Chapter VI: Part 6

Breeze must get up and hustle! She called him and he tried to raise up his drowsy head, but sleep had it too heavy for his strength to lift. If she’d only let him take one more little nap! But she shook him soundly by the shoulder. To-day was the day for the quilting. He must get up and dress, and get some fat kindling wood to start a fire under both the big pots in Maum Hannah’s yard. He’d have to fetch water for those pots too, and tote all the quilts there, and the sack of newly ginned cotton April had given her for lining the quilts, besides all the rations that had to be cooked for the quilters to eat at dinner-time.

With a sleepy groan Breeze rose and pulled on his shirt and breeches, then his sluggish feet shambled toward the water-shelf where the tin washbasin sat beside the water-bucket. Big Sue made him wash his face, no matter how soon or cold the morning was. He might as well do it, and get it over with.

As he reached a heavy hand up for the gourd that hung on a nail beside the water-bucket, his arm lengthened into a lazy stretch, the other arm joined in, and his mouth opened into a wide yawn. Then his fingers dropped wearily on to his head where they began a slow tired scratching.

Big Sue stopped short in her tracks, and the sparkle in her beady black eyes cut him clear through to the quick.

“Looka here, boy! Is you paralyze’? I ain’ got time to stop an’ lick you, now. But if you don’ stir you’ stumps, you’ hide won’ hold out to-night when I git back home. Dat strap yonder is eetchin’ to git on you’ rind right now! Or would you ruther chaw a pod o’ red pepper?”

The long thin strip of leather, hanging limp and black against the whitewashed wall not far from the mantel-shelf, looked dumb and harmless enough, but Breeze gave a shiver and jumped wide awake as his eyes followed Big Sue’s fat forefinger. That strap could whistle and hiss through the air like a blacksnake when Big Sue laid its licks home. Its stinging lash could bite deep into tender naked meat. But the string of red pepper pods hanging outside by the front door were pure fire.

He wanted to cry but fear crushed back the misery that seized him, and gulping down a sob he hurried about his tasks. First he hastily swallowed a bite of breakfast, then he took a big armful of folded quilt tops, and holding them tight hurried to Maum Hannah’s house with them.

The sun was up, and the morning tide rolled high and shiny in the river. The air was cool, and the wind murmuring on the tree-tops strewed the path with falling leaves. Some of them whirled over as they left the swaying boughs, then lay still wherever they touched the ground, while others flew sidewise, and skipped nimbly over the ground on their stiff brown points.

The sunlight smelled warm, but the day’s breath was flavored with things nipped by the frost. The sweet potato leaves were black, the squash vines full of slimy green rags. The light frost on the cabin steps sparkled with tinted radiance as the cool wind, that had all the leaves trembling in a shiver, began to blow a bit warmer and melt it back into dew.

This was the second frost of the fall. One more would bring rain. The day knew it, for in spite of the sun’s brave shining, the shadows fell heavy and green under the trees. Those cast by the old cedar stretched across the yard’s white sand much blacker and more doleful than the sun-spotted shade cast by the live-oaks.

Maum Hannah’s house was very old, and its foundations had weakened, so the solid weight of its short square body leaned to one side. The ridge-pole was warped, the mossy roof sagged down in the middle, and feathery clumps of fern throve along the frazzled edge of the rotted eaves.

Two big black iron washpots in Maum Hannah’s yard sat close enough to the house to be handy, but far enough away to kill any spark that might fly from their fires toward the house, trying to set fire to the old shack, tottering with age and all but ready to fall.

Inside Maum Hannah, dressed up in her Sunday clothes, with a fresh white headkerchief binding her head, a wide white apron almost hiding the long full skirt of her black and white checked homespun dress, awaited the guests. She was bending over the fire whose reddish light glowed on her cheerful smile, making it brighter than ever.

“Come in, son. You’s a early bird dis mawnin’. You’s a strong bird too, to tote sich a heavy load. Put de quilts on de bed in de shed-room, den come eat some breakfast wid me. I can’ enjoy eatin’ by myse’f, and Emma went last night to Zeda’s house, so e wouldn’t be in my way to-day.”

The bacon broiling on a bed of live coals, and fresh peeled sweet potatoes just drawn out from the ashes where they had roasted, made a temptation that caused Breeze’s mouth to water. But he hesitated. Cousin Big Sue was waiting for him, and he knew better than to cross her this morning.

“If you can’ set down, take a tater in you’ hand an’ eat em long de way home. A tater’s good for you. It’ll stick to you’ ribs.”

Breeze took the hot bit from her hand and started to hurry away, but she stopped him, “No, son! Don’ grab victuals an’ run! Put you’ hands in front o’ you, so. Pull you’ foot an’ bow, an’ say ‘T’ank Gawd!’ Dat’s de way. You must do so ev’y day if you want Jedus to bless you. All you got comes from Gawd. You mustn’ forgit to tell Him you’s t’ankful.”

Most of the cabin doors were closed, but the smoke curling up out of every chimney circled in wreaths overhead. Little clouds of mist floated low over the marsh, where the marsh-hens kept up a noisy cackling. Roosters crowed late. Ant-hills were piled high over the ground. All sure signs of rain, even though no clouds showed in the pale blue sky.

As soon as Breeze’s work was done, Big Sue had promised he could go to Zeda’s house or to April’s, and spend the rest of the day playing with their children, and now there were only a few more lightwood splinters to split. The prospect of such fun ahead must have made him reckless, or else the ax, newly sharpened on the big round grind-stone, had got mean and tricky. Anyway, as Breeze brought it down hard and heavy on the last fat chunk to be split, its keen edge glanced to one side and with as straight an aim as if it had two good eyes, jumped between two of his toes. How it stung! The blood poured out. But Breeze’s chief thought was of how Big Sue would scold him. Hopping on a heel across the yard to the door-step he called pitifully for Maum Hannah.

