Chapter 6Mama had said I could go home with Aunt Vic—to spend a whole week—because I hadn't been to her house in a long time, and because Aunt Vic wished she had a little daughter with braided hair and blue-green eyes. All she had was her three grown-up sons, Casey, Hi-Pockets, and Jim-Bo, and Ginger, and Speedy, her horse.Both Aunt Vic and Aunt Lovie told Mama they knew I would be perfectly safe, but neither one said safe from what. Oh, well, it didn't matter. Grownups never get around to telling all they know.I was glad Aunt Vic liked my long braids. While she was lifting Ginger, and then me, up into the buggy seat, I looked at her hair. It had started turning gray on top, same as Mama's and Aunt Lovie's. But mostly it was still brown, and her eyes were more brown. Aunt Vic was real pretty. She smiled nearly all the time, too."Bandershanks, let's fold the buggy robe around you and Ginger," Aunt Vic said as we were leaving the church grounds and waving good-bye to Mama and Aunt Lovie. "In late fall like this the wind comes swooping down out of the north and blows right nippy."Aunt Vic's lap robe was a lot prettier than ours. Hers had a long purple fringe. But Ginger didn't like the robe or the fringe. He squirmed and twisted and stood up on the seat, turning himself round and round. Aunt Vic had to sweet-talk him and rub his ears and sweet-talk him some more before he would ever curl himself up and put his head in her lap to go to sleep.We rode past Papa's new store, the cotton gin, Mister Goode's grist mill, and on toward Ash Branch. Speedy trotted along right pertly where the road was level, but at the foot of the first steep hill he slowed down.At the top of the hill was the falling-down church by the graveyard. As we came alongside the churchyard fence I was wishing Aunt Vic would stop so I could go see the little lamb on one of the tombstones. I liked that little gray lamb.Sometimes when Mama drove our buggy by the old church she let me get out and run inside the gate to pat the lamb for one quick minute. And every May, when we all gathered at the graveyard and stayed all day to chop down the weeds and nettles and to scrape away the briar vines and grass, Mama let me look at the little sheep as long as I pleased. He had about the best spot in the whole graveyard—just inside the fence, under the highest pine. There he could always rest in the shade.I glanced up at Aunt Vic and knew she wasn't going to stop. She didn't have any flowers with her, and she never walked among the tombstones unless she had a bouquet for Uncle Hugh's grave. Uncle Hugh didn't have a lamb on his headstone. Lambs are for children. His stone, and the one at the head of Grandpa Dave's grave, had both been made to look like trees turned to rocks and then chopped up and stacked up, one short log on top of another. Mama had said that showed both Uncle Hugh and Grandpa Dave were Woodmen of the World.I decided not to ever, ever be a woodman. I wanted a lamb, not logs, on my tombstone.The road became narrow and more and more crooked as we passed into the thick woods below the graveyard. The long shadows of so many tall pines made it seem like twilight, Aunt Vic said. Then, in a few minutes, we came out into a big clearing, and Aunt Vic turned the buggy onto a straight stretch of lane where there were cornfields on either side. She said they were Old Man Hawk's fields.The corn had been stripped of blades and ears so that there was nothing left but row after row of shriveled stalks leaning against each other, waiting to fall to the ground. The goldenrod in the fence corners, so lovely in September, was dried up, dead. But the persimmon bushes and the young sassafras trees looked quite lively as their half-green, half-red leaves shimmered in the late afternoon sun."Their leaves will stay just that bright till killing frost comes," Aunt Vic told me. "And I think they're just beautiful!"I looked at the leaves again. They were pretty."You know, Bandershanks, you can enjoy different things if you keep your eyes open. But if you don't open up your eyes, you miss half of everything along the way.""How do you miss them?""You just won't see what's right in front of you, if you don't look! What you look at has a lot to do with the way you feel and think. And what you think about is very important, Bandershanks. You see this tall grass and broom sedge all along here between the road and Old Man Hawk's rail fence?""Yes'm. It's higher than my head!""Notice how it sweeps low with every breath of wind. Now, hon, you can look at that grass and say to yourself, 'My goodness, the wind sure is blowing.' Or, you can look at it and think, 'Ah, that waving grass has something to say.'""Ma'am?""High grass, in its way, is saying 'All creation knows its Maker. Even wild weeds in the wind bow down, pay homage.'"I listened. Not a sound. I looked up at the broom sedge again and listened harder. Then I looked up at Aunt Vic's ears to see if they were shaped the same as mine. They were. Still, I couldn't hear the grass and weeds saying a word!Aunt Vic reached into her satchel and took out a white, puffy handkerchief that had tatting lace all the way around it and wiped her nose.I wished I could be a big lady and have a hand purse and carry handkerchiefs with frilly lace.We came to the house where Old Man Hawk and his wife lived. We didn't see them, but Mister Hawk's mule Nellie was standing in the barn lot and his coon dogs were on the front porch. The minute the two dogs saw our buggy, they jumped off the porch and ran out to the road, barking and barking."You scared of them big dogs, Aunt Vic?""Why, no. They won't bother us. Ginger knows that!" She lifted the lap robe and peeped at Ginger. He hadn't opened his eyes.Mister Hawk's hounds soon quit barking. After they'd watched us a little longer they let the hair ridged up on their necks fall back in place and trotted back to the porch to lie down.As soon as we crossed Ash Branch I knew we were nearly to Aunt Vic's house. Her house wasn't like ours. Sure, it was sort of oldish gray, same as ours. All the houses in Drake Eye Springs were gray, because that's the color houses turn unless you put paint on them. But Aunt Vic's house didn't have a long porch across the front. It had just a half porch. And she didn't have fireplace chimneys at both ends of her house. She kept her front room warm with a nice Ben Franklin stove.Whoever made Aunt Vic's house forgot to put a wide hall down through the middle so her dogs could trot through whenever they pleased. I knew Ginger didn't like that. The main thing I liked about Aunt Vic's house, though, was that her kitchen was another little house sitting out in the back all by itself.Aunt Vic helped me out of