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cA Noovel by
JULIA PETERKIN
Author of Green Thursday
INDIANAPOLIS
THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
CoprgicHt, 1927
By Tue Bosss-MrzrinL COMPANY
Printed in the United States of America
PRINTED AND BOUND
BY BRAUNWORTH & CO., ING,
BROOKLYN, NEW YORK
To
JULIUS MOOD
KEDEY LIGRARY
BMORY & HENRY COLLEGE
BMORY, VA 24327
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
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BLACK APRIL
I
APRIL’S FATHER
Tue cool spring dusk fell drowsy and soft over
Sandy Island, all but blotting out a log cabin that
nestled under great moss-hung oaks close to the river’s
edge. The small drab weather-stained house would
scarcely have shown except for the fire that burned
inside, sending a bright glow through its wide-open door
and showers of sparks up its short stick-and-clay
ehimney.
A gaunt, elderly black man strode hastily toward it
along the path leading up from the river and went
Inside, but in a few minutes he came to stand in the
doorway, his bulk well-nigh filling it as one broad
shoulder leaned dejectedly against the lintel. When a
moan came from inside, his brawny hands clenched and
buckled in a foolish helpless way, and a frown knitted
his forehead as he cast a glance at the old black woman
who pattered back and forth from the hearth to the bed
in the corner with a cupful of root-tea or a bit of hot
grease in a spoon or a pinch of salt in the palm of her
hand.
Once in a while she called to him that everything
was going well. To-morrow this same girl would laugh
at all these groans and tears. Birthing a child is tougk
[11]
BLACK APRIL
work. He must have patience. Long patience. Nobody
can hurry a slow-coming child.
The fire crackled and leaped higher, lighting the
dirt-daubed cracks of the walls, shining under the bed
where it played over the freshly sharpened point of a
plow-share. A share ground and filed and put under a
bed is the best thing in the world to cut birth-pains, but
this one lagged with its work. Its clean edge glittered
bright enough, yet as time dragged on the pains lingered
and the expected child tarried with its coming.
The moon must be to blame. This new moon was
right for planting seed but wrong for birthing. Swift
labor comes with a waning moon, not a growing one.
The man heaved a deep sigh and looked out into the
gathering twilight. The slender young moon was
dropping fast. This birthing ought to get over. When
the river’s tide turned, life could go out mighty quickly.
Ebb tide is a dangerous time for sick people.
Old Granny was too slow. Too easy-going. When
this same girl was born sixteen years ago, or was it
seventeen, Granny had a long race with Death and
lost, yet here she was poking around with her roots and
teas, trifling away the time.
“‘Granny,’’ he stopped to clear the huskiness out of
his throat, ‘‘better make haste. De tide’ll soon turn.
Ebb tide ain’ to be trusted, you know.’’
A wry smile shriveled Granny’s face. ‘‘You’s too
short-patienced, Breeze. Dis is a long-patienced task.
It takes time. You better go cut one more turn o’ fat
lightwood an’ fetch em in. De fire is got to keep up
shine to-night.’’
A pitiful moan from the corner stopped her talk,
and, with an echoing grunt, the man stepped down into
the yard.
Granny’s shaking head bobbed faster as she watched
[12]
APRIL’S FATHER
him hurry to the wood-pile and pick up the ax. Her
trembling hands drew her shawl closer around her bent
shoulders. Lord, how time does change people, she
muttered to herself. Breeze was no mild fellow in his
youth. No. He was a wild scamp. But when his own
girl got in trouble, he r’ared around and wanted to kill
the man that fooled her. As if she wasn’t to blame too.
A good thing the girl had sense enough to keep her
mouth shut. Nobody could make her say who the father
of her child was. She was a shut-mouthed creature. But
spoiled to death. Rotten spoiled. No wonder. Here
she was, disgracing her father’s house, after he had
raised her nice as could be, but he hadn’t a hard word
for her. Not one. If he hadn’t humored her all her
life to everything heart could wish, she’d get to work
and finish this birthing before dark, instead of keeping
people fretted with worry-ation all day and now, more
than likely, half the night. But as long as her soft-
hearted old father took her part, Granny was helpless,
and her scolding did no good.
The sturdy ax-cuts that rang out gave Granny an
idea. That ax was sharp and clean. The plow-share
was hampered with rust. Why wouldn’t the ax cut the
birth-pains far better? Hurrying back to the door she
quavered out shrilly, ‘‘Bring me dat ax, Breeze! Hurry
wid em‘”’
He came with it, but halted at the door. He had
ground that ax only this morning. Its edge was awful
keen. This was no time to be risking anything. Granny
had better be careful.
Granny stretched her old neck forward and her
forehead furrowed with a frown as she said sharply
that as long as she’d been catching children, if she
couldn’t rule an ax, she’d better quit right now and go
homes, She couldn’t stand for people to meddle with
~ Raa.
BLACK APRIL
her when she was doing her best. What did a man know
about birthing? Put the ax beside the share. Together
they’d fetch the child like a lamb a-jumping!
When steel jangled against steel under the bed,
Granny ordered sharply, ‘‘Now you git out de door till
I call you. You ought to be glad for de pain to suffer
dis gal. I’m so shame of how e done, I can’ hold my
head up. I hope to Gawd you'll lick em till e can’
stand up, soon as e gits out dis bed. I never did hear
no ’oman make sich a racket! E ought not to much as
crack e teeth! I wish e was my gal. I’d show em how
to be runnin’ round a-gittin’ chillen, stead o’ gittin’ a
nice settled man fo’ a husband.’’ Granny eyed the girl,
then her unhappy old father, severely, but her talk was
to no purpose, for old Breeze’s eyes were bloodshot with
pity, his very soul distressed.
‘‘You’s wrong, Granny. I used to t’ink like you,
but I know better now. If de gal’ll git thu dis safe, I
wouldn’ hold no hard feelin’s ’gainst em. Never in dis
world.’’ He leaned over the bed and gave the girl’s
shoulder a gentle pat, but Granny hurried him away.
This was no time for petting and being soft. Some hard
work waited to be done. The sooner the girl got at it,
the sooner it would be finished.
**Quit you’ crazy talk an’ go on out de door! Don’
come back in dis room, not less I eall you.’’
Granny spoke so sharply, he obeyed humbly, without
another word.
The breath of the earth was thick in the air, a good
clean smell that went clear to the marrow of the man’s
bones. God made the first man out of dust, and all men
go back to it in the end. The earth had been sleeping,
resting through the winter, but now, with the turn of
the year, it had roused, and it offered life to all that
were fi§ and strong. The corn crop, planted on the last
{14}
APRIL’S FATHER
young moon when the dogwood blooms were the size of
squirrel ears, was up to a stand wherever the crows let it
alone. Pesky devils! They watched every blade that
peeped through the ground and plucked it out with the
mother grain, cawing right in the face of the scare-crow
that stood up in the field to scare them, although its
head, made out of a pot, and its stuffed crocus sack body
were ugly enough to scare a man. To-morrow he’d hide
and call them. He could fool them close enough to shoot
them. It was a pity to waste shells on birds unfit for
man or beast to eat and with too little grease on their
bones to add a drop to the soap pot, but there’d soon be
another mouth to feed here.
To-morrow, he must plant the cotton while the young
moon waxed strong. There was much to do. He needed
help. Maybe this child being born would be a boy-child,
a help for his old age. A sorrowful woman will bear a
boy-child, nine times out of ten, and God knows, that
girl had been sorrowful. When she helped him plant
the corn, she had dropped a tear in mighty nigh every
hill along with the seed. No wonder it grew fast.
Soon as the moon waned, the root crops, potatoes,
pindars, chufas, turnips, must be planted. Field plants
have no sense. If you plant crops that fruit above the
ground on a waning moon, they get all mixed up and
bear nothing but heavy roots, and root crops planted on
a waxing moon will go all to rank tops no matter how
you try to stop them. Plants have to be helped along
or they waste time and labor, just the same as children
you undertake to raise. That poor little girl was started
off wrong.
She was born on a moon so wrong that her mammy
died in her birthing. He had done his best to raise the
little motherless creature right, but he made a bad
mistake when he let her go to Blue Brook without him
[15]
BLACK APRIL
last summer. She went to meet his kin and to attend
the revival meeting. She was full of life and raven
for pleasure. He couldn’t refuse her when she asked to
go. But he hadn’t made her understand that those Blue
Brook men were wicked devils. He knew it. He had
been one of them himself. Poor little girl, she knew it
now! Now when it was too late for anybody to help her
out of her trouble. =
Years ago, over thirty of them, he had left Blue
Brook and come to Sandy Island on account of a girl.
She had named her child April because it was born this
very month. Afterward, she had married and forgotten
him. Now she was dead, but her child, April, was the
finest man on Blue Brook. Barely middle-aged, April
was already the plantation foreman, ruling the other
farm-hands, telling them what to do, what not to do,
and raising the best crops in years. April had made a
name for himself. Everybody who came from Blue
Brook had something to say about him, either of his
kindness or of his meanness, his long patience or his
quick temper, his open-handedness or his close-fistedness.
On Blue Brook, April was a man among men.
He had seen him, a tall, lean, black, broad-shouldered
fellow, so much like himself that it was a wonder
everybody didn’t know that he was April’s daddy. But
they didn’t. For April’s mother had been as close-
mouthed as the girl lying yonder on the bed. She never
did tell who fooled her and made her have sin. She
died without telling.
Some day he’d like to tell April himself. But after
all, what was the use? April had taken the name of his
mother’s lawful husband and he loved the man who had
raised him as well as an own father could have done.
Why upset them?
Granny’s shambling steps inside the cabin took his
[16]
APRIL’S FATHER
thoughts back to the girl there. If the child was born
on this rising tide, it would more than likely be a boy-
child. April would be a good name for him too. April
was a lucky month to be born in; it was a lucky name
too. If the child came a girl, Katy, the name of April’s
mother, would be a good name for it.
The spring air wafted clouds of fragrance from the
underwoods bordering the forest. Crab-apple thickets
and white haw trees were in full bloom. Yellow
jasmine smothered whole tree-tops. Cherokee roses
starry with blossoms sprawled over rail fences and
rotting stumps, piercing through all other scents with
their delicate perfume.
Sandy Island looked just so, smelled just so, on that
April night when he came here so many years ago. He
thought then that he’d go back some day and fetch Katy
here to stay with him. But the years had tricked him,
fooled him. They had rolled by so fast he’d lost track of
them, and of Katy and her boy, April. Now, he was
atmost an old man, and Katy was up yonder in Heaven.
His own lawful wife and his other boy, his yard son,
were up there too. Had Katy told them about April?
Or would she stay shut-mouthed for ever and ever?
As he wondered and pondered about the ways of
people in Heaven, the river, gorged by a high spring
tide, slowly flooded the rice-fields encircling the island.
The black water lapped softly as it rippled over the
broken dikes and passed through the rotted flood-gates,
hiding the new green shoots of the marsh grass and
uprooting the tall faded blades, that had stood through
the winter on the boggy mud flats.
Frogs chanted. Marsh hens chattered. Wood ducks
quacked and splashed. Ganits flew in long lines toward
the sunset, squawking hoarsely and flapping the air with
blue and white wings. Partridges whistled. Doves
[17]
BLACK APRIL
mourned. Where were the groans from the bed in the
corner? Maybe all was over at last.
Granny stood in the door beckoning him to come.
Her harshness was all gone. She hobbled down the
steps and came tottering to meet him, then laying a
bony hand on his shoulder she whispered that the ax
was too sharp. It had cut the pains off altogether.
They had ceased too soon and she couldn’t get them
started again. She had tried every tea she knew. Every
root. Every ointment. Every charm. She was at her
row’s end. This moon was all wrong for birthing. A
young moon makes things go contratywise. The child
should have waited a week longer to start coming. And
two weeks would have been still better.
The girl had dozed off in spite of everything. He must
come and try to rouse her up. Girls behave so crazy
these days. They do like nobody ever had birthed a
child before them. She was fretted half to death the
way this girl carried on. He must come and make her
behave. If she had been a nice decent girl, all this
would never have been.
The girl’s eyes opened and looked up at him, and he
leaned low over the bed to hear her whispered words.
She spoke with worn-out tired breath, begging him to go
and get help from somewhere. She hated to die in sin,
and leave him, but she couldn’t hold out much longer.
Death already had her feet cold as ice, it was creeping
up to her knees. Couldn’t he take the boat and go across
the river to Blue Brook? Wasn’t somebody there who
could come to help her?
He studied. Certainly there was. Maum Hannah,
his own first cousin, had a string of charm beads their
old grandmother had brought all the way from Africa
when she came on a slave ship. They and the charm
words that ruled them were left in Maum Hannah’s
[18]
APRIL’S FATHER
hands. Ever since he was a boy, living on Blue Brook,
he had heard people say that those beads had never
failed to help a woman birth a child safely. No matter
how it came, head foremost, foot foremost, or hand
foremost, it was all the same when those charm beads
got to working.
He’d go fetch Maum Hannah. She’d come. Old as
she was, she’d risk the booming river if her beads were
needed to help a child come into the world.
His boat was a dug-out and narrow for two people
in a river running backward in a flood-tide, but she’d
come. He felt sure of it. Barefooted, bareheaded,
without a coat, he ran down the steep slope to the black
water’s edge, and soon the sharp bow of his boat, driven
by one short paddle, sliced through the current. Swift
wheeling circles of water marked every steady dip it
made. Hugging the willow banks, the boat hurried on,
then cut straight across the river. Thank God, the
high-running tide made the rice-fields a clear sheet of
water. The boat could take a bee line to Blue Brook
without bothering about how the channel ran beyond
the river. The landing aimed for was on a deep, clear
blue creek, which gave the plantation its name, Blue
Brook. The man’s knees were shaking as he stepped
out of the boat and dragged it higher up on the bank
to wait until he came back with Maum Hannah and the
beads. Up the path he trotted, to the Quarters where
the long low houses made blurs of darkness under tall
black trees. The thick-leaved branches rose against the
sky, where the fires of sunset had lately died and the
moon had gone to its bed.
Rattly wagons hurried over the roads. Cattle
bellowed. Children shouted. Dogs barked. An ax rang
sharply and a clear voice sent up a song. ‘‘Bye an’ bye,
when de mawnin’ comes!’’ How trustful it sounded.
[19]
BLACK APRIL
He tried to hum the tune, but fear gnawed at his heart
and beat drums in his ears and throat and breast.
He was born and reared on Blue Brook. He knew
every path and road on it. Every field and ditch and
thicket. Every moss-hung oak. He had lived right
yonder in the foreman’s house with his grandfather, the
plantation foreman. The foreman now was his son! His
blood kin. A proud fellow, that April! Lord, how April
strutted and gave himself airs!
The darkness melted everything into one. The
whiteness of the Big House was dim.
Fences, cabins, trees, earth were being swallowed up
by the night.
Maum Hannah’s cabin was the last in those two long
rows of houses, and firelight shining out from her wide-
open door sent a glow clear across her yard. She was
at home. It wouldn’t take long to get her and the charm
beads into the boat, then back across the river.
Black people were gathered in the doorways, most
of them his kin with whom he’d like to stop and talk, but
there was no time for one extra word, even with April,
the foreman. Dogs ran up to him, sniffed, recognized
that he was of the same blood as their masters, and went
back to lie down.
[20]
II
APRIL’S SON
Takina Maum Hannah’s three steps as one, he called
out a breathless greeting:
— **How you do, Cun [Cousin] Hannah?’’
She was stirring a pot on the hearth and the long
spoon clattered against the iron sides as she dropped it.
‘““‘Who dat call me?’’ She limped backward a few
halting paces and gazed at him with questioning eyes.
“‘Dis is me, old man Breeze! Git you birthin’ beads
quick an’ come go home wid me!’’
She stared at him vacantly. ‘‘Fo’ Gawd’s sake, who
is you?’’ She whispered sharply.
‘“You don’ know me? Is you gone blind, Hannah?’’
Her arms dropped weakly as she peered at him,
taking in his bare feet, his patched clothes, his shirt,
open at the neck, showing the swell of his throat, the
panting of his breast. With a sudden burst of laughter
she reached out and took his hand. ‘‘Lawd, Breeze, I
thought sho’ you was Grampa’s sperit come fo’ me!
You scared me well-nigh to death, son! Come on een
an’ set down! Jedus, I’m glad to see you! But you is
de very spit 0’ Grampa!’’
*‘T can’ set, Hannah. I ain’ Grampa’s sperit, but I
sho’ did come to git you! My li’l’ gal is "bout to die,
Hannah. E can’ birth e chile to save life, no matter
how hard e try. Git Gramma’s birthin’ beads. You
got to go wid me. I couldn’ stan’ to le’ dat li’l’ gal die,
[21]
BLACK APRIL
an’ don’ do all I can to save em. E’s so pitiful in e
pain.’’
Maum Hannah grunted. ‘‘Pain don’ kill a
’oman, son. It takes pain to make em work steady till
de task is done. I can’ stop no pain! No, Jedus! De
gal might be well by now anyhow.”’
But he was firm. ‘‘Listen to me, Hannah! You got
to go home wid me to-night! Now! Inahurry! Make
haste, too!’’
“It’s a mighty black night since de moon is gone
down.”’
‘‘Bein’ black don’ matter. I know de way. You
come on, Hannah.’?
‘‘T declare to Gawd, my cripple knee is so painful I
don’ know ef I could git in a boat.’’
*‘Den I’ll tote you, but you sho’ got to come.”’
“‘T’m mighty ’f’aid 0’ boats an’ water in de daytime
much less at night.’ She leaned down to fix the sticks
on the fire, but he caught her roughly by the arm.
‘‘Don’ you tarry, Hannah. You come on right
now!’’
‘“What kind 0’ boat you got?’’
“‘De boat’s narrow an’ de river’s high, but you got
strong heart, enty? You’ll be as safe wid me in dat
boat as ef you was settin’ right here by de fire in your
rockin’ chair. I promised my li’l’ gal to fetch you an’
you’ birthin’ beads ef e would hold out till I git back.
You better come on! Gramma’ll hant you sho’ as you
fail me to-night !’’
Maum Hannah sighed deep. ‘‘I know I got to go,
seared as I is. A boat on a floodin’ river is a turrible
t’ing, but I sho’ don’ want Gramma’s sperit to git no
grudge against me. Catchin’ chillen is Jedus’ business
anyhow, an’ de river belongs to Jedus, same as me an’
you, I reckon. You wait till I git de beads out de
[22]
APRIL’S SON
trunk. Sometimes I wish Gramma didn’ leave me dem
beads. It’s de truth!”’
She groped her way to the shed room and fumbled
in a trunk, then called out that she needed a light. He
broke a splinter off from a stick of fat lightwood on the
hearth and, lighting it, took it to her. The small flame
blazed up, sputtering and hissing, and spat black drops
of tar on the clean floor, on the quilt covered bed, on the
wide white apron she was tying around her waist. The
shaking hand that held it was to blame.
‘‘How-come you’ hand is a-tremblin’ so, Breeze?’
she asked gently. ‘‘You is pure shakin’ like a leaf.
Trust in Gawd, son. You’ gal b’longs to Him, not to
you. Jedus ain’ gwine fail em now when e have need.”’
The light wavered wildly as he raised an arm to
draw his shirt-sleeve across his eyes. Big teardrops
rolled down his cheeks, and his face twitched dumbly.
‘““You mus’ scuse me, Hannah. I’m so weakened
down wid frettin’ until de water dreans out my eyes.
My mind keeps a runnin’ back to de time dis same li’l’
gal’s own mammy was taken dis same way. When de
tide turned, e went out wid em. Dat’s how-come I’m
hurryin’ you so fas’. We mus’ git back whilst de tide
is risin’.’’
He stood, straight and tall, and strong for his years,
but the troubled look in his eyes made the old midwife
wonder.
Her weight tilted the narrow boat so far to one side
that some of the black river water slid over its edge and
ran down cold on her feet. ‘‘Jedus hab mussy!’’ she
groaned. ‘‘If dis boat do go down, I'll sho’ git drowned
to-night! I can’ swim, not a lick.’’
‘‘You set still, Hannah. Dis boat knows better’n to
turn over to-night. I got em trained. E’s got sense
like people. E knows e’s got to take me an’ you safe.”’
[23]
BLACK APRIL
‘“‘I’m mighty glad to hear dat, son, mighty glad.’
The boat was already gliding swiftly past the black
willows on the Blue Brook’s bank and around the bend
where the thick trees made shadows and long tresses of
gray moss waved overhead. Soon they’d reach the river.
When a dark bird flew across the stream Maum Hannah
shivered and whispered, ‘‘Do, Jedus, hab mussy,’’ but
Breeze muttered, ‘‘Dat ain’ nuttin’ but a summer
duck.”’
The whole world lay still, wrapped by the night,
quiet, save for the swish of the water against the sides
of the boat as the noiseless dips of*the steady-plying
paddle thrust it on.
As they neared Sandy Island the shrill ery of an owl
in the distance caused the boat to falter in its forward
going.
‘*Wha’ dat, Breeze?’’
“‘Dat’s one o’ dem blue-dartin’ owls. Dat ain’ no
sign 0’ death.”’
Ripples from the boat broke into glittering sparkles
of light laid by the stars on the water. The river mur-
mured. Trees along the bank were full of strange
shadowy shapes. Whenever the lightest rustle of wind
drifted through the black branches, low smothered sobs
fell from them.
A tall syeamore with its. white outstretched arms
high up toward heaven, reached toward the river wav-
ing, beckoning.
The night air was cool, but Maum Hannah took up
the edge of her apron and wiped off big drops of sweat
that broke out cold as ice on her forehead. ‘‘Do, Jedus,
hab mussy!’’ she prayed.
The new moon had gone to bed. Now was the time
evil spirits walk and take people’s souls out of their
bodies. Pines on the island made soft moans. The
[24]
APRIL’S SON
darkness quivered with whispers. Only the firelight
shining out from the cabin on the hill made a clear red
star to guide them.
The narrow boat swerved and turned in-shore.
A eypress knee, hidden by the water, bumped hard
against it, but didn’t stop its leap toward the bank. Old
Breeze eased himself past Maum Hannah, and hopping
out on the wet sand drew the boat up a little higher on
the hill.
**Git up, Hannah. Le’ me hold all two 0’ you’ hands.
Step slow. Hist you’ foot. Don’ miss an’ trip. Now
you’s on dry land.’’
‘“T’ank Gawd! Praise Jedus’ name!’’
““You got de beads, enty?’’
“*Sho’ I got ’em. Dem beads is all de luck I got in
dis world. If dey was to git lost, I’d be ruint fo’ true.
Pure ruint!’’
The steep climb eut her breath and stopped her flow
of talk, but Granny who had heard them coming, croaked
out:
‘““Yunnuh better make haste. De chile is done come,
but de gal won’ wake up an’ finish de job. Yunnuh
come on.’’
Maum Hannah lifted the long dark string of beads
from around her neck and handed them to old Breeze.
‘‘Run wid ’em, son. Put ’em round de gal’s neck.
Right on e naked skin. If I try to walk fast I might
fall down an’ broke my leg.”’
Breath scarcely came and went through the girl’s
parted lips, and her teeth showed white. Were they
elenched? Old Breeze pressed on the round chin to see.
Thank God the mouth could open!
Maum Hannah got inside the room at last. The
charm words that went with the beads would set things
right. Death might as well go on home! Let the girl
[25]
BLACK APRIL
rest. She was tired. Things could wait while she had
her nap out.
The big hickory armchair, drawn close to the fire,
held a feather pillow on its cowhide seat, and lying im
the nest it made was a small black human being
Granny laughed as she picked it up and put it into
Maum Hannah’s hands, saying:
‘*A boy-chile! An’ born wid a caul on e face!”’
‘Great Gawd, what is dis! You hear dis news,
Breeze? Dis chile was born wid a caul on e face!”’
The man turned his troubled eyes away from the
bed. ‘‘Wha’ you say, Hannah?’’
Laughing with pleasure Maum Hannah and Granny
both told him again. His grandson had been blessed
with second sight. He had been born on the small of
the moon and with a caul over his face. He would have
second sight. He’d always be able to see things that stay
hidden from other people. Hants and spirits and plat-
eyes and ghosts. Things to come and things long gone
would all walk clear before him. They couldn’t hide
from this child’s eyes.
‘‘Hotten another pot o’ water, Granny. Lemme
warm em good, an’ make em ecry.’’ Maum Hannah
eradled the child tenderly in her hands, then held him
low so the firelight could shine in his face. With a quick
laugh she caught him by one foot and holding him
upside down smacked him sharply with three brisk slaps.
“*Cry, suh!’’ she scolded. ‘‘Ketch air an’ holler! I
hate to lick you so hard soon as you git here, but I got
to make you fret out loud.’’ A poor weak bleating
sounded and she handed the child to Granny.
*“You fix em, whilst I finish up wid de mammy.”’
‘“Wake up, gal!’’ she plead, shaking the girl’s limp
arm. ‘‘Wake up!”’
[26]
APRIL’S SON
The rigid eyelids fluttered open and a faint smile
played over the girl’s face. She was too weary to draw
her breath. The pain had sapped all her strength, every
bit.
Maum Hannah stooped and looked under the bed.
“Great Gawd,’’ she grunted. ‘‘Who dat put a’ ax
under dis bed? No wonder de pains quit altogedder.
You ought to had chunked dese irons out de door!’’ She
did it forthwith herself.
‘“Now! All two is gone! Open you’ eyes, gal!
Ketch a long breat. Dat’s de way. Hol’ you’ two hands
togedder. So. Blow in ’em! Hard. Hard as you
kin! Make a stiff win’ wid you’ mouth! Blow you’
fingers off. Dat’s de way!”’
Then something else went wrong. Where was a
spider’s web? Granny ought to have had one ready.
Every good midwife should find one as soon as she takes
a case. Maum Hannah’s eyes were too dim to see a web
on the dark rafters overhead. Somebody must find one
and fetch it quickly. Life can leak out fast. Spider-
webs can dam it up better than anything else. But,
lord, they are hard to find at night! Where was Breeze?
One was found at last. Then it took careful handling
to get it well covered with clean soot from the back of
the chimney. Thank God for those beads. The girl
would have lost heart and given up except for them and
the charm words which Maum Hannah kept saying over
and over. With those beads working, things had to
come right. Had to. And they could not help working.
Couldn’t, thank God.
The next morning’s sunshine showed plenty of gos-
samer webs spun with shining wheels. Long threads of
frail silk were strung across the yard from bush to bush,
traps set by the spiders for gnats and mosquitoes, strong
[27]
BLACK APRIL
enough to hold a fly once in a while. But it takes a
house spider’s stout close-woven web to hold soot and do
good. For a house spider to make its home under your
roof is good luck, for sooner or later the cloth it weaves
and spins will save somebody’s life.
Old Breeze got up early and cooked the breakfast,
fixed himself a bit to eat and a swallow or two of sweet-
ened water to drink and went to the field to work, but
the two old women sat by the fire and nodded until the
sun waxed warm and its yellow light glowed into the
room through the wide-open door. Then their tired old
bodies livened and their heads raised up and leaned
together while whispered talk crept back and forth
between them. Granny held that Breeze was a good
kind man to take the girl’s trouble as he did. Many a
man would have put her out-of-doors. Girls are mighty
wild and careless these days. But their parents are to
blame for it too. Half the children born on Sandy
Island were unfathered. It wasn’t right. Yet how can
you stop them? Maum Hannah sighed and shook her
head. It was a pity. And yet, after all, every child
comes into the world by the same old road.
A thousand husbands couldn’t make that journey
one whit easier. The preachers say God made the
birthing pain tough when He got vexed with Eve in the
Garden of Eden. He wanted all women to know how
heavy His hand ean be. Yet Eve had a lawful husband,
and did that help her any?
Granny blinked at the fire and studied a while, then
with a sly look at the bed she whispered that this same
little boy-child was got right yonder at Blue Brook dur-
ing the protracted meeting last summer. Her wizened
face showed she knew more than she cared to tell. Not
that it was anything to her whose child it was.
She fidgeted with her tin cup and spoon and peeped
[28]
APRIL’S SON
at Maum Hannah out of the corner of her eye, then
asked with pretended indifference:
‘‘What’s de name o’ de gentleman what’s de fore-
man at Blue Brook now?’’
“‘E’s name April.’’
“‘Enty?’’ Granny affected surprise. ‘‘Is e got a
fambly?’’ she presently ventured in spite of Maum
Hannah’s shut-mouthed manner.
“‘Sho’, e’s got a fambly. E’s got a fine wife an’ a
house full o’ chillen too.’’
“Well, I declare!’’ Granny mirated pleasantly.
““Was any o’ dem born wid a caul?’’
*‘No, dey wasn’t. I never did hear 0’ but one or
two people bein’ born wid a ecaul. Ol’ Uncle Isaac,
yonder to Blue Brook is one, and e’s de best con-
jure doctor I ever seen.’’
““Who was de other one?’’ Granny inquired so
mildly that Maum Hannah stole a look at her hard, dried
furrowed face. There was no use to beat about the bush
with Granny, so she answered:
‘*April, de foreman at Blue Brook, was de other one.
Dese same ol’ hands 0’ mine caught April when e come
into dis world, just like deys caught all o’ April’s
chillen.”’
““You mean, April’s yard chillen, enty?’’ Granny
looked her straight in the eyes like a hawk, but Maum
Hannah met the look calmly, without any sign of annoy-
ance,
‘‘T dunno what you’s aimin’ at, Granny. April’s a
fine man. Blue Brook never did have no better foreman.
An’ his mammy, Katy, was one 0’ de best women ever
lived. April was she onliest child. April was born dis
same month. Dat’s how-come Katy named him April.
April’s a lucky month an’ a lucky name, too. Wha’ you
gwine name you li’!’ boy-chile, daughter?’
[29]
BLACK APRIL
Granny looked toward the bed and listened for the
answer.
“‘T dunno, ma’am,’’ the girl answered weakly, and
Granny sweetened her coffee with a few drops more of
molasses. She stirred and stirred until Maum Hannah
suggested :
““April’s a fine name. Whyn’t you name em dat?
