined through the cracks. The front door banged wide open, as the nail that held the bar frame was jerked out by its force. Finally Big Sue made Breeze get up and get a hatchet and a long nail out of the tool-box Santy Claw had given him, and she held the door while he nailed it up.
Big Sue was frightened. She kept talking to Breeze, trying to keep him awake with her, but he was too sleepy-headed to listen. When he woke at dawn a flood of rain was pouring down, and thunder roared louder than the rain or wind.
As a fearful crash shook the earth. Big Sue opened the back door and peeped out and quavered, “Git up, Breeze! Lightnin’ is struck dat big pine yonder, close to April’s house! It’s afire! Dat bolt shooken de whole earth. I bet April’ll find it. Lawd! E’s been diggin’ at de roots o’ struck trees to git a bolt a long time! An’ now one mighty nigh hit him!”
“What’s a bolt, Cun Big Sue?”
The wind howled as she answered, “Why, son, athunderbolt is a’ iron rod. If you finds one, you’ll have de power to rule life an’ death!”
The cabin was closed tight, yet so fierce was the lightning it blazed through cracks right into the room. Blood-red streaks of light took turns with others that were blue. Breeze shut his eyes and put the pillow over his head. He finally dozed off, and slept until the morning had come, clear of rain and wind, and filled with the warm breath of the earth.
He was alone. Big Sue had gone to see April’s struck pine, so he dressed and ran to see it too.
A crowd of people were around the burning tree, and others were coming. All were talking excitedly. God must have His eye on April to aim a thunderbolt so close to his house. He had a narrow escape. His house might catch fire yet, for pieces of burning limbs were falling, and water could not put out fire started with lightning. Nothing could, but new milk from a cow with her first calf. Where would April get enough of that to do any good?
April was brazenly unafraid. He laughed at the notion of getting a heifer’s milk. He said he’d make water outen this fire, or any other fire, that bothered his cabin. They’d see.
April sat in front of the fire on his hearth, and when Big Sue fixed his breakfast in a pan and handed it to him, he called to the neighbors, standing outside, “Yunnuh come an’ eat some breakfast wid me. We’s got a-plenty fo’ ev’ybody.” At first all of them answered, “No, thank you,” but when April insisted, a half-dozen or more went in and took a piece of bread, or a mouthful of sweetened water.
“How’s Joy?” Bina asked Big Sue politely.
“Joy’s awful nervish since dat tree got struck. I made em stay in bed dis mawnin’.”
“Joy ain’ been well in a good while,” Bina commented.
Big Sue’s eyes snapped. “Joy ever was a delicate child, Bina. You know dat good as me.”
The thick high trees, lapping their branches overhead, sheltered the cabins from a sun that burned down, fierce and bright, drawing a strong steamy stench up from the heated mud flats left naked by the outgone tide.
The fields were all too wet for plowing, and the blacksmith shop was the center for the day’s work. Plowshares needed to be filed and sharpened. Plow-stocks mended. Mules’ feet trimmed. Manes and tails clipped short. A few of the older, thinner beasts had got lousy. The hair must be cut off them and their hides wet with tea made out of china-berry leaves.
The men laughed and talked and chewed tobacco and smoked, as they worked leisurely at their different tasks. A difference of opinion rose as to the best place to twitch a mule to make him stand still for his hair to be cut off. A twine-string could be twisted around an ear, or tied to the upper lip. Uncle Bill preferred the lip. He said mules have pockets inside their ears and a string twisted tight enough to hold the beast quiet, will tear that pocket in two. April objected to the twitch on the lip, for it often caused a painful swelling.
The question was still unsettled when Brudge came running hard as he could, crying out that Joy had been taken with a death-sickness. She was lying on the bed in a trance. She couldn’t speak a word. Brudge almost popped out his eyeballs showing how her eyes were rolled away back in her head. Her hands and feet were cold as clabber. Big Sue said April must hurry or Joy would be gone before he got there!
April did not wait to hear the end of Brudge’s talk, but flew home ahead of them all with Breeze close at hisheels. Lamentations and outcries met them as they got nearer. Big Sue’s above all the rest. Joy was dying. Nothing but a death-sickness could strike a young woman down so hard.
Breeze was almost petrified with terror, but he dragged himself on to the cabin, which was already filled with the neighbors. Joy lay on the bed covered over with a quilt, up to her very neck. Her eyes were shut. Her head moved from side to side. Her lips whispered things nobody could hear at all.
Big Sue sat near the bed in a low chair, her fat body rocking. Big tears rolled down her cheeks as she chanted over and over.
“Do, Jedus! Don’ let Joy dead!
“Oh, my Gawd! Help my chile! Help em!
“Oh, Lawd! Oh, my Gawd!
“Don’ let Joy dead dis mawnin’!”
April broke through the crowd surrounding the bed, and taking one of Joy’s hands from under the cover felt her pulse, then leaned over to hear what she was saying. “No. No, honey,” he crooned, “you wouldn’ dead an’ leave me. No. No. I couldn’ do widout you nohow. I wouldn’ ’a’ left you last night in dat storm, but I was ’fraid de stables would blow down an’ kill all de mules an’ horses. De storm is gone. De lightnin’ didn’ hurt nobody. Death is gone away off now. E can’ take you. No!”
Breeze pricked up his ears. Was death about to take Joy?
As her life fluttered uncertainly, Big Sue’s wailing and misery were less hard to bear than April’s fierce resolute manner.
Joy had to get well. No matter what ailed her. If she was conjured, Uncle Isaac had to take off the spell. If the storm had scared her until her heart-string wasstrained, she must keep still and rest until it went back into place. Nobody must come in the room to worry her with talking. Send for Maum Hannah. No matter if she was at the end of the earth instead of the end of the “Neck,” go fetch her! Hurry! Don’t tarry and waste any more time! Fetch Maum Hannah! Joy had a death-sickness!