the buggy. But Ginger jumped out."Let's go straight on in the kitchen, Bandershanks. I want to kindle a fire in the cook stove before we go to the cow pen to milk."After supper, I watched Jim-Bo oil his squirrel rifle. Aunt Vic called him Baby Jones because he was her youngest boy, but he was still lots older than me. Both of my older cousins, Casey and Hi, had pulled off their boots and had edged their chairs close to the heater so they could prop their feet against the top of the wood box while they read.Jim-Bo had started calling me his Cuddin Sally Sue. I told him and told him that wasn't my name!"Well, all right, you're Cuddin Sookie Sue.""That's my doll's name!"Jim-Bo put his gun back on the rack. "Ail right, Bandershanks," he said, "do you want to hear some fiddlin' music! How 'bout it, will y'all play some for Bandershanks?""Sure. We need practice, anyhow. Eh, Hi?""Huh? What'd you say, Casey?""Let's practice a little for Saturday night and play a tune or so for Bandershanks. She don't never hear dancing music.""Suits me." Hi-Pockets turned down a page in his magazine and slid it under his chair. "Jim-Bo, go get us the guitar and fiddle outta the side room.""You've got legs!""I've done pulled off my boots.""And I reckon your little bittie tootsies might get cold walking from here to the side room and back!""Boys!""I'll get them."When Jim-Bo got back, he handed his fiddle to Casey, the guitar to Hi-Pockets. Then he sat down in the chair next to mine."Jim-Bo, what you gonna play?""Me? Why, nothing, Bandershanks. I'm the hat man. I just pass the hat!""Pass what hat?""When Casey and Hi are down at Calico Neck playing for a Saturday night dance, I go along to pass around the hat for them. You know, take up the money?""Church money?""No, gal! The money for the musicians. Want me to tell you 'bout dances?""Yeah, you tell me!""All right, little Cuddin Sally Sue! While—""I ain't Sally Sue! I done told you!""Well, Lady Bandershanks, then! While Casey—""I ain't a lady. I'm—""Shh, now. While Casey and Hi tune up, I'm gonna explain to you all about dances down at Calico Neck, from start to finish. Lemme light my pipe first, though. Folks down there don't generally give but five or six dances the whole winter—none in crop time.""How come?""I reckon they think when us fellows walk behind a mule all day our legs get so wore out we couldn't dance none!"Jim-Bo sucked hard on his pipe stem, and as soon as the tobacco started glowing he let me blow out the match. He shifted his pipe to the corner of his mouth and motioned for me to move over and sit on his knees."When somebody does decide to have a shindig, they get the word around to all the young folks down that way. Then they send for Casey and Hi and me to come do the fiddlin'. 'Course they call on Uncle Hiram, too.""Who's Uncle Hiram, Jim-Bo?""He's just an old man with a fiddle. I don't know whose uncle he is, but he told me one night he's Miss Dink's brother.""Has he got a peg leg?" Aunt Vic asked."Yes'm.""I've seen that old man," Aunt Vic said. "He's only a half brother to Miss Dink. Lives way over yonder the other side of Millers Crossing--down below the state line.""I tell you he can sure scald-the-dog! Don't know when to slow down, much less stop.""He's a mean man! Pouring hot water on a poor dog!" I shouted."Bandershanks, that's just a saying! Means he's plain talented when it comes to a fiddle.""Oh. Jim-Bo, hurry and get to the dancing part!""Yeah, I'm coming to that right now—soon's I clear the floor and sprinkle down the sand.""What?""You see, on the Saturday of the dance, folks have to move out the beds and dresser and table—or whatever stuff they've got in their front room—to sorta clear the floor so there'll be plenty of space for dancing. All they leave is three or four straight chairs over in the corner for the fiddlers. And sometimes the lady of the house spreads a thick layer of white sand on the floor, just before everybody gets there. That way, she can get her floors tramped clean while the dancing is going on! Soon as the musicians come, they tune up. Then they strike up the music and six or seven couples start dancing."Casey and Hi and Uncle Hiram play and play. Then they rest. And while they're resting, somebody takes up the collection of money to pay them. That's me! I get my hat and walk around through the crowd. The boys drop in a dime or two bits, or whatever they want to. After a while the music starts again."All the young sprouts who ain't too bashful—and the ones who ain't made many trips out behind the house to find a bottle—ask the pretty girls to dance again. And away they go! This lasts half an hour or so.""Then what?""Then the fiddlers have to rest again, and I pass the hat again. If the dancers don't want to pay much, why the musicians don't feel like playing much. Sometimes I have to call out: 'The more money in the hat, boys, the sweeter goes the songs!' Or, I say: 'Pay your fiddlers, boys, and y'all can call the tunes!'""Say, Casey, ain't you got that thing tuned yet?""Yep! I'm all set now, Jim-Bo." Casey stuck his fiddle under his chin and edged his chair over closer to the lamp. "What do y'all wanta hear first? Bandershanks, what do you say?""I don't know.""Why don't y'all start off with 'Turkey in the Straw,' Aunt Vic said, "and then do 'Arkansas Traveler.'"So, they played some lively tunes. All of them sounded pretty, but I couldn't tell which was which.Then Casey said, "Jim-Bo, sing her the one about being an old maid!""Yeah, Casey, that's a good one. Bandershanks, you're gonna like this song. It's called 'The Old Maid's Lament.' Hi, gim'me a few chords to help me along."Hi started plucking the guitar strings and patting his foot. And Jim-Bo sang:My papa tells me I'm pretty,But I'm sadly much afraid,If Pa don't put down that shotgun,I'll go to my grave an old maid.The boys never come a-courtin';They dare not darken our door.O please go find me a—"You can't be no old maid!" I hollered at Jim-Bo before he could sing any further."Why, Bandershanks! You don't mean it!""Just girls turn to old maids!""You wanta turn into one?""No, I don't! It's a disgrace to be a old maid! And you better not get a baby 'fore you get married, neither!""Well, well, you don't say. In that case, it looks to me like a girl's got little choice. 'Bout all she can do is avoid the extremes and keep her eye on the altar!""What does that mean?""Means we'd better have another tune. Or, maybe you'll dance some for us. How 'bout that?""I can't dance.""How come?""I don't know how. 