Lizzie was dressed in a severely plain gray woolen dress, the tight-fitting basque spanning her uncorseted luxuriance like a huge bandage about to give way under the pressure. Her head was bare, and her hair arranged in innumerable little plaits wound with shoestrings. Chester wore a stiff-bosomed pink shirt, with a celluloid collar; an ill-fitting piqué vest, frayed and yellow with age; and a purple cravat decorated with a splendid blue glass ball, which declared itself a lady’s hatpin rescued to serve a more eccentric purpose. His clothes were of a light blue shade; and his shoes, orange yellow.
Lizzie was dressed in a severely plain gray woolen dress, the tight-fitting basque spanning her uncorseted luxuriance like a huge bandage about to give way under the pressure. Her head was bare, and her hair arranged in innumerable little plaits wound with shoestrings. Chester wore a stiff-bosomed pink shirt, with a celluloid collar; an ill-fitting piqué vest, frayed and yellow with age; and a purple cravat decorated with a splendid blue glass ball, which declared itself a lady’s hatpin rescued to serve a more eccentric purpose. His clothes were of a light blue shade; and his shoes, orange yellow.
As they came into the room, Lizzie began singing lustily:
“Tell your mother to hold her tongue,She had a feller w’en she was young....”
“Tell your mother to hold her tongue,She had a feller w’en she was young....”
“Tell your mother to hold her tongue,She had a feller w’en she was young....”
“Tell your mother to hold her tongue,
She had a feller w’en she was young....”
Stopping abruptly, she called out:
“Hi! good cittazun niggers. W’at y’all doin’ up in hyuh? How you do, Aun’ Susan? Hi! old compair Tom. Good evenin’ evvybody.—An’ you too, ole roustabout Gussie.”
Chester stood silent, grinning and bowing to everybody.
“Gal, stop yo’ racket,” Susan said, going over to her and speaking quietly. “Don’t you see somebody sleepin’? W’at ailin’ you? You bin had somh’n to drink comin’ ’long de road?”
“Who?” Lizzie echoed, unmindful of Susan’s admonition. “Lizzie ain’ seen nothin’ but gutter water ’long de road, Sis’ Susan; an’ you know Lizzie too well-raise’ to tackle dat.”
“Chester, how you do?” Scilla coquetted, trying to embarrass him. “You sho look sweet.”
“Chester do alright w’en he let alone,” Lizzie answered quickly. “But de boy bin complainin’ he delicate an’ healt’y, an’ you know we comed a long way to make visit wid y’all dis evenin’; an’ we kind o’ dry roun’ de th’oat. An’ Sis’ Susan you could’n’ len’ Chester a bucket an’ leave him go yonder to Mr. Camille sto’ an’ git some col’ stimmalashun, so we kin drink to each-another healt’; could you?”
“You ain’ on no steamboat ’munks deck-hans, Lizzie,” Susan replied with sharp sarcasm. “An’ you know good I ain’ ’low no drinkin’ up in my house, either.”
“O ’scuse me, Miss Smiley,” Lizzie apologized, affecting a grandiloquent air. “I sho did forgot you was sanctify.”
Tom moved impatiently in his chair, saying:
“Gal, set down, an’ drink some coffee, an’ stop yo’ dev’lish ramblin’.”
“Coffee ain’ sattafyin’ to de stummic, Mr. Tom”; Chester’s mild falsetto made timely comment, “’specially w’en you bin used to lickers mo’ nur’-shin’.... You goin’ drink coffee, Lizzie?” He asked her wonderingly.
“Boy, set down, an’ don’ show people how ignun you is,” Lizzie answered, scowling playfully and pretending to be greatly annoyed. “Don’t youknow ’tain manners an’ behayviah to scawn de of’rins o’ de house?... Bow yo’ head an’ tip yo’ hat to Miss Smiley coffee. An’ w’en we git yonder to Gritny, den you kin say thang Gawd to dat cup o’ limmon gin in Mr. Cholly Groos bar-room.”
Chester sat down obediently, everybody laughing heartily at the amusing by-play.