“Great Gawd!” she yelled out when she saw the bloody tracks on the white sand. “What is you done, Breeze? Don’ come in dis house an’ track up dis floor! Wha’ dat ail you’ foot?”

She made him lie flat on the ground and hold his foot up high, then taking a healing leaf from a low bush, growing right beside her door, she pressed it over the cut and held it until it stuck, then tied it in place. That was all he needed, but he’d have to keep still to-day. Maybe two or three days.

By ten o’clock Big Sue was outside the yard where Zeda stirred the boiling washpots. Onion-flavored eel-stew scented the air. The stout meeting benches had been brought in from under the house, two for each quilt. The quilting poles leaned in a corner waiting to be used. The older, more settled women came first. Each with her needle, ready to sew. The younger ones straggled in later, with babies, or tiny children, who kept their hands busy. They were all kin, and when they first assembled the room rang with, “How you do, cousin?” “Howdy, Auntie!” “How is you, sister?”

Leah, April’s wife, had on somewhat finer clothes than the other women. The bottom of her white apron was edged with a band of wide lace, and she wore a velvet hat with a feather in it over her plaid headkerchief. But something ailed her speech. The words broke off in her mouth. Her well-greased face looked troubled. Her round eyes sad.

“How you do, daughter?” Maum Hannah asked her kindly. “You look so nice to-day. You got such a pretty hat on! Lawd! Is dem teeth you got in you’ mouth? April ought to be proud o’ you.”

But instead of smiling Leah’s face looked ready to cry. “I ain’ well, Auntie. My head feels too full all de time. Dese teeth is got me fretted half to death. Dey’s got my gums all sore, an’ dey rattles when I tries to walk like dey is gwine to jump down my throat. I can’ eat wid ’em on to save life. De bottom ones is meaner dan de top ones. I like to missed and swallowed ’em yestiddy.”

“How come you wears ’em if dey pesters you so bad?”

“April likes ’em. E say dey becomes me. E paid a lot o’ money fo’ dem, too. E took me all de way to town on de boat to git ’em. But dey ain’ no sati’faction.” She sighed deep. “An’ de blood keeps all de time rushin’ to my head ever since I was salivate.”

Maum Hannah listened and sympathized with a doleful, “Oh-oh!” while Leah complained that the worst part was she couldn’t enjoy her victuals any more. She’d just as soon have a cup and saucer in her mouth as those teeth. It made no difference what she ate, now, everything tasted all the same.

“Fo’ Gawd’s sake take ’em off an’ rest you’ mouth to-day!” Maum Hannah exhorted her. “You may as well pleasure you’self now and den. April ain’ gwine see you. Not to-day!”

“Somebody’d tell him an’ dat would vex him,” Leah bemoaned.

But Maum Hannah took her by the arm and looked straight in her eyes. “Honey,” she coaxed, “Gawd ain’ gwine bless you if you let April suffer you dis way. You an’ April all both is too prideful. Take dem teeth off an’ rest you’ mouth till dis quiltin’ is over. It would fret me if you don’t.”

Screening her mouth with both hands Leah did rid her gums of the offending teeth, but instead of putting them in her apron pocket she laid them carefully in a safe place on the high mantel-shelf.

* * * * *

The room buzzed with chatter. How would such a great noisy gathering ever get straightened out to work? They were as much alike as guinea fowls in a flock, every head tied up turban-fashion, every skirt covered by an apron.

Big Sue welcomed every one with friendliest greetings, and although her breath was short from excitement, she talked gaily and laughed often.

A sudden hush followed a loud clapping of her hands. The closest attention was paid while she appointed Leah and Zeda captains of the first quilts to be laid out. Zeda stepped forward, with a jaunty toss of her head, and, shrugging a lean shoulder, laughed lightly.

“Big Sue is puttin’ sinner ’gainst Christian dis mawnin’!”

Leah tried to laugh, her tubby body, bulky as Big Sue’s, shook nervously, as her giggling rippled out of her mouth, but her eyes showed no mirth at all.

“You choose first, Leah. You’s de foreman’s wife.”

Leah chose Big Sue.

“Lawd,” Zeda threw her head back with a laugh, “Yunnuh two is so big nobody else wouldn’ have room to set on a bench ’side you.”

The crowd tittered, but Big Sue looked stern.

“Do, Zeda! You has gall enough to talk about bigness? T’ank Gawd, I’m big all de way round like I is.” She cast a wry look toward Zeda, then turned her head and winked at the crowd. But Zeda sucked her teeth brazenly. She was satisfied with her shape. She might not look so nice now, but her bigness would soon be shed. Just give her a month or two longer.

“You ought to be shame, wid grown chillen in you’ house, an’ a grown gal off yonder to college.”

“When I git old as you, Big Sue, den I’ll stay slim all de time. Don’t you fret.” Zeda laughed, and chose Gussie, a skinny, undersized, deaf and dumb woman, whose keen eyes plainly did double duty. When Zeda looked toward her and spoke her name, Gussie pushed through the crowd, smiling and making wordless gurgles of pleasure for the compliment Zeda had paid her by choosing her first of all.

“I take Bina next!” Leah called out.

“Bina’s a good one for you’ quilt. E’s a extra fine Christian.”

“You better be prayin’ you’se’f, Zeda,” Bina came back.