When I git back to Blue Brook, I’ll tell de foreman I
named a li’l’ boy-chile at him. Dat would please em
too. E might would send em a present. April’s a
mighty ceeeanas man, an’ e she: thinks de world
0’ me too.’
Granny waited to taste the sweetened coffee until she
heard what the girl said. The girl didn’t make any
answer at first, but presently she said with a sorrowful
sigh, she’d have to think about the baby’s name. She
couldn’t decide in a hurry. Sometimes a wrong name
will even kill a baby. She must go slow and choose a
name that was certain to bring her baby health and luck.
She talked it over with her father and named the
baby Breeze, for him. No foreman in the world was a
finer man, or a kinder, stronger, wiser one. The breeze
for which he was named could have been no pleasanter,
no sweeter, than the breeze that blew in from the river
that very morning.
The old man beamed with pleasure. He was glad to
have the child named for him. But since the month
was April, why not name him April Breeze? Then he’d
have two good-luck names, and two would be better
than one.
“We could call em 1li’l’ Breeze, enty?’’ she asked
with a catch in her voice.
**Sho’, honey! Sho! If dat’s de name you choose
to call ais chile, den e’s li’l’ Breeze f’om now on. But
April is a mighty nice name for a boy-chile.”’
[30]
«
APRIL’S SON
**It’s de Gawd’s truth,’? Maum Hannah declared,
and Granny grunted and reached for a coal to light her
pipe.
Li’l’ Breeze grew and throve and his grandfather
prized him above everything, everybody else. He was a
boy-child, and, besides, he was born with a caul on his
face. Men born so make their mark in this world. Rule
their fellows. Plenty of people have no fathers, and
many of them are better off. A child that has never
looked on his daddy’s face can cure sickness better than
any medicine. Just with a touch of the hand, too. It
was a good thing for Sandy Island to have such a child.
Before Breeze was weaned people began coming to
have him stroke the pain out of their knees and backs
and shoulders. He could cure thrash in babies’ mouths,
and even cool fevers.
His mother’s disgrace was completely forgotten, when
she married a fine-looking, stylish young town man who
eame to Sandy Island to preach and form a Bury-
League. He could read both reading and writing and
talk as well as the preacher who read over them out of
a book.
Breeze stayed on with his grandfather, helping him
farm in the summer and set nets for shad in the spring.
When the white people who owned Sandy Island came
from somewhere up-North in the winter and crossed over
the river on a ferry flat from Blue Brook with their dogs
and horses to hunt the deer that swarm so thick on the
island that they have beaten paths the same as pigs and
rabbits, Breeze went along to help hold the horses and
watch the dogs. People said he was Old Breeze’s heart-
string, and Old Breeze’s eyeball. He was, although the
mother had other boy-children now, fine ones too.
And instead of the grandfather’s getting feeble and
tottering with age, he grew younger, and worked harder,
[31]
BLACK APRIL
so that he and Breeze might have plenty. Every extra
cent saved was buried at the foot of a tall pine tree
growing on the bank of the river not far from the cabin’s
front door. When hard times came, they’d have no
lack.. The money would be there, secretly waiting to be
spent.
One spring when the shad fishing was done, Old
Breeze got leave from the white folks to cut down some
dead pines the beetles had killed. He dragged these
to the river with his two old oxen, and made them into a
raft which he floated down to the town in the river’s
mouth, and sold to a big saw-mill there. Breeze stayed
with his mother until his grandfather came back home,
pleased as could be, with presents for everybody, and a
pocket full of money besides. But although he brought
the mother a Bible besides many other fine things that
made her smile, she shook her head and said, ‘*‘Dead
trees are best left alone. Trees have spirits the same
as men. God made them to stand up after they die.
Better let them be.”’
But the grandfather was not afraid of tree spirits,
and he cut and cut until no dead tree was left standing
and the ground all around the big pine tree was full of
hidden money. Then there was nothing to do,but fish
and hunt, and to hunt in the spring is against the white
men’s laws. Old Breeze got restless. He gazed in the
fire night after night, thinking and thinking.
One morning he got up early and skimmed all the
cream and put the clabber in a jug, then he took the
brace-and-bit down off the joist where it stayed and
walked off to the woods alone. Every morning he did it.
There was no more clabber for the pigs or the chickens,
but the pine trees began dying so fast that before long
enough were ready to cut for a raft to be floated down
the river,
[32]
APRIL’S SON
The tall pine close to the bank was the biggest tree
on Sandy Island. It stretched far above the oaks before
it put on even one limb. If that tree ever died, it would
make a good part of a raft by itself.
One cold dark dawn, Breeze was roused by the
cabin’s door creaking on its hinges as it closed behind
somebody’s muffled steps. Where was Old Breeze going?
Easing a window open, he peered out and saw the old
man going toward the big pine with the jug and the
brace-and-bit.
‘Wait on me! I’m a-gwine wid you!’’ he called.
Old Breeze stopped and stood stiffly erect.
‘Who dat eall me?”’
‘Dis me! Breeze!’
The old man broke into a laugh. ‘‘Lawd, son, I
thought sho’ a sperit was a-talkin’ to me. How come
you’s ’wake so soon? Git back in de bed an’ sleep!”’
But Breeze dressed in a hurry. He wanted to see
what would be done with clabber and the brace-and-bit.
Outside in the half-light it was silent exeept for the
rustle of the big tree’s needles in the wind. Breeze
watched while holes were bored deep in the solid roots
and the clabber all poured down them. He promised
mever to tell a soul. Not asoul. That was a stubborn
tree. It swallowed down many a jug of buttermilk and
elabber without getting sick at all, but at last the tips of
its needles looked pale. The green of them faded into
yellow, then brown, and its whole top withered. The
old tree gave up. Poor thing.
Its heaviest limbs faced the south, away from the
water. That was good. When it fell, the big butt cut,
the heaviest one, would be easy to roll into the river,
and the next two cuts would not have to be pushed very
far. That tree would bring money with its stout, fat
heart, <A pocket full of money.
[33]
BLACK APRIL
Sunday night came, and Old Breeze wouldn’t go to
meeting, but went to bed for a long night’s sleep. He
must get up a high head of strength before sunrise to
cut the big tree down.
Day was just breaking through the cracks of the
eabin’s log sides when Breeze heard it fall. It gave a
great cry, and its crash jarred the cabin. The weight
of a big tree’s falling always leaves a deep stillness
behind it, but after the big pine fell the stillness stayed
on. Breeze lay quiet and listened. The tree must have
dropped wrong, and gone across a,clump of bamboo
vines. Old Breeze would have to clear them away before
his ax could begin to talk.
He’d hear it soon. Lord! Nobody could make an
ax speak faster or louder or truer. Nobody. This was
Monday morning and he must get the clothes up for
the mother to wash. Every Monday he earried them to
her and helped her do the washing.
Kingfishers splashed into the river. Once an eagle
eried. The day moved on, smooth and bright and
yellow, as the sun walked up the sky past the tree-tops,
higher and higher until noon stood overhead. But the
grandfather’s ax had said nothing yet. Not yet. But
wait! It would make up for lost time when it started to
ring!
Sis, the stepfather’s young sister, lived with Breeze’s
mother and helped her mind the children. Every Mon-
day morning they washed the clothes out in the yard,
where the washtubs always sat on a bench in a sunshiny
place. The other children, Breeze’s half brothers and
sisters, roasted sweet potatoes in the ashes under the big
black washpot, and kept the fire going.
On that Monday morning, the fire burned blue and
kept popping, and every now and then the mother cast
her eyes, full of dark thoughts, at the sun. Old Breeze
[34]
APRIL’S SON
always came for dinner with her on Monday. Something
must have happened. The big tree must have fallen
wrong to keep him so long. But Sis could talk of noth-
ing but the new dress and the ribbon he had promised
to buy her with some of the money the big pine brought.
The mother lifted the lids of the little pots that sat
all around the big washpot cooking the family’s dinner.
With a big iron spoon she stirred and tasted, added salt
and a pod of red pepper. Pepper is good to help men be
strong and warm-hearted. It makes hens lay, too. She
filled the bucket with victuals and told Breeze to run,
fast as he could, to the big tree, so the dinner would be
hot when he got there. Hopping John, peas and rice
eooked together, is so much better fresh out of the pot
and breathing out steam. When rice cools it gets
gummy. The fish stew was made out of eels, and they
get raw again as soon as the fire’s heat leaves them.
Breeze must take his foot in his hand and fly.
Breeze did run, but he soon came running back, for
Old Breeze wasn’t there. His ax lay almost in the
water, with its handle wet, and his throwing-wedge
beside it.
The two old oxen were chewing their cuds, but the
ground around the tree was all dug up and broken, as
if hogs had rooted it up to find worms.
Breeze had called, and called, but nobody answered!
When the mother heard that, a shiver went clear
through her body. Her hands shook so when she lifted
them out of the washtub that all the soap-suds on them
trembled.
She said she’d go and call. She knew how to send
her voice far away. She could make him hear and
answer. Maybe a deer or a fox or a wildcat had come
and tricked him away from his work, but her words
quivered in her mouth as she said them,
[35]
BLACK APRIL
‘All the children went trailing after her; Sis
went hurrying with baby Sonny in her arms; and they
all stood still and listened while the mother’s throat sent
long thin whoopees away up into the sky. Her breast
heaved with hoisting them so far above the trees into
the far-away distance. She’d wait for an answer until
all the echoes had whooped back, then she’d take a deep
breath and ery out again.
An old crow laughed as he passed overhead, an owl
who-whooed far in the distance. The wind began moan-
ing and crying in the tops of all the.other trees around
the fallen pine. %
The mother dropped on her knees and laid her fore-
head down on the earth. Her thin body shook, and her
fingers twisted in and out as her hands wrung each other
almost to breaking. She prayed and moaned and begged
Jesus to call Granddad to come back. To come on in &
hurry. She couldn’t stand for him not to answer when
she ealled so hard and so long.
All the children began crying with her. Even Sis,
who never cried no matter what happened, put Sonny
down on the naked ground and with tears running out
of her eyes all over her face, reached out and took the
mother’s shoulders in both arms. She tried to keep
them from shaking, but she soon shook with them, for
the mother said over and over she had known all the
time that something bad was going to happen. She
knew it last night when she came home from meeting.
Her fine glass lamp shade, the one Granddad brought
her from town, with flowers on it, broke right in two in
her hand. She hadn’t dropped it, or knocked it against
anything, but it broke in two in her hand. Her moaning
talk changed to a kind of singing as her body rocked
from side to side. Her face turned up to the sky, her
eyes gazed straight at the sun, and over and over she
[36]
APRIL’S SOW
wailed the same words until the littlest children all cried
out and sereamed them too:
“Las night I been know
Somebody gwine dead!
Yes, Lawd! Somebody gwine dead!
A sign sesso!
Yes, Lawd, a sign sesso!
De hoot-owl ain’ talk!
De wind ain’ whine!
I ain’ see a ground-crack needer!
But I had a sign,
Jedus gi’ me a sign!
Da lamp-shade!
F’om de town-sto!
E come een two
Een my hand!
Yes, Lawd!
E come een two een my hand!
I ain’ drap em. No!
I ain’ knock em against nuttin,
But e come een two
Een my hand!
De lamp-shade know,
E try fo’ talk,
E broke fo’ gi’ me a sign.
My Pa is dead!
I know, fo’ sho”!
Da lamp-shade broke
Een my hand!”’
Her breath caught in her throat with gasps and her
grieving got hoarse and husky, the steady sing-song
braced by the children’s shrill mourning reached the
neighbors who came hurrying to see what was wrong.
At first they tried to cheer up the mother’s heart
with big-sounding, bantering talk, Granddad could
[37]
BLACK APRIL
outswim an otter. The river could drown him no more
than a duck. He had followed a wild turkey, or a hog
going to make her bed. It was wrong to trouble trouble
before trouble troubles you. Hogs had rooted up the
earth around the pine. Nobody had done that. Granny
hobbled up, muttering to herself between her toothless
jaws. The sun shone right into her eyes and marked
how they shifted sly looks from the fallen tree to the
earth. Her withered fingers plucked at the dirty greasy
charm thread around her wrist. One bony finger
pointed at the broken ground.
‘Whe’ is e, Granny?’’ the mother asked, and the
silence was that of a grave. Granny’s palsied head
shook harder than ever, and the mother rent the air
with her cries. Sis and the children joined in with
wails, and the dogs all howled and barked. Granny said
Old Breeze was done for! The same as the felled tree.
Who was to blame? How could she tell? Had he eaten
any strange victuals lately? Had he drunk water out of
any strange well? No? Then he must have been tricked
by somebody under his roof. Somebody who wished hint
ill had put an evil eye on him. No strong well man would
melt away unless he had been bewitched. Granny
peeped sidewise at Breeze. Where was his stepfather?
Where? Nobody answered the old woman, but feet
shuffled uneasily as she said that the whole of Sandy
Island showed signs of bewitchment. When had it
rained? The fowls’ eggs hatched poorly. The cows lost
their cuds. The fish didn’t bite. Shooting stars kept
the sky bright every night. Black works were the cause!
Then everybody chimed in; it must be as Granny said.
And the old woman looked straight at Breeze. He was
born with second sight. The young moon was here. This
was the time when all those who are cheated out of life
come back and walk on this earth whenever a young
moon shines. If Old Breeze had met with foul death,
[38]
APRIL’S SON
he’d come back that night and walk around that very
pine as soon as the first dark came. Young Breeze must
watch for him and talk with him and find out what had
happened to him. Nobody else on Sandy Island could
talk to spirits like that boy. He had been born with a
caul over his face, and that strange thing that had veiled
his eyes when he came into the world gave them the
power to see things other people could never witness.
Spirits and hants and ghosts and plat-eyes.
Granny’s talk made Breeze’s flesh creep cold on his
bones. His blood stopped running. Fear tried to put
wings on his feet, but he clung to his mother’s skirt and
wept, for even the shadows began an uncertain flickering
and wavering as if they’d reach out and grab him.
“‘Hogs ain’ rooted up de ground. Not no hogs what
walks on fo’ legs. No. Sperits might ’a’ done it—but
whe’s you’ husban’, gal? Whe’ e is?’’
Nobody knew. Nobody ever knew. And Breeze was
too coward-hearted to watch for his grandfather’s spirit.
No matter how Granny scolded him, he couldn’t do it.
Days afterward, April, the foreman on Blue Brook
Plantation, came to Sandy Island, bringing a pair of
blue overalls holding pieces of a man. He had fished
them up out of the Blue Brook itself where they had
drifted instead of going on down to the river’s mouth.
Old Breeze had worn blue overalls that Monday
morning. Maybe it was he. More than likely it was he.
Granny was certain of it.
The stepfather had disappeared with the money
buried at the foot of the old dead pine, but April stayed
to help dig a grave and bury the poor thing he had
found. The mother shrieked and wailed, but Granny
grunted and shook her head. She said Old Breeze’s body
floated to Blue Brook on purpose so April could find it,
for April was Old Breeze’s son, and, more than that,
April was li’l’ Breeze’s daddy |
[39}
III
COUSIN BIG SUE
Breeze had heard about Blue Brook Plantation all
his life, but he had never heard about his mother’s
Cousin Big Sue until one hot October afternoon when
he was minding the cow by the spring branch and help-
ing his mother break in the precious nubbins of corn
and put them in the log barn. Sis called them to come
on home in a hurry! The stepfather had gone to town
hunting work. Maybe he had come home. Sis’s voice
was high and shrill and seared, and Breeze knew some-
thing had happened. These hot days the mother always
worked in the field until first dark because that was the
coolest part of the day, and Sis, who stayed at home and
sewed and patched and cooked, never called anybody
until after the sun went down.
Breeze forgot that the eow was in reach of the low-
ground corn and hurried across the stubby furrows as
fast as his skinny legs could carry him, but he stopped
short when he saw a big fat black woman with a good-
natured smile on her face, standing beside Sis in the
eabin’s back door. Who was she? Why had she come?
Why did Sis look so grieved?
The other children were in the yard, giggling, trying
to hide behind one another, but the woman’s eyes stayed
on Breeze.
‘*T kin see de likeness!’’ she laughed. ‘‘Lawd, yes!
Dat boy is de pure spit o’ April! De same tar-black
[40]
COUSIN BIG SUE
skin. De same owl eyes. A mouth blue as blackberry
stain.’’
Breeze had run so fast he was out of breath and his
heart beat against his ribs as he watched his mother kiss
the stranger and go inside the cabin with her. Presently
Sis called him to come in too.
The mother put an arm around him and drew him
up close to her side. Her sleeve was wet with sweat, her
body hot and steamy, but her hand was cold and shaking
like a leaf. How weak and frail she looked beside the
fat outsider, who held out a thick hot hand to shake
Breeze’s. The gold rings on it matched the gold hoop
earrings glittering in her small ears, and they felt hard
as they pressed against his fingers.
In the silence that followed Breeze looked at the big
woman’s sleek smooth face. It was round and tight like
her fleshy body but with dimples in its cheeks like baby
Sonny’s. She took a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles out
of her pocket and put them on, then leaned back in her
ehair and laughed a queer gurgling laugh that widened
her flat nostrils and stretched her full lips.
‘‘Lawd, ain’t it funny how dat boy favors his pa!
Dat’s a pity too. A boy-chile ought to favor his ma to
be lucky. I hope e ain’ gwine be de devil April ever
was. April was born wid a caul de same way. Lawd,
e’s a case too!’’
Without giving his mother time to answer she talked
on; her son Lijah was like her and her girl, Joy, the
image of Silas, her husband. Thank God, Joy didn’t
have ways like Silas. He was good-looking enough, but
God never made a more trifling creature than Silas. He
ran off and left her seven years ago and she had raised
those two children all by herself. Lijah was in Fluridy
now. Or maybe it was Kintucky, she wasn’t certain
which ; but he was the worst man in the town where he
[41]
BLACK APRIL
lived. Everybody was scared to meddle with Lijah.
She laughed and rubbed her fat hands together. No-
body would ever run over her Lijah. He took after her
that way. Now Joy was different. Joy was weak and
easy. But she was a nice girl. She was in town, going
to college, getting educated. Joy wouldn’t rest until she
got a depluma. When she got it, she’d teach school or
marry some fine stylish town man. Joy was a stylish
girl herself. Maybe too slim, now, but she’d thicken out.
When she was Joy’s age, Silas could span her waist
with his two hands. Joy would father up too when she
reached a settled age.
Cousin Big Sue rolled out her talk without stopping
to catch one breath, and all the time her small sparkle-
berry eyes roved a Breeze’ s face to his mother’s, then
back to Breeze again.
The mother sat huddled low in her chair, her fore-
head wrinkled, her shoulders drooped. She reached out
and took baby Sonny from Sis, and with fingers that
shook she unbuttoned her dirty sweaty dress to feed him.
For the first time in his life Breeze noticed her poor
ragged underclothes and her bony feet and legs. They
looked so lean and skinny beside Cousin Big Sue’s tight-
filled stockings and wide laced-up shoes.
Two bright tears fell swiftly in baby Sonny’s fuzzy
wool and shone there, two clear drops. Breeze was about
to ery himself for his mother’s stooped body looked so
pitiful. The corners of her mouth were pinched in and
the back of her dress, all darkened with sweat from the
hard work she had been doing, was humped out in two
places by the bones of her thin shoulder-blades. But
baby Sonny bobbed his head in such a funny way as he
seized the long thin breast that came flopping out. He
crowed and kicked his little feet with joy just as if that
ugly flesh was the finest thing in the world. Breeze
forgot himself and laughed out loud.
[42]
COUSIN BIG SUE
Cousin Big Sue’s fat hands stroked each other
gently, and the laugh that oozed out of her mouth
squeezed her eyes almost shut.
““Dat boy Breeze is got nice teeth, enty? But Lawd,
his gums sho’ is blue! April’s got ’em too. An’ April’s
wife, Leah, is got ’em. Dat’s dog eat dog, enty? I wish
dis boy didn’ had ’em, but I know e won’t never bite
me. Will you, son?’’
Breeze felt so shamefaced he shut his mouth tight
and hung his head, and his mother began telling Big
Sue about the terrible dry-drought. How it had worked
a lot of deviltry since June. The crops had promised to
make a fair yield, and she kept stirring the earth to
encourage them to hold on to their leaves and blossoms,
even if they couldn’t grow. But the hot sun wouldn’t
let a drop of rain fall, no matter how the clouds sailed
overhead full of thunder and lightning. The leaves all
got limp and dry. Sis said they were hanging their heads
to pray, but they stayed limp, then they parched brown
and dried up and fell off. The peas-patch didn’t make
enough hay to stuff a mattress. The corn planted on the
hill looked like dried onions. The patch of corn in the
rich low-ground, close by the spring branch, had done
little better. Mid-summer found every blade with its
hands shut up tight, trying to hold on to what little sap
the sun left. The grass quit trying to be green and the
cow had nothing to eat but the coarse bitter weeds grow-
ing alongside the spring branch. She was nearly gone
dry. What little milk she gave was skimpy and rank,
and turned to clabber soon as it cooled. The cream was
ropy, and the curds tough. When the butter was
churned it wouldn’t gather, but laid down flat like
melted lard.
The hens had quit laying and spent the summer pant-
ing air in and out of wide open mouths, with their wings
away off from their bodies, trying to get cool. The old
£43]
BLACK APRIL
sow had quit rooting and stayed in the mud-hole wal-
lowing, until the mud baked into squares like an
alligator’s hide. She had no milk for her pigs, and those
that didn’t starve turned into runts.
Winter was coming. Not a leaf of collards was
growing, the few nubbins of corn left wouldn’t make
bread to last until Christmas. God only knew how she’d
feed the children. :
When she leaned down to wipe her eyes on her skirt,
baby Sonny raised up his hard little head and jerked it
down on her breast with a hungry butt, and Breeze for-
got again and snickered out. Not that he would ever
make sport of Sonny. Never in the world. He loved
every crinkly tuft of wool on the baby’s head, every tiny
finger and toe. Even if he didn’t grow a bit, his light-
ness made him easy to hold. Breeze loved him better
than all the other children put together because he was
small and weak.
Big Sue broke into a bright smile. ‘‘Son, I’m sho’
glad you love to laugh. I love to laugh my own self.’’
Her narrow eyes sparkled through her gold-rimmed
spectacles, and her wide loose lips spread across her
face. ‘‘De people on Blue Brook is almost quit laughin’
since de boll-evils come. But boll-evils don’ fret me. I
cooks at de Big House. An’ no matter if de buckra is at
Blue Brook or up-North whe’ dey stays most o’ de time,
I has all de victuals an’ money I wants. I has more’n I
kin use. It’s de Gawd’s truth. You’ll sho’ have sin, if
you don’ give me dat boy to raise. Po’ as you is, much
mouths as you got to fill, you ought to be glad to git
shet o’ one. You better listen good at all I say. I'll
train em good. I’ll fatten em up. I'll learn em to have
manners. Dis same boy might git to be foreman at Blue
Brook yet. E comes from dat foreman breed. You
sho’ ought not to stand in his way. No, ma’am,”’
J44]
COUSIN BIG SUE
If she wanted a boy-child to raise why didn’t Cousin
Big Sue choose one of the others? Maybe she didn’t like
the way their shirts were unbuttoned, with their naked
bodies showing down to their waists. Their ragged
breeches were not only dirty but ripped open.
Breeze’s heart fluttered like a trapped bird’s. Fright
had him paralyzed so he couldn’t run off and hide. His
mother looked shrunken, withered. <A few tears fell
from her eyes as they stared out of the door.
““T bet you ain’t got decent victuals for supper right
now. I got plenty, yonder home.’’
Cousin Big Sue’s eyes were riveted on Breeze, as she
declared he’d be far better off with her than here with
his mother, and a house full of starved-out children,
growing up in ignorance and rags. She’d teach him and
train him and raise him to be a fine man, to know how to
do all kinds of work, to make money and wear shoes and
fine clothes like her Lijah.
““April’’—she peeped sidewise at the mother when
she spoke the name—‘‘ April’s de foreman at Blue Brook,
an’ e’ll help me raise Breeze. E tol’ me so las’ night.’’
The mother listened and looked at Sis. Sis slowly
nodded back, yes. Breeze burst out crying. He begged
them not to give him away. He didn’t want to leave
home. He wanted to stay right there and be hungry
and ragged. He liked to grow up in ignorance and sin.
The shed-room was open so that Big Sue saw the
beds covered with old quilts worn into holes. She said
Breeze would have good quilts and a feather-bed at her
house. The softest lightest feather-bed in the world. It
was stuffed with breast feathers plucked off the wild
ducks she’d picked and cooked for the white folks at the
Big House. Breeze would think he was sleeping on air.
She had dry-picked the ducks so the feathers would be
puffy, though scalding would have made picking easier.
[45]
BLACK APRIL
She’d buy him a pair of ready-made pants from the
store, and two or three shirts. She’d get shirts with
tails on them like a grown man’s shirt.
After that first outery Breeze couldn’t make a sound
with his voice, for a lump rose in his throat and choked
him. He’d rather stay at home and do without bread,
or bed.
“‘Please, please——’’ he wailed. But his words
were dumb and his crying did no good.
The day was moving. The shadow east by the china.
berry tree had stretched from the front steps to thé
four-o’clocks over on the other side. Big Sue said she
must go. A long walk was ahead, and her feet were not
frisky these days.
Breeze could scarcely take in what had happened.
He was given away. When Big Sue closed her warm,
wet-feeling hand over his and led him away down the
path that followed the deep, wide black river, he
wanted to scream out, to yell that he didn’t want to go.
But he couldn’t. He couldn’t even stop his feet fron
stepping side by side with hers, one step after another
Something about this big fat woman kept his mouth
shut. Even when the long sandy path was behind, an¢
he could see the ferry-flat, that would take him across
the river, he couldn’t speak, and the throat lump had
swelled to a great big ache in his breast.
When a sudden patter of feet sounded behind him
Breeze looked around expecting to see a fawn go across
the road, but instead, there was Sis, with her arms out-
spread. She ran straight to him, fast as she could, and
with a sharp little cry hugged him tight. She pressed
her soft cheek, wet with tears, on his and whispered in
his ear that he must go like a man, and try to be a good
boy. She held him close for a minute, then without
another word let him go, and ran. She was soon hidden
[46]
COUSIN BIG SUE
from his eyes by the bend in the road. He strove for
one more glimpse of her, but he could see nothing but
trees and shadows.
They had reached the far end of the island and the
dim road turned to drop down to the river where the
flat waited, floating with one end tied up close to a
eypress knee. Nobody was in sight. Big Sue stopped.
‘Whe’ is you, Uncle?’’ She shouted. Echoes answered
and reechoed. ‘‘Come on, Uncle! Le’s go!’’ She
waited, then grumbled. ‘‘Lawd! Uncle’s too deef.’’
A few steps nearer the river showed a little old man,
sitting crumpled up with his back against a tree. His
head was dropped forward, his old cap awry, showing
the milk-white wool on his head. Big Sue broke out
laughing and went close enough to him to yell in his ear.
At once he jumped awake, jerked his chin up off his
breast, sat up straight. His eyes, dazed with sleep,
gazed around, groping for the sound. When they found
Big Sue hiding, he joined her laughter with a hearty
eackle that bared his pink toothless gums set in the
midst of the bristling white whiskers that stood out
around his jaws and chin, fiercely denying the bright
twinkle in his eyes.
““Makin’ a lil’ nap, Uncle? I ecouldn’t sleep on
Sandy Island, not to save life.’’
Yes, he admitted, he had dropped off. No use to lie,
for he’d been caught. Sleep was a tricky thing. A sly-
moving thief. Always stealing time from somebody. He
gave a wide-mouthed yawn, stretched his arms to try the
sleeves of his long-tailed faded black coat, then strove to
get his crooked legs straightened, to unbend his knock-
knees, and get his stumbling feet clear of the rough
footing made by the great puckered roots around the
tree. When he finally reached the clear ground he
appeared to see Breeze for the first time.
[47]
BLACK APRIL
“‘Lawd, Big Sue, you had luck fo’ true! I too glad! —
‘Wha’ you’ name, son? Come shake hands wid Uncele.’’
He made a polite bow when he took Breeze’s hand,
his dry old face shone with a kindly smile, his frock
coat opened, showing a flowered waistcoat underneath.
‘A good-size boy too. E ought to could plow by
next spring. Sho’! How old you is, son?’’ Uncle
stood back on his heels, straight as a ram-rod, his eyes
sparkling as he praised Breeze’s looks.
‘‘T gwine on twelve, suh,’’ Breeze answered. But
Big Sue put her mouth up close to the old man’s ear
and bawled:
‘His mammy say e’s gwine on twelve, but e looks
mighty small to me. You t’ink e’s a runt?’’
Uncle’s eyes watched her lips.
**No, no, Sue, dis boy ain’ no runt. You feed em up.
E’ll fill out an’ grow. Bread an’ meat all two is been
sea’ce on Sandy Island since de dry-drought hit em las’
summer. You keep de boy’s belly full, an’ dis time nex’
year you wouldn’ know em.’’
‘‘T wouldn’ live on such po’ land!’’ Big Sue bawled
again. ‘‘Not me! Dis sand looks white as sugar. T’ank
Gawd, us home yonder is on black land what kin hold
water !”’
**You like de black land, enty? No wonder, black
as you is, gal!’’ Uncle chuckled at his joke.
“*Sho’! Gi’ me black land eve’y time! You ain’t so
white you’self, Uncle. ”’
Uncle missed her last words. He was too busy laugh-
ing and talking.
““You like you own color, enty, gal?’’
Big Sue nodded and joined in heartily with his
hollow clattering guffaws.
‘Gi’ me de black all de time. White t’ings is too
weakly !’’ she shouted gaily, as Uncle led the way toward
[48]
COUSIN BIG SUE
the flat. Big Sue followed, holding Breeze’s hand tight.
She picked her way down the short sandy hill with slow
uncertain ai
“*T ain’ use to shoes an’ dey aden my feet in dis
sand,’’ she explained loudly, but Uncle was busy start-
ing the flat across the river. Grunting, straining until
veins showed in his forehead, he finally got the water-
logged hulk to moving by means of a rusty cable and a
curious narrow board with notches cut in one side so it
could clutch the cable tight.