Going over to the fire, Lizzie sat down on the floor near Tom’s chair; took off her shoes and spread out her feet to warm them before the pleasant blaze. As she settled into a comfortable position, she heard several grunts of surprise from the women. Gazing at the fire, she said with delightful unconcern:
“I know I’m simple; but I sho likes to make myself at home, whah-ever I goes.... An’ dese pair o’ feets Lizzie got, cert’ny is tired; all de walkin’ me an’ Chester bin doin’ yistiddy an’ today.”
“W’at walkin’ you an’ Chester got to do?... You ain’ workin’?” Came the chorus of inquiry.
“Workin’?” Lizzie echoed, looking around from one to the other. “I know I ain’ bin play’n.... An’ dem nasty heroes sho ain’ goin’ think Lizzie play’n, if ever I ketch up wid ’um close enough to lay my han’s on ’um, an’ leave my passion run reckless.... Who?... Dey sho will call it workin’, w’en Lizzie commence workin’ on ’um.”
“Chester, w’at ail Lizzie?” Gussie asked. “She talkin’ out her right min’, ain’t she?”
“Lizzie got her good sense,” Chester answered. “She know w’at she sayin’. An’ she ain’ fraid to tell you, if you wan’ know.”
Acting as spokesman for the assembly, Nat said:
“Be still, evvybody.... Now go ’head, gal, an’ speak yo’ testament.”
Lizzie inquired cautiously:
“But how many settin’ in dis room goin’ be witness Lizzie done right if dey go to put Lizzie in jail?”
“Great-day-in-de-mawnin’!” Nat exclaimed. “You ain’ kilt nobody, is you?”
“I ain’ mean to kill nobody, Unc’ Nat,” she assured him. “All Lizzie wan’ do, is wreck de nasty heroes so dey own fam’ly won’ recanize ’um; da’s all.”
“Gal, stop makin’ riddles, an’ talk plain, for Gawd sake,” Susan said, impatient to learn the scandal. “Who you talkin’ ’bout, any way?”
“Ain’t y’all hyeah’d w’at dey done to Chester las’ Saddy night, w’en he was comin’ home from ole Aun’ Critty Briscoe wake, yonder to my Pa church?”
“Who?... Done w’at?... Tell it.” They prevailed upon her with eager curiosity.
“Ain’ found out yet,” Lizzie informed them, withgrowing enthusiasm. “But Gawd ain’ goin’ leave me miss ’um. Da’s de main reason I’m goin’ to church wid Chester tonight w’en we leave hyuh.... So I kin follow behin’ an’ lay ’um out, if dey start any humbug like las’ week.”
“But you ain’ tol’ yet anything ’bout w’at dey did,” Gussie said to her casually.
Somewhat indifferently she remarked:
“Some y’all kin laugh, if you like, ’bout w’at dey done to Chester.” Then with a look of suspicion towards Gussie: “An’ some yuther ones better think on w’at dey hyeah me tell I’m goin’ do, if I ketch ’um dead to rights.”
Frowning sullenly, Gussie asked her:
“W’at make you gotta look at me so crittacul? I bin had any traffic wid Chester, you wan’ th’ow suspicion on me ’bout w’at was did to ’im?”
“Chester,” Lizzie called to him peremptorily, “ain’t you said you could see in de moonlight plain, dey was’n all dark-skin mens w’at meddled you an’ pulled off yo’ clo’se, an’ sont you runnin’ thoo de street wid nothin’ on but yo’ undershirt?”
“Sho did,” Chester answered firmly. “Dey had one de mens sho did look bright-skin to me.”
“Whah all dis thing took place?” Felo asked, laughing.
“Right down on de Morgan railroad, jes befo’you git to de pastur,” Chester answered. “I was goin’ along, singin’ to myself; ain’ stud’in ’bout nobody; w’en all at once, three or fo’ mens spring out de bushes, an’ say to me: ‘Pull off dat lady undershirt you got on, ole Betsy!’ ... An’ befo’ I had time to cunsider w’at was goin’ happen, dey had grab hold o’ me, an’ pulled off my clo’se befo’ I knowed it.
“I commence strug’lin’ wid ’um to git loose; an’ I bit at ’um an’ hollered so loud, till dey had to lemme go. Den I broke out runnin’, an’ ain’ stop till I got home.... An’ ain’ had a Gawd’s blessed piece o’ clo’se on but a thin undershirt.”
“A lady undershirt?” Carmelite asked, hesitatingly.