'Sides, it's a bad sin!""Who told you that, Bandershanks?""I just been knowing it.""Why, Jim-Bo," Hi said, "it ain't been six months since Brother Milligan preached a whole sermon on dancing!""Oh, yeah. I remember that sermon, now.""I bet you remember it! You probably weren't listening to one word he said!""I was, too! I can tell you his very words!"Jim-Bo let me slide from his knee so he could stand up. He began talking, and he tilted his head to one side and reared back, waving his arms and shaking his fists—just like Brother Milligan when he was up on the pulpit stand."My good people of Drake Eye Springs,"he shouted out,his voice cracking and trembling, "I warn you, dancing is a sin! Some would seek to justify it on the grounds that it is a graceful movement of the body. But I say to you: graceful movements can lead you down the road to damnation! My good people, both brethren and sistern, as surely as I stand here in this pulpit today, and as surely as my name is Josiah B. Milligan, dancing is a sin of the first water! It is nothing in God's world but artificial arm and leg crossing, invented by Old Split-Foot himself!""Boys, boys! Y'all oughtn't say things to confuse your little cousin. Hon, don't you worry. Sins change. Maybe when you get big enough to really dance, it will be a fine thing to do. Back when I was a young girl, it was a sin to read a novel. I don't know, though, whether I ought to mention that, 'specially since your mama and I read one once!""What about some more music?" Jim-Bo asked."No, it's late. Bandershanks, we've got to get you off to bed. Thank the musicians and this self-appointed 'hat man' for a wonderful concert!""Y'all, much obliged for the concert."Jim-Bo just grinned at me. Then he put one hand behind his back and bowed low. "The pleasure was all ours, Lady Bandershanks!"Saturday when I got home, Shoogie was waiting for me. So was Mama. The first thing Mama said was, "My, my, we've been missing you!"The first thing Shoogie said was, "Bandershanks, let's go pick us some goobers!""Yeah! Mama, can we?""I suppose so. I'd rather for y'all to be eating peanuts in the hayloft than playing outdoors in this wind. It turned cold this evening."We ate some peanuts and stuffed more in our pockets. Shoogie said they'd taste a sight better if we made a fire and roasted them in the ashes."Come on, Bandershanks. I's got plenty o' matches.""Where we gonna cook them?""Down yonder side o' the road.""Mama won't lem'me play at the road no more.""We ain't gonna be on the road. We'll be in that gully where there's sand. See, iffen we get a pile o' sand hot, our goobers'll cook quick. Come on, Bandershanks!"Shoogie gathered up leaves and sticks and struck match after match, but she couldn't get a fire going."We needs us some pine straw, that's what. Come on, Bandershanks, there's plenty right down yonder round the bend. See them big trees?"We hurried down the hill toward the pine thicket, following the road and the winding gully. After we had rounded the bend, we slid down into the gully and walked along the bottom till we got to the first of the pine trees. Straw was lying matted on the ground, thick and deep. Easy to rake together in big wads, Shoogie said.She showed me how to hold my skirt out with both hands so she could pile on a big armful of the dried straw. Then she heaped up a bundle in her skirt, and we started back to our sticks and peanuts.Shoogie was walking in front, and I was being careful to step in her tracks."Bandershanks, what's that roarin' racket I hears?""I don't hear no roaring. Yeah, I do too! I hear it! That's a automobile motor coming, Shoogie!"We dropped our straw and ran to the edge of the road."If you don't know what a motor sounds like, you're a silly goose! Wiley said so!""Bandershanks, you knows I ain't no goose!""Ain't you seen one of them automobiles yet?""No.""I have! My brother rode one! Shoogie, here it comes!" Shoogie didn't say anything."That's the same one Wiley rode!""Who's that man makin' hit go?" Shoogie whispered."It's— It's— It's Mister Ward! We'd better run!""Not yet! He's lettin' hit go slow so's we can see hit." Mister Ward made the automobile come to a stop right in front of us, but he didn't make it be quiet or quit rattling and shaking.He was grinning as he got out. His red, bushy hair was hanging down nearly to his eyes."How'd you little gals like to ride in Mister Hicks's automobile?""No, suh!" Shoogie told him. She started backing away."Gal, you a-feared o' automobiles?""Shoogie ain't scared! She just ain't seen none!""Well, Bandershanks, I know you ain't a-feared to ride, are you?"Before I could say "Yes, sir" or "No, sir," he grabbed me by both arms and jumped back into the automobile with me!"Turn me loose!""Shut up! Quit screamin' and kickin'!"He clamped his hand over my mouth and plunked me down on the seat. With his feet he did something that made the automobile start rolling."Sit still, young'un! What's that little nigger's name?" Then he hollered back at Shoogie, "Black gal, you go tell Mister Jodie to get me that money!"I twisted around quick to see what Shoogie would do. Shoogie was gone! All I saw was a streak of dust."Now, little wildcat, you'd just as well stop scratchin' and fightin'! We've got a long ways to go! Ah, this is the chance I been waitin' for! Your pa's gonna pay plenty to get you back, and I can buy me my own automobile! Man, that'll be the day! God damn, young'un, you bite me one more time and I'll let you have it! Quit tryin' to jump out, you little devil! Don't you know if you jump, fast as we're goin', you'll break your fool neck?"All at once Mister Ward quit talking mean to me. He didn't let go of my arm, but he told me he thought I was a sweet little gal—pretty, too—and that we were going where there was lots of candy. "More candy than anybody's ever seen, Bandershanks!""I don't want no candy! I wanta go home!""Just as soon as we get all that candy, we'll go home.""Where's the candy at?""It's not too far," he said. "Pretty soon after we cross Rocky Head Bridge we'll come to the road goin' to that candy store."He reached down under the edge of the seat and got a bottle of something that didn't smell good and gulped down half of it."What's that?""Whiskey. Good God, ain't you never seen a bottle o' whiskey before?""No, sir.""I wish to hell my young'uns could say that." He laughed and muttered something else.Then Mister Ward began singing, or half singing and half talking to himself. He sounded real happy, like he knew something nobody else had ever thought about. He had quit paying much attention to the road. Instead, he was just letting the automobile weave from side to side. I was wishing we'd hurry and come to that candy road. But we didn't. We just kept going and going."When we gonna get there?""Just a little bit farther, gal."The few houses we were passing I'd never seen before. "I wanta go back home!""Naw, naw, don't start that tune again. We're