Lizzie Cole was one of those ignorant, reckless children of Nature, utterly disregardful of the simplest rudiments of anything resembling law or religion; in consequence of which, she was unable to live at home with her God-fearing father and conventional step-mother. For a long time she had lived by herself, in a decrepit-looking two-room hut, far across the pasture in the East Green, away on the other side of the town.
Lizzie Cole was one of those ignorant, reckless children of Nature, utterly disregardful of the simplest rudiments of anything resembling law or religion; in consequence of which, she was unable to live at home with her God-fearing father and conventional step-mother. For a long time she had lived by herself, in a decrepit-looking two-room hut, far across the pasture in the East Green, away on the other side of the town.
The old shanty sat back in the yard, partly hidden from the road by a high, dilapidated picket fence and a hedge of giant cocklebur bushes; with two scraggy persimmon trees on one side by way of ornament.
If you happened to pass by on wash day, and saw the cocklebur bushes decorated with innumerable articles of clothing of every imaginable color, you soon learned their usefulness and lost sight of the unnecessary expense of a clothes-line. It also gave you a better understanding of Lizzie’s impatience with anyone who stupidly advised cutting the cocklebur bushes down as worthless weeds and dangerous breeding places for snakes and mosquitoes.
From time to time, Chester made “guests visits” to the retired hut; doing the cooking, washing, sewing and other domestic work; while Lizzie walked out selling blackberries and vegetables; or went gallivantinghere and there in search of friendly entertainment.
To Lizzie’s cheerful way of thinking, there was no form of pleasure more enjoyable than a “good funeral.” The news of anybody’s dying always wakened up her spirits; and she “never missed goin’ to a wake or burrin’ if Gawd lef’ her strank to git there.”
It was just about sunset when Lizzie came back from Aunt Milly’s funeral. Chester was in the yard, washing, under the persimmon trees; and long before he saw her, he heard her coming across the pasture singing gaily. As she opened the gate and came in, she called to him good-naturedly:
“Leave dem ole tubs alone for tonight, Chester, an’ come-in-doahs; I wan’ tell you ’bout evvything w’at happened.”
He followed her into the house, eager to hear all she had to tell.
The room was dark, and he lit a candle and put it on the mantelpiece. A sickly fire was smoldering on the hearth; and after raking the coals together and starting it to burn well with a few shingles, he threw a large piece of wood across the andirons, and sat down on the floor.
The place was orderly; the floor, spotlessly clean. Near the window was a deal table with a few dishesand pans on it, and a wooden bucket of drinking water and a dipper. Across from the chimney in the “guest corner” of the room, was a low cot covered with a patch-work quilt, a trophy from one of Carmelite’s raffles; a gay masterpiece of bewildering design which she called the “fifty revalashuns of de forty-seven wonders.” The walls were covered with newspapers, ornamented here and there with gay-colored circus posters and magazine covers; and the mantelshelf, decorated with a towering pyramid of empty coffee, tomato and baking-powder cans, bright and shining as “any natchal silver on de w’ite-folks side-boa’d.”
While Chester was fixing the fire, Lizzie had gone into the adjoining room and taken off her shoes and exchanged her “good street clo’se” for a “sloven fit”; so her body, as well as her mind, might enjoy perfect freedom of movement throughout the evening conference.
“Now, I kin talk to my natchal comfut,” she said to Chester, coming into the room and drawing a stool before the fire and sitting down near him.
Chester was all attention, so there was little need for useless preliminaries. Looking at the fire meditatively Lizzie began her interesting soliloquy, her voice low and quiet.
“Nobody can’t say that ole Aunt Milly didn’t havea fine burryin’,” she told him.... “Look like people had come from every direction to sing over Aunt Milly just for ole time sake; and because she come from so far away.... Look like some people shed tears over Aunt Milly because she was gone; and some for the good she did.... And she never knowed one woman her own color, old or young, to have so many fine flowers at one time; flowers so natchal till they looked artificial....
“But de one thing goin’ keep my min’ rollin’ for a long time,” she continued, stressing every word with dramatic fervor, “was de soun’ o’ dat water gluggin’ in de coffin w’en dey let Aun’ Milly down in de grave.... De same way you hyeah it go glug-glug-glug w’en you hol’ a empty bottle und’ de water, an’ de soun’ keep on’ gluggin’ till de bottle be filled up.... Yas, Lawd.