“Who? Me? Lawd, gal, I does pray.” Zeda said it seriously, and her look roved around the room. “Sinners is mighty sca’ce at dis quiltin’. Who kin I choose next?” She searched the group.

“Don’ take so long, Zeda,” Big Sue chided. “Hurry up an’ choose. De day is passin’. You an’ Gussie is de only two sinners. You’ ’bliged to pick a Christian, now.”

“Den I’ll take Nookie. E’s got swift-movin’ fingers.”

The choosing went on until eight women were picked for each quilt, four to a side. Then the race began.

The two quilt linings, made out of unbleached homespun, were spread on the clean bare floor, and covered over with a smooth layer of cotton.

“How come you got such nice clean cotton to put in you’ quilt?” Zeda inquired with an innocent look across at Big Sue.

When Big Sue paid her no heed, she added brazenly, “De cotton April gi’ me fo’ my quilt was so trashy and dark I had to whip em wid pine-tops half a day to get de dirt out clean enough to use.”

Still Big Sue said nothing.

“You must be stand well wid April.” Zeda looked at Big Sue with a smile.

Big Sue raised her shoulders up from doubling over, and in a tart tone blurted out, “You talks too much, Zeda. Shut you’ mouth and work.”

“Who? Me?” Zeda came back pleasantly. “Great Gawd! I was praisin’ de whiteness of de cotton, dat was all.”

Two of the patch-work covers that Big Sue had fashioned with such pains, stitch by stitch, square by square, were opened out wide and examined and admired.

“Which one you want, Zeda? You take de first pick.”

“Lawd, all two is so nice it’s hard to say.”

Gussie pointed to the “Snake-fence” design, and Zeda took it, leaving the “Star of Bethlehem” for Leah. Both were placed over a cotton-covered lining on the floor, corner to corner, edge to edge, and basted into place. Next, two quilting poles were laid lengthwise beside each quilt, and tacked on with stout ball thread. The quilts were carefully rolled on the poles, and the pole-ends fastened with strong cords to the side-walls. All was ready for the quilting.

Leah’s crew beat fixing the quilt on the poles, but the sewing was the tedious part. The stitches must be small, and in smooth rows that ran side by side. They must also be deep enough to hold the cotton fast between the top and the lining.

Little talking was done at first. Minds, as well as eyes, had to watch the needles. Those not quilting in this race stood around the hearth puffing at their pipes, talking, joking, now and then squealing out with merriment.

“Yunnuh watch dem pots,” Big Sue cautioned them. “Make Breeze keep wood on de fire. Mind now.”

The quilts were rolled up until the quilting poles met, so the sewing started right in the middle, and as the needles left neat stitches, the poles were rolled farther apart, until both quilts were done to the edges. These were carefully turned in and whipped down, with needles running at full racing speed. Zeda’s crew finished a full yard ahead. The sinners won. And how they did crow over the others! Deaf and dumb Gussie did her best to boast, but her words were stifled in dreadful choked noises that were hard to bear.

Big Sue put the wild ducks on to roast. They were fat and tender, and already stuffed full of oyster dressing, the same dressing she fixed for the white folks. She said the oysters came from near the beach where the fresh salt tide made them large and juicy.

What a dinner she had! Big Sue was an open-handed woman, for truth.

Some of the farm-hands stopped by on their way home for the noon hour. Coming inside they stood around the fireplace, grinning, joking and smoking the cigarettes they rolled with deft fingers.

Everybody was given a pan and spoon. Zeda and Bina helped Big Sue pass around great dishpans of smoking food, and cups of water sweetened with molasses. For a time nothing was said except the exclamations that praised the dinner. Indeed it might have been a wedding feast but for the lack of cake and wine.

The wild ducks, cooked just to a turn, were served last. Their red blood was barely curdled with heat, yet their outsides were rich and brown. Lips smacked. Spoons clattered. Mouths too full dropped crumbs as they munched.

A grand dinner.

“Take you’ time, an’ chaw,” Big Sue bade the guests kindly. “You got plenty o’ time to finish de rest o’ de quilts befo’ night.”

* * * * *

As soon as the edge was taken off their appetites they fell to talking. Big Sue did not sit down to eat at all, so busy was she passing around the pans of hot food, and urging the others to fill themselves full.

As more men came by and stopped, the noise waxed louder, until the uproar of shouting and laughter and light-hearted talk seethed thick. When all were filled with Big Sue’s good cheer, they got up and went out into the yard to smoke, to catch a little fresh air, and to wash the grease off their fingers. The pans and spoons and tin cups were stacked up on the water-shelf out of the way where they’d wait to be washed until night.

The quilting was the work in hand now, and when the room was in order again, and the women rested and refreshed, Big Sue called them in to begin on the next set of quilts.

April went riding by on the sorrel colt, on his way back to the field, and Big Sue called him to come in and eat the duck and hot rice she had put aside specially for him. But he eyed her coolly, rode on and left her frowning.

Zeda laughed, and asked Big Sue if April was a boy to hop around at her heels? Didn’t she know April had work to do? Important work. The white people made him plantation foreman because they knew they could trust him to look after their interests. He not only worked himself, but he kept the other hands working too.

Leah sat silent, making short weak puffs at her pipe.

Maum Hannah’s deep sigh broke into the stillness.

“I ever did love boy-chillen, but dey causes a lot o’ sorrow. My mammy used to say ev’y boy-child ought to be killed soon as it’s born.”

“How’d de world go on if people done dat?” Bina asked.

“I dunno. Gawd kin do a lot o’ strange t’ings.”

This made them all stop and think again.