The sun fell lower as they slowly crossed. Colors
of the sky on the still water made a band of flame, of
scarlet and purple down the middle of the dark stream,
that spread out into the marshy forest.
The old ferryman paused in his pulling and mut-
tered, as he gazed at the sunset; then with a bright look
at Breeze, and a chuckle, he began pulling hard again.
A flock of crows streaked the sky, going home; a lone
fish-hawk sailed not far behind them; tiny swamp
_ sparrows twittered and chattered.
Night was coming and the whole world knew it. The
wind dropped into a quiet whispering, waiting for the
tide to turn. Every tree and leaf and bough, even the
water itself, was darkening. Squirrels chittered softly
in their nests, a wildcat yeowled gently. Breeze’s
heart, that had been thumping miserably in his breast,
now beat up in his throat and the lump that had risen
when he told his mother good-by swelled bigger and
harder than ever. Tears that had been stinging his eyes
all the way began rolling down his cheeks.
He turned his back, and easing a hand stealthily up
to his face, tried to brush them away. Cousin Big Sue
mustn’t see him ery. Sis said he must be a man and try
to be good.
He suddenly forgot his sorrow when swarms of tiny,
[49]
: . a
BLACK APRIL 3 |
almost invisible insects rose from nowhere, and settled
in his eyes and ears and nostrils and teeth, with a fierce
singing and stinging that was maddening. He took off
his ragged hat and tried to fight them away, but they
ignored its waving. As fast as he killed what seemed
to be handfuls, by crushing them on his face and neck
and bare legs, others took their places. Sand-flies and
mosquitoes were eating him up. Cousin Big Sue had to
fight them too, but Uncle was not troubled at all.
“Ts de sand.flies pesterin’ sh leg he asked
mildly.
‘*Great Gawd, dey sho’ is!’
“Git some sweat out you’ armpits an’ rub on you’
face. Dat’ll run ’em!”’
‘‘Do, Uncle! Fo’ Gawd’s sake! I ain’ no filthy ol’
man like you! I washes myself!’’
‘“Wha’ dat you say, daughter ?”’
Big Sue broke into a laugh. ‘‘I ain’ say nuttin!
Not nuttin!’’
Uncle calmly worked on, unconscious of what she
said. Sweat trickled over his wrinkled face, but it kept
its pleasant smile. More than once Big Sue opened her
mouth to speak, but closed it without a word, and her
face was as doleful as if, like Breeze, she was lonely and
homesick.
Breeze wondered bitterly why he hadn’t run away
and hidden down in the branch where nobody would
ever find him? Baby partridges, or new hatched
guineas, will sneak under a leaf and stay there until
they die before they’ll let a stranger find them. Why
didn’t he do it? He would rather die by himself in the
woods than be here on his way to live with this strange
woman whose wind was broken.
The sticky mud on the bank had shown no respect
for Big Sue’s wide-laced shoes. It clung to their soles
[50]
COUSIN BIG SUF
and stained their shiny tops. The hem of her stiff
starched white apron was streaked with dirt. Every-
thing here was strange and unfriendly. The water and
trees, the tangled vines and rank undergrowth were all
dark and scary. Snakes and alligators and hog-bears
and jack-o’-lanterns lived in such places. More than
likely hants and plat-eyes and fever and spirits were
thick all around. Suppose he’d see them now, with his
second sight! He didn’t want to see anything but his
home yonder behind him, and it was too far to see even
_the smoke rising out of its low clay chimney. A thick
green dusk had risen up from the earth, cutting off the
shore on the other side of the river.
The cable slapped the water as it drew the flat across.
The old man kept up his grunting and straining. He
was not afraid, although he was so old that the years
had dried up the flesh on his crooked bones. Breeze
jumped sharply, startled and bewildered, when, without
any warning, the old man’s laughter cackled out. Look-
ing down where the old bent forefinger pointed, he
caught sight of an alligator which settled slowly, noise-
lessly, under the water until only its two eyes made
small dark bumps above the smooth surface.
‘“De alligator see you, son!’’ the old man squeaked
out gleefully, and Big Sue broke into shouts of
laughter.
‘“Great Gawd,’’ she cried. ‘‘Do look how e gaze at
you, Breeze. E mus’ be hongry! E don’ see how you’s
po’ asasnake! You’ li’l’ bones would pure rattle inside
dat big creeter’s belly.’’
Stinging homesickness filled Breeze’s heart. Why
had he come? Truly, this was out of his world. But
there was no way to turn back. None. Shrill piercing
bird-cries that rose and fell out of the sky answered
something that ached in his heart,
[51]
TV.
JULIA
OverHeaD the high thin air swished, beaten by the
wings of wild ducks that flew swiftly across the sky in
an even fan-shaped line. Uncle kept looking up at
them. Once when he spoke to them in strange muttered
words, Big Sue observed:
‘‘Lawd, do listen at Uncle! A-talkin’ to dem ducks
same as if dey was speerits!’’
The trees leaned dreamily over the water which
trembled as the sun turned it to dark blood. Uncle’s
pulling slackened. The flat touched the firm earth at
last.
With amazing nimbleness the old man hopped out
and tied it fast to a tree, his crooked fingers fumbling
stubbornly with the frayed rope until he was satisfied
it would hold; then he followed Big Sue and Breeze up
a short sandy climb where the road made a swift bend
and ran underneath great trees whose thick branches
lapped overhead, shutting out all but small white pieces
of the sky.
A bony gray mule hitched to a two-wheeled car stood
tethered to a limb. Uncle hobbled to the beast’s head:
“Wake up, Julia! Open you’ eyes, gal! You too love
to nod! Dat’s de biggest fault I got to find wid you!
Lula was a wakeful mule! lLawd, yes!’’
Big Sue was panting and climbing in over the cart’s
wheel, using the hub for a step. She sat on a board laid
across the body. Breeze got in and sat on the floor.
[52]
JULIA
Uncle crawled over the dashboard, and jerking the rope
lines urged Julia to move on.
**Mind, Julia! Don’ git me vexed! I ain’ used to
no triflin’ ways! Lula was pearter’n dis!’’ Uncle sat
up very straight and his tone was terribly threatening.
Julia shook the gnats out of her ears, then snorted
them out of her nose, but not until Uncle got to his feet
and, raising a long dry stick high as his arm could reach,
brought it down on her hip with a powerful whack did
she move out of her tracks.
**Git up, Julia!’’ He gave her another lick, and she
turned slowly about and got into the sandy road.
Big Sue heaved a weary sigh.
‘*‘Julia is de laziest mule I ever seen in my life,
Uncle! Whilst you was a-buyin’ one, whyn’t you git a
spry one?’’
‘Julia ain’ lazy. K’s just careful. Julia knows dis
cart ain’ so strong.’’
‘**T hear-say Julia kicks awful bad sometimes!’’
“‘Who?t Julia? No, ma’am! Julia’s kind as kin
be!’
‘*E looks awful old, Uncle.’’
‘‘Julia ain’ no more’n ten.’’
‘“‘How come e front knees is so bent over if e ain’
old?”’
“‘Bent over? Julia’s got to bend e knees to walk,
enty?’’
‘Well do, fo’ Gawd’s sake, lick em an’ make em
walk 2 li’l’ faster. We wouldn’t git home befo’ to-mor-
row if you don’t. Lawd, I’m sorry Lula’s dead.”’
‘“Me too, Big Sue. Now Lula was a mule fo’ true.
Lula was de finest mule ever was on Blue Brook. Julia
ain’ got no time wid em. Lula had sense like people. I
miss em too bad. I ruther de boll-evils had eat up all
de cotton on de plantation dan to ’a’ had Lula pizened.
[53]
BLACK APRIL
I told April to don’ fetch dat pizen to de place. 1
knowed somet’ing bad was gwine happen soon as he
done it. But April is a headstrong man. Nobody can’
change him when he gits his mind made up.’’
‘‘ April tries to be big doins’ like de buckra, enty?’’
‘“No, gal, not like de buckra. April’s done passed by
de buckra! April aims to do like Gawd now!”’
“‘Shut you’ mouth, Uncle! You’s a case!’’ Big Sue
roared with laughter.
‘‘April better quit pizenin’ all dem bugs Gawd put
in de cotton!’’ Uncle contended.
Big Sue pondered over this, but presently she
grinned and slipped a look at Uncle.
‘“When Lula died, whyn’t you bought a awtymobile,
Uncle? I hear say you got plenty o’ money buried all
round you’ house.”’
‘““Who? Me? Great Gawd! I ain’ got fi’ cents
buried! But if I had a t’ousand dollars I wouldn’ buy
a awtymobile! Not me!’’
‘“How come so?’’
‘‘Lawd, dey smells too bad! An’ I seen how dey
treats de buckra. Dey goes sound to sleep on de road
any time dey gits ready. Soon’s dey gits in deep sand
whe’ de pullin’ is tight, dey squats right down an’ dozes
off. You can’ lick ’em wid no stick like I licks Julia to
wake ’em up. No, ma’am. You have to set an’ wait on
’em till dey nap is out. Dey kin dead easy too. I
wouldn’ trust to buy one. No, Jedus. Dey breath is
stink as a pole-cat too.’’
‘‘Lawd, Uncle, you is a case in dis world! A heavy
case !””
Unele’s eyes twinkled. ‘‘You ax me so much a ques-
tions, now le’ me ax you one. How come you’ wind is so
short, daughter? You been puffin’ like a steamboat ever
since you come up dat li’l’ small hill.’’
[54]
JULIA
Big Sue’s hands caught at each other anxiously. ‘‘I
dunno, Uncle. My wind is short fo’ true. E’s been short
since last Sunday was a week. I eat a piece 0’ possum
what was kinder spoilt fo’ my supper last night, an’
I ain’ been hardly able to travel all day. Spoilt victuals
never did set right in my stomach, somehow. I don’
know how come so.’’
As Uncle studied, his eyes snapped. ‘‘Sp’ilt possum
meat wouldn’ hurt nobody. You looks to me like you’s
conjured. You’ eyes looks strainin’. You must ’a’
crossed somebody dat Sunday.”’
Big Sue’s fat face looked ready to ery. ‘‘I ain’ never
done nobody a harm t’ing in my life, Uncle. I stays
home all de time. I goes to church on Sunday, den I
comes straight back home. I don’ hardly go to meetin’
on Wednesday night. I went all de way to Sandy Island
to. git dis boy, by I was so lonesome yonder home
by myself. Who you reckon would conjure me, Uncle?’’
Unele shook his head gravely. That was hard to tell.
Some people get mighty mean if you cross them.
*‘T don’ cross nobody, Uncle.’’ Big Sue was whim-
pering. ‘‘Not nobody! I ever was peaceable.’’
‘‘TIs you an’ Leah friendly dese days? Leah is a
mighty jealous ’oman, Big Sue.’’ Uncle’s eyes sparkled
as they sought Big Sue’s, but she met them boldly.
“‘T ain’ got April to study "bout, Uncle.”’
A smile twitched Uncle’s dry wrinkled face. ‘‘How
*bout de new town preacher, daughter? I hear-say you
an’ Leah all two is raven "bout em. Better mind. De
next t’ing you know dat same preacher’ll make you have
sin.’’
Big Sue laughed with relief. ‘‘No, Uncle. You’s
on de wrong trail now. A preacher couldn’t. make me
have sin, anyhow.’’
‘‘How come so?”’
[55]
BLACK ArRIL
‘‘De preacher’s a Christian man, enty? An’I isa
Christian, enty? One clean sheet can’ soil another,
Uncele.’”’
“‘Shut you’ fool-mouth, Big Sue. You, neither dat
preacher, neither Leah, ain’ no cleaner’n nobody else.
You kin have sin de same as me. Sho’ you kin!’’
Uncle brought his stick down with a whack on
Julia’s back.
[56]
MV,
BLUE BROOK
Lirtie by little the cart creaked along, leaving the
grove of live-oaks at the landing behind, then crossing
the pasture where the rich land lay unplowed, unsown,
but covered with lush grass and sprinkled with flowers.
Some of them bloomed so close to the ruts that their
heads were caught in the cart wheels and shattered.
The fields came next, ripe corn-fields, hay-fields
ready to be harvested, brown cotton-fields, dripping
with white locks of cotton. Whirls of yellow butterflies
played along the road. Flocks of bull-bats darted about
overhead in the sky, twittering joyfully as they caught
gnats and mosquitoes for their supper. White cranes
flew toward sunset, field larks sang out, killdees rose
and sailed off erying. The whole earth was full of
sound.
Beyond the field near the river a group of low houses,
“‘the Quarters,’’ crouched in a grove of tall trees.
Smoke from the chimneys settled in long bands of still
blue haze. Breeze could smell its oak flavor. Human
voices called out to one another, children shouting,
laughing, playing, all of them strangers to him. It set
his limbs to quivering, his heart to fluttering. He had
nobody here. Nobody!
On a path that skirted the cotton-field a skinny little
black girl swinging on the end of a rope was being
jerked along by a large red cow that stubbornly refused
to follow the narrow path threading across the field.
[57]
BLACK APRIL
The beast had run out between the rows of cotton stalks,
and with a deft tongue was licking, right and left,
swallowing lock after lock of white staple. Uncle got
to his feet.
“Git a stick, Emma! Lick em! April’ll kill you,
an’ de cow too, if you knock out da cotton! Lawd, de
field’s white! We sho’ made a crop dis year!’’
The girl’s quick eyes glanced back, her small mouth
gave a grin. Taking one end of the rope for a whip
she fell to beating on the sides and back of the cow with
such zeal that it left off its eating, and with a long
mournful low, turned into the path that crossed the
field and led toward the Quarters. The child tugged at
the rope and strove to master the beast, whose dragging
steps raised a cloud of dust that shone as it floated low
through the evening’s bright afterglow.
The dusk crept out across the fields wiping out the
day’s light. Fires in the cabins made every doorway
shine. Long blue streams of smoke rose up from the
chimneys and trailed in the sky. Tiny birds flitted and
cheeped in the thickets. Sheep bleated. Shouts and
snatches of song mingled with wagons rattling.
‘‘Kmma’s a funny 1li’l’ ereeter!’’ Big Sue re-
marked. ‘‘E look like a witch to me.’’
But Uncle hadn’t heard her, for he was busy jerking
the rope lines, trying to hurry Julia’s slow steps. When
a closed iron gate finally embarred them, Julia stopped
short and Uncle gave a sigh. ‘‘T’ank Gawd, we’s home
at last.’’
At each side of the gate was a house: one a small
church, with a steep roof and pointed windows; the
other a cabin with a fire blazing high in its wide
chimney.
Big Sue yelled out at the top of her voice, ‘‘Do,
Uncle! Please, suh! Go all de way wid us.’’
[58]
BLUE BROOK
But the old man pretended not to hear her, and said
to Breeze, ‘‘Son, I knowed you’ grampa good, when e
wa’n’t as high as you. You’ grampa was my own sister’s
chillen.’’
Then he got out of the cart, went into the cabin and
came out bringing a big iron key. He unlocked the gate
and opened it wide enough for them to pass through.
Big Sue shouted in a coaxing tone, ‘‘Do, Uncle, let
Julia take us all de way. I so scared o’ de boggy place
yonder in de middle o’ de avenue. If I was to git in,
em Gawd knows how deep I’d sink down.”’
At the thought of such a dreadful thing Uncle joined
in Big Sue’s gales of laughter, chattering in between his
eackles. ‘‘Great Gawd, daughter! Sho! You right! I
better go long wid you! Da bog can’ fool me. I know
em too good. I’ll go long an’ show you de way.’’
““You ought to try an’ git em drained befo’ de
buckra comes home dis winter. Dat bog likened to swal-
lowed up a big awtymobile las’ year.”’
Breeze was sure Uncle Isaac heard her, but instead
of answering, the old man gave a powerful grunt and
said the weather would be casting up for rain soon. The
misery in his crippled knee had been jumping up and
down all day long.
Big Sue told Breeze ‘‘de buckra’’ were white people
who owned the plantation. They didn’t stay here much,
but they would come from up-North as soon as frost
killed out the fever here and wild ducks got thick in
the rice-fields.
The wabbly cart creaked slowly on. The weird lone-
liness and strangeness of the twilit avenue made
Breeze feel very lonely and sorrowful. The mule’s
feet were heavy and made unwilling logy steps as they,
slowly carried Breeze farther and farther from all the
paths and places he’d ever known.
[59]
BLACK APRIL
Uncle Isaac jumped out of the wagon, and putting
the rope lines in Big Sue’s hands, began poking and
feeling with his stick in the still black water that covered
the two ruts in the driveway. Julia must keep to the
right of the road. The middle looked safe, but it was
tricky. It didn’t show how deep and miry the mud in
it was. It couldn’t fool Lula, but Julia was strange to
it. With his stick and queer words he told Julia exactly
where to walk until the bad boggy place that Big Sue
feared was behind them. He’d walk the rest of the way.
Julia would move faster if he went. ahead.
The long avenue was bordered with enormous live-
oak trees, whose great low branches, almost hidden by
drooping gray moss, completely shut the road in, making
it a long damp dimly-lighted shadow. Uncle pegged
along steadily in front, his stick stepping as importantly
as either crooked leg. Once in a while he turned around
and spilled out broken stammering words, his cheerful
grins showing his empty gums.
The avenue of those gloomy moss-hung oaks began to
seem endless, for the road was soft and wet and the mule
would not hurry, but at last a white fence made of slen-
der pickets stood in front. Julia stopped short and
Unele Isaac sighed. ‘‘You an’ de li’l’ boy may as well
git out now. You kin go de rest 0’ de way by you’se’f.’’
He suggested that they’d better go through the front
yard. Nobody was at home so it wouldn’t matter. The
path around the side was weedy. Snakes were walking
fast now and he’d hate for Breeze to be bitten as soon
as he set foot on Blue Brook.
Taking off his ragged cap, he bowed a low good
night. He was glad a boy blessed with second-sight had
come to live on the plantation. April was wise to get
him here.
Big Sue thanked him, and, taking Breeze by the
[60] ss
BLUE BROOK
hand, led him through the gate and along the drive-
way that curved between box-borders around a large bed
of shrubbery that Big Sue said was shaped like a heart.
“ If the white folks were home they couldn’t come
this way,but since they weren’t she was glad for Breeze
to see the Big House. It was the finest and largest one
ever built on the Neck, and that was saying a lot, for in
the old days, before most of the houses were burned or
left to rot down, the Neck was a vast rich country.
In the fading light the great white house had an old
gray look like everything else here, from Julia and the
wool on Uncle Isaac’s head, to the moss swinging down
from the huge age-twisted limbs of the giant oaks.
Breeze counted the six white columns rising from the
brick-paved porch, a step above the ground, to the cor-
niced roof. Every door, every green window shutter
was closed. No sign of smoke rose from the tall red
brick chimneys. The background of shrubs and flowers
was deadly still and so full of deep darkness, Breeze held
his breath.
Big Sue sniffed. ‘‘Lawd, ain’t de flowers sweet?
Jedus, have mercy! Dey pure cuts at my heart strings!
Watch whe’ you step, son. Seems to me like I smell a
snake too.’’
*‘No’m, dat’s a watermelon.”’
‘‘Enty? Dey smell a good deal alike, rattlesnakes an’
watermelons. It’s easy to take one fo’ de other, spe-
cially when de watermelons is kind o’ green.”’
They crossed the back yard, which was clean-swept
and white with sand, then passed by the kitchen where
Big Sue cooked the white folks’ victuals. It was a long
low white-washed building with plenty of room inside,
but Big Sue said when the duck shooting and deer hunt-
ing started that kitchen could hardly hold all the game.
Not only ducks and deer, but partridges and wild
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BLACK APRIL
turkeys and squirrels and oysters and turtles. As soon
as a killing frost made the place safe from fever they’d
be coming. Lots of ducks were already here. Lord, how
she had to turn! Those white folks were heavy eaters.
Breeze could make himself mighty useful helping
her, bringing in stove wood, running fast with the hot
waffles, so they’d get to the dining-room before they got
cold. Cold waffles are not fit to eat, and the kitchen was
so far off it took quick moving feet to get anything into
the house crisp and hot. But it’s dangerous to have a
kitchen on to a house. Some of the best houses on the
Neck caught fire and burned down as soon as kitchens
were built up close to them.
A short straight clear path ran from the kitchen to
the door of Big Sue’s home, a squatty cabin of white-
washed boards with the floor of its tiny front porch only
one step up.
Big Sue pulled up her top skirt and her fat hand
fumbled for the pocket of her petticoat, her hussy, she
called it, where she carried her house key tied to a
small flat piece of wood. She unlocked the padlock fas-
tening the rusty chain that held the door tight shut,
and went into the dark front room.
A few coals blinked with red eyes from out of a
mound of ashes in the big fireplace. Big Sue well-nigh
jarred them out when she threw a heavy knot of fat
lightwood on them.
‘*Git down on de hearth an’ blow up de fire, Breeze.
I got to git off dese shoes. My toes is pure got de cramp
wid dem.”’
While Breeze placed the fat knot carefully on the
live coals, and blew on them with well-aimed puffs of
his breath until a bright yellow flame sent smoke and
sparks flying up the chimney, Big Sue groaned with
[62]
BLUE BROOK
_ trying to bend low enough to reach the strings in her
shoes. She gave it up saying:
“Do unlace dese strings, son. My wind is too short
fo’ me to strain a-tryin’ to bend down low.’’
As his nimble fingers quickly undid the hard knots
and the wide flat shoes were slipped off her fat feet, the
firelight flamed past him and lit up the room. The
walls were covered with newspapers, the floor was
scoured almost white, and the wooden bed in the corner
puffed up high with its feather mattress and many-
colored quilt.
Taking her shoes off made Big Sue a different per-
son. From being heavy and slow she became light on
her feet and quick. She took a black iron spider off the
hearth and put it over the clear hot blaze, then dropped
slices of white bacon on it to cook. While the bacon
hissed and curled up with frying, Big Sue pulled sweet
potatoes out from under the pile of hot ashes in one
corner. Those that a squeeze from her fingers showed
soft and well done she put in a pan to be eaten, the
others were put back in the ashes to cook longer. She
stirred a pot full of white cornmeal mush; collard greens,
cooked with chunks of bacon, half filled another. The
smell of food went all through the cabin every time a
pot-lid was lifted.
Big Sue gave Breeze a tin pan and a spoon, while she
took another ; but just as she leaned down to dip up the
food she glanced toward the bed. Breeze had put his
hat on it. She stopped still and glared at him.
‘“Great Gawd, boy! You put bad luck on my Joy’s
bed. I got a good mind to lick you. Take dis pin. Go
stick em in da hat. Don’ never put a hat on no bed.
You ain’ had much raisin’, or you’d know better.’’
Breeze took the pin and stuck it, as she said, in
the hat’s crown. It must stay there until morning,
[63]
BLACK APRIL
‘then he must hang the hat on a nail in the newspapered
wall.
“‘Lawd,’’ she sighed as she leaned over the pot again,
‘‘dat hat sho’ scared me. S’pose I didn’ had a pin!
Come fill you’ pan now. Eat a plenty. I want you to
grow fast so you’ll git big enough to help me work. Put
some pot liquor off de greens on you’ mush. Mush an’
pot liquor is good fo’ you. It’ll stick to you’ ribs. Sweet
potatoes an’ fat meat’ll fatten you too. You’s too small.
You’ ma says you’s gwine on twelve, but you can’ be
dat old! I hope to Gawd you ain’ a runt!”’
Breeze was ready to cry, and she changed her tone
and told him that April had a goat for him to break and
ride and drive, if he’d be a good boy and mind all she
said. April would get a goat harness and a goat wagon,
too. Breeze must get the goat tame before the little white
boy who lived in the Big House came home. White
people are so subject to fever, they can’t risk even one
night on the river before killing frost. When the nights
get warm, in the spring, they have to go away. White
“people have some mighty weak sickly ways.
Breeze had eaten too much. He was packed so full
he felt tight and uneasy. He wanted to go home to his
mother, but Big Sue kept talking fast to keep his mind
from dwelling on his troubles. Over and over she said
he was a lucky boy to be here with her at Blue Brook.
‘While he washed his pan and spoon, she got a tin basin
off the water-shelf by the door and poured it half full of
hot water out of the big black kettle simmering on the
hearth. She gave it to Breeze with a big new bar of
turpentine soap. ‘‘Wash you’ feet good and get ready
for bed, son.’’
But he had no night-clothes, no day clothes
either, except the few he brought tied up in a white
cloth. He couldn’t sleep between her clean white sheets
[64]
BLUE BROOK
in those dirty breeches and that filthy shirt! No! His
tears poured out when she got a great big garment out
of the trunk in the corner, and putting it over his head
drew the great sleeves up over his arms. As she but-
toned it up at the neck, her laughing broke into such
funny snorts Breeze had to stop erying to look at her.
Her wind must be broken fo’ true!
He had to sleep in the big bed in the corner, Joy’s
bed, to-night, to take off the bad luck his hat had put on
it. To-morrow night he’d take the bed she fixed for him
in the shed-room where Lijah used to sleep when he was
a little boy.
When Breeze crawled into Joy’s fine bed, the soft
feathers rose up gently, kindly, around his tired body,
and Big Sue leaned over and gave him several light pats.
“Sleep good, son. Dream a nice dream.’’ She fixed
the big pillow under his head, and drew up the quilts
close over his shoulders. ‘‘All you dream to-night’ll
come true, so don’t git on you’ back an’ dream a bad
dream. Sleep on you’ side. So.’’
[65]
VI
UNCLE BILL
BREEZE roused from a doze when a man’s deep boom-
ing voice called from the outside, ‘‘How you feelin’
to-night, Miss Big Sue?’’
And Big Sue called back heartily :
“Come in, Uncle Bill. I too glad fo’ see you! I’m
lonesome as kin be.”’
Cracking his eyes Breeze peeped at the tall raw-
boned man who shambled in, bringing a tin bucket
which he put on the shelf, saying he’d brought some
sweet milk for the little boy and a few sticks of wood.
Reaching up stiffly he pushed his hat farther back, then
he scratched his head awkwardly, while his deep voice
rolled out, ‘‘ You sho’ looks fine, Miss Big Sue! I declare
to Gawd, you could pass fo’ a flowers garden!”’
**Do shut you’ mouth,’’ Big Sue returned playfully.
**You talk too much sweet-mouth talk, Uncle Bill. Some
day you gwine miss an bite you’ tongue in two. Better
mind! You couldn’t preach no mo’.”’
He declared he was not to blame. How could his
mouth fail to talk sweet when he saw her? It was a
wonder the bees didn’t eat her. He dropped the handful
of sticks on the hearth, saying they were a few pieces of
driftwood he’d brought to put on her fire for luck to-
night while the old moon was in her bed.
““You must be feelin’ mighty peart to go all de way
to de beach to pick up driftwood, Uncle Bill.’’
‘*Sho’, I feel good. Like a lamb a-jumpin’. I could
[66]
UNCLE BILL
start now and travel till to-morrow’s sun shine, an’ I
wouldn’t feel noways weary.”’
‘‘Lawd, you have luck,’’ Big Sne sighed. ‘‘But do
lend me de loan 0’ you’ pipe befo’ you fix de fire. I’m
' pure weak I want to smoke so bad. I’m scared to smoke
my own. I believe it’s conjured. It ain’ smoked right
since I lent em to Leah last Sunday a week gone, right
yonder at Heaven’s Gate Church.’’ Her breath had
been cut off shorter than ever to-day. She ate a ’possum
leg last night for her supper and it was kinder spoiled
from being kept too long. She hadn’t felt exactly well
since. Spoiled food ever did make her sick. She didn’t
know why.
‘It’s because you’s such a delicate lady!’’ Uncle
Bill declared. ‘‘You ought to learn to drink milk. Nice
sweet milk. And eat honey. De angels lives on ’em. So
de Book says.’’
“‘T dunno,’’ Big Sue answered doubtfully. ‘‘I never
could stand nothin’ ’bout a cow. Not de milk or de meat
or de ways. Gi’ me a hog all de time.’’
Uncle Bill got his pipe out of his side coat pocket,
twisted its rough wooden stem tight into its bowl and
handed it to her, his lean face brightening with a smile.
‘* ain’ gwine smoke good by its new. I went to de
fig trees no longer’n yestiddy an’ cut dis stem, by my old
stem was wore out altogether. E’s gwine bite you’
tongue. I’m too sorry. I wanted you to talk some sweet
talk to me to-night !’’
‘‘Lawd, Uncle Bill, you ought to know my tongue
better’n dat. I got a strong tongue in my mouth. EH’s
trained. I done got em used to tastin’ all kinds o’ red
pepper an’ seasonin’. E kin make friends wid any pipe
stem ever was. But you go look at my li’l’ boy.”’
Breeze shut his eyes tight as Unele Bill leaned
down to look at his face.
[67]
BLACK APRIL
‘“B’s a good-size boy, but you’d be better off wid a
husband, Miss Big Sue. You see dese sticks? I went
all de way to de beach to git em. Dey’s driftwood, an’
I’m gwine burn ’em on you’ fire to-night, an’ make a
wish whilst dey’s green.”’
‘Wha’ dat you gwine to wish to-night?’’
“‘T’m gwine wish fo’ you to marry me.”’
‘‘Great Gawd, Uncle Bill!’? Laughter almost choked
her. ‘‘I can’ marry you! I got a livin’ husband right
now! You must be forgot Silas ain’ dead!’’
‘‘Silas is been gone seven years, Miss Big Sue. Gawd
don’ expect no lady to live single longer’n seven years.
No, ma’am. You kin marry me if you want to.”’
“‘T dunno,’”’ Big Sue tittered. ‘‘Sometimes my mind
do tell me to marry again. But didn’t you promise
Aun’ Katy you wouldn’ marry nobody? What ’ud she
say?’’
Uncle Bill heaved a deep sigh. ‘‘I can’ help dat. I
miss Katy so bad, I mighty nigh goes erazy yonder to
my house by himself. If you would marry me Katy
wouldn’t mind. Not abit. Katy had sense like a man.