gonna soon be comin' to a big steel bridge. You ain't never seen such a high bridge! Be watchin' out and tell me when you see it up ahead."Mister Ward reached under the seat and got his bottle again."It's getting too dark to see bridges! I want my mama!""Dammit, it shore is gettin' dark. I hadn't figured on that. Hicks, cuss him, didn't show me how to make the damn lights work!"Mister Ward stopped the automobile and got out. He staggered toward the front wheels. I slid off the seat, put both feet on the running board, and jumped! I fell when I hit the ground, but I scrambled up and ran—back toward home!"You little devil! Come back!"I didn't even look back."You hear me? Come back!"I could tell Mister Ward was right behind me and getting closer! I darted off the road, down into a ditch full of tall grass, not half seeing where I was going. As soon as I could, I climbed out of the ditch and ran between a lot of bushes and big trees. But Mister Ward kept coming. I could hear him wheezing and panting."Young'un, if you go down in this damn river bottom, you'll get lost!"I scooted under a low-hanging limb and headed for a canebrake right ahead. While Mister Ward was going around the limb, I squeezed myself into the tall cane. It was so thick, the only way to get through was to go down on hands and knees and crawl between the stalks.I managed to get out of sight of Mister Ward, but I could hear him stomping and floundering his way through the cane."Hell! She must've circled back toward the river. Bandershanks! Where're you at, young'un? Bandershanks? That candy's just across the river!"I wouldn't answer. I kept on crawling--into mud! But I didn't care. I sloshed on through till I was back on dry dirt and could get up and run again.Suddenly I found myself right at the edge of the biggest creek I'd ever seen! It wasn't Rocky Head; I knew that. It was too deep and the banks were too steep to be Rocky Head. And the water was muddy red, even to the scum and bubbles swirling around at the edges.I saw a foot log a few feet down the bank. Maybe I could try to cross over on it. No. I couldn't! I didn't like foot logs—especially not that one. It was sagging down in the middle, and it wasn't very wide. The log was plain rotten-looking in places where the bark was peeling off.Before I could decide what to do, I heard Mister Ward again. When I turned around, there he was, right behind me, grabbing at my cloak!I jumped for the foot log and started crawling across, clinging on with hands and feet. At first it was all right. Then the log began to sway and swing. It was wet, slick. Halfway across, I got to a bowed-up place where I had to get down astraddle of the log and slide myself along. I almost slipped off!I didn't dare look down at the gushing water and rocks or behind me to see how close Mister Ward was. I knew he was already on the log, for I could feel it give with every step he took. I glanced back. He was inching his way along, walking sideways."You little idiot, stop! You're gonna fall and drown, shore as hell!"I couldn't stop! Not with him about to grab me! He was on his knees now, crawling, not three feet behind me!"Young'un! For God's sake, come back! This damn river's way over your head! Mine too!"I was getting closer and closer to the other bank, almost close enough to jump. I felt the log beginning to sag! Crack!"God 'a mercy! Help!"The log was breaking, and Mister Ward was falling!I leaped!"Help! Somebody, help!" There was a loud splash! "O God!"I crawled back to the edge of the bank to look. Mister Ward was down in the red, swirling water, kicking and flailing his arms!Both ends of the foot log had crashed into the river. The shorter piece rolled over once, passed by Mister Ward, and went churning on downstream. The other end, caught against rocks, bobbed up and down.I didn't wait to see how Mister Ward would crawl out. I had to run! But which way? I couldn't see any way to go. I stumbled into a mass of vines and briars. In trying to get out of the tangle, I lost one of my shoes, but I couldn't stop to hunt for it. I kept running!By staying close to the river bank I could go fast. At the water's edge the trees and low bushes were not so thick, and there a little sunlight was still coming through.I got into a watery place where there were cypress trees. Trying to wade through all their knees and buckled-up, crooked roots was dreadful! I saw a snake! But I didn't let him see me! I turned and ran the other way and left the river. After that, I had to slow down to a trot. It was getting darker and darker.How long I'd been going, or how far, I couldn't tell. My legs were hurting, but I was afraid to stop. Mister Ward would catch up with me! So I went stumbling on—falling, getting up, falling again. I was beginning to shiver, and I noticed for the first time that my cloak was wet all over and that my hair had come unbraided and was stringing down. It kept getting caught on limbs and vines, and I kept bumping into saplings. Every time I fell I wished I could just stay down and go to sleep, but I never did fall in a place fit for sleeping. Then I saw what looked like a wide strip of white sand. I could lie down on the sand and sleep.But it wasn't sand. It was a road!Once out of the thick woods, I could see a little better. In the dim, shadowy part of the evening, when the sun has gone down and the stars haven't yet come out, it's hard to see anything. I started trying to run again, this time up the middle of the winding road that stretched in front of me like a wide, silver ribbon lost out of some lady's sewing basket.Way ahead, I could make out what I thought was a house, but when I finally got to it, it turned out to be an old piece of a shack—either a cotton house or corn crib, ready to fall down. No matter. It was a good enough place to hide. Mister Ward would never think about looking for me in a crib.Inside it was dark. I bumped into what smelled and felt like a stack of dry corn, still in the shuck. Yeah! It was corn, the same kind we had in our crib at home. I could hide in that. Sleep, too. So I scrooched down in the mound and covered myself with shucks and stalks, leaving only my face out. Now, Mister Ward couldn't find me! Not ever, ever!
Mama had said I could go home with Aunt Vic—to spend a whole week—because I hadn't been to her house in a long time, and because Aunt Vic wished she had a little daughter with braided hair and blue-green eyes. All she had was her three grown-up sons, Casey, Hi-Pockets, and Jim-Bo, and Ginger, and Speedy, her horse.
Both Aunt Vic and Aunt Lovie told Mama they knew I would be perfectly safe, but neither one said safe from what. Oh, well, it didn't matter. Grownups never get around to telling all they know.