The kettle sang as steam rushed out of its spout. The flames made a sputtering sound. The benches creaked as the women bent over and rose with their needles. Bina sat up straight, then stretched.

“If all de mens was dead, you could stay in de chu’ch, enty, Zeda?” Bina slurred the words softly.

Zeda came back, “Don’ you fret ’bout me, gal. Jake ain’ no more to me dan a dead man.”

“Yunnuh stop right now! Dat’s no-manners talk. Jake’s a fine man, if e is my gran. I know, by I raise em. When his mammy died an’ left em, Jake an’ Bully and April was all three de same as twins in my house.” Maum Hannah spoke very gravely. Presently she got up and went into the shed-room. She came back smiling, with a folded quilt on her arm. “Le’s look at de old Bible quilt, chillen. It’ll do yunnuh good.”

She held up one corner and motioned to deaf and dumb Gussie to hold up the other so all the squares could be seen. There were twenty, every one a picture out of the Bible. The first one, next to Gussie’s hand, was Adam and Eve and the serpent. Adam’s shirt was blue, his pants brown, and his head a small patch of yellow. Eve had on a red headkerchief, a purple wide-skirted dress; and a tall black serpent stood straight up on the end of its tail.

The next square had two men, one standing up, the other fallen down--Cain and Abel. The red patch under Abel was his blood, spilled on the ground by Cain’s sin. Maum Hannah pointed out Noah and the Ark; Moses with the tables of stone; the three Hebrew children; David and Goliath; Joseph and Mary and the little baby Jesus; and last of all, Jesus standing alone by the cross. As Maum Hannah took them one by one, all twenty, she told each marvelous story.

The quilters listened with rapt attention. Breeze almost held his breath for fear of missing a word. Sometimes his blood ran hot with wonder, then cold with fear. Many eyes in the room glistened with tears.

The names of God and Jesus were known to Breeze, but he had never understood before that they were real people who could walk and talk. Maum Hannah told about God’s strength and power and wisdom, how He knew right then what she was doing and saying. He could see each stitch that was taken in the quilts, whether it was small and deep and honest, or shallow and careless. He wrote everything down in a great book where He kept account of good and evil. Breeze had never dreamed that such things went on around him all the time.

Yet the quilt was made out of pictures of the very things Maum Hannah told. Nobody could doubt that all she said was the truth. In the charmed silence, her words fell clear and earnest. The present was shut out. Breeze’s mind went a-roaming with her, back into the days when the world was new and God walked and talked with the children He had so lately made. As she spoke Breeze shivered over those days that were to come when everybody here would be either in Hell or Heaven. It had to be one or the other. There was no place to stop or to hide when death came and knocked at your door. She pointed to Breeze. That same little boy, there in the chimney corner, with his foot tied up, would have to account for all he did! As well as Breeze could understand, Heaven was in the blue sky straight up above the plantation. God sat there on His throne among the stars, while angels, with harps of gold in their hands, sang His praises all day long. Hell was straight down. Underneath. Deep under the earth. Satan lived there with his great fires for ever and ever a-burning on the bodies of sinners piled high up so they could never crumble.

Maum Hannah herself became so moved by the thought of the sufferings of the poor pitiful sinners in Hell, that her voice broke and tears dimmed her eyes, and she plead with them all:

“Pray! Chillen! Pray!

“Do try fo’ ’scape Hell if you kin!

“Hell is a heat!

“One awful heat!

“We fire ain’ got no time wid em!

“Pray! Chillen! Pray! For Gawd’s sake, pray!

“When de wind duh whip you

“An’ de sun-hot duh burn you

“An’ de rain duh wet you,

“All dem say, Pray! Do try fo’ ’scape Hell if you kin!”

On the way home through the dusk Breeze stopped short in his tracks more than once, for terror seized him at the bare rustle of a bird’s wing against a dry leaf. When the gray shadow of a rabbit darted across the path and the sight of a glowworm’s eye gleamed up from the ground, Big Sue stopped too. And breathing fast with anxiety, cried out:

“Do, Jedus! Lawd! Dat rabbit went leftward. A bad luck t’ing! Put dem t’ings down! Chunk two sticks behind em. Is you see anyt’ing strange, Breeze?” She sidled up close to him and whispered the question.

Breeze stared hard into the deepening twilight. The black shadows were full of dark dreadful things that pressed close to the ground, creeping slowly, terribly. The tree branches rocked, the leaves whispered sharply, the long gray moss streamed toward them.

“Le’s run, Cun Big Sue.” Breeze leaped with a quick hop ahead, but her powerful hand clutched his shoulder. “Looka here, boy! I’ll kill you to-night if you leave me. No tellin’ what kind o’ sperits is walkin’. I kin run when I’s empty-handed, but loaded down wid all dese t’ings a snail could ketch me! You git behind me on de path.”

The black smoke rising out of the chimney made a great serpent that stood on the end of its tail. For a minute Breeze was unable to speak. His heart throbbed with heavy blows, for not only did that smoke serpent lean and bend and reach threateningly, but something high and black and shapeless stood in front of Big Sue’s cabin, whose whitewashed walls behind it made it look well-nigh as tall as a pine tree. It might be the Devil! Or Death! Or God! He gave a scream and clung to Big Sue as the figure took a step toward them.

“Yunnuh is late!” April’s voice boomed out.

“Lawd!” Big Sue fairly shouted. “I was sho’ you was a plat-eye. You scared me half to death! Man! I couldn’ see no head on you no matter how hard I look. How come you went inside my house with me not home?”

April grunted. “You better be glad! I had a hard time drivin’ a bat out o’ you’ house.”