Lawd, how I miss dat ’oman! I done made up my mind
to marry again an’ I’m gwine wish a weddin’ dress on
you whilst I burn dese same sticks on you’ fire to-night.’’
He spoke solemnly, and kneeling on the hearth he laid
the driftwood sticks carefully crossed on the coals. Then
he blew deep breaths until a slow green flame curled
up. ‘‘Fo’ Gawd’s sake, Uncle Bill! Quit you’ crazy
doin’s! You might miss an’ conjure me fo’ true.’’ Big
Sue giggled until her fat sides shook.
“‘Hush you’ laughin’ till I makes my wish, Miss Big
Sue! You got me all eye-sighted!’’
‘‘Mind how you wish in de face o’ dat fire!’’
A woman’s voice flung the drawled words into the
room so unexpectedly that Big Sue jumped to her feet,
[68]
UNCLE BILL
ealling, ‘‘Who dat?’’ and Uncle Bill gave such a start
that his wish was knocked clean out of his head.
“‘Don’ git scared. I ain’ nobody but Zeda. How
yunnuh do dis evenin’?’’
““‘Lawd, Zeda, you ought not to slip up on people dat
way!’’ Big Sue scolded, but Zeda broke into a laugh.
She stood in the door where the white cloth on her head
made a clear spot against the darkness, but her face and
hands were one with the night.
**Don’ le’ me stop you’ wishin’, Uncle Bill. Go on. I
might give you luck.’’ Zeda’s teeth flashed as she saun-
tered in with noiseless barefoot steps. She couldn’t sit
down; she was on her way to Bina’s birth-night supper
at the Quarters. She just came by to see the boy-child
Big Sue had brought from Sandy Island.
‘‘Ei’s sleep right yonder in Joy’s bed.’’
‘‘Lawd, you got a sizable boy, enty? E looks mighty
long. Long as Leah’s Brudge to me. I wouldn’ gi’
way a boy big as dat. E’s done raised.’’
Again Breeze shut his eyes and pretended to sleep
while Zeda leaned so low over him searching his face
that he could feel her breath on his cheek.
“‘Don’ gaze at de child so hard, Zeda. You’ll wake
em up.”’
Big Sue was plainly out of temper, her tone was
sour, pettish.
“‘T ain’ gwine wake em. I just want to see who e
looks like. Leah says his mammy had em for April, but
e don’ favor April to me.’’
““Do, for Gawd’s sake, shut you’ mouth, Zeda! To
hear Leah tell it, half de chillen on Blue Brook belongs
to April, well as dem on Sandy Island. Leah don’ count
nobody when e gits to talkin’ *bout April.’’
Zeda laughed. ‘‘I dunno, Big Sue. I told ‘April
to-day, if he don’ mind, he’s gwine catch up wid Uncle
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BLACK APRIL
Isaac. De people say Uncle Isaac has fifty-two chillen
livin’ right now.’’
Breeze peeped up in time to see the grin that lit her
face as she turned on her heel, saying she must go, and
let Uncle Bill finish his wishing. But he’d wish a long
time before he got a wife as good as Aunt Katy.
Uncle Bill sat up straight in his chair. ‘‘Now you
talkin’ what Gawd loves, Zeda; de truth. Katy was
one in a t’ousand. I miss em so bad, I ean’ stan’ it no
longer by myself. If Miss Big Sue would marry me,
I’d treat em white. I sho’ would.’’
Zeda took her pipe out of her apron pocket and
leaned for a coal to light it. After one or two stout pulls
she let the smoke trail slowly out between her smiling
lips. ‘‘I hear-say Big Sue an’ Leah all two is a seekin’
de second blessin’ since de new Bury League preacher
was here last Sunday was a week gone. Is dat so, Big
Sue?”’
“‘T know I ain’ seekin’ em. I don’ know nothin’
"bout Leah, an’ I don’ want to know nothin’
*bout em.’’ She snapped the words out fiercely; but
Zeda set her arms akimbo and puffed at the pipe be-
tween her teeth, her eyes flashing bright in the firelight
that flared past her to the framed pictures of faces look-
ing down from the walls.
Big Sue sat grum, silent, until Uncle Bill heaved a
great sigh and said he was mighty sorry for Leah. She’d
been sick three days. Salivated. Her mouth was raw.
Her teeth were loose, ready to drop out. Leah was in
a bad way.
Big Sue’s fat body straightened up. She was full of
interest. How did Leah get salivated?
Uncle Bill shook his head. He didn’t know what had
done it. Leah hadn’t been well since this moon came in.
He couldn’t say if seeking a second blessing had made
[70]
; UNCLE BILL
_her sick or if some medicine she’d bought from the store
had done it. He caught her wallowing on the ground
and praying and crying off in the woods by herself one
day last week. Now she was salivated. Zeda looked at
Uncle Bill’s sorrowful face and her own -became
serious.
“‘Dat’s what Leah gits fo’ prankin’ wid white folks’
medicine, I told em so too.”?
“*T bet Leah’s conjured,’’ Big Sue put in cheerfully.
‘“Who in Gawd’s world would bother to conjure
Leah?’’ Zeda asked. ‘‘Any ’oman dat wants April bad
enough kin git em. April’s weak as water over any-
t’ing wid a dress on.’’
“You ought to know,’’ Big Sue snapped out tartly.
A smile curled Zeda’s lips. ‘‘I does know. If any-
body knows April, I ought to. April’s de same as
a bee at blossoms. You wait. You'll see. Leah’s a fool
to fret *bout April. I done been to see em an’ told em
so. No man livin’ is worth one drop o’ water dat
dreans out a ’oman’s eye. It’s de Gawd’s truth. If
April buys em rations an’ clothes, Leah ought to be
sati’fy, ’stead o’ frettin’ an’ cryin’.’’
Zeda’s bright hoop ear-rings glittered, her teeth
flashed, then she turned and spat in the fire. ‘‘Leah
ought to be used to April’s ways by now. E ought to
learn how to meet trouble better. Trouble comes to
everybody. If e ain’ salivation or sin or men, e’s some-
t’ing.’’? Zeda stretched her arms, then her body to its
full height. She must go. She’d promised Bina to help
cook the birth-night supper.
Big Sue didn’t turn her head to say good night, but
Uncle Bill got up and went to the door and bowed low
as she stepped out into the still black night, which came
right up to the open door.
In the silence that followed, the muffled roar of the
[71]
BLACK APRIL
sea rose and fell. Big Sue said Zeda had ruined many
aman. She was a bold sinful woman.
‘“Zeda’s a fine field-hand, dough, an’ de clothes Zeda
washes is- white as snow,’’ Uncle Bill defended warmly.
“It’s a wonder some oman ain’ cut Zeda wide open
befo’ now,’’ Big Sue came back sharply.
‘‘But if anybody is sick or in trouble, nobody is
better to em dan Zeda. If Zeda had been my Katy’s
own sister, e couldn’ ’a’ been better to em whilst e was
down sick. Gawd ain’ gwine be too hard on Zeda.
You’ll see it too.’’
‘‘Shucks! Zeda kin grin at you, an’ you fo’git all
dat deviltry Zeda’s done; but Gawd’s. got it wrote down
in a book. Zeda kin fool de breeches off 0’ you, but ’e
ean’ fool Gawd. Zeda’s got ten head o’ livin’ chillen
an’ no two is got de same daddy. You b’lieve Gawd is
gwine ex-cuse Zeda? You must be crazy. Zeda’s as sho’
fo’ hell as a martin fo’ his gourd. You'll see, too. Gawd
ain’ gwine let people off light as you t’ink. No, suh.
Zeda don’ like to see no other ’oman hab no man. Zeda
wants ’em all. All!”’
[72]
VII
A BIRTH-NIGHT SUPPER
THE birth-night supper had begun, and the big
drum, answering licks that somebody laid on its head,
called the people to come on. Louder and louder it
boomed until the air itself was humming. Now and
then when a rackety thump sounded in an unlooked
for place Big Sue laughed. When the measure short-
ened beat by beat her fat toes made pats on the floor.
‘‘Lawd, de drum’s got de people steppin’ light to-
night. Is dey marchin’ or dancin’?’’
‘“Marchin’. Dat’s Sherry a-beatin’ de drum, now.
When de dancin’ starts Uncle Isaac beats de drum an’
Sherry squeezes de accordion.’’
Big Sue got up and went to the door to hear better,
and her thick stumpy body rocked softly from side to
side. ‘‘Po’ ol’ Uncle! Most ready fo’ de grave an’ de
biggest sinner roun’ here.’’ But the thought of
Uncle’s sin made her laugh, as she swayed this way and
that. ‘‘I feel light as a feather, Uncle Bill. Ain’ Sherry
got dat drum talkin’ funny talk! E don’ sound noways
sinful to me. You t’ink marchin’ is a sin?’’
‘““No. It ain’ sinful to march. How ’bout walkin’
out an’ lookin’ at ’em a while.’’
Breeze sat up. ‘‘Please lemme go too, Cousin Big
Sue. Iain’sleep. I too scared to stay by myself.’’ The
corners of the room were full of darkness, the shed-room
at the back was black, and the sea’s roar unsmothered by
the drum-beats,
[73]
BLACK APRIL
‘How come you had you’ eyes shut, so? You been
playin’ possum, enty? I caught you. I don’ like dat.
No. Don’ you never make like you sleep if you ain’
sleep. No. But git up an’ dress. Me an’ Uncle Bill
would walk on. You dress fast an’ catch up wid us.’’
When Breeze overtook them, Uncle Bill, who walked
in front, called back, ‘‘ How you do, stranger? I glad to
see you. Come shake han’s wid me.’’ Then he added,
‘A cowardly heart makes swift-runnin’ feet, enty?”’
When Breeze answered ae ‘*Yessuh,’’ Uncle
Bill chuckled.
‘“You’s got manners, boy! Nice manners! I’m
glad to see dat.’’
‘‘Sho’ e is!’’ Big Sue agreed. ‘‘ All dat breed is
mannersable people. Dat’s how come I took so much
pains to git em.”’
‘*Dat is nice,’? Uncle Bill approved. ‘‘I ever did
like people to hab manners.’’
‘Me too! I can’ stan’ no-manners people, specially
a no-manners boy-chile. I’m all de time tellin’ Leah,
Brudge’ll git hung if e lives. Brudge is too no-man-
ners. I’d skin em if e was my own.”’
The noise from the birth-night supper grew thicker
and stronger as they got nearer the Quarters. Every
beat of the drum throbbed unbroken by the laughter
and singing and loud-ringing talk. Breeze’s feet
stepped with the time it marked, and so did Uncle Bill’s
and Big Sue’s.
The Quarter houses were all solid darkness but one,
and its doorway was choked with people pushing in
and out; its front yard hidden by a great ring of march-
ing couples, that wheeled slowly around a high-reaching
fire. These were holding hands, laughing into one
another’s faces, their feet plumping down with flat-
footed steps that raised the dust, or cutting little extra
[74]
‘A BIRTH-NIGHT SUPPER
fancy hops besides the steady tramping bidden by the
drum.
Two big iron washpots sat side by side with the fire
leaping high between them. Zeda stirred one with a
long wooden paddle, and a short thick-set woman stirred
the other. They added seasoning, stirred, tasted, added
more seasoning, until a tall fellow, black as the night,
and strong-looking as one of the oaks around them,
broke through the ring and stepped up to the pots, and
put his hand on Zeda’s shoulder. What he said was lost
in the noise, but his teeth and eyes flashed in the red
light as Zeda put a hand on each of his broad shoulders
and quickly pushed him outside the ring again. The
short woman took the steaming paddle out of the pot
and shook it gaily at him, shouting to him to get a part-
ner and march until the victuals were done and ready
to sell instead of setting such a bad example for the
young people.
The marchers laughed, and the drummer, a long-
legged young man, dropped his sticks and yelled out,
“How long befo’ supper, Ma! I’m done perished.
I’m pure weak, I’m so hongry!”’
Zeda stopped short in her tracks and yelled back to
him, ‘‘Shut you’ mouth, Sherry! You ain’ perished,
nothin’! You beat dat drum or Bina’ll put all two feets
on you’ neck!’’
The other woman pointed her paddle at him threat-
eningly, shouting as she did it, ‘‘You’ ma is sho’ right,
son! I wouldn’ pay you, not one cent to-night, if you
don’ beat dat drum sweet as you kin! Keep de people
marchin’ a while yet. I got a whole hog an’ a bushel
0’ rice a-cookin’! Right in dese pots. I wouldn’ sell
half if you don’ git ev’ybody good an’ hongry! Rattle
dem sticks, Sherry! Rattle ’em like you was beatin’ a
tune fo’ Joy to step by!”’
(751
BLACK APEIL
This brought a shower of laughter and funny sayings
and jokes as the crowd bantered Sherry about the way
he beat the drum when Joy was here to march. But
instead of answering a word, Sherry rolled the sticks
softly on the drum’s head, making a low sobbing sound
that held on and on, swelling, mounting until a batter-
ing roar made the air throb and hum, then he stopped
off short with a sudden sharp drub.
For a second there was a dead silence, then somebody
eried out, ‘‘Lawd, if you much as eall Joy’s name,
Sherry kin make dat drum talk some pitiful talk! Joy
ought to heared em to-night!’’
“‘T got goose bumps big as hickory nuts all over me!”’
““Me too. I’m pure shakin’ like a chill! Beat,
Sherry! I got to march to warm up now!’’
Everybody laughed and the clatter of voices made a
merry confusion. .
Zeda laughed with the crowd. Then she added a
handful of salt to her washpot, tasted it, smacked her
lips and added several pods of red pepper.
““Yunnuh got to dance nice if you want to eat dis
rice an’ hash! I ain’ mixin’ no cool Christian stew!’’
Bina laughed and chimed in, ‘‘Dat’s de Gawd’s
truth, Zeda! Not wid all dat pepper.”’
But Big Sue sucked her teeth. ‘‘Zeda don’ know
one kind o’ seasoning fom anudder. Pepper an’ salt;
dat’s all Zeda knows. E never could cook no decent
rations.”’
A short fat man, with a well-greased face and a good-
natured smile, who stood waiting for Bina to say the
word, began bawling with all his might, ‘‘De victuals is
ready, peoples! Come on up, men! Treat de ladies!
We’s got t’ings seasoned fit to make you miss an’ chaw
you’ finger! Liver-hash an’ rice! Chitterlings an’ pig
feet! Spare-ribs an’ back-bone! All kind o’ hog-meat.”?
[76]
v
Z
A BIRTH-NIGHT SUPPER
_ He trailed off into a sing-song chant, while the crowd
pressed close around the pots.
Uncle Bill treated Breeze and Big Sue to heaped-up
panfuls of food and tin cups of molasses-sweetened
water to wash it down. ‘‘Dis is sweetened wid store-
bought molasses. It ain’t fittin’ fo’ nobody to drink.’’
Big Sue made an ugly face and threw the sweetened
water on the ground. ‘‘I wouldn’ have de face
to sell sich slops to people an’ call it sweetened water.
Bina ever was a triflin’ oman. Gittin’ money is Bina’s
Gawd!’
““How "bout a little nip 0’ toddy?”’ a deep voice spoke
out of the darkness and Big Sue turned quickly around
to face it, then she laughed out with pleasure. ‘‘No,
t’ank you, April. I wouldn’t fool wid dat whisky. You
don’ know if it’ll kill you o’ not.”’
‘Come off, Big Sue,’’ the voice chided, ‘‘when did
you get so scared 0’ whisky?”’
**T ain’ scared 0’ good whisky,’’ Big Sue gurgled as
he walked up near and took her hand. ‘‘Dat last one
you fetched me is sho’ fine. But I sho’ don’ trust de
whisky Jake makes! Lawd!’’ She broke into a loud
laugh. ‘‘I’m pure shame’ to say it but somebody told
me when Jake gits in a big hurry fo’ de whisky he don’
stop wid puttin’ lye in de mash! Dat scoundrel goes
straight to de horse stable an’ gits de yeast to make em
work! My stomach tries to retch if I much as t’ink on
de way Jake makes whisky! Jake’s a case in dis
world !’’
April and Uncle Bill both laughed with her, and
Jake’s voice called out cheerfully from the fire-bright-
ened doorway, ‘‘Git you’ partners ready fo’ de square
dance! Git you’ nickels ready too! Fi’ cents a set!
All you chu’ch-members better git on home befo’ Sherry
squeezes dat ’cordion. I’d hate to see anybody hab sin
[77]
BLACK APRIL
to-night! Sherry’s gwine mash out tunes dat would
tickle a preacher’s toe! A deacon’s ear would git
eetchy! Git you’ partners, boys! Don’ be wastin’
time!’’
“‘How you like de boy’s looks?’’ Big Sue mumbled,
casting a smiling look up at April.
‘‘T ain’ had a chance to look at em, not yet,’’ he
answered low.
Sherry squeezed a long chord out of the accordion
and the crowd shouted with laughter. Uncle Isaac bat-
tered the drum, and swarms of them trooped inside the
cabin, falling into step with the accordion’s frolicsome
measure, but instead of Uncle Bill’s leading the way
straight home, he took a stand outside the cabin by an
open window to watch. The tall strange man leaned
over and said to Breeze, ‘‘You’s too low to see, son. Le’
me hold you up.’’ And he lifted him as if he were no
heavier than a feather.
The light was dim. Two glass kerosene lamps
burned on the high mantel-shelf, doing their best to
help the fire light up the room. Music and drum-beats
and lively chatter swung into time with dance steps.
The confusion flowed into clean-cut swing.
Every man had his hat on. Some were tilted back,
some balanced on the side, some pulled to the front; few
were right and straight. Many of the dancers wore
shoes, and the loose boards on the floor rose and clattered
to the regular beat of their feet.
“‘Did you ever seen people dance before?’’? April
murmured in Breeze’s ear.
Breeze’s bashful ‘‘No, suh’’ was lost in noise, for
Jake, who took up the nickels at the door, was yelling
briskly, his words guiding the dancers into figures.
*‘Hands ’round, all!’’ shifted the couples into a wide
circle that had to erumple in spots because the room
[78]
-
A BIRTH-NIGHT SUPPER
was too small. As it turned around every heel bumped
the floor until the stamping tramp shook the cabin from
pillars to roof. Once in a while Breeze could feel the
big chest pressed against him shaking with laughter.
“‘Ladies to de center! Gentlemens surround dem!’’
Jake yelled it, and the ring split and went double ply.
*‘Make a basket!’ he howled. Feet shuffled and scraped.
the floor, as the men made a cord of long arms and tight
clasped hands that slipped over the ladies’ heads. The
swaying bodies were tied together tight. Sweat shone
on every face. Eyes gleamed. Teeth flashed.
“How you like dat, son?’’ April asked, and Breeze
answered, ‘‘I like em nice.’’
““Wheel de basket !’’ Jake bawled, and the solid ring
turned, slowly, evenly at first, then faster and faster
until its wild whirling threw the dancers into knots of
dizzy cavorters. Hot breath poured through the win-
dows. The rank smell of over-heated sweaty bodies ran
high. The house shook and creaked. Breeze could feel
the strong throb of the heart in the man’s breast beating
against him. Gradually the long black face leaned for-
ward nearer to his.
*‘Right hand to you’ partner!’’ Jake cried, an@
hands trembling with excitement squeezed each other
and held fast.
“‘Do de gran’ right an’ left!’’
Jake dashed the sweat out of his eyes with a bare
hand, as the dancers fell into two lines. A thread of
ladies wound in and out between the gentlemen, whose
feet kept up a frisky jumping and jigging and jerking,
like drumsticks gone crazy and trying to hammer in tho
floor.
** Ain’ dey done dat nice!’’ Big Sue exclaimed.
“‘Dey done it mighty well,’’ the big man approved,
his mouth close to Breeze’s ear
[79]
BLACK APRIL
When the ladies had gone clear ‘round and come to
their partners again, ‘‘Swing you’ own true love!”’ set
every skirt to spinning in a giddy ring that twirled until
“‘Sasshay, all! Croquette! Salute de lady on de right!’’
unwound them, let them fall limp.
Shrieks of laughter followed smacking kisses.
Sherry’s accordion blared out. Then something went
wrong. The joyful clamor died into a frightened hush
as a long arm shot up. A razor flashed. A muttered
curse was followed by a slap on a cheek. Everybody
stood still for the length of a heart-beat. The muscles
of the arms holding Breeze hardened. A long low hiss
of sucked-in breath made him shiver with terror as the
tall man leaned forward and said coolly:
‘‘Tf yunnuh don’ quit dat doins’ it wouldn’ take me
two minutes to come in dere an’ butt you’ brains out 0’
you’ skull! We ain’ gwine hab no cuttin’ scrape here,
not to-night, boys. Outen de lamps, Sherry. Outen de
fire, too. Dis dance is done broke up!’’
‘No, Cun April,’’? Jake began pleading. ‘‘ Nobody
ain’ fightin’ now. Dem boys was just a-playin’. Dey
ain’ gwine be rough no mo’. You wouldn’ broke up a
dance not for a li’l’ prankin’, would you?”’
The two fighters were held apart, one with his bullet
head crouched forward, his fists clenched; the other
with his razorless fingers reaching out to grab and
strangle. April looked at them with a half smile.
““Put dem boys out de door, den, Jake. Dey ain’ fit
to be wid ladies. Let ’em go wallow wid de hogs an’
cuss all dey please, so long as dey don’ cut wid no
razor.”’
But Uncle Bill spoke out, ‘‘Dey is too no-manners.to
wallow wid de hogs. Yes, suh. My hogs yonder to de
barnyard is too nice to ’sociate wid any such mens.
Cussin’ befo’ ladies! Dey makes me feel pure blush.’’
[80]
A BIRTH-NIGHT SUPPER
Big Sue wanted to go home, but April and Uncle Bill
said there’d be no more trouble, and as the accordion
sang out with a low sad whine, another dance set was
made up. Pairs of feet were already cutting happy
capers patting flat-footed and with heel and toe.
They were going to black bottle, and that was a dance
that beat the four-horse altogether. The cabin room,
packed with a seething mass, rocked with the reeling and
rolling inside it. The accordion’s mournful erying
timed to the beat of the drum sounded faint above the
confusion, but its pitiful wailing went clear through to
Breeze’s very backbone.
Gusts of hot breath poured out through the window.
The smoky lamps sputtered low. The yellow light grew
dim. Little sharp outcries mixed with mad stormy
thundering steps. Big Sue called out shrilly that she
wanted to go! People get drunk if they listen to music
too long. Sherry was squeezing out a mighty wicked
tune. First thing they knew somebody would kick both
those lamps off the mantelpiece and when the crowd
started jumping out of the windows, they’d get trampled
to death. She hadn’t forgotten how the last birth-night
supper broke up in a terrible fight. April could hold
those boys down a while, but when that music got to
working in their blood, the devil himself couldn’t stop
them.
She eould feel that music going straight to her head,
and she was a good quiet Christian woman. April
laughed and put Breeze down and bowed low and said
good night. Big Sue invited him to walk home with
them and when he declined, saying he was tired and
ready to go home to bed, she insisted, but he declared
that he hadn’t the heart to get in Uncle Bill’s way. He’d
see them to-morrow or some time soon.
On the way home Big Sue asked Uncle Bill why it
[81]
BLACK APRIL
was so sinful to dance, yet not sinful at all to march by
the drum. She never could exactly understand. Uncle
Bill said that crossing your feet is the sinful thing. The
people in the Bible used to march. Of course it was
wrong to march by reel tunes. Christians ought to
march by hymns.
Breeze fell into a sound sleep and left Big Sue talk-
ing, but he woke up in the night with his throat tight
and dry sore, and a hoarse cough that barked. Every-
thing was dark and Big Sue’s heavy snoring was the
only sound to be heard. What must he do? Suppose
he choked to death! Nobody would ever know it. His
mother was way off yonder on Sandy Island, and Big
Sue sound asleep. He’d wake her. He couldn’t die
here in this dark by himself.
Crawling out of bed and guiding his way toward
the sound of the snortles that were all but strangling her,
Breeze went to Big Sue’s bed in the shed-room, felt for
her shoulder and coughed as loud as he could in her ear.
“*Great Gawd, who dat?’’ she cried out. ‘‘Who dat,
I say !’’ Big Sue was on the other side of the bed!
“‘Dis is me,’’ Breeze whispered.
‘How come you’s up a-walkin’ round, boy? Git on
back to bed. You’ ma didn’ told me you was a sleep-
walker. Great Gawd a’mighty! I can’ stan’ a sleep-
walker.’’
“*T ain’ ’sleep,’? Breeze whispered again, but she
didn’t hear him, so he gave a loud cough that all but
split his throat in two.
‘Who dat cough? You, Breeze?’’
*€Yes’m.”’
“‘Jedus, hab mussy! I ain’ never hear such a cough.
You’ palate must be fell down. Git on back in de bed.
If you keep coughin’ 1’ll gi’ you a spoonful 0’ kerosene.
[82]
A BIRTH-NIGHT SUPPER
If you’ palate is down Maum Hannah must tie up you’
palate lock. Go on back to bed. I sho’ am sorry you’
palate is fell, but don’ you ever walk in on me a-sleepin’,
not no mo’!’’
The threat of the kerosene made Breeze struggle to
hold in his coughs, and whenever one tried to burst out
he covered up his head, although it seemed to him some-
body was laughing in the shed-room with Big Sue.
[83]
Vill
THE PREMISES
Breeze slept late next morning. When he woke Big
Sue stood by his bed, looking straight into his eyes. A
bar of sunlight fallen through a crack in the wooden
window blind laid a dazzling band on her face.
‘‘Looka de sun shinin’ on you, son. You is gwine
be lucky. Git up now, I’m got to off a piece. But you’
breakfast is settin’ on de hearth. I bet you had a bad
dream last night. Don’t tell it befo’ breakfast. Dat’ll
make it come true.”’
But Breeze couldn’t remember any dream at all,
and, slipping out of Big Sue’s night-gown and into his
own clothes, he took his pan of breakfast and went to
sit on the front step in the sunshine while he ate. He
swallowed down the grits and bacon grease in a hurry,
keeping the sweet potato for the last. A lean spotted
hound trotted up and sniffed at his feet and legs, then
turned to the empty pan on the step and licked it clean.
When he looked beseechingly at the potato, Breeze gave
him a taste and patted his head and stroked his long
silky ears and together they went to look around the
premises.
Big Sue had told Breeze that Blue Brook was the
finest plantation on the whole Neck, and the Big House
the largest dwelling, but those chimneys, towering high
as the tree-tops, and the tall closed windows and doors
had a cold unfriendly look. The yard was empty except
[84]
{o. —on
THE PREMISES
for a few chickens and a flock of geese. The old gander
looked at Breeze and flapped his wings and screamed
out, and Breeze turned back, frightened by his threats.
Behind Big Sue’s cabin were a tiny fowl-house and a
pig-pen with a big hog lying down inside. When Breeze
looked over the fence the creature grunted and strug-
gled to get to his feet. Fat had it weighted down, yet its
snout made hungry snuffles at the empty trough, and the
small bright eyes watched through the cracks to see if
Breeze had brought any food. The hound stopped to
smell a fresh mole-hill, then walked leisurely on, and
Breeze left the hog to follow him and see what the prem-
ises held.
Weeds narrowed the path. Once a lizard barely got
out of his way. He must watch out for snakes. The
morning was sunlit, sweet with fragrance that the sun,
already high up in the glittering sky, wrung out of the
shrubbery ; but everything was so silent.
As Breeze went toward the still shadowy garden,
with its boxwood borders and bird pool and old gray
sun-dial, Big Sue, unexpectedly, came out of the side
door in the Big House and behind her came April,
who had held him last night. Without a word April
strode off in a different direction, but Big Sue ealled
to Breeze that she’d walk with him. Going in front she
led him past flowers of every color, bushes of all leaves,
telling him about them as she went. Years ago the gar-
den had been stiff and trimmed, and the shrubbery had
grown in close-cut bushes between straight box hedges.
But time had changed everything. Uncle Isaac was old
and deaf, and instead of staying home at night and rest-
ing so he could work at the roses and keep them from
running wild and getting all tangled up with vines, he
ran around to birth-night suppers and cut up like a boy.
She pointed out boughs that reached across the path.
[85]
BLACK APRIL
Clumps of paper-white narcissus, not waiting for
spring, bloomed in the wrong places. White patches of
sweet alyssum crept right up to the edge of the box-
wood borders, the delicate perfume making the air
honey-sweet. But it was out of place, and ought to be
cut away. Uncle Isaac was too trifling to be the gar-
dener now.
Tall tangled heads of grass were in some of the beds,
and a bold vine whose topmost branch was gay with
orange-scarlet bells swayed from the tip of a magnolia
tree. The bright bunch of blossoms nodded at Breeze
with a slow persistence, sunlight filled each flower cup,
and its hot scent streamed out in the soft wind. There
was something queer in its steady silent bowing. A light
sound hissed through the stiff magnolia leaves whenever
the mild wind freshened, but the magnolia tree held
every crisp, brown-lined leaf still. Unmoved. The light
stir of the morning’s breeze could not move that tall dark
tree, which was splashed here and there with over-ripe
blossoms.
“Son, is you see de way dat trumpet vine is a-wavin’
at you? Better bow back at em!”’
Breeze did bow the best he knew how, but Big Sue
laughed.
‘“When you bow, you must pull you’ foot.’’ She
showed him how to do it.
She reached up and broke off a half-open bud, and
tearing its creamy petals apart showed Breeze how they
closed over a core of gold. She showed him the
sun-dial marking the time of day. A spattering of
water called them to see the birds enjoying a bird bath;
a flock of pigeons dropped with a slanting flight, then
hurried off. A tinkling of sheep bells told that a flock
browsed peacefully not far away. When a blue-jay
perched overhead with a screech, Big Sue shook a fat
. [86]
eT a ee
THE PREMISES
fist at him. ‘‘Git off,’’ she scolded. ‘‘You don’t know
to-day’s Friday. Is you forgot you is due to tote a stick
o’ wood to Satan? Git on to torment, lessen you done
been dere a’ready dis mornin’!’’ A streak of scarlet
flashed where a cardinal darted across a bright path of
sunlight as a hammer banged down on a nail. Old deaf
Uncle Isaac was mending a broken place in the fence,
and talking to himself. His deaf ears had not heard
Big Sue and Breeze, and his murmured talk droned on
out of his stammering lips.