I was glad Aunt Vic liked my long braids. While she was lifting Ginger, and then me, up into the buggy seat, I looked at her hair. It had started turning gray on top, same as Mama's and Aunt Lovie's. But mostly it was still brown, and her eyes were more brown. Aunt Vic was real pretty. She smiled nearly all the time, too.
"Bandershanks, let's fold the buggy robe around you and Ginger," Aunt Vic said as we were leaving the church grounds and waving good-bye to Mama and Aunt Lovie. "In late fall like this the wind comes swooping down out of the north and blows right nippy."
Aunt Vic's lap robe was a lot prettier than ours. Hers had a long purple fringe. But Ginger didn't like the robe or the fringe. He squirmed and twisted and stood up on the seat, turning himself round and round. Aunt Vic had to sweet-talk him and rub his ears and sweet-talk him some more before he would ever curl himself up and put his head in her lap to go to sleep.
We rode past Papa's new store, the cotton gin, Mister Goode's grist mill, and on toward Ash Branch. Speedy trotted along right pertly where the road was level, but at the foot of the first steep hill he slowed down.
At the top of the hill was the falling-down church by the graveyard. As we came alongside the churchyard fence I was wishing Aunt Vic would stop so I could go see the little lamb on one of the tombstones. I liked that little gray lamb.
Sometimes when Mama drove our buggy by the old church she let me get out and run inside the gate to pat the lamb for one quick minute. And every May, when we all gathered at the graveyard and stayed all day to chop down the weeds and nettles and to scrape away the briar vines and grass, Mama let me look at the little sheep as long as I pleased. He had about the best spot in the whole graveyard—just inside the fence, under the highest pine. There he could always rest in the shade.
I glanced up at Aunt Vic and knew she wasn't going to stop. She didn't have any flowers with her, and she never walked among the tombstones unless she had a bouquet for Uncle Hugh's grave. Uncle Hugh didn't have a lamb on his headstone. Lambs are for children. His stone, and the one at the head of Grandpa Dave's grave, had both been made to look like trees turned to rocks and then chopped up and stacked up, one short log on top of another. Mama had said that showed both Uncle Hugh and Grandpa Dave were Woodmen of the World.
I decided not to ever, ever be a woodman. I wanted a lamb, not logs, on my tombstone.
The road became narrow and more and more crooked as we passed into the thick woods below the graveyard. The long shadows of so many tall pines made it seem like twilight, Aunt Vic said. Then, in a few minutes, we came out into a big clearing, and Aunt Vic turned the buggy onto a straight stretch of lane where there were cornfields on either side. She said they were Old Man Hawk's fields.
The corn had been stripped of blades and ears so that there was nothing left but row after row of shriveled stalks leaning against each other, waiting to fall to the ground. The goldenrod in the fence corners, so lovely in September, was dried up, dead. But the persimmon bushes and the young sassafras trees looked quite lively as their half-green, half-red leaves shimmered in the late afternoon sun.
"Their leaves will stay just that bright till killing frost comes," Aunt Vic told me. "And I think they're just beautiful!"
I looked at the leaves again. They were pretty.
"You know, Bandershanks, you can enjoy different things if you keep your eyes open. But if you don't open up your eyes, you miss half of everything along the way."
"How do you miss them?"
"You just won't see what's right in front of you, if you don't look! What you look at has a lot to do with the way you feel and think. And what you think about is very important, Bandershanks. You see this tall grass and broom sedge all along here between the road and Old Man Hawk's rail fence?"
"Yes'm. It's higher than my head!"
"Notice how it sweeps low with every breath of wind. Now, hon, you can look at that grass and say to yourself, 'My goodness, the wind sure is blowing.' Or, you can look at it and think, 'Ah, that waving grass has something to say.'"
"Ma'am?"
"High grass, in its way, is saying 'All creation knows its Maker. Even wild weeds in the wind bow down, pay homage.'"
I listened. Not a sound. I looked up at the broom sedge again and listened harder. Then I looked up at Aunt Vic's ears to see if they were shaped the same as mine. They were. Still, I couldn't hear the grass and weeds saying a word!
Aunt Vic reached into her satchel and took out a white, puffy handkerchief that had tatting lace all the way around it and wiped her nose.
I wished I could be a big lady and have a hand purse and carry handkerchiefs with frilly lace.
We came to the house where Old Man Hawk and his wife lived. We didn't see them, but Mister Hawk's mule Nellie was standing in the barn lot and his coon dogs were on the front porch. The minute the two dogs saw our buggy, they jumped off the porch and ran out to the road, barking and barking.
"You scared of them big dogs, Aunt Vic?"
"Why, no. They won't bother us. Ginger knows that!" She lifted the lap robe and peeped at Ginger. He hadn't opened his eyes.
Mister Hawk's hounds soon quit barking. After they'd watched us a little longer they let the hair ridged up on their necks fall back in place and trotted back to the porch to lie down.
As soon as we crossed Ash Branch I knew we were nearly to Aunt Vic's house. Her house wasn't like ours. Sure, it was sort of oldish gray, same as ours. All the houses in Drake Eye Springs were gray, because that's the color houses turn unless you put paint on them. But Aunt Vic's house didn't have a long porch across the front. It had just a half porch. And she didn't have fireplace chimneys at both ends of her house. She kept her front room warm with a nice Ben Franklin stove.
Whoever made Aunt Vic's house forgot to put a wide hall down through the middle so her dogs could trot through whenever they pleased. I knew Ginger didn't like that. The main thing I liked about Aunt Vic's house, though, was that her kitchen was another little house sitting out in the back all by itself.
Aunt Vic helped me out of the buggy. But Ginger jumped out.
"Let's go straight on in the kitchen, Bandershanks. I want to kindle a fire in the cook stove before we go to the cow pen to milk."
After supper, I watched Jim-Bo oil his squirrel rifle. Aunt Vic called him Baby Jones because he was her youngest boy, but he was still lots older than me. Both of my older cousins, Casey and Hi, had pulled off their boots and had edged their chairs close to the heater so they could prop their feet against the top of the wood box while they read.