“A bat!” Big Sue shrieked with terror. “How come a bat in my house? A bat is de child of de devil.”

April declared the bat had squeaked and grinned and chattered in his face until he mighty nigh got scared himself.

“Lawd! Wha’s gwine happen now? A bat inside my house! An’ look how de fire’s smokin’!”

She hurried Breeze off to bed in the shed-room whose darkness was streaked with wavering firelight that fell through the cracks in the wall. Fear kept him awake until he put his head under the covers and shut out all sight and sound and thought.

He was roused by a knock on the front door. Big Sue made no answer, and another knock made by the knuckles of a strong hand was followed by a loud crying, “Open dis door, I tell you! I know April’s right in dere!” This was followed by the thud of a kick, but no answer came from inside. Breeze could not have spoken to save his life, for sheer terror held him crouched under the quilts and his tongue was too weak and dry to move.

Where in God’s world was Big Sue? The first of those knocks should have waked her. Sleep never did fasten her eyelids down very tight, yet with all this deafening racket, she stayed dumb. Had she gone off and left Breeze by himself? The voice calling at the door sounded like a woman’s voice at first, but now it deepened with hoarse fury and snarled and growled and threatened, calling Big Sue filthy names. Breeze knew then for certain it was some evil thing. His flesh crept loose from his bones. His blood ran cold and weak. He realized Big Sue was not at home. Maybe she was dead, in her bed! The thought was so terrible that in desperation he lifted up his head and yelled:

“Who dat?”

At once the dreadful answer came.

“Who dat say ‘who dat’?” Then a silence, for Breeze could utter no other word.

Outside the wind caught at the trees and thrashed their leaves, then came inside to rustle the papers on the cabin’s walls, and whisper weird terrible things through the cracks. The thing that had knocked on the door was walking away. Its harsh breathing was hushed into sobs and soft moans that made Breeze’s heart sink still deeper with horror.

For a minute every noise in the world lulled. Nothing stirred except the ghastly tremor that shook Breeze’s body from his covered-up head to the heels doubled up under his cold hips.

A sudden fearful battering in company with despairing howls, crashed at the door! It would soon break down! There was no time to waste putting on clothes! Hopping up into the cold darkness, Breeze eased the back door open and slipped into the night.

The horrible door-splitting blows went right on. Thank God, somebody was coming. Running, with a torch. Breeze forgot that snakes were walking, and leaped through the bushes over ground that felt unsteady to his flying feet. His heart swelled with joy and relief, for the man hurrying toward the cabin lighting his way with a fat lightwood torch was Uncle Bill. Twice Breeze opened his mouth to call out, but the only sound he could make was a whispered--“Uncle Bill--Uncle Bill!”

Following the torch’s light he could see a black woman cutting the door down with an ax. Who in God’s name would dare do such a thing? Uncle Bill walked right up to her and shook her soundly by the shoulder.

“What is you a-doin’, Leah? Is you gone plumb crazy? Gi’ me dat ax!” He jerked the ax from her hands and she began shrieking afresh, and trying to push him back. But she couldn’t budge him one inch. Holding her off, with his free hand he made a proper, polite knock, although the door was split and the dim firelight shone through its new-made cracks.

“Dis is me, Bill, Miss Big Sue,” he called out, a stern note deepening his voice.

Leah shrilled out harshly. “You better open dis door! You low-down black buzzard hussy! You wait till I gits my hands on you’ throat! You won’ fool wid my husband no mo’ in dis world!”

Fully dressed and quite calm Big Sue appeared. She answered with mild astonishment:

“Why, Leah! How come you makin’ all dis fuss? You must want to wake up de whole plantation? You ought to be shamed. I never see such a no-manners ’oman!”

“Whe’s April?” Leah howled. “Whe’s April, I tell you? Don’ you cut no crazy wid me to-night! I’ll kill you sho’ as you do!”

“Fo’ Gawd’s sake, Leah! Shut you’ mouth! I dunno nuttin’ ’bout April. You is too sickenin’! Always runnin’ round to somebody’s house a-lookin’ fo’ April!”

“Yes, I look fo’ em. You had em here too! See his hat yonder on de floor right now! You fat black devil!” Seizing Big Sue’s kerchiefed head with both hands Leah tried to choke her, but Big Sue wrenched herself loose and with a wicked laugh raised one fat leg and gave Leah a kick in the middle of her body that sent her backward with a slam against the wall.

“You’d choke me, would you? I’ll tear de meat off you’ bones!” Big Sue screamed, but Leah crumpled sidewise and fell flat on the floor, her eyes lifeless, her face stiffened.

Big Sue had roused into fury. She staggered forward and bent over and rained blows with both fists on Leah’s silent mouth, until Uncle Bill grappled her around her huge waist and dragged her to the other side of the room.

Big Sue bellowed. “You’d choke me, enty? You blue-gummed pizen-jawed snake! Gawd done right to salivate you an’ make you’ teeth drop out.”

For all the signs of life she gave, Leah may as well have been dead. She lay there on the floor, limp and dumb, even after Uncle Bill took the bucketful of water from the shelf and doused her with it. She didn’t even catch her breath. Uncertain what to do, Uncle Bill knelt over her and called her name.

“Leah! Leah! Don’t you die here on dis floor. Leah! Open you’ eyes. I know good and well you’s playin’ ’possum.”

Except for the fire’s crackling and the low chirping of one lone cricket, the stillness of death was in the room.

“Put on you’ shirt and pants, Breeze. Run tell April Leah is done faint off. E must come here quick as e kin.”