**Po’ old Uncle Isaac!’’ Big Sue sighed. ‘‘When e
ean’ talk to de livin’ e talks to de dead. His eyes is so
full up wid speerits right now, he don’ see we. You
kin see speerits, too, son, enty? You’ ma said so.”’
Before Breeze had time to deny it, all of a sudden
she turned on him and gave a sharp cry. ‘‘Looka here,
boy! You been a-steppin’ in my tracks! I know it!
A’ awful pain is come right on de top o’ my head!
You done it! You needn’ shake you’ head. I was
feelin’ good when I come in dis flowers yard. Git a
stick! Now broke em in two an’ cross ’em! Put
em in one 0’ you’ tracks! Git me shet 0’ dis pain! I
declare to Gawd, dat’s a provokin’ t’ing you done! I
was feelin’ so good too. If you try to conjure me, [’ll
kill you!”’
Breeze denied it humbly. He had not meant to step
in her tracks. He didn’t even know it would work her
harm. When he had placed the broken sticks as she
bade him, she spoke more kindly, and warned him to be
careful never to step in anybody’s tracks.
Once she missed and stepped in Uncle Isaac’s tracks
and it gave him a terrible tooth-ache. She had to cross
twenty sticks before she got him rid of it. Poor Uncle!
They’d better not go near him. He was on the side of
the garden where spirits stayed. Let him talk to them.
[87]
BLACK APRIL
‘‘My head is done better now, t’ank Gawd,’’ she
sighed, adding that she’d ask Uncle Isaac to supper
to-night. He could tell so many funny stories. He
could explain, exactly, why the grass is green and the
sky is blue. Why the sun shines in the daytime and
the moon and stars shine at night. He knew what the
thunder said when it spoke. He could whistle the first
tune the wind ever whistled. One time, the night was a
great big black giant that ran round the sun, trying and
trying to catch the day. Uncle Isaac said so and he
knew more about the first men and women who ever
lived than Adam and Eve ever dreamed of. He got it
all at first-hand, by word of mouth, from Africa, where
the world itself was born and a terrible black God made
all men black. Big Sue’s narrow black eyes softened,
her voice grew mild, her fat fingers toyed with a rose.
She said Uncle Isaac knew a strange tale about the
high tide and the evening star, and another about why
the morning clouds eclipse the moon. They were pretty
tales, all about love, but Breeze was too small to hear
them,
[88]
ieee A i a
ul _.) —? } ee.
Ix
SATURDAY AFTERNOON
Soon after the noon bell rang on Saturday, Big Sue
gave Breeze a panful of dinner, cooked on the hearth
where a sleepy fire nodded and dozed over a few chunks
of hard oak wood.
‘‘Hurry an’ eat, son, I want you to go wid me to de
sto’. I got a lot to buy, an’ I’m scared to come home
by myself after dark. To-morrow’s Sunday. I got to
buy a kerosene an’ some rations. I’m gwine to git you
some clothes, too.’’
As he followed Big Sue down the long avenue Breeze
was careful not to step in her tracks. Outside the gate,
the road ran through a gloomy forest, where tall pines
and live-oaks stood among magnolias and cedars and
fragrant myrtle thickets. Big Sue talked about the
country as they walked on.
The old road, now dwindled to this narrow dim way,
was once a fine highway. Important gentlemen and
lovely ladies used to drive over it in fine carriages drawn
by fiery horses. The gold and silver on the harness used
to blind people’s eyes the same as summer lightning.
Men who had run the whole country had gone along
here many a time, right where the trees sprung tall in
the old dead ruts. Thorny yupon branches reached out
and scratched Breeze on the arm, trying to tear the holes
in his shirt bigger than they were. Big Sue called out
greetings, for numbers of black people were walking the
same way. Some in groups. Some walking by twos and
[89]
BLACK APRIL
threes. All dressed in their Sunday best, going to the
Landing.
_ The boat stopped on its way up and down the river
twice a week, bringing supplies and mail from the town
in the river’s mouth to the shabby little stores that
squatted along the water’s edge. This row of dilap-
idated houses was strung close together, and scrawny,
mule-bitten hackberry trees, some with hollows clear
through their bodies, stood in front of the wide-open
doors, making hitching-posts for the restless beasts that
had to be tethered. Many of the mules and oxen stood
free to go if they liked, but they waited, dozing, switch-
ing flies, the oxen chewing cuds.
Flashy colors of hats and ribbons, gay headkerchiefs
and curiously fashioned dresses wove in and out as
crowds of black girls and women tramped up and down
the path that ran from one shop to another. Sunday
shoes, dulled with gray dust, made a cheerful squeaking
as they blotted out tracks made in the soft dirt by bare
feet.
Some of the men were tall, with bold strong faces.
Brawny muscles of powerful arms and legs could be
seen bulging under faded patched shirts and overalls.
Droll shapes of merry laughter mixed with greeting
voices. There were graceful bows and handshakes and
kindly inquiries. Old men, who might have had great-
grandchildren, tottered about importantly on uncertain
legs, bantering the girls with words that belied the white
hairs bristling from their withered ears. White wool
peeped through their tattered wool hats. Rheumatism
spitefully twinged their joints and put a hitch in every
gay step. But lively spirits cheered their shriveled flesh
and lightened clouded eyes. Laughter deepened the
creases in old wrinkled faces, and swelled the tendons
in ropy wilted throats.
[90]
SATURDAY AFTERNOON Se
Uncle Isaac and Uncle Bill sat, side by side, on a
box outside the post-office, chewing tobacco and spitting
with calm delight. After each bit of close talk, Uncle
Isaae broke into sudden fits of high cracked laughter,
_ and pounded Uncle Bill gleefully on the back. He was
old and deaf, yet he took a full part in the pattern of
Saturday’s joy. Breeze wished he could hear one of the
stories that made him laugh so, but he knew by Uncle
Bill’s bashful look that those stories should never have
been told at all.
‘‘How’s you’ rheumatism?’’ Uncle Bill shouted, to
change the subject.
‘*K’s better. A lot better dan e been. I been
totin’ a’ oak-gall in my pocket ’stead 0’ dem buckeyes.
I b’lieve de oak-gall is stronger. Seems to me like I kin
git ’roun’ more better since I made de change.”’
| Uncle Bill looked doubtful and his head shook a little,
but he spat thoughtfully, then yelled, ‘‘I made me a
li’l’ pokeberry wine, an’ I tell you, suh, it’s a fine t’ing!
A fine t’ing! I ain’ hardly been bothered wid any kind
o’ misery since I been drinkin’ em.’’
Uncle Isaae’s mild old eyes watched every word, for
they had to help his deaf ears understand. ‘‘You say
elderberry wine?’’ he queried.
\. ‘No! \Pokeberry! You know pokeberry, enty?
Elderberry wine wouldn’ do rheumatism no good. My
Gawd, no,’’ Uncle Bill answered, laughing at such a
mistake. ‘‘You ain’ turned to no lady, is yuh?’’
‘*No, t’ank Gawd!’’ Uncle Isaac screeched. ‘‘If it
wan’t fo’ my crippled knee, I wouldn’ feel no more’n
forty years old. No, suh. Not a bit more’n forty.
April’s gwine git a rattlesnake to make me some
snake tea. Dat’s a good medicine.’’
‘‘E might be fo’ true,’’ Uncle Bill agreed. ‘‘I ever
did hear say so. But my stomach is too weak to stand
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BLACK APRIL
sich a strongness. Rattlesnake tea be de same as
con’trated lye!/ Better mind how you projec’ wid em,
Uncle!’
““Sho’! Sho’! I’m old enough to know medicine ain’
somet’ing fo’ play wid. I ain’ no chillen, son. I been in
dis world a good while.’’
The mail was not open yet, and Big Sue waited for it
all to be given out so the storekeeper, who was postmaster
too, could let her have what she wanted. Breeze stood
close beside her, watching the black people who loitered
and laughed and talked, as they crowded into the dirty
erank-sided store. Each man invariably paid her a com-
pliment, such as, ‘‘I declare to Gawd, Miss Big Sue, you
look sweet,’’ or, ‘‘It do my eyes good to see you.’’ Unele
Bill said, ‘‘I’m gwine buy you a treat soon as de mail is
finished.’’
The men took off their hats and pulled a forelock and
drew one foot back to make their bows. The women made
easy graceful eurtsies. Big Sue whispered to Breeze that
he must pull his foot and bow too. Look at Uncle Bill
and Uncle Isaac. He must learn manners. But Breeze
hadn’t the heart to try here where so many would see
him.
Outside, near the road, Brudge, a black boy as ragged
as Breeze, but apparently happy, parched peanuts in
a round, black, fire-heated oven. Over and over he
patiently turned the sooty eylinder with a black iron
handle, all the time chattering and grinning, as from time
to time he dished out paper sacks-full, not only for the
children, but for grown men and women who bought
them to eat right then. The smell of the peanuts was
delicious, but it was almost smothered by the scent of
fried fish, which came from a shack near by.
Big Sue said it was a restaurant, and Breeze was
craning his neck to see inside when April took him by the
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SATURDAY AFTERNOON
hand and led him in, while Big Sue, laughing as she
came, walked behind them. The afternoon light, aided by
a large kerosene lamp, whose glass shade was dim with
smoke, shone on the white oil-cloth that covered several
small tables. Big Sue said, ‘‘Set down, Breeze,’’ and he
dropped into a chair by a table. He ate big thick slices
of store-bought baker’s bread that the boat had brought
from town and squares of fried fish that Big Sue said
were caught in the sea by regular fishermen.
April had a powerful look. He was very tall, his fore-
head high, his mouth straight and wide, his bony chin
and cheek-bones set forward. He left most of his good
bread broken all up but uneaten on the greasy tin plate.
““Whyn’t you eat you’ victuals, April?’’ Big Sue
asked him.
*‘T ain’ so hongry, not dis evenin’,’’ he answered,
smiling and with his glowing eyes on Breeze.
Reaching a long hand down in his pants pocket, he
took out a piece of paper money and gave it to her.
‘‘Buy de boy some clothes, Big Sue. Feed em good, too.
I want em to grow.’’
Big Sue took it and told Breeze to go outside and
watch the people until she came.
Some of the women and girls were fat and funny-
looking, but others were slender, with well-formed
bodies. All of them looked at Breeze searchingly, some
slyly, but most of them with brazen eyes. Many of the
older women were smoking small clay pipes, and when
they laughed their teeth showed brown, stained with
tobacco.
Young men strutted past them, with hats cocked on
one side of their heads. Some caught the girls’ hands
and held them and offered to treat them. Bottles of
coca-cola and bags of candy rivaled peanuts and the
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BLACK APRIL
small sweet-cakes, just come on the boat from town in a
big wooden box that opened like a trunk. As Breeze
gazed, his mouth watered at the sight of so many good
things to eat.
Big Sue kept talking to April, who stood strong as
an oak, his eyes riveted on her face. She looked uneasily
at the door when he took her hand. As she drew it away
he laughed, then spat far outside and left her.
Pulling up her skirt, Big Sue got a handkerchief out
of her underneath pocket, and untying the knot in its
corner, added the piece of paper money to what it
already held. She gave Breeze two pennies. ‘‘Go buy
you a cake, son,’’ she bade him. Then she halted him
with, ‘‘ Wait, gi’ me back dem pennies. Here’s a nickel.
Git t’ree. I want one o’ dem cakes myself.’’
Forgetting his fear in his eagerness for the
sweet-cake, Breeze ran into the store next door. Every
man and woman who had come to do serious purchasing
carried a crocus sack into which the things were
crammed : groceries, cloth, shoes, were all crowded in on
one another. Those who bought kerosene had it in quart
glass bottles tied with strings around the necks.
Breeze had never seen so many red sweaters in his
life. They were in all shapes and sizes and conditions.
Some quite new. Some patched and faded. Some with
rolled collars. Some with frayed elbows. They were
worn with blue overalls and khaki breeches, white
aprons and full skirts and short skimpy dresses. Old
and young wore them jauntily, as a sort of badge of
Saturday’s joy.
The doorway was hidden as the happy people ee
in and out of the store. The sidewalk, thick flaked with
bits of white oyster shell, became trashy with empty
peanut hulls, and seraps of tissue-paper torn from candy
kisses.
[94]
BO ie a
SATURDAY AFTERNOON
Everybody looked happy and light-hearted. Breeze
envied them their easy friendly ways, their gaiety.
As he stood apart, looking on, listening to them, he felt
more homesick than ever. Even the sweet-cake, that
dropped rich crumbs on the floor with every bite he
took, couldn’t make him forget that he was a stranger
here.
The postmaster called out Big Sue’s name, and there
was a dead silence, then much laughter. ‘‘Who? Big
Sue Goodwine? My Gawd! Who dat wrote she a letter?’’
Breeze was sent in a hurry to call her to come get it.
There was much chaffing. ‘‘It’s de sheriff, Big Sue.
Dat’s who.’’ And, ‘‘You got so much beaux you can’
member who is home an’ who’s gone off.’’
When Big Sue stumbled in half out of breath, they
called out to her, ‘‘ Hurry up an’ read em. Le’ we hear
de news!”’
But Big Sue sucked her teeth and said, ‘‘I don’ tell
ev’ybody my business. Not me!’’ She took the letter
and put it deep down in her apron pocket where not a
soul could even see it.
The mail was all given out at last, and the buying
was done. The threads of color unraveled as the negroes
left the stores and walked away down the road, some
young couples hand in hand. Big Sue was among the
last to start buying, for she had spent the time talking
with her friends. She waited until the store was almost
empty, then she chose a pair of pants and two shirts for
Breeze, holding the garments up to his body to get the
right size. She gave him the package to hold, saying,
‘Walk roun’ an’ look at de store. I want to git my
letter read.’’
The store was almost clear of people, but its air was
still thick with the acrid smell of hot sweaty bodies.
Breeze knew few of the things offered for sale, for the
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BLACK APRIL
rickety shelves were crammed with much besides cloth
and shoes. He recognized the gay paper-covered tin
_-eans of salmon, but the little bottles of cologne labeled
‘‘Hoyt’s German’’ were strangers to him. He couldn’t
read, so he couldn’t tell that paper covers on a big
batch of china jars claimed in emphatic black words
that they held a cure for the darkness of dusky skins, or
that the few bottles left on a shelf that was lately full
would straighten the kinks out of crinkly hair.
Heavy sacks of green coffee berries were piled high
between paunchy barrels of moist .brown sugar, and
smaller, neater barrels of pure white flour. Bolts of
scarlet flannel waited to make garments that would
keep the cold from old painful knees and shoulders.
Rolls of gay outing and checked homespun for dresses
were out on the counter. Piles of strong brogans
were only a few steps away from boxes of Sunday shoes.
Kits of chewing tobacco stood near a lot of little cloth
bags full of Bull Durham. Cakes with pink and white
icing, and red-striped sticks of candy were under a glass
ease along with black and white ball thread and needles
and fish-hooks.
The big kerosene lamp, tied with a wire to a rafter
overhead, filled the room with a pale yellow flare of
light that showed the floor, whitened with corn-meal,
and spattered with stains of greasy salt that fell on it
whenever fat chunks of cured hog meat were taken out
of the barrels and passed over the counter to the cus-
tomers.
When at last nobody else was in the store, Big
Sue reached down in her pocket and got out her
letter. ‘‘Please, suh, read em fo’ me. I’m ravin’ to
know who’s wrote me a letter,’’ she asked. The store-
keeper was a kind-looking white man with blue eyes and
red skin, and a mouth stained at both corners with
[96]
SATURDAY AFTERNOON
tobaceo. He wiped his hand on his trousers, then took
the letter and tore it open and took out a single sheet
covered with pencil writing.
“*It’s from Silas Locust. He’s your own husband,
isn’t he?”’
“‘Great Gawd!’’ Big Sue fairly panted. She put
the fat hand up to her breast and held it there for a
minute before she could get breath enough to say, ‘‘Do
hurry, suh. Tell me wha’ dat nigger is writin’ to me
*bout.’”
The letter said Silas was in Wilmington, North Car-
colina. He was a preacher now, and married to a big
fine-looking yellow woman, who had three nice children
for him. But lately his mind kept turning back to Big
Sue and Blue Brook Plantation. He wanted to see
them. He was coming home, in short. Big Sue re-
peated the words ‘‘in short’’ two or three times. She
seemed to have no feeling against Silas at all, or against
the fine-looking yellow woman he had married.
When the storekeeper handed the letter back to her,
saying, ‘‘You may as well get married, too, now that
Silas has a wife,’’ she gave a shamefaced giggle at the
idea and said she couldn’t marry, not with a living hus-
band. The storekeeper said she needn’t laugh, she’d do
it yet, and she owned that she had thought about it a
little.
The last time she went on an excursion to town, a
man who had a nice restaurant took her to ride in a
painted hack, and said he’d buy her an organ if she’d
marry him. They could run the restaurant together.
(She giggled again.) But now she was glad she hadn’t
done it, since Silas was a preacher, and he’d be a-coming
to see her, in short. Her sides shook, and her round eyes
rolled, until a serious thought came to her mind, and
she inquired, soberly, ‘‘Did Silas say if he’s Runnin’
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BLACK APRIL
Water Baptist, or a Stale Water?’’ The storekeeper
said Silas hadn’t mentioned either one, and Big Sue
pondered over it until the white man asked her if Silas
came back what she’d do with all her other beaux. Jake
and Uncle Bill and Uncle Isaac, too, and what about
the foreman, April?
“Great Gawd! Do hush!’’ Big Sue shouted with
clamorous laughter, as each name was mentioned. ‘‘ You
make me too shame. I don’ care nothin’ "bout none o’
dem old mens! Not me! An’ April just got me to fetch
dis li’l’ boy here to Blue Brook. E’s. April’s own, by a
7oman on Sandy Island.”’
But the storekeeper was in earnest, and he said, “‘If
I were you, whether Silas ever comes home or not, I’d
leave April alone. Leah will get you if you don’t.
You’ve forgotten her gums are blue, haven’t you?
She’ll bite you some day, and what will happen then?
You’ll die, and those white folks will have to hunt
another cook when they come to Blue Brook to shoot
ducks. Better be careful. Blue gums are worse than a
rattlesnake bite. Leah’s not going to stand outside that
restaurant and see you eating bread and fish with her
husband inside, without doing something about it. I
heard her say so a while ago.”’
Big Sue tossed her head. ‘‘Humph! I ain’ scared 0’
Leah. Fat as e is, I could squeeze em to deat’ in one
hand.’’ She opened and clenched her powerful fists.
Years of kneading dough had given strength to her thick
wrists and round fingers, for all the soft cushion of flesh
that covered them.
It was late and Big Sue and Breeze took a short-cut
by a path that ran through the woods, then by a smooth
planted field where new oats sprouted green tips and
covered the earth. They looked tender against the dark
even green of the trees. The evening light was thin and
[98]
SATURDAY AFTERNOON
misty. Shadows and colors and forms all melted into a
cool pale dusk.
Big Sue warned, ‘‘Watch out for snakes, son. I
ean’ smell good. A fresh cold is got my nose kinder
stop up. A cold ever did hinder my smellin’. I must
go stand round de stables a while to-morrow. Dat’il
broke up a cold quicker’n anyt’ing else.”’
[99]
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THE BARNYARD
FarLy Sunday morning Uncle Isaac came to ask Big
Sue for an old worn-out sieve. Uncle Bill was having a
bad time. Hags rode all the horses. at the barnyard
every night God sent. Every morning the manes and
tails were so tangled up it took Uncle Bill hours to get
them greased and smoothed out again.
Red sunsets promised a killing frost and the white
folks would be likely to come any time after that. Bill
had the horses’ coats all rubbed down like satin, every
fetlock trimmed, the bridles and saddles in good order,
but the hags were deviling him to death. Big Sue said
she had already given Uncle Bill a string of red pepper
pods and a straw broom too, to hang up on the stable
door. If they didn’t stop the hags, what good could a
sieve do?
Uncle explained to her how hags are fools about
counting things. They won’t go inside a door until they
count the boards on the door-facing, and the nails, then
they’d count all the pepper pods and the straws in the
broom, and have time enough left before day to ride
the horses, and plait their manes and tails. But a sieve
would stop them, for by the time all the holes in the
sieve were counted, those hags would be weary and
ready to go home and rest,
Big Sue gave him the sieve and he invited Breeze to
walk with him to the barnyard where Uncle Bill had a
nice little milking goat to give him, Breeze could break
[100]
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THE BARNYARD
it to ride and drive, and the milk would be good to
make him grow.
Breeze was delighted. All his life he had wanted a
goat. But Big Sue shook her head. <A milking goat
wouldn’t do for Breeze. If he drank goat milk he’d be
ruined for life. He hated soap and water already, and
goat’s milk would make him worse. He’d never wash
at all if he drank it. Breeze begged her to change her
mind. If she’d let him have a goat he’d wash every
night God sent. But she was firm. She had seen too
- many boys grow up into filthy men just from drinking
goat’s milk when they were young. She wanted Breeze
to be clean and nice so he could play with young Cap’n
when he came home to spend the winters.
She changed the subject by asking Uncle Isaac how
far guinea fowls could count. He said they could count
five. She’d always thought that too, but lately she’d
left five eggs in her guinea nest and they wouldn’t lay
in it again.
“‘Did you put you’ hand in de nest when you took
de eggs out?’’ Uncle Isaac asked. ‘‘Guineas kin smell.
If dey smell you’ hand, dey’ll change dey nest.’’ Big
Sue looked hard at Breeze. She had cautioned him
about that and he declared he had been careful to take
the eggs out with a long handled spoon.
‘““Leave six eggs in de nest, Big Sue. I know a
guinea can’ count to more dan six.”’
““No, I gwine lick Breeze, dat’s wha’ I’m gwine do.
He took dem eggs out wid his hand, and I know it.”’
“‘No, daughter, no! You’s too hard-hearted!’’ He
looked at her with twinkling eyes. ‘‘You treat em too
bad. I’m sorry for em. An’ Bill’s gwine crazy if you
don’ marry em! You ought not to plague we so!”’
““Who? Me?’’
‘‘Sho’! You. Po’ Bill’s mighty nigh ruint his
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—
BLACK APRIL
mouth tryin’ to be stylish an’ wear teeth on Sundays to
please you.’’ ;
She giggled, then she squalled. ‘‘Do hush, Uncle!
You know I got a livin’ husband right yonder to
Wilmington.’’
‘‘Silas don’ count. Not now. When a man’s gone
seven years, e don’ count. I’d risk dat.’’
‘‘Shucks!’’ Her tone was scornful. ‘‘It’ll take a
younger man dan you or Uncle Bill to git me. You can
put dat in you’ pipe an’ smoke it too.’’
““(We'll see,’? Uncle Isaac responded cheerfully.
“‘Droppin’ water kin broke stone.”’
As he turned away, Big Sue went up close and
shouted in his ear that Breeze’s palate was down, and
she was going to ask Maum Hannah to get it up for
him,
“It might be de boy’s just got a li’l’ fresh cold. If
e is, e ought to work round de stables. Dat’ll broke a
cold, if it ain’t got too strong a holt on you. Let’s go
by de stables now. Git you’ hat, Breeze.’’
Uncle Isaac wanted Breeze to see him hang up the
sieve for the hags. There was a right way and a wrong
way to do such things. Uncle Bill loved those horses,
yes Lord. Bill knew every horse and mule and cow and
goat and sheep by name. All the grown hogs, too.
When he called them they came. They knew he loved
them. Uncle Bill was as tender with little new-born
things as if they were human babies. But he couldn’t
stand disobedience. He had no mercy on things that did
wrong.
Alongside the path were wide-spread grape arbors.
A double row of gnarled knotted fig trees, full of yellow
leaves and belated ripe fruit, let rich honey ooze from
tiny rifts in blue and brown and purple skins, tempting
bees to plunder.
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THE BARNYARD
Uncle Bill had tried to teach the chickens to sleep
in a fowl-house, but the younger ones would slip out
here and roost in these fig trees. Uncle Isaac pointed
to a handful of white bloody feathers that lay scattered
over the grass. An owl caught the best white pullet
last night. She would roost in the top of the fig tree, no
matter how often she was shooed out. Foolish chicken.
But Bill would get that owl. Sooner or later he’d get
him. Bill was a dangerous man to eross. Uncle Isaac
was emphatie.
Putting a kind hand on Breeze’s shoulder, he said,
**You ax Bill to le’ you go wid him an’ |’arn how to call
a owl. Bill kin call crows and wild turkeys an’ alli-
gators too. E’ll larn you all dat, son, if you speak a
‘good word for him to you’ Cun Big Sue. Bill is raven
*bout dat lady. Pure raven.”’
“‘Do hush you’ fool talk, Uncle!’’ Big Sue chided,
with a pleased laugh. ‘‘I ain’ got Uncle Bill to study
*bout.”’
The great square barns were filled with corn and hay.
A long narrow building cut into many stalls made a
shelter for the mules and horses. As they opened the
wide heavy gate, Uncle Bill came out of the barn door
with a pitchfork full of hay on his shoulder. He was
lining out two lines of a hymn to sing, but broke off in a
laugh of delight when he spied them.
‘Why, Miss Big Sue! Great Gawd! I too glad fo’
see you! Lawd! Look a’ de li’l’ boy.’’ He laughed
again with pleasure.
“‘T got de sieve fo’ de hags, Bill, an’ I bring Breeze
an’ Big Sue to hear you talk to de animals an’ de
chickens. All two is got a fresh cold. Take ’em inside
de stables first.’’
Uncle Bill invited them to come look inside the
stables. ‘‘I got ’em all clean, an’ full 0’ de nicest pine
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BLACK APRIL
straw beddin’ ever was. I’m too sorry. Dey wouldn’
help you’ cold, not a bit, but come look at ’em, anyhow.’’
‘“Whe’s de run-at cow!?’’ Big Sue asked.
Unele Bill laughed at her fear. The run-at cow was
in the pasture—she needn’t be scared. He wouldn’t let
anything hurt her.
In the long row of stables, bars of sunlight shining
through the cracks were blurred with dust raised by
hens, roosters and little chickens, scratching vigorously
in the crisp dry straw. The cocks were saying brave
things, the hens sang contentedly as they looked for
the grains of corn and oats hidden under wisps of fod-
der and hay and straw.
‘*Seratch, chillen, seratch,’’ Uncle Bill encouraged
them. ‘‘De mules will come in to dinner befo’ long,
den you-all ‘Il have to go home.’’
“‘Make dem go home now,’’ Big Sue requested. ‘‘T
wan’ see how you rules dem, so I kin rule Breeze.’’
He hesitated. ‘‘It ain’ quite time yet. De mules
don’ come in till noon.’’
‘“We won’ be here den,’’ she persisted.
‘““How come you sends de chickens home when de
mules come?’’ Breeze asked.
‘‘So dey won’t git trompled under foot, son. De
hens is greedy, an’ a mule’s foot is blind. Whilst de
mules is chawin’ an’ droppin’ grains, dey feet’ll step on
a hen same as on pine straw.”’
“Send de chickens home now,’’ Big Sue asked again
with such a warm smile that he put down his fork full
of hay and, standing in the stable door, waved his big
arms and shouted:
‘*Shoo outa here, chickens! Git on home! Be quick
as you kin! I hate to git a stick atter you to-day! Dis
is Sunday! Git on out an’ go home!”’
The chickens became terribly excited. Some of them
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THE BARNYARD
huddled in the straw, trying to hide, others eackled and
ran. The hens with little chickens clucked briskly and
hurried away, for Uncle Bill’s face was hard until every
feather was out of sight.
The straw lay still. The dust whirling in the sun-
light took its time and dawdled. Stable flies, with shiny
wings and short fat bodies, strutted out in buzzing
circles. Uncle Bill’s practised eyes spied a scarlet comb
away under a trough, far back in a corner.
‘““Who dat hidin’?’’ he demanded sternly, and a
shamefaced young cockerel cackled out in terror.
“‘Didn’ I told you to go home?”’ Uncle Bill asked
him. ‘‘You ain’ know yet you got to mind me? [I ain’
got time to be foolin’ wid such as you. No, suh! I’m
too busy.”’
The poor frightened ereature made a few weak
gaggles and tried his best to hide.
““You’ head will be chop off to-morrow. I’d do it
now if it wa’n’t Sunday. Dem I can’ rule, I kills. I
don’ mean to mistreat nothin’, Miss Big Sue, but I got
to be strict.”’
He sighed as he came out and closed the door behind
him. ‘‘Dat’s a fine young rooster. I was gwine to keep
him for seed. I sho’ hates to kill hirf.’’
**T wouldn’ kill him. Not dat nice rooster. You got
to scuse a chicken sometimes.’’
“‘T done already scused em. Dat’s how come e’s
so spoilt. E’s ruint. If I let him live now e’d keep
me worried all de time,’’ Uncle Bill contended.
‘‘Hetch em to me an’ I’ll fry em nice fo’ you!’’ Big
Sue offered so kindly that: Uncle Bill declared, ‘‘Now,
dat makes me feel a lot better.’’
‘‘Show us you’ hogs.’’ Big Sue smiled sweetly. ‘‘I
wan’ to see if you got one as fine as my Jeems.”’
“‘T got fine ones, but deys all out in de pasture.”’
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BLACK APRIL
‘You kin call dem in, enty?’’ she persisted, and
Uncle Bill gave in with a happy laugh.
First he went by the open door and got a few ears of
corn, then on to the edge of the short slope, down by the
water, where he drew a deep breath that filled his great
lungs. He gave a loud mellow call: ‘‘Melia! Oh,
Melia!’’ Before the echoes had died away, to the right
and the left was a hurried swishing of water, an eager
grunting, the sucking sound of quick feet lifted out of
mud.
“‘Dey’s a-comin’!’’ he laughed, then he called again,
‘‘Come on, Melia! Make haste, gal!’’