Jim-Bo had started calling me his Cuddin Sally Sue. I told him and told him that wasn't my name!
"Well, all right, you're Cuddin Sookie Sue."
"That's my doll's name!"
Jim-Bo put his gun back on the rack. "Ail right, Bandershanks," he said, "do you want to hear some fiddlin' music! How 'bout it, will y'all play some for Bandershanks?"
"Sure. We need practice, anyhow. Eh, Hi?"
"Huh? What'd you say, Casey?"
"Let's practice a little for Saturday night and play a tune or so for Bandershanks. She don't never hear dancing music."
"Suits me." Hi-Pockets turned down a page in his magazine and slid it under his chair. "Jim-Bo, go get us the guitar and fiddle outta the side room."
"You've got legs!"
"I've done pulled off my boots."
"And I reckon your little bittie tootsies might get cold walking from here to the side room and back!"
"Boys!"
"I'll get them."
When Jim-Bo got back, he handed his fiddle to Casey, the guitar to Hi-Pockets. Then he sat down in the chair next to mine.
"Jim-Bo, what you gonna play?"
"Me? Why, nothing, Bandershanks. I'm the hat man. I just pass the hat!"
"Pass what hat?"
"When Casey and Hi are down at Calico Neck playing for a Saturday night dance, I go along to pass around the hat for them. You know, take up the money?"
"Church money?"
"No, gal! The money for the musicians. Want me to tell you 'bout dances?"
"Yeah, you tell me!"
"All right, little Cuddin Sally Sue! While—"
"I ain't Sally Sue! I done told you!"
"Well, Lady Bandershanks, then! While Casey—"
"I ain't a lady. I'm—"
"Shh, now. While Casey and Hi tune up, I'm gonna explain to you all about dances down at Calico Neck, from start to finish. Lemme light my pipe first, though. Folks down there don't generally give but five or six dances the whole winter—none in crop time."
"How come?"
"I reckon they think when us fellows walk behind a mule all day our legs get so wore out we couldn't dance none!"
Jim-Bo sucked hard on his pipe stem, and as soon as the tobacco started glowing he let me blow out the match. He shifted his pipe to the corner of his mouth and motioned for me to move over and sit on his knees.
"When somebody does decide to have a shindig, they get the word around to all the young folks down that way. Then they send for Casey and Hi and me to come do the fiddlin'. 'Course they call on Uncle Hiram, too."
"Who's Uncle Hiram, Jim-Bo?"
"He's just an old man with a fiddle. I don't know whose uncle he is, but he told me one night he's Miss Dink's brother."
"Has he got a peg leg?" Aunt Vic asked.
"Yes'm."
"I've seen that old man," Aunt Vic said. "He's only a half brother to Miss Dink. Lives way over yonder the other side of Millers Crossing--down below the state line."
"I tell you he can sure scald-the-dog! Don't know when to slow down, much less stop."
"He's a mean man! Pouring hot water on a poor dog!" I shouted.
"Bandershanks, that's just a saying! Means he's plain talented when it comes to a fiddle."
"Oh. Jim-Bo, hurry and get to the dancing part!"
"Yeah, I'm coming to that right now—soon's I clear the floor and sprinkle down the sand."
"What?"
"You see, on the Saturday of the dance, folks have to move out the beds and dresser and table—or whatever stuff they've got in their front room—to sorta clear the floor so there'll be plenty of space for dancing. All they leave is three or four straight chairs over in the corner for the fiddlers. And sometimes the lady of the house spreads a thick layer of white sand on the floor, just before everybody gets there. That way, she can get her floors tramped clean while the dancing is going on! Soon as the musicians come, they tune up. Then they strike up the music and six or seven couples start dancing.
"Casey and Hi and Uncle Hiram play and play. Then they rest. And while they're resting, somebody takes up the collection of money to pay them. That's me! I get my hat and walk around through the crowd. The boys drop in a dime or two bits, or whatever they want to. After a while the music starts again.
"All the young sprouts who ain't too bashful—and the ones who ain't made many trips out behind the house to find a bottle—ask the pretty girls to dance again. And away they go! This lasts half an hour or so."
"Then what?"
"Then the fiddlers have to rest again, and I pass the hat again. If the dancers don't want to pay much, why the musicians don't feel like playing much. Sometimes I have to call out: 'The more money in the hat, boys, the sweeter goes the songs!' Or, I say: 'Pay your fiddlers, boys, and y'all can call the tunes!'"
"Say, Casey, ain't you got that thing tuned yet?"
"Yep! I'm all set now, Jim-Bo." Casey stuck his fiddle under his chin and edged his chair over closer to the lamp. "What do y'all wanta hear first? Bandershanks, what do you say?"
"I don't know."
"Why don't y'all start off with 'Turkey in the Straw,' Aunt Vic said, "and then do 'Arkansas Traveler.'"
So, they played some lively tunes. All of them sounded pretty, but I couldn't tell which was which.
Then Casey said, "Jim-Bo, sing her the one about being an old maid!"
"Yeah, Casey, that's a good one. Bandershanks, you're gonna like this song. It's called 'The Old Maid's Lament.' Hi, gim'me a few chords to help me along."
Hi started plucking the guitar strings and patting his foot. And Jim-Bo sang:
My papa tells me I'm pretty,But I'm sadly much afraid,If Pa don't put down that shotgun,I'll go to my grave an old maid.The boys never come a-courtin';They dare not darken our door.O please go find me a—
My papa tells me I'm pretty,But I'm sadly much afraid,If Pa don't put down that shotgun,I'll go to my grave an old maid.The boys never come a-courtin';They dare not darken our door.O please go find me a—
"You can't be no old maid!" I hollered at Jim-Bo before he could sing any further.
"Why, Bandershanks! You don't mean it!"
"Just girls turn to old maids!"
"You wanta turn into one?"
"No, I don't! It's a disgrace to be a old maid! And you better not get a baby 'fore you get married, neither!"
"Well, well, you don't say. In that case, it looks to me like a girl's got little choice. 'Bout all she can do is avoid the extremes and keep her eye on the altar!"
"What does that mean?"
"Means we'd better have another tune. Or, maybe you'll dance some for us. How 'bout that?"