Uncle Bill hitched up the fastest horse in the barnyard to the lightest cart, and went flying down the road for Maum Hannah, who had gone to a sick woman some miles away. When he got back, several hours later, the horse was lathered with sweat, and all but broken winded, but Joy was still alive.
The room was chock-full, the door choked with people, both windows were dark with heads. Big Sue’s mourning that had fallen into a low mumbling prayer to Jesus now changed and livened to:
“Do, Maum Hannah! Help my Joy!
“Do, Maum Hannah! Don’ let Joy dead!
“Do, Maum Hannah!”
Maum Hannah hurried up the steps as fast as her crippled knee would let her. She was all out of breath, but instead of pitying Big Sue, she stopped still and eyed her with an impatient grunt. “Do shut you’ mouth, Big Sue! You ought to be shame’ to cut all dis crazy! You can’ fool dese people. No! Everybody knows wha’ ails Joy, ’ceptin’ April. An’ e ought to take you out an’ duck you good in de creek fo’ makin’ such a fool out o’ him! Dat fine horse is most dead! Bill made em run so fas’, de wind likened to ’a’ cut my breath off. You people go home. Gi’ Joy a chance to turn dat chile loose. Joy done well to hold em dis long but e can’ hold em no longer. Yunnuh go on! Go on, Breeze! Yunnuh clear de room!”
Big Sue stopped grieving and stared, but MaumHannah’s talk stung April to the quick. He stepped up to her angrily, but she stopped taking off her cloak long enough to pat his arm, “Don’ be vexed wid me, son. I’m tellin’ yunnuh what Gawd loves, de truth! Joy’s done well to hold dat chile dis long. You married in de Christmas, enty? Well, Joy can’ hold em six more months. I know dat. Dat gal’s got to turn em loose, no matter if it do hurt you’ feelin’s!”
Joy trembled like a leaf in a storm. Her dazed eyes turned from Maum Hannah to April, who was silent, except for one word. “Bitch,” he snarled, and his eyes blazed like lightning flashes, as he turned and left the room.
Breeze left too, but he scarcely knew where he was, or where he was going. April had cursed Joy and she a-dying!
He dragged himself home and fell across Joy’s own bed, for Big Sue was not there to stop him. He wept until his tears failed him. He tried his best to pray, “O Gawd, don’ let Joy die—” but he went fast asleep. He slept heavily until a harsh hoarse voice waked him. He came instantly to his senses, and tried to stammer out some excuse, but Big Sue’s grim swollen face made his words falter, and the slap her hand laid on his jaw brought shining stars in front of his eyes.
“Git up and go borrow a piece o’ fire f’om somebody! Hurry, too, befo’ I kill you!”
He ran to April’s house, but stopped at the step for a tiny baby was crying inside. He ran all the way to Zeda’s and borrowed a piece of fire, then flew home. As he made up the fire for Big Sue, she walked around the room unsteadily, mumbling between her teeth. If April mistreated her Joy now, she herself would put a “hand” on him; one so strong that it would wither his hands! And his feet! She couldn’t keep still or stop talking.Her tongue lashed April and Joy too, and each word was a poison sting. Who was he to blame Joy? He had children scattered from one end of this “Neck” to the other. Now he cursed Joy as if she were lowest of the low. It was a shame! A heavy shame! Joy must leave him at once!
The wind had risen and whistled through the trees, tossing the branches, making them moan. Big Sue talked on and on. Breeze was glad when she went back to April’s cabin, although she left him without a bite to eat. He’d go somewhere and get supper. Maybe Uncle Bill was at home. He’d go see.
To his surprise April was there too, sitting by the fire, miserably dejected, while Uncle Bill talked to him, trying to cheer him.
Breeze had hardly got inside when Zeda arrived and, brushing past Uncle Bill, walked up to April and put a hand on his shoulder. “Look at me, April. I got somet’ing to say to you.” Bitter spite hurried her words.
But April, instead of looking up as she bade him, leaned forward and spat in the fire.
“Wha’ ails you, now, Zeda?” he asked curtly.
“I kin easy say what ails me; dat new-born child yonder ’side Joy is my gran’! But e’s you’ gran’, too! Joy had dat chile for Sherry, an’ you ain’ gwine put no dis-grace-ment on em. No. If nobody else can’ hinder you, I kin. I already got you’ feet so dey can’ rest. Wid Leah’s death-sheet.”
April heard her, and although he didn’t answer, his jaw set his teeth hard enough to bite a ten-penny nail in two. Zeda smiled.
“You may as well give in, April,” she persisted. “Sherry’s you own, an’ who is Breeze, but you’ own? Ev’body knows dat. It’s a wonder somebody ain’ cutyou’ throat long time ago. If you wa’n’t so lucky you’d ’a’ been in hell wid some o’ dem women you sent dere.”
“How come you meddlin’ in my business so raven?” April suddenly flashed out.
“Dat li’l’ chile is my business. Joy had em fo’ Sherry, a li’l’ boy-chile, too. You go on home an’ tell Joy to hurry up an’ git well. ’Tain’ no use to hold hard feelin’s ’gainst em. No! Joy’s had you a gran’son.”
When he did not stir, she blazed out: “You’ neck is stiff, enty! So’s my own! An’ I hope a misery’ll gnaw you’ heart in two. I hope you’ll die of thirst an’ hunger. I hope ev’y lawful yard-chile you had by Leah’ll perish. I hope you’ feet’ll rot——”
“You shut you’ mouth, Zeda. If you cuss me again I’ll choke you’ tongue down you’ throat.” April got up and fled from her bitter words.