His old face softened as they came in sight, crowds
of them. The little pigs squealed with delight as they
hurried to get to him. The older ones moved more
slowly, for their bodies were heavy, but all the time
they grunted encouragement to their children. Uncle
Bill’s big hand let a few white grains of corn trickle
through his fingers and fall near his feet. Their quick
eyes saw, and running forward they snapped up the bits
greedily, pushing one another, crowding, sniffing at
Unele Bill’s dusty brogan shoes, hunting for more.
Uncle Bill lifted the wide sagging gate and opened
it wide. ‘‘Come on een!’’ he said, and the glut-
tonous erowd trooped inside. When every one had
passed he threw them whole ears on the ground. As
they scrunched the grains and smacked over them, he
reached down and patted one on the head, scratched
another’s back with a cob, said some kind thing to
another. It was plain he loved them.
*‘Dese is my chillen,’’ he said to Breeze, with a kind
smile filling his soft black eyes.
*‘Dey is fine chillen, too,’? Big Sue praised them.
‘Uncle Bill’s hogs is de finest in dis whole country. I
was dat proud when he brought me Jeems, yonder in
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THE BARNYARD
my pen, home. Uncle Bill raises fine hogs an’ nobody
can’ cure hams, or make sausages to taste like de ones
he fixes. Nobody.’’
“Well, I tries my best.’’
It was a wonderful sight to Breeze. The shade be-
tween the fence and the water held hogs of every shape
and size. Huge and black, with soft silky hair, they
lolled, resting, panting, feeding their young.
**Git up, Ellen, an’ come here,’’ Uncle Bill called out
to one of them. ‘‘Le’ Miss Big Sue see you an’ you’
chillen good.’’ The words were hardly out of his mouth
before a great beast roused and lazily got to her feet
and walked toward him, followed by her children. Uncle
Bill took an ear of corn from his pocket, shelled a few
grains and tossed them over the ground, which made
the pigs come faster.
““Po’ Ellen! E’s blind. I had to stick e eyes out.
Lawd! I did hate to do it!’’
‘“How come so?’’ Big Sue asked him.
‘*Ellen would catch de chickens an’ eat em. A deer
couldn’ beat Ellen runnin’. A hen couldn’ git away
f’om em nohow. Ellen would swallow down a mother
an’ whole brood o’ biddies quicker’n I could swallow a
pint 0’ raw oysters. It’s de Gawd’s truth. EH’d eat de
mammy an’ all, I had to hinder em somehow. I didn’
wan’ to kill a fine hog like Ellen, so I hottened a wire
till it was red an’ jobbed it in all two 0’ e eyes. Ellen
can’ see how to run chickens down, not no mo’. Po’ ol’
gal!’’
‘‘How come some pigs is different f’om de rest?’’
Breeze asked. ‘‘How come some is red an’ dey ma is
black ?’’
Uncle Bill and Big Sue exchanged smiles. ‘‘May as
well say, Uncle Bill. Boy-chillen has to know sich
t’ings,”’
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BLACK APRIL
The old man smiled behind his rough hand and said,
“‘De ma’s name is Melia, son.’’
Uncle Isaac drew nearer to hear, and Uncle Bill told
how Melia had been the apple of his eye since the day she
was born. He planned to have her raise the finest litters
ever born on this plantation. But Melia was a head-
strong person. She had a mind of her own.
Uncle Isaac chuckled and murmured, ‘‘Dat’s de
Gawd’s truth!’’
Jack, the boar heading the herd, would take a prize
anywhere. He had tremendous size, yet he was so well-
bred that in spite of his bulk his skin was smooth, his
hair soft and fine. He had every mark of a perfect
Poland-China.
Uncle Isaac agreed emphatically. ‘‘Yes, e sho’ is.
Sho’! Sho’!’’
But when Melia grew up she would have nothing to
do with Jack. She didn’t like him. Uncle Bill tried to
encourage her to do her duty, but Jack wasn’t to her
taste, and that’s all there was to it. No amount of
coaxing could make her change.
Last spring Uncle Bill made up his mind Melia would
have to be killed. He hated to do it. The very thought
cut at his heart-strings. But there was no use to keep
Melia unless she had children. He’d have killed her
then, but she was too large to be killed in hot weather. -
Her ham couldn’t be cured properly, and so she was
left to be made into meat this winter.
Uncle Isaac broke out laughing. Lord, Bill was a
doleful soul when he fixed on Melia’s death. Uncle Bill
nodded :
“*It’s de Gawd’s truth! I pure had to go off an’
pray, I was so fretted over Melia! My prayers was
answered, too. Dey sho’ was!’’ He said soon after his
sorrowful decision, he went to the pasture one morning
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and found a strange sight: the pasture fence had been
broken down, and a low-down, ornery, red razor-back
hog was inside. He was dirty and lean and ugly. His
red hair was stiff and coarse and caked up with mud.
He was a sneaky, no-mannered beast. But Melia liked
him.
Before many moons Melia had a fine litter of pigs.
Red pigs, that took their color from the father Melia
chose for them, a scrubby, ugly no-account hog that
came from God knows where.
“‘Dey’s fine pigs, dough. Dey’s out-growin’ all de
rest. Melia’s a case. A heavy case.’’ His proud chuckle
ended with a sigh. ‘‘I reckon I’m too easy on Melia.
She played a bad trick on me. I know I ought not to
let em do so. But I’m gittin’ old an’ soft-hearted, an’
Melia knows it. Melia’s got too much sense. God ought
not to ’a’ made Melia a hog. No. Dat was a mistake.
Ought I to ’a’ killed Melia, Uncle?’’
““No. No,’’ Uncle Isaae said gently. ‘‘You couldn’
be hard, not on Melia. Melia had a right to choose her
man. Ev’y ’oman ought to could do dat, enty?”’
Big Sue laughed and curtsied good-by, after thanking
Uncle Bill for showing Breeze the barnyard creatures,
and Uncle Bill and Uncle Isaae both pulled back a foot
and bowed and touched their bald foreheads, where
forelocks should have been.
With a happy heart Breeze followed Big Sue on the
path that swung along the edge of an open field, close to
tall pines whose dark plumy tops lifted high above the
red ripened leaves fluttering on bushes at their feet. The
dogwood was crimson; haws and wild plum thickets gay
searlet. Partridges whistled. Across a reaped field
larks rose and called out plaintively to one another from
the stubble. High vines of black muskadines perfumed
the air. Persimmon trees bent with fruit waiting for
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BLACK APRIL
frost to make it mellow and sweet. The sun beat down
hot, but summer had given way to fall.
The road to the Quarters, strewn with fallen leaves
that almost hid its ruts and holes, ran past sugar-cane
patches where green blades rustled noisily over purple
stalks. Sweet potatoes cracked the earth under vines
shading the long rows. Pindars were blooming. Okra
bushes were full of creamy red-hearted blossoms and
pointed green pods. Butter-bean vines clambered over
the hand-split clapboard garden fences that kept pigs
and chickens out of small enclosures, where wide-leaved
collards waited for frost to make them crisp, and scarlet
tomatoes spotted straggly broken-down bushes.
Birds chirruped everywhere. The fields murmured
in the soft wind. The Quarters, although made up of
houses that tottered and leaned crank-sided, seethed
with noise and life.
A large wagon, drawn by two mules, and with new
planks laid across its high body for seats, rolled by,
filled with church-goers. A flutter of hand-waves and a
chorus of ‘‘good mawnin’s’’greeted Big Sue as she
stopped to let it pass.
‘‘How come you ain’ gwine to church to-day, Big
Sue?’’ somebody ealled out.
*‘T ain’ ne Still-water Baptist, gal! I wouldn’ go
to hear no Still-water preacher. No, ma’am!’’ she
answered. ‘‘Jedus was baptized in de River Jurdan,
an’ dat’s runnin’ water. Still water gits stale an’
scummy too quick. It can’ wash away sin! No! Sin
needs runnin’ water.”’
The Quarters’ houses, long, low, shabby buildings,
had two front doors apiece. Hach house sheltered two
families, a huge chimney in the middle marking the
division. Moss adorned the gray shingles of the sagging
roofs. Steps were worn thin. Rust reddened the old
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THE. BARNYARD
hand-wrought hinges of the leaning doors and gave a
creak to wry window shutters.
Maum Hannah lived in the house where she and her
mother and her grandmother were born. As they
approached it a miscellany of goats and chickens and
pigs and dogs and half-clothed little children scampered
away from the door-step. The door was ajar, but a
chorus of voices called out:
‘‘Maum Hannah ain’ home. E’s yonder down de
street !’’
‘Come look inside de door at Maum Hannah’s nice
house,’’ Big Sue pushed the door wider open with a
stick, so Breeze could see. The huge chimney had big
strong black andirons, where heavy logs of wood were
slowly being charred in two by a sleepy fire. All kinds
of pots sat around on the clean white sand of the hearth.
One pot on a pot-hook that reached out from the
ehimney’s back had steam spurting from under its cover,
filling the room with a savory smell. Big Sue sniffed.
“Dat goat-meat stew is seasoned mighty high,’’ she
said. ‘‘De floor was scoured wid mighty strong lye
soap, too.’’
The thing that took Breeze’s eye was the tiny black
child that sat on the hearth warming its bare feet on
the naked sooty pots. He knew it was Emma, but if he
had not seen her before he could never have told if she
were a girl or a boy, her small features were so sharp
and her clothes so shapeless.
‘‘Looka, Emma!’’ Big Sue called out with a laugh,
and the child’s small head perched on one side, one
round black eye narrowed and a broad grin showed her
two rows of milk-white teeth.
‘“You’s Maum Hannah’s heart-string, enty, Emmat?”’
But Emma didn’t answer a word.
Big Sue said Emma’s mother was dead and she had
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BLACK APRIL
no daddy, but she was worth a lot, for she had power to
cure sickness and sorrow by the touch of her hand. That
was because she had never looked on her daddy’s face.
Somebody stepped over her when she was a baby; that
was why she had never grown much. She’d never grow,
although she sat there on the hearth roasting potatoes
and eating them all day long.
All children loved to come here and sit inside Maum
Hannah’s chimney on the end of a log. Big Sue used to
sit there and watch Maum Hannah put ash-cake in the
ashes to cook, and sweet potatoes to roast. The fire never
went out in Maum Hannah’s fireplace. It’s bad luck
for a fire to die in a house and this fire had never gone
out altogether since it was first started by Maum
Hannah’s great-grandpa, who was brought from across
the sea to be a slave. The first houses ever built
here were sheds to keep the fires from the rain and wind,
for nobody had any matches in those days. The fires
that burned in all the Quarter houses came from that
same first fire that had burned for years and years.
It was a lot older than anybody on the plantation. Big
Sue’s fire was a piece of it. It burned hotter than match
fire. Steadier too. It’s unlucky to start a new fire with
a match. Breeze must learn how to bank the live coals
with ashes every night, so the next morning they can be
uncovered and started into a blaze. If the fire goes out,
borrow a start from Maum Hannah, or one of the neigh-
bors who have the old fire.
Maum Hannah’s cabin was very clean. Newspapers
were pasted all over the walls, the dark naked rafters
almost hidden by fringed papers that swung from the
barrel hoops on which they were tied. A few split
hickory chairs sat near the small pine table, a water-shelf
beside the door held a wooden bucket and a long-handled
gourd, ‘The wide boards of the floor were scrubbed
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ET Tee oe
THE BARNYARD
until they were almost white, and a string of egg shells
by the chimney dangled in the draught. They’d been
hung there to make the hens lay.
Between the two rows of dingy old houses that
squatted low under the great oak trees the hot sunshine
brought rank scents up out of the earth. Odors of
pig-pens and cow-stalls and fowl-houses and goats,
mixed with Hoyt’s German cologne and the smell of
human beings.
Children were playing around almost every door-
step. Plump. Bright-eyed. Boys with loose-hanging,
ripped-open trousers, their black bodies showing where
shirt-fronts lay wide open. Girls with short, ragged
skirts flapping around slim prancing legs. Babies cried.
Tethered goats bleated. Penned pigs squealed. Men,
women, some in every-day clothes, others in their
Sunday best, sat on the door-steps, leaned out of win-
dows, lolled on the bare earth, where there was sunshine.
Talking. Parading. Laughing. Some of them comb-
ing and wrapping hair, others putting shoe-strings in
shoes, or smoking and idling.
As Big Sue passed, she bowed or curtsied, and
called out hearty good mornings that fell limpid on the
lazy hum of voices.
‘“Whe’s Maum Hannah?’’ Big Sue asked, and every-
body pointed to the last house where an old woman sat
in a chair in the yard in front of a doorway, near a
group of black children playing in the dirt.
A large clean white cloth, folded into three corners,
lay across her head and shaded her eyes from the sun.
Her arms were crossed, and each narrow flat bare foot
rested on a brick. Side by side they slept, almost hidden
by the wide white apron that fell stiffly from her lap in
starched folds, with corners that reached the ground.
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BLACK APRIL
‘‘Maum Hannah don’ trust de ground. E won’t
as much as let her feet sleep on it. I bet e’s been awake
all night, an’ e’s makin’ up for lost time now.’’
Maum Hannah’s face bore a strong resemblance to
Uncle Isaac’s. It was smoother and had smaller fea-
tures, but the same rich brown tone was on the black
skin. The wool that edged out from under her black
headkerchief was snow-white too, but her face was
almost unlined, except for the wrinkles that smiles had
marked around her mouth.
The little black children stared and giggled as Big
Sue went tripping forward and put both her fat hands
over Maum Hannah’s eyes:
“Guess who, Mauma!’’
\ “Oh, I know you good,’? Maum Hannah answered.
*‘Dis is my Big Sue. I went to sleep a-thinkin’” "bout
you, gal. My mind must ’a’ called you till you come.’’
“‘T declare!’’ Big Sue mirated. ‘‘I knowed it! I
ealled you’ name, too, in de night. Dis is de boy-chile
I fetched f’0m Sandy Island. I want you to tie up his
palate lock. E coughs so bad at night I ean’ sleep.”’
Maum Hannah gave Breeze a warm kindly smile,
and her keen black eyes, deep-set underneath her bony
brow, scanned him swiftly from his head to his heels.
“‘Lawd, son, I too glad to see you. De last time wé met,
you wasn’ no bigger’n my hand. How eome you’ palate
is down? I too sorry. Did you know I had to gi’ you
de first spankin’ you ever had? Lawd, I had to pop you
hard to make you holler! I hope you is hard to make
ery, yet.’
The little black children playing in the dirt around
her forgot all about their games, so engrossed were they
in Breeze, and what Maum Hannah said. They forgot
their manners, too, until she prompted them.
‘“Yunnuh speak to you’ Cousin Big Sue. Git upf
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THE BARNYARD
Stan’ up straight an’ pull you’ foot an’ bow nice! Dis
li’l’ boy is yunnuh cousin, too. E come f’om over de
river. Tell him good mawnin’. Gawd bless him!’’
There was great scrambling and giggling, and many
shy ‘‘good mawnin’s.’’ The sleek bodies were half-elad,
but the whiteness of teeth, and brightness of eyes made
up for lack of garments.
Maum Hannah’s own teeth were strong and-sound,
and set in deep blue gums which stressed their yellow
tinge. The cane stem of a rank-smelling pipe showed
above the top of her apron pocket.
‘‘Lawd, you’ pipe do smell pleasant!’’ Big Sue
sighed. ‘‘But looka my li’l’ boy. Who does e favor?”’
Maum Hannah’s warm wrinkled hand gently lifted
Breeze’s chin so the sun could shine full on his face.
‘‘Dis boy is de very spit 0’ April. Gawd bless em, all
two!”’
Breeze felt that her wise old eyes took account of
everything he was. No secret could be hidden from
them.
“‘T glad you got a li’l’ boy-chile fo’ raise. I too love
boy-chillen myself, even if dey does bring most of de
trouble what’s een dis world. My old mammy used to
say ev’y boy-chile ought to be killed soon as it’s born.’’
“‘T ruther have boy-chillen dan gal-chillen,’’ Big Sue
said. ‘‘But I know good and well boy-chillen does bring
most o’ de misery dat’s een dis world.’’
Maum Hannah nodded sorrowfully, as if she weighed
Big Sue’s words, then she spoke slowly:
‘*T dunno how come mek so,
‘‘Gawd mus’ be makes boy-chillen and trouble, all
two, one time.
‘‘Eby ’oman hab joy when e buth one.
**Eby gal hab joy when e love one.
‘‘Dey ain’ see misery hide behime joy.
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BLACK APRIL
‘<Till de misery grow.
‘‘Grow big till e choke de joy!
“(Till e bust de ’oman heart open.
“‘Boy-chillen brings most 0’ de misery dat’s een dis
worl’.
“*Boy-chillen !’’
‘‘Dat’s de Gawd’s truth, Maum Hannah! I know so.
I was so crazy “bout my Lijah, yonder to Fluridy, an’ e
run off an’ left me when e wasn’t much higher’n dis
same boy-chile.”’
‘‘How’s Lijah when you heard las’?’’ Maum Han-
nah inquired. .
‘Wine! Fine as kin be. E sent me a’ answer to
say e’s de baddest man at de town whe’ e stay.’’
““Dat’s nice. I glad to hear good news f’om Lijah.
But e better not be too rash. No. When you write em
back tell em I say don’ git so bad e can’ rule hisself.’’
Big Sue laughed.
*“T’ll sho’ do it. I’m gwine git a letter wrote to him
as soon as Uncle Bill has time to come by my house an’
do em.’’
Maum Hannah raised her eyes to Big Sue’s face and
laughed. ‘‘Git de letter wrote to you’ boy, but don’
tarry too long wid de writin’. Gi’ Uncle Bill time to
court some, too.”’
Big Sue laughed too, until Maum Hannah added,
“‘Better keep out de Big House, honey. You'll hab sin
if you don’ mind!’’
‘*How come so, Maum Hannah?’’ Big Sue appeared
to be surprised.
‘*You know how come good as me. Better’n me, too.
But dat’s you’ business. Not my own. My business is
workin’ for Him up yonder.’’ Maum Hannah held up
her arms to the sky and lifted her face as if she
were praying, but her gaze became so fixed that they all
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pal dates
S'S h ee gee
THE BARNYARD
looked up. There, away above them in the sky like a
tiny bird, sailed something so high that its buzz was
hardly more than the hum of the wind.
Maum Hannah got to her feet, and quickly untying
her white apron, held it up and waved it overhead as
she called out loud as she could:
‘“Pray, chillen, pray! Talk wid Jedus! I too sorry
to see you dis mawnin’!’’ She shook her old head, and
shouted again. ‘‘Gawd don’ like mens to go up in de
elements! Dis is His day, too! Pray, chillen, pray!
Do, Jedus, hab mussy on dem. I hope dey ain’ none 0’
we white folks.’’
“‘T hope not,’’ Big Sue joined in. ‘‘But most white
folks is sinners, Maum Hannah.”’
“‘T dunno, gal. I can’ see inside nobody’s heart, an’
I tries to love de sinners same as de rest.’’
“You love sinners, Maum Hannah?’’ Big Sue was
amazed.
‘*Sho’, honey, I loves de sinners, an’ hates de sin.’’
‘‘Dat’s right, Mauma. Right.’’ She gave the old
shoulder an affectionate pat. ‘‘Dat’s how come you has
such good luck catchin’ chillen. Gawd blesses you.
How much did you catch last night ?’’
Both old hands went up with a gesture of impor-
tance. Two!
She’d caught two children last night. Two angels
since first dark. The spring love-making was bearing
fruit early this fall.
‘““When’s de white folks comin’ home?’’ she asked
with a sudden change of expression.
Big Sue didn’t know for certain, but she thought
soon as white frost came to kill the fever.
‘‘How come you want to know?’’ Big Sue was
curious.
Maum Hannah hoped they would hurry and come
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BLACK APRIL
while she was well and able to talk with them. Some-
thing was on her mind, worrying her, and she wanted
to get it settled. She was fretted about the graveyard.
It was too full. Every grave dug lately uncovered old
bones. There was no more room, and a new graveyard
ought to be started.
“‘Do, Jedus!’’ Big Sue exclaimed. ‘‘I sho’ would
hate to be be first one buried in a new graveyard. Dey
say you wouldn’ never rest, not till Judgment Day, if
you gits buried first, off by you’ lonesome self.’’
‘““Not if you trust Gawd, honey.”’
“‘T trust Gawd, Maum Hannah, but I ever did hear
dat de first one to be bury in a new graveyard is bound
to be unrestless.’’
A gentle smile shone on Maum Hannah’s face. ‘‘I
know, honey. I ever did hear so too. Gawd knows if
it’s so or not. But I done made up my mind to dis:
I’m willin’ to be de first one. I’m gwine ask de white
folks to set off a piece 0’ new ground an’ when my time
is come to let me be de first one to be buried in em.’’
“‘Great Gawd!’’ Big Sue panted. ‘‘You’s got a
strong heart, fo’ true, Mauma. I couldn’t do dat to
save life.’’
“*T know, chile. My heart gits weak as branch water
too when I t’ink on death. But I’m done old. I got to
go soon. I may’s well put my trust in Jedus. E knows
I done de best I could. I talk wid Him every night. I
talk wid em ’bout de graveyard in de new ground. I’m
gwine to hab faith dat E’ll help me to rise up on
Judgment Day an’ fly straight to glory, same as if I
was a-layin’ yonder longside my mammy an’ all dem
what’s gone befo’ me.’’
Big Sue pondered and shook her head. She couldn’t
stand to let her mind run on death. She couldn’t sleep
at night if she did.
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THE BARNYARD
~“Dat’s ’eause you’s healthy. If you was weakened
down wid a sickness you’d as soon go as stay.”’
*‘Not me! No, Jedus! I hope I kin stay till I’m old
and dry as Aun’ Trecia!’’
“*T hope you kin if you craves dat. But I know my
time is most out. I’m willin’ to sleep in new ground
when my work is done.’’
**Nobody else’ll mind a new graveyard if you sleeps
dere ahead of dem, Mauma.’’
“‘T can’ do nobody no good if dey dies in sin. You
must git right befo’ you’ time comes. Do, honey, git
right. Right wid Jedus!”’
Big Sue answered she was right. And she wanted
to stay right. But she was worried half to death now,
because she had broken a looking-glass.
‘‘Now, dat is a pity! I too sorry you broke a lookin’-
glass. But you go see Emma. Emma kin help you git
shet o’ dat back luck. Po’ chile, e had ear-ache e’se’f
las’ night. Dat cow make em run an’ fret e’se’f so bad.
Emma pure cuss de cow!’’ Maum Hannah burst into a
laugh. ‘‘Emma’s bad! Bad! I haffa all de time lek
em! Po’ li’l’ creeter! Emma will cuss dat cow!’’
‘‘Emma is too small to lick fast, enty, Mauma?
Looks like lickin’ would stunt em worser.”’
Manm Hannah laughed again, and all the children
laughed too.
“‘Lickin’ don’ stunt chillen! No. Lickin’ loosens up
dey hide, an’ makes ’em grow. Now, Emma’s small,
but e hab sense. Since de nights is cool e sets by de
fire an’ warms e feet on de pots. Dem same smutty
pots I cooks de victuals in. I tell em to don’ doso! But
Emma keeps right on. Dat smut leaves de pots to stick
on Emma’s feets, den when Emma goes to bed de smut
leaves e feets to stick on my clean sheets an’ quilts. It
_ takes tight scrubbin’ to make ’em git off, Smut too
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BLACK APRIL
loves cloth! Dat’s how come I lick Emma so much. I
try fo’ make em hate smut same ez I hate sin. But
Emma’s feets is so black e can’ see de smut on ’em.’’
‘“‘Why you don’ git Emma some shoes, Mauma?
Dey’ll keep her feets warm, better dan de pots.”’
‘‘No, honey. I ain’ got de heart to make po’ lil’
Emma wear shoes. E too love to jump round an’ dance
n’ shout. Shoes would hinder em. Ill dis keep on
lickin’ em till e knows better. I'll break em f’om de
pots soon ez I git time. I been too busy lately. All de
chillen needs so much doctorin’. De womens run round
too much, a-pleasurin’ deyselves, to hab good chillen
dese days: Times is changed, honey. Womens ain’
quiet an’ steady like dey used to be. No.”’
She sighed and pointed to the head of a little girl
where a bit of wool was tied so tight right over the mid-
dle of her forehead that the poor child could hardly
blink her eyes.
“‘T had to tie up Tingie’s palate-loeck dis mawnin’.’’
Tingie’s big eyes looked up solemnly, and Tingie’s sore
throat gulped with a great effort to swallow. ‘‘Tingie
hab de so’ t’roat, bad.”’
“‘T’s feelin’ better now,’’ Tingie declared huskily.
**You’ll soon be well, honey,’? Maum Hannah told
her with a kind smile, and the child smiled back, sure
that Maum Hannah knew.
‘*T needs some buzzard-claw mighty bad, Big Sue. I
wish you’d tell Uncle Bill so. De babies is teethin’ so
bad dis fall. I tried puttin’ a hog-teeth on a string
roun’ dey neck, but hog-teeth is too weak to do any good.
Do tell Uncle Bill to shoot me a few buzzards. De gal-
chillen is teethin’ ’most hard as boy-chillen dis year.
But boy-chillen is mighty scarce. De womens pleasure
deyself too much to hab boy-chillen. Boy-chillen picks
sober womens fo’ dey mammy. Dese gals buy so much
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THE BARNYARD
trash out de sto’ to eat, dey breast-milk is weak as water.
I tell ’em so, but dey don’ listen at me. No.’’
““My Lijah was plagued wid de grow-fast. Ton
*member, Mauma?”’
Maum Hannah nodded. ‘‘I ’member, but grow-fast
is a easy complaint to cure. I had to work on one yes-
te’day.’’ She told how she and the mother had taken
the child into the room where it was born, and stood in
opposite corners to throw it back and forth to each
other, singing the grow-fast song as they did. A sure
eure for grow-fast. ‘‘When de room is big, it’s stiff
treatment. My arms mighty near broke yeste’day.’’
Instead of going home the way they came, Big Sue
followed a path through the woods, and crossed a clear
brown stream that flowed without a single ripple to
break its smooth dark surface, or coat it with foam.
The water’s breath smelt warm as it rose into the cooler
shadows.
In a small hollow, near its banks, washtubs were
turned upside down on wooden benches, and a big black
washpot sat over dead embers. Waiting for Friday, the
plantation wash-day. All the first days of the week are
field-days. On Friday the women gather and wash
their clothes and gossip. It is a great day for them. A
sort of holiday. Full of things to talk about. Every
bit of the sunshine between the trees is strung with
clothes-lines, heavy weighted with clothes, the old trees
stand around silent and dolesome, with black shadows
cooling their feet.
By Saturday noon the ironing is done, the week’s
work over, then the fun begins. Crap games and
parties and dances for the sinners; prayer-meetings and
ehureh for the Christians. Something goes on all the
time until Monday morning. Everything that matters
[121]
BLACK APRIL
happens between Saturday night and Monday morning.
A week’s earnings can be lost, or a wife, or a sweetheart.
Even one’s soul!
When they passed a smooth clean piece of ground
with a pile of charred blackened sticks on it, Big Sue
laughed and said, ‘‘Do look! De crap-shooters been
here last night. See where dey had a fire? Firelight
makes de bones rattle better, so dey say. An’ naked
ground brings luck to de players.’’
‘‘Tg you a sinner or a Christian, Cun Big Sue?”’
Breeze blurted out before he knew it.
““Who? Me? Great Gawd! I been a Christian ever
since I was twelve years old.’’? After a minute she
added, ‘‘I did got turned out o’ de church one time. I
stayed out mighty nigh a year. Silas was de cause of
my havin’ sin. E deviled me too bad befo’ e left
me. But de earthquake come dat summer, an’ I got so
seared it didn’ take me long to seek and find peace. I
joined de church an’ I been in it ever since. You’s
mighty nigh twelve, enty? When you’s twelve Gawd’ll
hold you responsible fo’ you’ sins.’’
Near the creek stood the schoolhouse for the blaek
children on the plantation. A log house with a doorway
cut in one end, and fitted with a rude door made of clap-
boards swung on iron hinges. The big chimney at the
other end was overspread with clay mortar. This cabin
occupied a lovely spot, overshadowed with a great oak
tree from whose roots a small spring trickled and ran
to join the larger stream behind it.
Big Sue said there were too many children to get
inside the schoolhouse at one time. Half of them had
recess while the other half recited lessons. The teacher
taught with a long keen whip in her hand, and she made
every child learn the lessons. One word missed brought
a sharp cut across the palm of the offender’s hand. Two
[122]
THE BARNYARD
words brought four cuts that would not soon be for-
gotten. Big Sue said she had never bothered to learn
to read and write. She didn’t have any use for either.
Sometimes she’d like to read a new receipt. Still, she
could cook better out of her head than most people could
eook out of a book.
The old people didn’t believe in book learning. They
thought learning signs and charms more important, and
they discouraged having a school. But Zeda’s girl,
raised right on the plantation, was the teacher, and she
worked wonders with the children. Lijah had never
liked books. Playing and riding and shooting and
swimming interested him more. He’d have made a good
conjure doctor. Once he put some of his own hair in a
hole in a tree, and it cured his sprained ankle. He cut
an elder stick for Maum Hannah’s asthma, and tied it by
the neck and hung it up in the loft, and it cured her,
too. For a while, before he ran away, he saved all his
toe-nails and finger-nails to put in his coffin, but that
was so much trouble he quit after he got one little bottle
full. It takes a lot of learning to be a good conjure
doctor, for there’s black magic as well as white. Magic
ean save as well as kill. Breeze ought either to pray
now or start learning magic. He was almost twelve.
The path ran close to a group of trees surrounded
by an old rusty iron fence, where tombstones gleamed
white. Deep shadows rippled whenever a breeze made
its way through the thick, moss-hung woods. Enormous
live-oaks stood at regular intervals, all of them festooned
with trailing moss that made a weird roof overhead.
Cicadas chanted shrilly in a tangle of rose vines and
honeysuckles. White oleanders and japonicas crowded
one another, the fragrance of the blossoms mingling
with the stench of decaying leaves and wood. Raising
the rusted creaking latch of the iron gate, Big Sue
[123]
BLACK APRIL
tipped inside the enclosure where gnarled roots of the
old trees crawled across the paths and slipped under
pink-plumed tamarisk bushes. They disappeared, but
they tilted the heavy tombstones, and crumbled the brick
foundations from under marble slabs thick with words.