“W’at business you got to know?” Lizzie demanded, speaking with growing excitement. “It make any diffunce to anybody if Chester feel like he wan’ put on a lady undershirt? Dat ain’ give people no right to meddle Chester on de high road, an’ ’zamine his body to see w’at kind o’ und’-clo’se de boy got on.... But wait till Lizzie ketch up wid ’um! Jes’ wait.... Y’allshogoin’ see how Lizzie goin’ ’zamine de nasty Hellians, once she got her two han’s on ’um! Who?... None y’all ain’ never seen Lizzie Cole w’en her passion done struck her powerful!”
“Cha-cha-cha, Lizzie,” Susan said contemptuously, “stop yo’ tongue from runnin’ so fas’. You know guinea-hens kin make a loud racket w’en dey be in de weeds, off to dey-self.”
“Who? Aun’ Susan,” she answered quickly, “You ain’ think Lizzie talkin’ random to make y’all laugh, is you? You know I ain’ never bin had no chillun, an’ all my strank is my own.... An’ I promise my Gawd to sho do my bes’ an’ a li’l mo’, w’en de time come for me to take my sattafaction.”
Squinting his eyes humorously, Nat asked:
“You mus’ be think’ you Goliah, ain’t you?”
“Strank ain’ de onlies’ thing Lizzie countin’ on, Unc’ Nat,” she assured him. “You know it don’ take no time to stick a needle in somebody nabel w’en you wan’ do ’way wid ’um.”
This statement was greeted with general laughter, during which Lizzie’s expression was one of serious amazement. As soon as their laughter and playful comment subsided, she continued:
“I ain’ makin’ up nothin’ out my ’maginashun. W’at I’m say’n is natchal fac’s. You pass a needle thoo somebody nabel, an’ tain nobody butGawdkin tell w’at dey died from.”
“An’ you expec’ we-all to b’lieve a tale like dat?” Felo asked with disdain.
“Y’all know how Unc’ Peesah died sudden las’New Yeahs,” Chester announced solemnly. “But you ain’ never hyeah’d w’at kilt ’im, is you?”
“Colic; so dey tell me”; Soongy answered, “from eatin’ too much buttermilk an’ cucumber sallit befo’ he went to bed.”
“Whah Unc’ Peesah could git cucumbers in Jannawerry?” Nat demanded. “Don’t you re’lize w’at you say’n ain’ sinetiffic?”
“You sho right, Unc’ Nat,” Chester concurred. “Colic ain’ had a thing to do wid it. ’Twas a fatal needle sont Unc’ Peesah ’way from hyuh. An’ nobody don’ know it better’n me.”
“Lawd, Chester!” Nookie exclaimed in surprise. “W’at hidden myst’ry dis is you done got mixed up in? Lemme hyeah you tell ’bout it.”
“Chester,” Lizzie called to him abruptly, “pass yo’ han’ ’cross yo’ mouf an’ wipe it dry.... You know, dey got mo’ ways o’ spreadin’ de news besides puttin’ it in de newspaper.... Wipe yo’ mouf, boy, an’ say no mo’.”
For a few moments there was a general silence, all eyes fixed upon Chester expectantly. Presently Gussie spoke:
“Lizzie, w’at make you wan’ control Chester an’ keep de boy from talkin’?”
“’Cause talkin’ is ketchin’,” Lizzie answered. “An’ some people got a reckless way o’ speakin’ deywords twice an’ makin’ ’um diffunt. So you gotta watch out an’ keep from tellin’ too much. An’ any way, de boy done wiped his lips; an’ me an’ Chester jus’ ’bout ready to fix we-all mouf for some o’ Sis’ Susan gumbo, befo’ we start out for church, yonder to Gritny.”
Getting up from the floor, she shook herself like a hen emerging from a dust bath, kicked her shoes aside, and called out with energy:
“Come on, Sis’ Smiley, lemme help you fix de plates. Dey got two hongry niggers hyuh kin outeat a mul’tude o’ Izzalites.” Then looking at Chester, she said to him boisterously: “Boy, drap yo’ ole long self over to dis side de table an’ try’n’ look like you got a intrus’ in de things goin’ on!... You ain’ never heah’d tell ’bout gumbo befo’?”
Chester simpered good-naturedly and took a seat at the table. When the gumbo was served, Lizzie sat down alongside of him and they began eating. Dink’s whimpering music was heard over in the corner of the room, waking like a timely invitation, and several members began humming softly.