“It sho was a soun’ dat made me cunsider w’at I want y’all do wid me w’en de time come for puttin’ me away.... An’ Chester, I want you look to it; you hyeah me?... You know dis lan’ is a swampy lan’; an’ it hol’s de water a long time; ’specially aft’ a heavy rain bin fall. An’ you kin bail de water out a grave much as you want, but you can’ keep it from seepin’ back in agin.... So you make ’um put me way up on a top shelf in dat big tomb ’long-side de back fence, yonder in deGates o’ Mary, high an’ dry out de flood. ’Cause I sho don’ wan’ think ’bout bein’ drownded aft’ I done died in my bed natchal.... No Lawd, not me!”
“Sho mus’ bin made Aun’ Amy felt bad,” Chester commiserated.
“Who?” Lizzie exclaimed with sudden animation. “Aun’ Amy ain’ knowed a single thing w’at went on w’en dey put Aun’ Milly way.... She fell to sleep in de ca’idge on de way to de graveyard; an’ w’en dey reached de place, an’ wan’ try an’ make Aun’ Amy git out an’ walk to de grave-side, leadin’ de moaners; de po’ ole soul was so helpless drunk, dey had to leave ’uh settin’ up in de ca’idge in de road.... An’ she ain’ took no part innonede excitement.”
Chester laughed heartily. “Lawd! I’m sho sorry I missed goin’ wid you,” he remarked. “But stop talkin’ ’bout dead people, Lizzie; an’ tell who else you seen yonder.”
“Chester, you ain’ expec’ me to tell you ’bout all dat mult’tude o’ niggers dey had to Aun’ Milly funeyun, is you?” Lizzie asked, playfully. “De main thing I got to tell you, is ’bout Sis’ Tempe. Me an’ her walked home together; an’ chile, w’at she had to say, sho got my min’ upset thinkin’ ’bout it.”
“W’at make you wan’ worry ’bout anything Sis’Tempe tell you? Don’t you know Tempe ain’ bin right ever since Unc’ Peesah died? An’ her min’ comes and goes?” Chester reminded her.
“Da’s de very thing I’m comin’ to,” Lizzie answered. “Tempe simple-minded, I know. But if she keep on goin’ ’roun ’munks people an’ talkin’ like she talk to me today; ’tain goin’ be butonepo’ nigger land in jail befo’ de end o’ dis year be over; a’ dat nigger ain’ goin’ be nobody but Chester.”
“W’at thing dis is Tempe done mixed me up in?” Chester asked in dull amazement.
Lizzie told him how Tempe complained to her about everything going to ruin since Peesah died, leaving her with nobody to take care of the place. How the garden needed plowing, and nobody wanted to do it for her. How she thought of selling her mule and dump cart to Nat, because she had no money to keep them; and what money she got by selling them would buy food and clothes and all she needed.... That she knew somebody was burning a candle over her to keep bad luck in her way just for “envy-stripe”.... That she was sure of it; because she found red pepper and buzzard feathers and candle-sperm tracks on her front door steps, three Friday mornings hand-running....
But they couldn’t fool her. She knew who it was;and wasn’t afraid to tell, either.... It wasn’t nobody but the same sly nigger that lived next-door to her the time Peesah died so sudden.... Couldn’t be nobody else.... That’s why he moved away from next door.... To keep people from knowing anything about the needle.... But Gawd don’t sleep. And everything got to come out when God command you to speak your mind....
And Peesah had come to her in her sleep three times already. And she saw the needle in his hand plain as day. And he called out to her so loud, her sleep was broke for the rest of the night....
“She say she hyeah’d Unc’ Peesah call to ’uh:
“Tempe, take dis needle back!Put it in de place whah de needle b’lonks.Lissen w’at I tell you, an’ do w’at I say!”
“Tempe, take dis needle back!Put it in de place whah de needle b’lonks.Lissen w’at I tell you, an’ do w’at I say!”
“Tempe, take dis needle back!Put it in de place whah de needle b’lonks.Lissen w’at I tell you, an’ do w’at I say!”
“Tempe, take dis needle back!
Put it in de place whah de needle b’lonks.
Lissen w’at I tell you, an’ do w’at I say!”
“An’ dah whah she say she seen de needle in ’uh own han’; but Unc’ Peesah was gone clean out o’ sight.”