Some of the graves were smooth and clean, others
were smothered with vines stretched across sunken hol-
lows. Plantation masters and mistresses had been
crumbled, melted, to feed blind groping roots.
Big Sue went toward a corner where a massive gray
stone marked a grave. ‘‘Old Cap’n lays here. Gawd!
Dat was a man! Not scared o’ anyt’ing or anybody!
Mean! Jedus, he was mean!’’
Big Sue sighed. How times change! That same
man lying in his grave had lorded it over this whole
Neck, once. Not only over the black people who worked
his fields after freedom the same as in slavery days, but
over the white people too. Most white people hereabout
now were trash. Poor buckra. Gray-necks. Children
and grandchildren of overseers. When the war to free
the slaves was going on they stayed home and sold
whisky. They ran under the bed and hid if anybody
started a racket. They made money and saved their
skins. Some of them owned plantations now, and lived
in houses whose front doors had been shut to their
grandfathers !
Times had changed. The man who had ridden over
this country with the loosest rein and the sharpest spur,
was down under the ground feeding tree roots and
worms to-day. One little boy, one lone grandson, was
all that was left of his seed, and he was being raised
up-North, among Yankees. The child’s own ma was
dead and his stepma had taught him the strange ugly
speech of the Yankees. Enough to make his grandpa
turn over in his grave! Wouldn’t the old man curse!
[124]
THE BARNYARD
This land must be too rich, too rank for white people
to thrive on it. Their skins were too thin, their blood
too weak to bear the summer heat, and the fevers and
sickness that hid in the marsh in the daytime, then came
out to do their devilment after dark. :
Black people ruled sickness with magic, but white
people got sick and died. White people leave money to
their children, but black people leave signs. Give her
signs every time! Uncle Isaac was getting old. He
might die soon. Breeze had better start learning all he
could right now, before Uncle Isaac’s mind failed. She’d
see Uncle Isaac and tell him.
As she spoke a faint rustle of wind went through the
trees and a lizard, carefully colored to match the soil,
scurried across the path, rattling dead leaves as it slid
under the solid gravestone. Big Sue leaned over the
grave and stirred the earth, selecting bits of the coarser
sand.
‘*‘T want seven li’l’ rocks now. One fo’ ev’y night in
de week. I gwine keep ’em tie up in my pocket-
hankcher, so I would stop havin’ so much bad dreams
all de time.”’
Breeze shivered. If spirits of the dead ever haunt
the paths of the living, they lurked in the deep
gloom of the shade made by the overgrown shrubbery,
by those coiling, writhing twisted vines. The swift
wings of a cardinal spun a scarlet thread before them.
Clear notes were flung in a spray of song from the top
of the tallest tree. Big Sue called up at him: ‘‘It’s
twelve o’clock, enty? I hear you sayin’ dis is de bright-
est time 0’ de day!’’ She tried to make her lips smile
bright enough to fit her words, but Breeze could see that
the graveyard had made her afraid too. ‘‘Le’s go, son.
Le’s git out 0’ here,’’ she said.
She trampled on a wild rose, full of frail blossoms,
[125]
BLACK APRIL
‘As Breeze stepped aside to keep from crushing another,
a soft wind seized the delicate petals and scattered them
over leaves that were already dead.
The road went through the woods past a cleared place,
then brought them to the negro graveyard. Every grave
held something valued by the dead. A white china
pitcher and basin. Old bottles, still holding medicine.
Small colored glass vases. Cups and saucers. A few
plates. Some of the graves were decorated with clusters
of wooden sticks, skilfully carved to make heads of
wheat. Breeze wanted to take one, but Big Sue objected.
To take one off a grave would be bad luck. Unele Isaae
would be glad to make him one if he’d ask him.
Bright and early Monday morning, Big Sue began
fitting together small, carefully cut scraps of cloth, sew-
ing them into squares with strong ball thread. Breeze
sat on the step in the pleasant sunshine threading her
big-eyed needle as fast as it worked up arm-lengths of
thread into firm-holding stitches, while she sat in a low
chair on the porch.
Squirrels chased one another across the yard, and up
into the live-oak trees. Showers of ripe acorns jarred
down by their playing spattered over the ground. Those
acorns were sweet as chinquapins, and the squirrels were
fat with eating so many. But Big Sue would not let
Breeze kill even one for dinner. His fine new sling-shot,
made out of a dogwood prong, could hit almost as hard
as a gun, but Big Sue said the white folks who lived in
the Big House wanted the squirrels left. Even if they
ate up all the pecans in the fall, and all the peaches in
the summer, not one was to be killed. White people
have foolish notions, but it is better not to eross them
if you can help it.
She was working hard to get her quilts quilted be-
[126]
THE BARNYARD
fore the white folks came down for the duck-shooting
this winter. They didn’t stay long these last years.
They had another home up-North, so li'l’ ‘‘Young
Cap’n’’ could go to a fine school there. Poor little boy!
He liked this home a lot better, but his Yankee stepma
ruled him and his pa too.
Each day got shorter now. She must sew fast. Get
all her squares patched and ready. She’d scarcely have
time to draw a long breath for the turn of cooking to be
done after they came. Nobody else on the plantation
could season victuals to suit them. Zeda helped some-
times, but Zeda didn’t know when ducks were done
to a turn and not too done. Zeda was apt to get venison
as dry as a chip, and if she as much as looked at a waffle
it fell flat.
Uncle Isaae’s wife was the cook before Big Sue. She
used to be the finest cook on the whole Neck. Nobody
knew how she made things taste so good. She wouldn’t
tell. One day she dropped dead. Right in the kitchen.
Some people thought she was conjured, but too much
rich eating may have done it. After that Uncle Isaac
tried to train two or three people to fix the food, for he
knew a lot of his wife’s secrets from watching her. Big
Sue was a girl then, but she was a natural-born cook.
When Uncle Isaac found that out, he let her have her
own way. She could beat everybody now. Lord!
When she had the right kind of victuals, people gnawed
their fingers and bit their tongues just to smell the steam
when she lifted the pot lids.
The next moon might bring cold weather. She
must hurry and get these quilts pieced and have a quilt-
ing. She had quilts enough for herself. These were
for Joy. She’d ask all the plantation women to Maum
Hannah’s house, where the big room stayed ready for
meeting on Wednesday nights, and for quiltings any
[127]
BLACK APRIL
day in the week. If it turned cold, Sherry would kill
enough wild ducks for her to cook for the women to eat
with the rice. Wild ducks and rice are fine. If it
stayed warm, she’d cook chickens and rice, instead.
Make a purleau, with plenty of hard-boiled eggs. Uncle
Bill would give her the chickens.
Sherry loved Joy so much he’d get anything she
wanted for this quilting! The women could easily quilt
ten quilts a day. If they came early and worked fast
they could do fifteen, but she’d be satisfied with six,
for she wanted hers quilted right. With fine stitches,
run in rows close together. Then ‘the cotton batting
could never slip, no matter how many times the quilts
were washed.
She was piecing a ‘‘ Monkey wrench”’ quilt now. She
had a ‘‘Log-cabin’”’ finished, and a ‘‘Primrose’’ and a
“‘Star of Bethlehem’”’ and a ‘‘ Wild-goose Chase’’ and a
‘‘Pine-burr.’’ She had begun a ‘‘State-house Steps,’’
but that was a hard one to do. It couldn’t be worked
out in a hurry and look right. She’d wait and finish it
next year. Joy could wait for that one.
Some women don’t care how their quilts look. They
piece the squares together any sort of way, but she
couldn’t stand careless sewing. She wanted her quilts,
and Joy’s, made right. Quilts stay a long time after
people are gone from this world, and witness about them
for good or bad. She wanted people to see, when she
was gone, that she’d never been a shiftless or don’t-care
“woman.
[128]
te
XI
HUNTING ’POSSUMS AND TURKEYS
BREEZE learned something new almost every day. He
_ grew taller each week. His skinny muscles were filling
out, his arms and legs growing longer and tougher. Big
Sue said he’d be useful if he kept on. He fetched all
the water they used from the spring, three full buckets
at a time, one bucket on his head, one in each hand. He
eut all the wood they burned, without fatigue, since
Sherry had taught him the trick of swaying his body
forward from the hips as he brought the ax down on
the wood. Sherry made a game of wood-cutting, and
eould eut a thick oak log in two with nineteen whacks.
Breeze took two or three times as many, but he did it
with one or two less each day.
He made up both beds every morning and swept the
floor so clean that Big Sue couldn’t find a speck of dust
anywhere. He knew how to crack hickory-nuts and wal-
nuts so the goodies came out whole for Big Sue to put
in sweetened bread. He had helped make soap with
ashes, pot-grease and the fat of a lot of spoiled hog meat
April gave Big Sue. He took a sack of corn on his
shoulder to mill every Saturday morning, and brought
it back, ground fine, and hot from the grinding rocks.
He milked the cow, churned the cream, fed the chickens,
and the hog in the pen. He could even patch his own
clothes.
The regular field-hands drew rations on Saturday,
[129]
BLACK APRIL
one peck of corn, three pounds of cured hog-meat. The
women who had no man living with them, paid rent
for their cabins with one day’s work a week. April
saw to it that every one paid. He was close and careful.
Everybody had to come right up to the notch since he
was foreman, but the house of Big Sue was rent free,
since she was the cook. Breeze drew rations like a reg-
ular field-hand, and by hunting and fishing with Sherry
and Uncle Bill he provided many a good potful of meat.
With a line tied to the end of a long swamp eane, and a
slick wriggly earthworm for bait, he caught strings of
perches that made rich morsels when dipped in corn-
meal and fried.
Sherry’s coon dog, Zip, had a faithful nose, and
when Sherry and Breeze took him out at night they
seldom came home without coons, or ’possums, enough
to satisfy both Big Sue and Zeda.
They came in earlier than usual one night with nine
"possums and found April sitting by the fire with Big
Sue. Breeze saw Sherry’s frown and the two men
hardly spoke to each other, until April eyed the ’pos-
sums with a sneering smile and said:
“*Yunnuh’s got a lot 0’ ’possums to-night. I heared
Jake’s calf got in a bog. E must ’a’ died.’’
April poked the fire until sparks flew into the room.
““Wha’ you doin’, April? Is you erazy?’’ Big Sue
eried sharply.
April spat contemptuously far back into the live
embers. ‘‘I’d as soon eat a buzzard as one o’ dem
possums !”’
‘‘How come?’’ Breeze, Big Sue, Sherry, all darted
astonished looks at him.
“Dey’s full up wid earrion. A ’possum ain’ decent
as a buzzard. Dey’s so coward-hearted, dey durstn’
come out in de day-time to eat. No. Dem sleek-tailed
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~
HUNTING ’POSSUMS AND TURKEYS.
devils wait till night, den goes creepin’ to carcasses and
stuffs on all what de buzzards scorns.”’
“<Shut you’ dirty mout’, April! I declare to Gawd,
you’s a-turning my stomach! Torectly, I couldn’
eenjoy eatin’ dese possums at all!’’ Big Sue laid stress
on every word.
‘*When did you git so awful delicate, Big Sue?’’
April asked with a grin.
**T ever did have a delicate stomach. I don’ hardly
have no appetite at all lately.”’
Sherry gave a loud guffaw and April frowned in
sudden ill-temper. ‘‘Wha’ dat tickle you so turrible,
now, Sherry ?’’
April’s irritation showed in the jerky shifting of his
hands and feet, and Big Sue’s eyes stretched open and
rolled toward Sherry, who answered sourly:
‘Oh, I ain’ so awful tickled. No. I just had to
laugh when I thought on how it takes a thief to catch a
thief. Night-walkers meets night-walkers, enty?’’
“‘T do’in’ un’erstan’ wha’ dat you’s a-drivin’ at.”’
April stroked his mustache and eyed Sherry coldly.
“Me neither,’’ Big Sue chimed. ‘‘Whyn’ you talk
plain talk, Sherry? It’s mighty no-manners to stand up
an’ laugh a horse laugh in somebody’s face.’’
‘“Do ex-ecuse me, Cun Big Sue. Ev’y now an’ den, I
forget an’ speak out o’ turn. I was just talkin’ fool
talk. I ain’ laughin’ at nobody. Come on, Breeze.
Le’s divide de ’possums. You take four, I take five. We
sho’ had good luck to-night. Good night, ev’ybody!’’
Sherry flung himself out of the door and April sat
silent, vexed, upset; but his anger lasted only a short
time. When he spoke, his tone was pleasant enough.
He ought not to have joked with Sherry. The boy was
too easy to get plagued. Zeda had spoiled him all his
life, instead of breaking him of his sassy ways. Such a
[131]
BLACK APRIL
pity to ruin a nice boy. April got to his feet and stood
stiffly erect.
Big Sue’s gimlet eyes watched his face, then leaning
zo knock her pipe on the hearth she said sadly:
‘‘Lawd, I wish dem ’possums was somet’ing fit to eat.
A wild turkey or somet’ing. If dey was a wild turkey, I
could stuff dem wid oysters an’ roast dem. Jedus,
wouldn’. dey taste good! Whyn’ you kill a turkey,
April? Looks like nobody else can shoot one but you?
Ain’ you got a blind baited ?’’
She smiled up at him so sweetly, April smiled back.
‘““Whyn’ you take Breeze an’ go in de mawin’?”’
she pressed. ‘‘We could eat turkey to-morrow
night.’’ She smacked her lips.
April turned her words over in his mind, thinking,
calculating. Presently he asked, ‘‘How ’bout gwine
turkey huntin’ wid me in de mawnin’, boy ?’’
Breeze was rapt with pure joy. April’s smile made
him tingle all over. Instead of being bashful and
afraid, he looked straight into April’s eyes and nodded.
‘‘Hawdy! lLawdy!’’ He murmured low, and his
heart went pit-a-pat. He was going turkey-hunting with
April, the foreman, who had scarcely ever noticed him
before!
“‘Git on to bed, son!’’ Big Sue said so gently, so
kindly, Breeze was at a loss to know why. He walked
slowly back to the shed-room, the blood beating clear up
in his cheeks, but Big Sue sat down in her chair by the
fire to smoke another pipeful. ‘‘Set down, April,’’ she
said. ‘‘De night is young, yet.’’
She woke Breeze before daylight when the black
sky held only a narrow moon, without any sign of sun-
rise. A thin gray mist hung over the earth and all was
quiet except a few crickets and the occasional bark of a
dog. Breeze had slept little, but he felt wide awake,
[132]
—
i
HUNTING ’POSSUMS AND TURKEYS
_ breathless, as he followed April’s slow ponderous steps.
April spoke seldom. He seemed to be brooding over
something. Breeze pitied him. A foreman has so much
to think about, so many people to rule, so much land to
manage. Sherry was wrong to be impudent last night.
They turned off from the road into a path which
Breeze could barely see although his eyes worked well
in the dark. April led the way, and Breeze hung close at
his heels for the silence in the forest was full of strange
sounds and shapes.
The turkey blind was a great bush heap, with one
small opening in its side, looking straight out on a nar-
row trench. The bottom of the trench was strewn
with white shelled corn, so when April called the tur-
keys, and they got to eating, their heads would be down
in a bee line. One shot might blow two or three heads
off. Wild turkeys fly too fast for any gun to have a
good second chance at them.
Breeze sat perfectly still inside the blind, while
April yelped and yelped. Once a hen yelped back, but
she came no nearer. Breeze’s feet went to sleep. Both
his legs got cramp. His back ached. The cold morning
air chilled his very bones, but he dared not move so much
as one muscle. April had warned him not even to
whisper. The silence made him drowsy, but when April
sniffed and Breeze drew in a long breath of air, then his
body’s discomfort fled! Cold fear took its place, for 2
rattlesnake was near.
*‘Le’s go, Cun April!’’
“‘T’m gwine git dat snake first, son. You set still till
I call you.’’
Day was coming. Tree branches overhead talked
softly to one another. Leaves brought down by the wind
fell rustling. Birds chirped and twittered. Squirrels
barked. Breeze’s blood drummed in his temples.
[133]
BLACK APRIL
The forest around them was old and great, most of
the trees gums or poplars, with an occasional pine
appearing. The undergrowth crowded close together,
twining and tangling with limbs and branches so dense
the light could scarcely reach the ground.
April found a dogwood tree and cut a long forked
stick, then he moved slowly, stealthily, in the direction
of the smell. Breeze thought his heart would stop beat-
ing altogether, so great was his terror. If that snake
struck April and killed him, how’d he ever get home
himself? He didn’t know the way. His hands thrust
deeper into his pockets and one felt his knife. Uncele’s
directions for helping a snake-bitten person came to him.
Cut the wound wide open and suck out the poison.
Could he do it? Could he eut April’s flesh and suck his
blood? He’d have to, if it came to the worst.
April thrashed about in the undergrowth with his
long forked stick, calling out as he did so, ‘‘ Whe’ is you,
snake? Hurry up an’ rattle! I wan’ git you!’’
When a clear dry rattle sang out, he laughed. ‘‘Now
we'll see who’s de best man, me or you! Breeze, git
you’ pocket knife! Cut a shell open! Have it ready so
if I miss an’ git bit you kin pour de powder in de bite
an’ set em afire. I got a box o’ matches here in my
pocket. You better take ’°em. You understand, enty?
Burnin’ de pizen out is better’n suckin’ it out. Fire kin
fight em stronger’n you’ mouth.’’
The thick-bodied, large-headed snake was coiled,
ready to strike. The rattles on the end of its tail raised
and shook angrily. But instead of dread, April showed
a fierce pleasure in the dry ear-splitting whir. Breeze’s
throat went dry, but April laughed.
“*You’s too slow, you pided devil! Summer’s gone!
I kin kill you easy as Breeze kills a chicken! Lawd! you
is old! You’ rattles looks like a cow’s horn. Come on!’?
[184]
HUNTING 7"POSSUMS AND TURKEYS
_ He batted the snake’s head to one side with a deft
blow, and, putting the stick’s fork over its neck, held it
fast to the ground, until he could seize it below the
throat in a steady powerful grip. As he lifted it up off
the ground, the thick body wound wildly around his arm
in a terrible struggle to wrench loose, the flat eyes
glared, the wide mouth yawned. April stood firm as a
tree.
“Fight, boy, fight! Stretch you’ mouth wide as
you kin! Dat ain’ wide enough yet! I want to spit
clean down in your belly! Show you’ fangs! Dey ain’
nuttin! I got blue gums too! You may as well stand
still and pray! You’ time is out! You gwine meet you’
Gawd to-day!”’
With a whoop April threw his head back, then he
spat straight into the yawning mouth.
““Dat shot got you!’’ he cried, and spat again. ‘‘You
can’ harm me, son! You is a-weakenin’! I see it! My
spit is pizen as you’ own!’’
‘‘Come, Breeze! lLooka dis scoundrel! lLawd, e
sho’ is a whopper !’’
The snake’s muzzle was covered with plates, its
scaly brown body marked with yellowish square shapes;
its eyes, full of hate, stared out from the front of its
heart-shaped head. Breeze’s own blood had frozen in
his veins, and his legs were almost too numb to carry
him.
“You got blue gums, Breeze. Come spit in dis
mouth so you’ll know how to do it next time!’’
“‘Don’ make me do dat, Cun April.”’
“‘You ain’ no gal-baby, is you?’’
‘*No, suh.”’
“Den come on. Git you’ mouth full. Now, aim
straight fo’ de fork in his tongue.’’
Breeze’s lips twitched so that he missed the snake
[135]
BLACK APRIL
completely the first time, but the next effort was a suc-
CeSS.
“‘Dat’s good. You got mo’ grit dan Sherry. Sherry
never would try dis. But den, Sherry ain’ got blue
gums like me an’ you.”’
The snake’s plunging and twisting grew less violent.
The huge body writhed sluggishly. Had April really
poisoned the creature by spitting into its tongue? Or
had he choked it to death? Its life was going out, that
was certain.
Suppose April’s fingers took cramp. What would
happen then? April turned his face toward home.
“‘Le’s go, Breeze. It’s too late to git a turkey. I'll
take dis snake to Uncle Isaac. He axed me to git him
one to make some tea for his rheumatism. Po’ ol’ man.
Rheumatism ’ll make a Christian out 0’ em yet!’’
Full daybreak shed its light everywhere. Night and
stars were gone out of the sky. The sun would soon be
up. But at Uncle Isaac’s cabin, the doors and windows
were shut tight.
The snake couldn’t die altogether until sun-down,
but April dropped it on the ground and used his forked
stick to beat hard on the sides of the house.
‘*Hey, Uncle! Hey! Wake up!’’ He shouted until
the old man opened the door. ‘‘I got a present fo’ you!
A rattlesnake! Me an’ him had a tight time dis
mawnin’! Lawd! Yes! I sho’ love to fight wid a
snake !”’
Uncle Isaac hopped around, exclaiming over the
snake’s size. He was glad to get him. He’d fix some
snake tea to-day.
As they walked home down the avenue, April talked
cheerfully. He said Uncle Isaac had taken so mueh
snake cut that snakes got weak if they crossed his path.
If one came near him it got stiff as a stick, and helpless.
[136]
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HUNTING ’POSSUMS AND TURKEYS
Next time Breeze saw the old man he must look at his
ankles where they’d been cut and cut for snake poison
to be rubbed into them. His feet were full of scars too,
but Uncle Isaac had worn shoes ever since he chopped
off a big toe.
April had walked up on snakes that were stricken
by getting too close to Uncle Isaac. They’d be blind and
numb, unable to move a step. God gave Uncle Isaac a
strong sweat too. If he had never taken snake cut, he
could send any snake into a trance by wetting his hands
at his armpits and waving them in the snake’s face.
They’d faint right off, and stay dead a long time.
Breeze ought to learn Uncle Isaac’s magic. He’d
been born with a second-sight. Learning magic would
be better for him than learning books. Black magic, as
well as white magic; Uncle Isaac knew both. Uncle Bill
too. But Uncle Bill gave magic up for religion. A poor
swap. A deacon or a preacher is not much more than
a woman. Not much more!
April’s down-heartedness had completely passed.
Loitering along, he chatted pleasantly. Although the
sun had risen he was in no hurry.
[137]
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DUCK-HUNTING
SHERRY promised Big Sue plenty of wild ducks for
her quilting dinner if she’d persuade Uncle Bill to row
hin.
‘“‘Lemme go, too, Sherry. Please, Sherry,’’ Breeze
begged.
““Tf you’ll kill some ducks, you could go.’’
**T ain’ got no gun.”’
‘‘Plenty o’ guns is yonder in de Big House. Cun
April is got de key.’’
“‘T’ll git you a gun, Breeze,’’ Big Sue offered, and
before the day was out Breeze went into the Big House
with April, through the same side door out of which
April and Big Sue came that first morning.
The side passage led into a wide front hall and a
queer feeling of intrusion seized Breeze as he went past
rooms where pictures of white people looked at him
from the walls. Brass andirons and fenders gleamed
out from big fireplaces. Unlit candles left the high
ceilinged rooms in a dim uneertain light. Dark shadows
hid under the heavy furniture, until April pressed a
button and a chandelier hung from the ceiling became
hundreds of dazzling icicles, dripping with light.
April took Breeze to a room where a rack held guns
of all sizes and shapes, each one polished, well oiled,
ready for work. April handed Breeze one after the
other to try, making him put them up to his shoulder
as if he aimed at something. When one was found to
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DUCK-HUNTING
fit, April cautioned him, ‘‘When you shoot, fo’git you’
gun. Fasten you’ eyes on de t’ing you want to hit, den
pull de trigger. Try em now, son! Don’ squint up
you’ eyes! Keep all two wide open. Shootin’ ain’ hard
work! It’s for pleasure! You can’ hit nothin’ if you
frown.’’
Breeze was glad to get out of the silent house with
its book-lined walls and rug hidden floors. He took the
gun home, but he could scarcely go to sleep for happy
excitement over the prospect of going hunting.
Unele Bill sat waiting in the stern of a small narrow
boat, but he got to his feet when he saw Big Sue. While
he held the boat steady for Breeze and Sherry to get in,
he kept an eye on Big Sue as he warned her please not
to touch Breeze, and he kept saying to Breeze:
‘Mind, son. Don’ put you’ hand on Miss Big Sue.
When a man is gwine a-huntin’, it’ll ruin his luck to let
a lady touch him. Be careful!’’
He wanted Breeze to sit alone in the bow of the boat,
but Sherry considered and then said, no, Breeze must
sit beside him on the narrow board seat in the boat’s
middle. Uncle Bill shook his head and muttered in
disapproval, but Sherry wouldn’t give in.
““No, Uncle Bill, Breeze wouldn’t be safe settin’ in
front 0’ me dis morning. My gun feels too ready to
shoot. I can’ trust em. It’s so quick on de trigger it
might miss and aim at his head or his back instead 0’ at
a duck.’’
‘*Wha’ dat is got you so nervish, Sherry ?’’
‘“When my mind runs on some people, I wants to
shoot right den!’’ ’
“‘Dat is sinful, son. Awful sinful! I hates to hear
vou talk so!’ .
To Breeze, the boat seemed very narrow and the seat
isa): >
BLACK APRIL
scarcely able to hold two. He knew he couldn’t swim if
he fell out, but he said nothing, and soon Uncle Bill
swung them out into the middle of the deep clear stream.
Instead of being brown-black like the river, this arm
of that stream was filled with the blue of the sky. But
its dark depths looked bottomless and dangerous, and
Breeze sat mute, with his eyes staring down in it until
_ Sherry nudged him and made him look up. ‘‘You got
to learn how to swim, son, den you won’ be scared 0’
water! You get dis straight in you’ head now too;
when a man starts out huntin’, e mustn’t never let no
?oman put her hand on him. [If e do, his luck is gone.
Uncle Bill is even seared for my right hand to touch
you, for you ain’ no more’n a li’l’ gal. But I’ll risk it.
My luck kin stand a lot. It don’ fail me.”’
Breeze listened and answered, ‘‘ Yes-suh,’’ but he did
not altogether understand, and Sherry’s eyes glanced
over the water’s surface.
‘‘Lawd! Looka de creek, how blue e is dis mornin’!
Winter or summer, e stays blue. Dat is what gives de
plantation de name, Blue Brook. Cun Big Sue ain’
told you dat yet?”’
Behind them Uncle Bill hissed, ‘‘Sh-sh,’’ and Sherry
leaned to whisper, ‘‘ We mustn’ talk. De ducks’ll hear an’
we won’t git a shot. Is you know how to load you’ gun?’’
In his excitement Breeze had forgotten, but Sherry
took it and showed him again how to slip two neat
yellow, brass-trimmed shells into place in the clean steel
barrels, how to make the gun ‘‘safe’’ and ‘‘ready.’’
Then he took up his own gun and with quick slidings
and clickings slipped half a dozen shells into its snug
chamber. Breeze noticed that Sherry had purple shells
and wondered what the different colors meant, but
before he could ask, a sharp ‘‘sh-sh’’ from Uncle Bill
hissed behind them again.
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DUCK-HUNTING
“Go easy,’’ Sherry’s big mouth buzzed back in a
whisper. To Breeze he mumbled, ‘‘Git you’ gun ready,
son.’’ ;
The tide must have been going with them for they
flowed along without a sound. Breeze saw no ducks
until suddenly dark wings flashed everywhere in front
of them. The gun in Sherry’s hands fired, again and
again. It was all quickly over. Echoes banged back
and forth at one another, then died, and everything was
still. On the water in front of them three limp bundles
of feathers were floating, not caring at all where they
went.
Uncle Bill’s laughter cackled out. ‘‘Sherry, you
can’ be beated! Son, you’s a shot-man, fo’ true! Yes,
Jedus! You don’ never miss!’’
He shot the boat forward and Sherry leaned far out
to pick up the lifeless bodies of the ducks he had killed.
How strong he was! And as much at home in this
cramped-up boat as on the ground.
‘“Poor creeters!’’ he pitied, holding the gay-colored
bill of one of them between his fingers. ‘‘Ain’ e a
beauty !’’
“‘T hope you ain’ gettin’ chicken-hearted,’’ Uncle
Bill twitted, and Sherry grinned back.
‘Maybe I is, Uncle.’’ Sherry’s big fingers gently
ruffled the feathers on the duck’s breast to show them
to Breeze. They were beautiful, indeed. The trim head
had a high crest of purple and green and black feathers.
White lines were above and below the poor death-dulled
eyes. The throat and warm breast, colored soft tan like
a chinquapin, and spotted with white, were bloodstained
across the fine black markings. The bill was bright
pink; the feet and legs, bright orange. Sherry said they
were safe to be loud-colored, for they were hidden under
water most of the time.
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BLACK APRIL
The drake’s mates were less gay. The brown and
gray and white feathers on their trim bodies were quiet
as shadows on the water.
All three of them were quite dead, and Sherry
tossed them back to Uncle Bill who put them far back
under the seat, saying as he did so:
‘“We better hide ’em fo’ true. Dey’s all summer
ducks. It’s five hundred dollars to kill one! Five hun-
dred!’’
“‘Shucks!’’ Sherry answered, reloading his gun.
‘“‘Dem white folks way off yonder to Columbia sho’ do
make some fool laws!’
‘‘Tf de game warden was to slip up on you right now
you’d wish you had kept ’em, dough. Where’d you git
de money to pay?’’
“Oh, I know I’d go straight to de gang as a martin
to his gourd,’’ Sherry answered cheerfully. ‘‘But I
trust to my luck to don’ git caught.’’
All three of them laughed, and Uncle Bill thrust the
boat silently on. Once Sherry pointed to a hollow high
up on the body of a leaning cypress. The tree’s feathery
top rose far above the mesh of interlaced vines and
branches on the bank of the stream. As likely as not
a summer duck made her nest in that hollow. They
choose knot-holes or hollows, sometimes forty feet high,
sometimes near the water. Queer fowls. Hard to fool.
As they rounded a bend on the stream a faint splash
sounded in front. Sherry listened with pent breath.
‘Ducks, enty, Uncle?’’ he whispered.