The darkness of the night was terrible as Breeze ran through it toward the Quarters. A cedar limb creaked mournfully as the wind wrung it back and forth. Its crying was like sorrowful calls for aid. Breeze tried to hurry, to make his legs run faster, but they were ready to give way and fall. His feet stumbled, his throat choked until he could scarcely breathe. His brain wheeled and rattled inside his skull. How horrible Death is!

A few stars twinkled bright away up in the sky, but the waving tree-tops made a thick black smoke that covered the yellow moon. High-tide glistened in the darkness, all but ready to turn by now. Leah’s soul would go out with it if something wasn’t done to help her.

Lord how awful her eyeballs were, rolled back so far in her head! Jesus, have mercy! The thought of them made Breeze senseless with terror. Tears gushed from his own eyes and blinded him.

April was not at home, and Breeze raced back, but already Leah was coming to. She lay on the floor, her fat face, black as tar against the whiteness of the pillow under it now, was set and furrowed. Her toothless jaws moved with mute words, as if she talked with some one the others could not see. She kept fumbling with the red charm-string tied around her neck, as her dull eyes rolled slowly from one face to the other.

Breeze longed to fling himself on the bed and cover up his head, but Big Sue sat storming and panting with fury. Leah ought to be ashamed of herself, running over the country at night trying to bring disgracement on her.

“Whyn’t you answer Leah when e knocked?” Uncle Bill asked her.

Big Sue jumped at him angrily. “How’d I know Leah wasn’ some robber come to cut my throat? Just ’cause Leah is married to de foreman an’ livin’ in a bigger house dan my own, an’ wearin’ finer clothes, dat don’ gi’ em no right to break down my door wid a’ ax! No. Leah ain’ no white ’oman even if e do buy medicine out de sto’. No wonder e got salivate. Gawd done right to make dat medicine loosen all Leah’s teeth an’ prize ’em out so e ain’ got none to be a-bitin’ people up wid. T’ank Gawd! Bought ones can’ bite. I wish all e finger-nails would drop off! E toe-nails too! Leah’s a dangerous ’oman. E ain’ safe to be loose in dis country. No. Leah’d kill you quick as look at you!”

XIV

CHURCH

Sunday morning rose with a pale clear sky, and a sun that glittered bright and hot as it mounted.

Big Sue was already up when Breeze waked. She was fussing around, cooking dinner to take to church, fixing a basket, and China dishes to hold it. Her best clothes, and Breeze’s, were laid out on chairs to be put on. They must be ready when Uncle Bill came for them in his new buggy. He had to go ahead of time, for he had charge of the communion as well as of the Bury League which would be organized when the service was over and the dinner eaten. The head man of the Bury League had come to preach and to form a Society to Bury. Big Sue baked rising bread yesterday in the Big House kitchen stove. The brown loaves, uncovered, sat in a row on the shelf, waiting to be wrapped up. They’d turn to Jesus’ own body when the preacher prayed over them, and blessed them. Blackberry wine, in the two big demijohns in the corner of the shed-room, would turn into Jesus’ blood. Breeze couldn’t make it out in his head exactly, but Big Sue said it was so. Breeze had picked the blackberries that made the wine, and he’d bought the white flour for the bread from the store. How could they turn to Jesus? But Big Sue said prayer can do anything. Anything! When a fine preacher like the Bury League leader prays. Not everybody knows how to pray right, but he did. Yes, Lord, he did!

Before taking time to swallow down a mouthful of bread for breakfast, Breeze and Big Sue put the demijohns on the front porch, ready to go to church. They packed up all the fine dinner in one box, and the communion bread in another, so when she was dressed in her Sunday clothes, she’d have nothing to do but sit still and wait and rest.

How different she looked with her body pulled in tight with a great corset full of steel bands! Like a cotton bale pressed too small. The frills of her petticoat were lace-trimmed. Over them, hiding them carefully, was her new purple sateen dress.

She sat down on the porch with a pan of breakfast in her lap and began to eat. Breeze was back in the shed-room dressing when he heard her laugh and scramble to her feet to say in her company manners voice:

“How you do dis mawnin’, Reverend?”

Breeze peeped through the open door in time to see her draw a foot adroitly behind her in a low curtsey to a strange man who answered in a familiar voice:

“Quite well, thank you, Mrs. Good-wine. How you do this morning?”

“Not so good,” she said sweetly. “Bad luck’s been a-hangin’ round de plantation lately.”

“Bad luck ought not to pester a lady who can fix frog legs like the ones you sent us last night for supper. They were elegant.”

Breeze stood still and listened. He knew that voice, sure as the world. The Bury League preacher was his own stepfather. Hurrying into his clothes he tipped across the room to the window to see better, but Big Sue’s antics held his eyes. She was down on her knees, shaking all over in the drollest way, with laughter that took her breath. Her company manners were gone. Between gasps and shouts she gurgled, “Great Gawd! You ought o’ seen dem frogs dis mawnin’. Dat fool Breeze didn’ kill em! He cut off dey hind legs an’ turned dem loose in de back yard! I liken to a broke my foot jumpin’ when I missed an’ stepped slam on one!”

“Who did you say done it?” The Reverend was disturbed. The greenish cast of his long-tailed coat and derby hat spread over his swarthy face, and he sat down so suddenly on the steps that Big Sue’s roars hushed and her company manners came back. Scrambling to her feet and casting a fierce look toward the window where Breeze stood, she sympathized:

“I’m too sorry. No wonder you’s sick! Eatin’ de legs of a livin’ frog! But dey’s dead now. I made Breeze knock ’em in de head a while ago. Breeze is a crazy boy. When I git home to-night, I’m gwine gi’ em de heaviest lickin’ ever was. I ain’ gwine leave a whole piece o’ hide on em. No, suh! I’m gwine bust his crust, sure as you’ bawn.”