"I can't dance."
"How come?"
"I don't know how. 'Sides, it's a bad sin!"
"Who told you that, Bandershanks?"
"I just been knowing it."
"Why, Jim-Bo," Hi said, "it ain't been six months since Brother Milligan preached a whole sermon on dancing!"
"Oh, yeah. I remember that sermon, now."
"I bet you remember it! You probably weren't listening to one word he said!"
"I was, too! I can tell you his very words!"
Jim-Bo let me slide from his knee so he could stand up. He began talking, and he tilted his head to one side and reared back, waving his arms and shaking his fists—just like Brother Milligan when he was up on the pulpit stand.
"My good people of Drake Eye Springs,"he shouted out,his voice cracking and trembling, "I warn you, dancing is a sin! Some would seek to justify it on the grounds that it is a graceful movement of the body. But I say to you: graceful movements can lead you down the road to damnation! My good people, both brethren and sistern, as surely as I stand here in this pulpit today, and as surely as my name is Josiah B. Milligan, dancing is a sin of the first water! It is nothing in God's world but artificial arm and leg crossing, invented by Old Split-Foot himself!"
"Boys, boys! Y'all oughtn't say things to confuse your little cousin. Hon, don't you worry. Sins change. Maybe when you get big enough to really dance, it will be a fine thing to do. Back when I was a young girl, it was a sin to read a novel. I don't know, though, whether I ought to mention that, 'specially since your mama and I read one once!"
"What about some more music?" Jim-Bo asked.
"No, it's late. Bandershanks, we've got to get you off to bed. Thank the musicians and this self-appointed 'hat man' for a wonderful concert!"
"Y'all, much obliged for the concert."
Jim-Bo just grinned at me. Then he put one hand behind his back and bowed low. "The pleasure was all ours, Lady Bandershanks!"
Saturday when I got home, Shoogie was waiting for me. So was Mama. The first thing Mama said was, "My, my, we've been missing you!"
The first thing Shoogie said was, "Bandershanks, let's go pick us some goobers!"
"Yeah! Mama, can we?"
"I suppose so. I'd rather for y'all to be eating peanuts in the hayloft than playing outdoors in this wind. It turned cold this evening."
We ate some peanuts and stuffed more in our pockets. Shoogie said they'd taste a sight better if we made a fire and roasted them in the ashes.
"Come on, Bandershanks. I's got plenty o' matches."
"Where we gonna cook them?"
"Down yonder side o' the road."
"Mama won't lem'me play at the road no more."
"We ain't gonna be on the road. We'll be in that gully where there's sand. See, iffen we get a pile o' sand hot, our goobers'll cook quick. Come on, Bandershanks!"
Shoogie gathered up leaves and sticks and struck match after match, but she couldn't get a fire going.
"We needs us some pine straw, that's what. Come on, Bandershanks, there's plenty right down yonder round the bend. See them big trees?"
We hurried down the hill toward the pine thicket, following the road and the winding gully. After we had rounded the bend, we slid down into the gully and walked along the bottom till we got to the first of the pine trees. Straw was lying matted on the ground, thick and deep. Easy to rake together in big wads, Shoogie said.
She showed me how to hold my skirt out with both hands so she could pile on a big armful of the dried straw. Then she heaped up a bundle in her skirt, and we started back to our sticks and peanuts.
Shoogie was walking in front, and I was being careful to step in her tracks.
"Bandershanks, what's that roarin' racket I hears?"
"I don't hear no roaring. Yeah, I do too! I hear it! That's a automobile motor coming, Shoogie!"
We dropped our straw and ran to the edge of the road.
"If you don't know what a motor sounds like, you're a silly goose! Wiley said so!"
"Bandershanks, you knows I ain't no goose!"
"Ain't you seen one of them automobiles yet?"
"No."
"I have! My brother rode one! Shoogie, here it comes!" Shoogie didn't say anything.
"That's the same one Wiley rode!"
"Who's that man makin' hit go?" Shoogie whispered.
"It's— It's— It's Mister Ward! We'd better run!"
"Not yet! He's lettin' hit go slow so's we can see hit." Mister Ward made the automobile come to a stop right in front of us, but he didn't make it be quiet or quit rattling and shaking.
He was grinning as he got out. His red, bushy hair was hanging down nearly to his eyes.
"How'd you little gals like to ride in Mister Hicks's automobile?"
"No, suh!" Shoogie told him. She started backing away.
"Gal, you a-feared o' automobiles?"
"Shoogie ain't scared! She just ain't seen none!"
"Well, Bandershanks, I know you ain't a-feared to ride, are you?"
Before I could say "Yes, sir" or "No, sir," he grabbed me by both arms and jumped back into the automobile with me!
"Turn me loose!"
"Shut up! Quit screamin' and kickin'!"
He clamped his hand over my mouth and plunked me down on the seat. With his feet he did something that made the automobile start rolling.
"Sit still, young'un! What's that little nigger's name?" Then he hollered back at Shoogie, "Black gal, you go tell Mister Jodie to get me that money!"
I twisted around quick to see what Shoogie would do. Shoogie was gone! All I saw was a streak of dust.
"Now, little wildcat, you'd just as well stop scratchin' and fightin'! We've got a long ways to go! Ah, this is the chance I been waitin' for! Your pa's gonna pay plenty to get you back, and I can buy me my own automobile! Man, that'll be the day! God damn, young'un, you bite me one more time and I'll let you have it! Quit tryin' to jump out, you little devil! Don't you know if you jump, fast as we're goin', you'll break your fool neck?"
All at once Mister Ward quit talking mean to me. He didn't let go of my arm, but he told me he thought I was a sweet little gal—pretty, too—and that we were going where there was lots of candy. "More candy than anybody's ever seen, Bandershanks!"
"I don't want no candy! I wanta go home!"
"Just as soon as we get all that candy, we'll go home."
"Where's the candy at?"
"It's not too far," he said. "Pretty soon after we cross Rocky Head Bridge we'll come to the road goin' to that candy store."
He reached down under the edge of the seat and got a bottle of something that didn't smell good and gulped down half of it.
"What's that?"