Gussie, eager for conversation, was about to speak; when Nat, preferring to have no irrelevant distraction, held up his hands for silence, rolling his eyes ominously. Gussie obeyed the sign, and the hummingflowed on uninterrupted. By degrees it gathered volume, sustained and fervent; every one surrendering unconsciously to the ingratiating lilt of the pulsing melody.
Tom sat humming with his hands to his head, his elbows resting on his knees. Susan was sitting opposite, swaying to and fro in rhythmic contemplation. Nat sat upright with his head resting against the back of his chair, his brawny hands clasping the chair legs. Uncle Foteen sat with his eyes closed, every now and then intoning a low “A-men.” The women accentuated the rhythm as they hummed, with a gentle patting of the feet. And Felo’s spasmodic interpolation of a picturesque word or a fragmentary line from the song proper, added rare charm to the fleeting tuneful moments.
Lizzie and Chester were eating with evident enjoyment, apparently interested in the obligato of voices. Having finished her gumbo, Lizzie leaned back in her chair, and in a spirit of careless mischief began singing lustily the old street song,
“Mama got a baby called “Ti-nah-nah-’nah’Ti-nah-nah ’nah, ’nah....”
“Mama got a baby called “Ti-nah-nah-’nah’Ti-nah-nah ’nah, ’nah....”
“Mama got a baby called “Ti-nah-nah-’nah’Ti-nah-nah ’nah, ’nah....”
“Mama got a baby called “Ti-nah-nah-’nah
’Ti-nah-nah ’nah, ’nah....”
Felo’s loud reprimand brought her song to an abrupt close. Glowering with indignation, he called to her:
“Gal, git out o’ hyuh wid yo’ strumpet ways! W’at you take dis place to be, anyhow? You better go out yonder on de road, an’ play wid yo’ kind, if you can’ ack right w’en you git ’munks people w’at know how to be decen’.”
“But no, Mr. Felo,” Lizzie answered with genuine surprise. “You ain’ mean to call me out my name like dat, is you?”
“W’at you is, if you ain’ a strumpet?” Felo asked with vehemence. “I ain’ hesitate to call you adoublestrumpet; reckless as you is;—on-cuncernin’ of you bein’ a preacher daughter, an’ plenny ole enough to know better.”
Foreseeing an altercation, Susan interposed.
“Look!” She called to Lizzie. “Ain’t you say you an’ Chester was goin’ to church yonder to Gritny?”
Lizzie looked at Susan without replying. Going over to her, Susan took her by the arm, saying:
“If youisgoin’, den y’all two better start befo’ it git too late.” Then turning to Felo, she said: “Felo, go yonder in de side yard an’ fetch me a pitcher o’ cistun water.”
As Felo left the room, Lizzie muttered:
“Good thing I ain’ let my tongue cut loose an’ say evvything my min’ tol’ me to say to dat ole rustyw’ite-folks nigger.... It mus’ bin Gawd tol’ you sen’ him out de room. Sis’ Susan.”
Shaking her head and smiling pleasantly, Susan said:
“An’ Gawd expec’in you to go ’way from hyuh befo’ Felo git back. So don’ was’e time talkin’, but go ’long ... Chester, yonder yo’ hat. Take Lizzie wid you to de New Hope church an’ see ’f you can’ make her pray. Go ’long, now, bofe of you; an’ no hard feelin’s.”
Fully aware of Susan’s positive character, and feeling convinced that further argument was useless, Lizzie made ready to leave with silent magnanimity. She walked over to the fireplace proudly, saying with a haughty air:
“Chester, pay Miss Smiley de change comin’ to her, till I put on my shoes.”
Chester settled the account, and they walked towards the front door.
“Good-night to y’all fellow-Chrishtuns,” Lizzie said with spurious geniality. “An’ much oblige’ for yo’ manners an’ behavior.”
Just as she finished her lofty farewell, Felo came in from the back room.
“Da’s right, Lizzie”; he said to her, “don’ go ’way from hyuh wid yo’ feelin’s upset ’bout somh’nwas said to you. Good-night to you; an’ Gawd go wid you.”
“Go to Hell!” She told him; pushing Chester through the open door and slamming it after her.