“Whe’d you git dat boy? Is he you’ own?” The Reverend’s voice was weakly.

“No, Lawd. My son, Lijah, is got plenty o’ sense. Breeze is a li’l’ boy I got f’om Sandy Island to stay wid me, by I was so lonesome in de night by myself.”

The Reverend took a handkerchief out of the pocket in the tail of his long coat and wiped the sweat off his face, then he leaned his head on his hand. Big Sue was anxious.

“Would you like a li’l’ sweetened water, suh?”

He shook his head.

“How ’bout a li’l’ cookin’ soda? Dat might settle you.” He didn’t need a thing. He must go now. He and Miss Leah were to talk over the hymns so she could lead the choir. He was subject to spells of swimming in the head, but they didn’t last long.

His mention of Leah’s name changed Big Sue’s tone altogether. She laughed out.

“Lawdy, I bet Leah’ll strut to-day. April took em to town an’ bought em some teeth. Dey don’ fit good like you’ own, dough. Leah wouldn’ trust to chaw wid ’em, not fo’ nothin’. I don’ blame em, dough. I’d hate to broke ’em if dey was mine. Leah is sho’ tryin’ to look young dese days. E natural hair is white as cotton, but e polishes em wid soot an’ lark.”

Except for Big Sue’s displeasure about the frogs, Breeze would have told her that the Reverend was his mother’s husband who disappeared the day his grandfather cut the big pine, but the boy’s one wish was to have her forget him, and maybe she’d forget the licking she promised to lay on his hide.

When Uncle Bill drove up to the door with one of the biggest pertest mules from the barnyard hitched to a one-horse wagon, Big Sue, instead of praising the beast’s fresh-clipped mane and tail, looked doubtfully at the cloth strings tying the harness in many places.

“If de mule gits to kickin’ or either runnin’, how you gwine rule em?” she asked anxiously, but Uncle Bill laughed at her fears and helped her to the seat in front, putting the basket of dinner and the communion bread and wine back where Breeze sat on the floor.

At first the mule could not be moved out of a slow walk, but when the wagon crossed over a root in the road and the wheels made a creak and a bump, the mule jumped so that one demijohn turned over, its stopper flew out and some of the wine spilled. Big Sue scolded Breeze for letting it happen and told him to steady the jugs the rest of the way. She couldn’t. She couldn’t even bend with her corset on. It cut her wind and had her so heated she had to take off her big sailor hat and fan herself to catch air.

The wagon wheels ground slowly along in the deep sandy ruts. White clouds of dust rose above the slow-moving hoofs of mules and oxen that toiled along, pulling buggies and wagons and carts crowded with black people going to Heaven’s Gate Church. Other church-goers were walking, many of the women in their stocking feet, carrying their shoes in their hands along with their dinner baskets. Well-greased faces shone, everybody saluted everybody else, some with simple bows, others with bows beneath upraised arms.

Heaven’s Gate Church stretched its whitewashed length from the road clear back to the picnic tables made of clean new boards nailed together and fastened to wide-spreading trees whose shade made the grounds cool and darkened. The sweep of the open well was kept busy drawing water. The churchyard swarmed with people hurrying about like a nest of ants before summer rain. Women crowded behind the church, putting on shoes, fixing hair, smoothing crumpled dresses and aprons. Big Sue sucked her teeth at the sight of Leah who was strutting, sure enough. Big Sue grumbled bitterly because Leah was not only the choir leader to-day, but chairman of the lemonade committee. Leah had no judgment. The last time she fixed the lemonade, she had it sour enough to cut your very heart-strings. Leah pushed herself. She gave nobody else a chance. No wonder she got salivated.

The chain of wagons and buggies and carts that had stretched along the road crowding out people on foot, now filled the churchyard completely. Every low tree limb, every bush, held a tethered beast. Oxen chewed cuds. Mules dozed, roused to switch off gnats and stinging flies with close-clipped tails, then dozed again.

Every bench inside the long low whitewashed church was finally packed with people, waiting respectfully until the time came for the Reverend to get up in the pulpit and preach God’s word. He was very different from Reverend Salty, the kind old preacher who had lately died and left the congregation of Heaven’s Gate Church like sheep without a shepherd.

Reverend Salty was fat and easy to laugh, but this Reverend was slim and tall and solemn. He was so educated that he could read scripture right out of the Book. No word could trip his nimble tongue, but he said he had to wear glasses because he had strained his eyes searching the scriptures day and night to find out how to lead the people.

As he adjusted his glasses, carefully placing the curve of the gold frames behind his small ears, Maum Hannah, who sat next to Breeze on the front bench of the Amen corner, boomed right out with an earnest, “T’ank Gawd for life, son! T’ank Gawd! Praise be to His blessed name! I too glad I could git here to hear you read Gawd’s book dis day!”

The Reverend cleared his throat and stared sternly at her, but when his eyes slipped a glance at Breeze, they turned quickly to another direction. Big Sue in the choir on the other side of the pulpit shook her head, but Maum Hannah was wiping her joyful tears on an apron string, and she saw nothing until Uncle Bill’s old Louder trotted in and lay down near her feet, then she smiled and welcomed him with a gentle, “I glad you come to pray, Louder.”