"Whiskey. Good God, ain't you never seen a bottle o' whiskey before?"
"No, sir."
"I wish to hell my young'uns could say that." He laughed and muttered something else.
Then Mister Ward began singing, or half singing and half talking to himself. He sounded real happy, like he knew something nobody else had ever thought about. He had quit paying much attention to the road. Instead, he was just letting the automobile weave from side to side. I was wishing we'd hurry and come to that candy road. But we didn't. We just kept going and going.
"When we gonna get there?"
"Just a little bit farther, gal."
The few houses we were passing I'd never seen before. "I wanta go back home!"
"Naw, naw, don't start that tune again. We're gonna soon be comin' to a big steel bridge. You ain't never seen such a high bridge! Be watchin' out and tell me when you see it up ahead."
Mister Ward reached under the seat and got his bottle again.
"It's getting too dark to see bridges! I want my mama!"
"Dammit, it shore is gettin' dark. I hadn't figured on that. Hicks, cuss him, didn't show me how to make the damn lights work!"
Mister Ward stopped the automobile and got out. He staggered toward the front wheels. I slid off the seat, put both feet on the running board, and jumped! I fell when I hit the ground, but I scrambled up and ran—back toward home!
"You little devil! Come back!"
I didn't even look back.
"You hear me? Come back!"
I could tell Mister Ward was right behind me and getting closer! I darted off the road, down into a ditch full of tall grass, not half seeing where I was going. As soon as I could, I climbed out of the ditch and ran between a lot of bushes and big trees. But Mister Ward kept coming. I could hear him wheezing and panting.
"Young'un, if you go down in this damn river bottom, you'll get lost!"
I scooted under a low-hanging limb and headed for a canebrake right ahead. While Mister Ward was going around the limb, I squeezed myself into the tall cane. It was so thick, the only way to get through was to go down on hands and knees and crawl between the stalks.
I managed to get out of sight of Mister Ward, but I could hear him stomping and floundering his way through the cane.
"Hell! She must've circled back toward the river. Bandershanks! Where're you at, young'un? Bandershanks? That candy's just across the river!"
I wouldn't answer. I kept on crawling--into mud! But I didn't care. I sloshed on through till I was back on dry dirt and could get up and run again.
Suddenly I found myself right at the edge of the biggest creek I'd ever seen! It wasn't Rocky Head; I knew that. It was too deep and the banks were too steep to be Rocky Head. And the water was muddy red, even to the scum and bubbles swirling around at the edges.
I saw a foot log a few feet down the bank. Maybe I could try to cross over on it. No. I couldn't! I didn't like foot logs—especially not that one. It was sagging down in the middle, and it wasn't very wide. The log was plain rotten-looking in places where the bark was peeling off.
Before I could decide what to do, I heard Mister Ward again. When I turned around, there he was, right behind me, grabbing at my cloak!
I jumped for the foot log and started crawling across, clinging on with hands and feet. At first it was all right. Then the log began to sway and swing. It was wet, slick. Halfway across, I got to a bowed-up place where I had to get down astraddle of the log and slide myself along. I almost slipped off!
I didn't dare look down at the gushing water and rocks or behind me to see how close Mister Ward was. I knew he was already on the log, for I could feel it give with every step he took. I glanced back. He was inching his way along, walking sideways.
"You little idiot, stop! You're gonna fall and drown, shore as hell!"
I couldn't stop! Not with him about to grab me! He was on his knees now, crawling, not three feet behind me!
"Young'un! For God's sake, come back! This damn river's way over your head! Mine too!"
I was getting closer and closer to the other bank, almost close enough to jump. I felt the log beginning to sag! Crack!
"God 'a mercy! Help!"
The log was breaking, and Mister Ward was falling!
I leaped!
"Help! Somebody, help!" There was a loud splash! "O God!"
I crawled back to the edge of the bank to look. Mister Ward was down in the red, swirling water, kicking and flailing his arms!
Both ends of the foot log had crashed into the river. The shorter piece rolled over once, passed by Mister Ward, and went churning on downstream. The other end, caught against rocks, bobbed up and down.
I didn't wait to see how Mister Ward would crawl out. I had to run! But which way? I couldn't see any way to go. I stumbled into a mass of vines and briars. In trying to get out of the tangle, I lost one of my shoes, but I couldn't stop to hunt for it. I kept running!
By staying close to the river bank I could go fast. At the water's edge the trees and low bushes were not so thick, and there a little sunlight was still coming through.
I got into a watery place where there were cypress trees. Trying to wade through all their knees and buckled-up, crooked roots was dreadful! I saw a snake! But I didn't let him see me! I turned and ran the other way and left the river. After that, I had to slow down to a trot. It was getting darker and darker.
How long I'd been going, or how far, I couldn't tell. My legs were hurting, but I was afraid to stop. Mister Ward would catch up with me! So I went stumbling on—falling, getting up, falling again. I was beginning to shiver, and I noticed for the first time that my cloak was wet all over and that my hair had come unbraided and was stringing down. It kept getting caught on limbs and vines, and I kept bumping into saplings. Every time I fell I wished I could just stay down and go to sleep, but I never did fall in a place fit for sleeping. Then I saw what looked like a wide strip of white sand. I could lie down on the sand and sleep.
But it wasn't sand. It was a road!
Once out of the thick woods, I could see a little better. In the dim, shadowy part of the evening, when the sun has gone down and the stars haven't yet come out, it's hard to see anything. I started trying to run again, this time up the middle of the winding road that stretched in front of me like a wide, silver ribbon lost out of some lady's sewing basket.
Way ahead, I could make out what I thought was a house, but when I finally got to it, it turned out to be an old piece of a shack—either a cotton house or corn crib, ready to fall down. No matter. It was a good enough place to hide. Mister Ward would never think about looking for me in a crib.
Inside it was dark. I bumped into what smelled and felt like a stack of dry corn, still in the shuck. Yeah! It was corn, the same kind we had in our crib at home. I could hide in that. Sleep, too. So I scrooched down in the mound and covered myself with shucks and stalks, leaving only my face out. Now, Mister Ward couldn't find me! Not ever, ever!