Chester looked about the room uneasily; and got up and closed the front door. Lizzie watched him, waiting for him to speak. He went over to the cot and sat down, looking at her questioningly.
“You think Tempe seen Peesah sperret sho’ ’nuff?” He asked her.
“Da’s de very thing I wan’ know myself,” she answered. “But ain’t you say Tempe min’ comes an’ goes?... Maybe ’tain’ nothin’ but Tempe ’maginashun make ’uh think she seen Unc’ Peesah sperret.”
“But ain’ she say she had de needle in ’uh own han’ aft’ he done lef’?” Chester reminded her.
“Da’s w’at she say,” Lizzie answered. “An’ if you wan’ b’lieve ’uh, it sho look like de needle p’intin’ to’ads you bein’ de lawful owner; Tempe nex’-do’ neighbor, de time Unc’ Peesah died. Don’t it?”
He couldn’t deny that Tempe had come to him for the needle and that he had given it to her. Lizzie knew that he had always been an obliging neighbor to Tempe, lending her anything she needed if he happened to have it.
The evening Uncle Peesah “took down wid de colic,” Tempe ran over to Chester to borrow a needle and thread to “sew up a salt-sack full o’ hot bran, to lay on Peesah stummick to ease de mizry.” Chester gave her the needle and thread and she went home with it. Late that night Uncle Peesah died; and Tempe told every one that his death was caused from eating cucumber salad and buttermilk. It was a reasonable excuse, and as nobody bothered about making any sort of examination to ascertainthe real cause, Tempe felt perfectly secure. But Chester had his doubts. Tempe had long confided her troubles to him, and he knew how Peesah’s unfaithfulness had aroused her jealousy on numerous occasions; and how she had threatened to wreak vengeance, and “git even wid ’im for runnin’ wid yuther wimmins.” Therefore it was natural for Chester to suspect her of using the borrowed needle for a secret instrument of fatal despatch.
“But who you think goin’ pay any ’tenshun to Tempe ramblin’ talk ’bout who de needle b’lonks to?” Chester asked, after thoughtful consideration. “Nobody ain’ goin’ know w’at she mean.”
“Nobody ain’ goin’ know?” Lizzie demanded. “You better look ove’ yo’ min’, boy; an’ think on Felo an’ Soongy an’ ole treach’ous Gussie, an’ all dem yuther niggers dey had to Susan house Sunday, w’en you was tellin’ ’bout how Unc’ Peesah died.... You ain’ think you safe from suspicion wid all dem tongues waggin’; once dey done learned Tempe puttin’ de blame on you. Is you?”
“How you reckon I’m goin’ keep ’um from talkin’?” He appealed to her. “I ain’ see no way I kin stop ’um, if dey wan’ lissen at w’at a crazy ooman say.”
“Da’s de very thing you gotta consider,” Lizzie advised him. “You gotta go see Tempe, an’ talk to’uh bol’ an’ brazen; an’ make ’uh un’stan she gotta keep still; lessen you give way de whole truth ’bout de thing; an’ bring ’uh up befo’ de law, an’ make ’um prove who de guilty one. Da’s w’at you gotta do.... An’ you better go dis very night; aft’ you done had a li’l somh’n to eat. So come on; lessus git somh’n ready right now. An’ you go yonder to Tempe house soon’s you git thoo.”
Chester got up, and placed two bricks at the front of the hearth, then raked out a small pile of coals between them. He filled a pot with water from the bucket on the table and put it over the bricks, to boil for coffee: Lizzie cut a few slices of salt pork which she took from a basket hanging from a rafter near the window; laid them in a skillet with some grease and sliced onions, and put it over the fire to fry. She cut some cheese, broke a loaf of twist-bread in several parts, put the bread and cheese on a plate, and placed it by the side of the hearth. When the coffee was made and the meat was fried, she filled a pan for Chester and one for herself, and they sat down before the fire and began eating.
Neither one seemed inclined to talk, feeling that conversation of any kind would cause delay; and Chester’s visit to Tempe had to be accomplished that night.
As soon as he finished drinking his coffee, Lizzie said to him: “Leave evvything be, jes like it is, an’ you go straight off. An’ be sho you make Tempe un’stan good, dat you know w’at you know.... An’ don’ talk too timmasun (timorous) either.”
Chester nodded assent; put on his hat and coat, and started off across the pasture, on his way to Tempe’s.