The first scripture lesson told how Moses led the Children of Israel over Jordan on their journey toward Canaan, the promised land. The Reverend stopped, and took off his fine glasses with fingers that trembled, and it seemed to Breeze the preacher looked more at him than at Maum Hannah. Getting a white fresh-ironed pocket handkerchief out of his pants pocket, he unfolded it and made little delicate wipes at the corners of both his eyes. He polished each spectacle glass, cleared his throat and coughed until his voice was clear, then he read the second lesson. April, who had come in late, listened intently. Lord, how the man could read. He used to read at meeting on Sandy Island sometimes. He read now, about charity, which he said meant love, and as the familiar words fell clear on Maum Hannah’s ears, the beauty of them stirred her heart. Her eyes closed, her body rocked from side to side. She murmured low praise to God, then louder words of encouragement to the preacher. “Tell de people, son! Don’ hold back! You’s a stranger in a strange land, but you’s a child of Gawd! Read em, son, read em!” she crooned. “Read de word of Gawd. Let de people hear all wha’ Jedus say! We got to love ev’ybody! Sinners an’ all! Love de sinners! Hate de sin!”

Old Reverend Salty had never objected to Maum Hannah’s taking a part in the service, but this preacher was new. He didn’t understand that Maum Hannah’s heart was so moved that she had to speak out. He got more and more nervous and fretted. Every now and then he turned his head to one side and cast a disapproving frown toward her, but she was too happy to notice that anything was wrong.

When he began lining out the hymn:

“Come ye that love the Lord
And let your joy be known,”

Uncle Bill leaned close and whispered in the old woman’s ear, “You mustn’ talk out loud, Auntie. Dis preacher is used to town ways.”

Leah raised the tune, and her strong voice, swelled by the congregation, made it hard to hear what Uncle Bill said. Maum Hannah gave him a puzzled questioning look, and her old lips haltingly inquired:

“Enty?”

Whole stanzas were sung before she joined in with the great volume of harmony. Did Uncle Bill say she mustn’t talk out loud because the preacher was used to town ways! Breeze nodded. That was exactly what Uncle Bill said. Maum Hannah sighed, and mumbled. She didn’t mean any disrespect. His beautiful reading had moved the spirit in her and stirred her heart so deep, her tongue could not lie dumb in her mouth. She’d try not to talk out loud again.

When the hymn was done Reverend stepped to the side of the pulpit to say he would add something new to the service. The Ten Commandments. People must understand what the laws of God are before they can keep them rightly. He would read them, one at a time, and at the end of each the congregation must pray.

“Do, Lord, help us to keep this law.”

“Does everybody understand?”

A roar of answers came back, “Yes suh, we understan’ good, suh!” but Maum Hannah shook her head and objected in clear distinct words, “No, son, dat’s how de white folks pray! Gawd ain’ used to we prayin’ dat way!”

April smiled, but Uncle Bill was worried. “Hush, Auntie! You’ll git de preacher all tangled up.”

She gave up. Her eyes fell. Her hands caught at each other and held fast. The thin-veined, blue-nailed fingers, knotted at every joint, twisted into a tight uneasy grip, then sank into a fold of her white apron. Tears ran out from under her shut eyelids.

The preacher opened the Bible, and turned the leaves over for the right place. When it lay under his eyes he began a solemn,

“‘Thou shalt have no other gods before me’!”

When he raised his eyes to the congregation Uncle Bill led a ragged wave of voices into a loud, “Do, Lawd, help us to keep dis law!”

The preacher smiled and nodded approval, then bent over the Book to read the next commandment. It was a long one. The people didn’t know exactly when it ended, but he started them off, and they responded with an eager rush, “Do, Lawd, help us to keep dis law!”

The Reverend lost his place, his long forefinger had to help his eyes find it, but presently he began with a loud, “‘Remember the Sabbath day’!” He read on and on. The congregation listened breathlessly for the end, and when his voice fell, every soul broke into the crashing prayer, “Do Lawd, help us to keep dis law!” April frowned.

Maum Hannah’s head dropped, her chin was on her breast, her eyes were shut tight, her lips moving in whispers. Breeze could tell she was praying alone, quite apart from the preacher and the congregation which had strangely become two beings: one, a lone, black, shiny-skinned, shiny-eyed man in the pulpit, repeating God’s commandments, in the high sing-song, and clapping his hands for the people to respond; and the congregation, now knitted into a many-mouthed, many-handed, many-eyed mass, that swayed and rocked like one body from side to side, crying to God in an agonized, “Do, Lawd, help us to keep dis law!” A shrill voice screamed out of the rumbling body, “Hallelujah! I feel de sperit!” A chill crept over Breeze. He felt something strange himself. He couldn’t hear his own voice in the flood of shouted praying, but he knew he was one with the rest. The preacher’s tall form swayed this way and that, his long slew-feet patted the floor. He was like a tree rocked by a strong wind.

“Honour thy father and thy mother,” he chanted. His upheld hands opened and clenched into straining fists, but the congregation was too full to wait for the rest. Their fierce, full-throated cry rang out, “Do, Lawd, help us to keep dis law!”

“Thou shalt kill!” His voice swelled and thickened with hoarseness, his arms swung about.

“Do, Lawd, help us to keep dis law!”

The preacher’s tongue was twisted by his fervor, the ears of the congregation deafened by their own shouting.

“Thou shalt commit adultery!” he yelled.

“Do, Lawd, help us to keep dis law!” they yelled back.

Breeze’s blood seethed hot, his heart beat wildly, the whole church full of people boiled with commotion. Shouts of praise to God broke into the din and tumult of prayer.

“Thou shalt steal!” came like wind on a flame and the congregation’s answer sprang hot from the heart, “Do, Lawd, help us to keep dis law!”