**Great Gawd, Sherry! Wha’ dat ail you’ years?’’
Almost at once they swung into sight of April in a
boat much like their own. He had a load of sacks and
packages and its back was piled high with oysters in the
shell. His trousers were inside his laced-up boots and
a silver watch-chain dangled from a side pocket.
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DUCK-HUNTING
’Unele Bill hailed him, ‘‘Good mawnin’, son! How
come you so dressed up? I don’ like dem boots. You’s
a good swimmer fo’ true, but boots kin drown a fish. A
watch kin fool you too. I wouldn’t trust to no watch.
Not me!’’
“‘T rather drown dan let oyster shells cut my feets
all up. Plain shoes don’ hinder ’em. But how you like
dese fish?’’ He held up a string of long, smooth, snaky-
looking creatures. They could have passed for short fat
snakes.
““Great Gawd, de eels! You sho’ had luck wid you.
dis mawnin’.”’
“‘Luck stay wid me!’’ April bragged, but Sherry
laughed.
**You must be mean Bad Luck, enty? IfI’d catch a’
eel, I’d call it Bad Luck!’’
‘How come so?”’
‘‘T can’ stand to look at a’ eel, much less eat one.
Not me!’’
““When did you git so pa’ticular, Sherry? You must
be kissed you’ elbow an’ turned to a lady, enty?’’ April
sneered coolly.
“‘No matter how long you cook a’ eel, it’ll turn raw
soon’s it gits cold.’’
‘*Who’d let a eel git cold? Not me, I know,’’ April
returned hotly. ‘‘Eels ain’ nothin’ but he catfish.
How come you love catfish so good an’ scorns eels?’’
‘‘Sho’ dey is!’’? Uncle Bill affirmed promptly.
‘“Dey’s de men catfish. Sho’! Anybody’ll tell you
dat.’’ April shoved his boat forward.
‘‘Well, I’m glad you don’ want ’em, Sherry! It
would be too bad if you did. But I tell you, when Big
Sue gits dem seasoned up right in a pot dey would make
you pure bite you’ fingers just to smell ’em.”’
Sherry said no more, and April’s boat glided on. A
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BLACK APRIL
bend in the stream closed its gate behind it, shutting
him and his boatload of food out of sight.
Uncle Bill took a chew of tobacco. ‘‘April’s de
luckiest man I ever seen,’’ he ventured, but Sherry said
nothing at all.
Through breaks in the trees Breeze caught glimpses
of drab, level, water-covered spaces. Old rice-fields.
Deserted. Marsh-grown. They lacked the color and the
look of life that filled the thick-tangled growth of trees
and thorny-looking vines and bushes encircling them.
‘*Sherry,’’ Uncle Bill rested his paddle, ‘‘you don’
hold nothin’ against April, does you?’’
Sherry’s answer was slow coming, ‘‘Not nothin’
much, suh.’’
Uncle Bill began paddling again, and Sherry put
down his gun and stretched, then said that since April
and his boat had scared all the ducks out of this creek,
they’d better go across the river into some of the creeks
around Silver Island where lots of ducks raise and
there’d be a chance to get some good shooting.
Sherry’s good humor was gone. He sat dumb, his
forehead all knotted up in a frown. The eels or April
or something had erossed him. Breeze was glad to hear
him ask, ‘‘Who named Silver Island, Uncle? You
reckon any money’s buried on it?’’
Unele Bill didn’t know. It was named long ago,
when each bit of land here was given a name. These
marshes were all fields in the old days. Rice was planted
everywhere then. He pointed to old rotting pieces of
wood that held the tide back until it gurgled as it
strained to get over them.
“See de old flood-gates? De old trunks? Dey
used to let de water in and out. Dey used to know dere
business to!’’ He sighed. ‘‘But dey time is out. De
old days is gone. De tide does like it pleases now.”’
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DUCK-HUNTING.
On an old piece of wood, brown with rot and soaked
by the flood-tide, yet standing guard beside an opening
on the bank, several small black tortoises sprawled out
flat, sunning themselves. As the boat got nearer they all
slid into the water for safety.
It amused Uncle Bill mightily. He chuckled and
called out that they needn’t hide from him.
“*You like cooters, Uncle?’’ Sherry asked him with
a laugh.
‘‘No, suh!’’ the old man said shortly, ‘‘Not to-day,
anyhow. De sky’s too clear.’’ He cast his black beady
eyes up and scanned the blue overhead. ‘‘I don’ see no
sign of thunder nowhere, an’ if a cooter bites you e
won’t never let go till it thunders.”’
Sherry laughed. ‘‘You know, don’t you, Uncle?”’
Then he told how once when Uncle Bill was a boy a
cooter caught his toe and held on to it for a whole day
and night.
‘*Fo’ days, son!’’ Uncle Bill corrected.
‘“‘Was it four, fo’ true, Uncle?’’ Sherry asked
doubtfully.
‘“Yes, suh! An e’d ’a’ been holdin’ on till now
if it didn’t thunder,’’ Uncle Bill spoke solemnly.
‘““What did you do all dem four days, Uncle?’’
Sherry asked.
‘‘T watched de clouds an’ prayed for de thunder to
roll, son.”’
When Breeze hoped one would never bite him, Uncle
Bill grunted. ‘‘You right to hope so, son. I hope so
too. A cooter is a contrary creeter.”’
‘‘De people used to say Uncle Isaac was crippled by
a cooter. E makes like e’s plagued wid rheumatism,
but I have hear tell e ain’ got no big toe on one foot.
Did you know dat, Sherry ?’’
‘‘How come so?’’ Breeze inquired.
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BLACK APRIL
‘Well, now, I tell you, dis might not be so. But I
used to hear de people say it was. Old man Isaac
is a heap older’n me an’ all dis happened before I
was born. But my mammy used to laugh “bout em.
Plenty o’ times when e’d come hoppin’ up to de house
a-talkin’ bout how it must be gwine rain soon by de
misery in his knee was so bad, my mammy use to say his
big toe wasn’t buried straight an’ dat was what hurt
Uncle Isaac. T’ings have to be buried right or dey can’
rest at all.’’
‘Whe’ was de cooter?’’ Breeze asked.
**De cooter was in de corn-field, son.’’
“‘ An’ whe’ was Uncle Isaac?”? _
‘*— was in de corn-field too, choppin’ grass.’’
“Did de cooter bite his toe off?”’
‘*No, you wait now an’ le’ me tell em my way.’’
‘“When Uncle Isaac was young e used to run round
a lot at night instead 0’ being’ home ’sleep, like he had
business to be. E used to catch a nap in de day time
whilst he was hoein’. Plenty 0’ people can stand straight
up in de field an’ lean on dey hoe an’ sleep good. I never
could, but a lot 0’ people ean. Well, Uncle Isaae was
gwine long hoein’ a spell, den dozin’ a spell. One time
when e opened his eyes to look e thought e seen a
cooter’s head right side his foot. EQ chopped down
hard to cut em off. But it wasn’t no cooter head dat
time. It been his own big toe! Dat’s how come e’s
hoppin’ to dis day. An’ a-lyin’ *bout em too.”’
“*Po” ol? man!’’? Sherry laughed along with his
pitying. ‘‘I don’ blame em fo’ lyin’ "bout dat. I’d
be shame’ to tell de truth. Dey say if you tell a lie
an’ stick to it, dat’s good as de truth anyhow.’’
“Tt dunno,’’ Uncle Bill answered doubtfully, ‘‘I
reckon sin is easier to stand dan shame.”’
A blue dragon-fly flitted along close to the water.
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DUCK-HUNTING
*‘Does you know his business?’’ Sherry asked Breeze.
But the fly was catching gnats and mosquitoes right then
and anybody could see what its business was. Breeze
laughed at Sherry’s question.
“*You’s wrong,’’ Sherry laughed back. ‘‘You’s
talkin’ *bout his victuals, not his business. Dat’s a
snake doctor. A sick snake is around here somewhere
now. You watch out. We’ll see him. Den we’ll kill
him and hang him up on a limb to make it rain. It’s
powerful dry dis fall.’’
“‘If you hang a dead snake on a limb, dat couldn’
make it rain?”’
Sherry’s laugh was so merry that Breeze grinned at
his own ignorance.
‘*Great Gawd, boy! You didn’t know dat! Sho’, it
will! In less’n three days too. Won’t it, Uncle?’’
**Sho’!’? Uncle Bill answered stoutly, but he added
there was no use to bother with the snake, for it was
going to rain in less than three days, anyhow. ‘‘The new
moon hung in a ring last night and only one star was
inside it. That means it will rain after one day. If
they’d find the snake and kill him he couldn’t die until
the sun went down. Neither can a frog nor a cooter, nor
a wasp. Lots of things can’t die if the sun shines.”’
Breeze felt he was learning a lot, and he listened so
attentively that Uncle Bill went on talking.
‘“Most people have to wait until night to die, and
even when night comes, dey can’t die until de tide
turns.”’
‘*How can dey tell if dey’s sick in the bed?’’ Breeze
asked, and Uncle Bill explained that the people them-
selves didn’t know. The life that stays inside them,
that knows.
‘‘Tt knows mighty nigh everything,’’ the old man
declared, ‘‘and when de time comes for it to go, it goes,
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BLACK APRIL
an’ leaves a man dead as a wedge.’’ This statement left
Breeze wondering, but Uncle Bill went on telling how
the rice-fields were full of all kinds of snakes, some of
them poisonous, and some not. But the snake he feared
most, more than even a rattlesnake or a moccasin, was a
coaeh-whip.
‘¢Tf a ecoach-whip catches you, he will wrap his body
round you an’ tie you to a tree an’ whip you to death
wid his tail. Lawd, boy, when a coach-whip blows dat
whistle in de end of his tail, put you’ foot in you’ hand
an’ run!’’
“*Yes, suh!’’ Sherry agreed, ‘‘I too *fraid of coach-
whips myself. I never did see one do it, but a coach-
whip can outrun a man any day. If you get to out-
runnin’ him, e will grab his tail in his mouth and roll
after you like a hoop to catch you. An’ tie you to a
tree an’ whip you. Enty, Uncle?’’
‘*Sho’?’’ Uncle Bill was astonished at his asking.
**Sho it’s so! I’ve seen a coach-whip do it plenty o’
times. ’’
He spat far out into the stream when he had said it,
then held one oar still in the water to wheel the boat
to one side, as he asked:
‘*Did you ever catch one of dose pretty little garter
snakes an’ see him break hisself all up into little joints?
Dey go back all togedder again when dey gits ready.’’
Sherry never had.
‘“Well did you ever burn a blacksnake an’ make him
show you his feet. You must be have done dat,
Sherry ?’’
‘*No, suh,’’ Sherry answered solemnly. ‘‘I ain’
done em not yet, but I’ve seen plenty o’ people what
has done em.’’ And after a thoughtful silence he added:
‘*Deys one t’ing I do know, Uncle. If a snake bites
you and you don’t die, all you’ hair will drop out every
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DUCK-HUNTING
time dat snake sheds its skin. Dat’s so, ’eause my own
done it about ten years until Uncle Isaac told me to put
a boxwood poultice on my hand ebery night las’ spring.
An’ dat cured me.’’ ;
“*Sho’!’’ Uncle Bill agreed. ‘‘Boxwood’s good for
most eberyt’ing what ails you.”’
“*Poultices made out of boxwood will make you’ hair
grow and cure tooth-ache or either rheumatism. Box-
wood tea’ll cure de itch or de spring fever, too.’’
“*T heard so,’’ Sherry approved. ‘‘Boxwood roots is
good for foot troubles too.’’
**Yes, suh. It’s a good medicine. Sho’! De white
people knowed it and dats how come dey fetched it
across de water wid em. All de flowers gardens on dis
whole Neck is full 0’ boxwood. Some’s grows high an’
some low. Some ain’ no taller dan my finger, an’ it’s
old as de Big House, too.’’
‘“‘Lawd, how times is changed! Changed before
yunnuh was born. Looks like all de good old days is
done gone.”’
‘“‘We done well enough till de boll-evils come, enty,
Unele?”’
‘*But de boll-evils is come. Dey ruint de whole
erop year befo’ last.’’
‘‘De crop was good last year after we pizened ’em.’’
‘“But I tell you, I sho’ don’ believe in pizenin’ ’em.
No, suh! Gawd sent dem here an’ we better leave dem
lone. If I was you, I wouldn’t run no pizen machine.
At night too, when de cotton is wet wid dew, a pizen
dust’ll stick to you’ feets. When I look out 0’ my door
at night and see dat pizen dust a-floatin’ over de cotton
fields in dem big white cluds, an’ dat machine a-singin’
like a locust, a-creepin’ up and down de rows, th’owin’
out pizen I git too scared to look. No wonder de mens
hates to take part in it. Dem pizened blossoms is done
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BLACK APRIL
killed all de bees on de place, an’ a lot 0’ de turkeys and
de guineas died from eatin’ de pizened evils. Better
let weeds grow in de fields, I say. We kin do widout
money till we git some crop to take de place o’ cotton.
Cotton’s time is out. I ’member when dey had to give
up plantin’ indigo, and people said we was ruined. But
cotton done just as good. Now cotton is failed, and we
ought to wait till we git some kind o’ crop to take its
place.’? Uncle Bill heaved a mighty sigh as he said it.
“‘April is too brazen. E would buck Gawd A’mighty.
Don’t you try to be like em, Sherry. No. If April
keeps on, e will land in Hell, sho’ as e was born.’’
“You t’ink de place’ll ever be sold, Uncle?’’ Sherry
asked him presently.
‘‘No, son. Not long as de li’l’ young Cap’n is livin’!
E was born wid two li’l’ teeth, and when dem two
li’l’ teeth got ripe an’ fell out, my Katy took ’em an’
went to de graveyard an’ buried ’em in a clear place
right longside his gran’pa.
‘‘No matter whe’ da li'l’ boy goes or how long e
stays gone from here, dis place’ll hold to him. Dem li’l’
two teeth’ll make him come back to die an’ be buried
right here. You’ll see. It’s so. Just like I’m tellin’
you. It’ll be dat way. Katy was a wise-minded
’oman.””
The boat moved steadily forward all the time, for
Uncle Bill’s arms didn’t slacken the oar’s paddling onee.
As Breeze listened thoughtfully to all that was said,
his eyes wandered unseeing over the beauty that lay
thick around him, for he was trying to understand
some of the things he had heard.
The rice-fields blurred by yellow sunshine were
tinged with ripeness and flecked with brilliant color.
Purple shadows were cast by crimson branches, scarlet
berries sparkled on slender vines and adorning gray
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—- —_——
» DUCK-HUNTING
thorny branches. The bright water, gay with reflections,
ran sober edges under blue cypress.
The tide of the year, more deliberate but as constant
as the tide from the sea, was almost full, almost at its
height. It would soon pause, mature and complete, its
striving over, for a little rest; and start ebbing.
A great owl, roused by the boat’s passing, spread out
wide wings and flew from the shadowy darkness of a
dense moss-hung tree. Marsh hens, that couldn’t be
seen, cackled out shrill strident notes from the marsh-
grown, water-covered mud flats. Solemn blue-and-white
herons stood motionless at the water’s edge, gravely
watching the boat. High overhead, thin lines of ducks
sliced across the sky with swift slashing wings. When
the boat rounded a bend where the creek met the river,
Unele Bill began a careful, precise paddling with his one
long oar, and with settled, even strokes thrust the boat
forward into the wide dark stream.
“For Gawd’s sake, be careful, Uncle! Don’ go too
fast against dis current. I’d sho’ hate to be turned over
dis morning. Dat water looks mighty cold.’’
Sherry gave a shiver and laugh as he said it, but
Uncle Bill’s reply was full of reproach. Why would
Sherry think of such a thing as turning over? He was
inviting trouble.
The boat had run silently for some little time, close
to the river’s bank, when Uncle Bill broke into a sputter
of words. Breeze turned to look at him. His eyes, two
bright black berries in the dull black surface of his skin,
were fixed on something away ahead. Breeze tried to
see it too. He searched the distance ahead. But nothing
showed except miles of wide river swelled out beyond its
banks into the flat old rice-fields. Palmetto trees
showed now and then among the willows and cypresses.
Low-lying marshy islands, fringed with vine-covered
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BLACK APRIL
scrubby bushes, were cut into patterns by narrow
creeks.
Sherry was watching the distance too. ‘‘Wha’ kind
is dey, Uncle?’’ he murmured.
‘‘Bull-neck, son,’’ Uncle Bill answered promptly.
“‘T wish my eyes was trained to see good like your’n.
I wonder why dey ain’!”’
“‘T dunno, son. I dunno. I reckon dey ain’ had to
look hard as mine,’’ and he chuckled with pleasure at
the compliment Sherry paid him.
Unele’s calm black face filled with a warm friendly
smile. Uncle’s bright eyes, keen and cold, flitted swiftly
from Sherry’s face to Breeze’s, then beyond them te
the ducks he saw in the distance. Breeze began to see
more in Uncle Bill’s black features than he did at first.
They were more than wrinkled flesh that time had
ereased and withered, for not only shrewdness, but
wisdom and pity shone in the clear-seeing eyes; and the
old mouth, where so many teeth were missing, tightened
its lips in a way that meant more than caution and
prudence.
Breeze gazed at every bit of the surface ahead, start-
ing with the water where sunshine dazzled close beside
the boat and ending where the hazy sky dropped down
to join the earth, but he couldn’t see any ducks.
‘*‘Looka right yonder!’’ Uncle Bill pointed to direet
his eyes and he made out two tiny black specks side by
side on the water.
‘You must shoot dose two,’’ Sherry said. ‘‘It ain’t
against de law to kill bull-necks, and maybe dey’ll stay
on de water until we get in gunshot.”’
“You better shoot ’em, Cun Sherry. I can’t hit
’em.’’ Breeze hesitated although his heart was beating
fit to burst with excitement at the thought of shooting a
gun,
[152]
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DUCK-HUNTING
“No, dem’s you’ ducks. You must kill ’em,’’
Sherry insisted. ‘‘If you do like I tell you, you ean’
miss em. I don’ mind breakin’ de law, so I’ll hit de
summer ducks and you kill de lawful ones.”’
“‘T’m scared I’ll miss ’em.’’ Breeze’s voice quivered
so shakily Sherry laughed.
““No you won’t. I’ll tell you how to do,”’ he said
gently.
Uncle Bill headed the boat straight for the two small
dots which were swimming toward it, and soon Breeze
eould see the gray of their feathers and the bright
orange color of their bills. They seemed not to know
their danger even when Uncle Bill stopped paddling and
Sherry whispered to Breeze.
“Cock your gun now and hold em close up to you’
shoulder. Look straight at de duck you want to kill and
pull de front trigger.’’
Breeze did just as Sherry told him, but the drake he
aimed at sat quite motionless on the water, as if he had
not even heard the gun’s explosion.
““Fine, son!’’ Sherry exclaimed. ‘‘He didn’ know
wha’ hit him. Now, shoot de hen duck. Hold you’ gun
up close to you’ shoulder, den look straight at em an’
pull de back trigger.’’
Breeze’s fingers were trembling but he shot again,
and the hen duck made wild splutterings on the water.
““Po’ creeter! You hit em, but you got to shoot em
again. Put us up ali’l’ closer, Uncle. Load you’ gun,
Breeze.’’
Breeze’s tense fingers shook as he unbreached his gun
and replaced the two empty, smoking shells with heavy
new ones. As the boat swung near to the wounded duck
that swam round and round its dead mate, Sherry spoke
to him sharply.
“Hurry up! Shoot em again!”’
[153]
BLACK APRIL
How could he do it? The poor wounded fowl was
fluttering in agony now.
‘‘Quit you’ triflin’, boy!’’ Sherry ordered sternly.
‘““Put em out o’ dat misery.”’
Breeze’s fingers tightened on the trigger and the
gray-feathered body quivered into bloody shreds as the
swift lead from his gun tore through it. Breeze felt
wretched. Killing that duck gave him no pleasure.
Uncle Bill paddled up close to the two dead bodies
and Sherry picked them up out of the water.
““Dey’s plump!’’ he commented, as his fingers ex-
amined the breasts to see. :
‘We has all de ducks we can eat now, but dis boy
ought to shoot one flyin’ befo’ we go home.’’
‘“‘Den we’ll go on,’’ Uncle agreed.
They crossed the river and entered a creek much
like the first one. It branched right and left, becoming
narrower all the time. Uncle Bill began a stealthy
creeping around the wooded bends. Sometimes ducks
were there, sometimes not. Breeze shot wildly each time
one rose. Sherry declared he killed two of those that
fell. He may have, he didn’t know. Sherry may have
just said so to encourage him.
This was a strange world to Breeze. Gray water,
unfamiliar trees, long stretches of ripening marsh grass
where odd-looking birds made outlandish cries as they
passed.
Uncle Bill paddled steadily on with a measured
stroke, Past islands lined with ranges of sand-hills
where tall pines above the willows stood against the sky.
Through channels choked with weeds where white
cranes fed. Long streets of water, curving, dustless,
houseless, settled only by light and shade and the
images of trees and clouds and sun they faithfully
reflected.
[154]
DUCK-HUNTING
At a sudden ‘‘S-st’’ from Uncle Bill, Breeze looked
at the low wooded hillside and glimpsed a doe, followed
by her fawn. They had come down to the water’s edge
to drink. Sheer terror held them rigid for a brief
instant and then both were gone.
‘‘Jedus, Sherry,’’ Uncle Bill chided. ‘*You eould
’a’ got all two if you had ’a’ tried!”’
‘‘T didn’ want dem,’’ Sherry answered. ‘‘We’s done
killed enough for one day. My mammy says if you kill
too much o’ t’ings at a time you’ll git so you smell like
_ death. I don’ want to. I kills a while and den I stops.”’
Uncle Bill laughed, and the silence was so deep that
his voice echoed and reechoed.
Breeze was glad the killing was over, for he’d rather
hear the two men talk than to see Sherry kill.
The boat flowed evenly, almost silently, over the
water’s smooth surface. Uncle Bill kept it close to the
bank to avoid the full sweep of the current in the middle
of the stream.
Great dark birds, startled by its passing so close to
their homes, flew up out of the water with a loud flop-
ping of wings, but there was little talk for the rest of
the way.
The water slipped swiftly past them. The small
whirling circles made by Uncle Bill’s paddle widened
until they reached the bank’s willowy edges where vines
and bushes wound tight together, choking and stran-
gling one another as they wrestled for a narrow foothold.
When Uncle Bill paused and cleared his throat
Breeze knew he was going to ask Sherry a question.
‘“How come you don’ like April, here lately ?’’
‘‘Who say I don’ like em?’’ Sherry answered.
““T say so.”’
Sherry’s white grin was cold. Hard. His answer
slow in coming.
[155]
BLACK APRIL
‘“April’s legs is most too long fo’ de foreman of a
big plantation like Blue Brook.”’
‘““Wha’ you mean, son?’’
“‘Dey kin tote him too far f’om home sometimes.”’
‘*You mean April kin walk too far atter dark?”’
““Yes, suh,’’ Uncle Bill sighed.
‘‘Gawd is de one made ’em long. April ain’ had
nothin’ to do wid dat. Gawd made you’ own not so
short, Sherry. Don’ fo’git dat.’’
Sherry said no more and Uncle Bill worked faster
with his paddling.
The afternoon sun was a creat red ball floating
among thin smoky clouds. A light haze was creeping
out from underneath the trees on the banks of the
ereeks. The shrill call of a cicada rose, swelled into
quick breathless notes, faded away, then was taken up,
answered by a mate. Yellow sunshine fell between lacy
blue shadows cast by cypress trees. Dark green thickets
crouched wet-footed, beside narrow winding paths of
tide water.
The marshes were buried. All the sticky miry mud
exposed by the morning was hidden. Through old
flood-gates the rising water gurgled and bubbled into
forsaken rice-fields. Grass, vines, trees, bushes rank,
thorny and fetid, crowded and trampled one another,
trying to gain a deeper, stronger foothold down in the
broken dikes. Breeze gazed around him with long looks.
As far as his eyes could see the earth was flooded.
Wasted. Unsown. Abandoned.
Uncle Bill sighed. It made him sad to think how the
tide had destroyed the work of years. At first it crept
timidly in, hardly enough for its shallow trickling to
show. But it grew bolder and stronger as it took back
the rich land, acre by acre, until it owned them all.
All!
[156]
i el il ei i ei
DUCK-HUNTING
The first white men who came here found the whole
face of the earth covered with a thick forest growth of
cypress and gum and ash, matted, tangled with
powerful vines, and held by the tides that rose and fell
as they do now, twice every day. Those men bought
slaves, Breeze’s and Sherry’s and his own great-grand-
fathers and mothers, African people fresh from the
Guinea Coast. The slaves diked and banked up the
land so the forest growth could be removed, then they
eanaled and ditched and banked it into smaller well-
drained tracts which were planted with rice. And rice
made the plantation owners rich.
For years the lands were held by children and
grandchildren of those first settlers, but nearly every
old plantation home has been burned or sold or aban-
doned. The rich rice-fields are deserted. The old
dikes and flood-gates that stood as guardians are broken
and rotted. The tide rolls over all as it did before the
land was ever cleared. It has taken back its own.
A whistle not far away gave a shrill ugly shriek.
“‘Lawd, de boat is lated to-day! Wha’ time it is, Uncle
Bill?”’
Uncle cast a quick glance up at the sun. ‘‘A li’l’
after four, son.”’
Sherry considered. ‘‘De boat ain’ but two hours
lated. Pretty good, for dat old slow coach, enty?’’
*‘Kin you tell de time, Breeze?’’
“‘T kin tell if it ain’ cloudy, neither rainin’, in de
daytime.”’
Sherry said there were many other ways to tell;
the tide runs true, rain or shine, morning-glories and
lots of other flowers open and close by the time. Big
Sue’s yard was full of four-o’clocks. They’d be wide
open now. Birds change their songs with the turn of
the afternoon. ‘‘Listen! You can hear a red-bird
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BLACK APRIL
whistlin’ right now. Dis morning he went so——”’
Sherry pursed his lips and mimicked a bar of bird song.
‘“Now e says to dis ”? And he whistled a few
notes that the bird himself echoed. ‘‘Dat bird knows it’s
past four. A red-bird knows de time every bit as good
as Uncle. Grass blades moves wid de day too. Dey
leans dis way an’ dat to get de light. A lot o’ t’ings is
got mo’ sense dan people, enty, Uncle?”’
*‘Sho’!’? Uncle Bill declared. ‘‘If you watch t’ings
close, you’ll git wise. Wise! Take Uncle Isaac; e can’
read readin’ or either writin’ but he knows more’n any
school-teacher or either preacher dat ever came to Blue
Brook.”’
‘‘Wha’ de name o’ de church Uncle Isaae b’longs
to?’’
Uncle Bill smiled gently. ‘‘Po’ Uncle! E j’ined de
white folks ch’uch yonder at de gate, long time ago.
Dat’s named ’Piscopalian. Den e went to town on de
boat an’ seen a white folks’ chu’ch named de Presbe-
teerin. Uncle mixed de two togedder. E calls hese’f a
’Piscoteerin’. Po’ Uncle! If e don’ mind, e’s gwine
die in sin yet. You boys mustn’ wait too long to pray.
Pray soon. Git religion young. It’s a heap easier den.
I waited so long I mighty nigh missed gittin’ it myse’f.
But I ruther have religion dan to have all Uncle Isaae’s
knowledge. E kin put a ‘hand’ on anybody long as dey’s
in dis world. E kin take a ‘spell’ off anybody long as
dey’s dis side 0’ de grave. But dat ain’ so much after
all. Dis life is short. It’s de other side 0’ Jordan we
got to fix for. Dem sweet fields in Eden, yonder in
Canaan’s land. Dat’s de country I’m aimin’ to reach.
You boys must try to reach em too.’’
““Unele, you believe any white folks is in Heaben?’?
‘“Gawd knows, son. White folks is mighty smart
people. Dey knows a lot o’ tricks we don’ know.’’
[158]
— /
— eS << ve .t”t~—
XIII
THE QUILTING
Brrorek day was clean Big Sue got up out of bed and
went to the front door to look at the weather. The cool
air was soft and still, trees and birds were asleep. The
earth itself was resting quietly, for the sun tarried late
in his bed. The stars had not yet faded from the
clear open sky, but Big Sue was full of excitement.
Only a few hours more and she must have everything
ready at Maum Hannah’s for the quilting to commence.
Her own big room was almost large enough for a
quilting, but it was better to go to Maum Hannah’s.
The meeting benches could be brought in from under the
house where they stayed, to make seats enough for the
company, and Maum Hannah’s quilting poles stood
always in the corner waiting for work to do. Plenty of
pots sat on her hearth and two big ones out in the yard
besides. Most of the plantation quiltings were held at
Maum Hannah’s house, the same as the night prayer-
meetings.
The raw rations were all ready to cook. Plenty of
rice and corn-meal. White flour and coffee and sugar
from the store. She’d pot-roast the ducks, and fry the
fish, and make the turtle into a stew. She’d roast the
potatoes in the ashes. The corn-pone would bake brown
and nice in the big oven on the hearth. With some
nice fat white-flour biscuit to eat last with the coffee,
she would have enough to fill everybody full.
Breeze must get up and hustle! She called him and
[159]
BLACK APRIL
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 Han-
nah’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 length-
ened 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 white-washed wall not far from the
mantel-shelf, looked dumb and harmless enough, but
[160]
ee kot ate* tie:
Ae
THE QUILTING
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 black snake 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 ery 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 founda-
tions had weakened, so the solid weight of its short
[161]
BLACK APRIL
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,
‘Tf 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 0’ you, so.
Pull you’ foot an’ bow, an’ say ‘T’ank Gawd!’ Dat’s
[162]
THE QUILTING
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 piti-
fully 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 hig
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.
[163]
BLACK APRIL
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
strageled 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 head-
kerchief. 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
ery. ‘‘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’-
[164]
THE QUILTING
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.
‘‘Wo’ 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.’’
Sereening 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
[165]
BLACK APRIL
appointed Leah and Zeda eaptains 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 shoeue first, Leah. You’s de foreman’s wife.”’
Leah chose Big Sa
‘‘Lawd,’’ Zeda threw her head sees 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.
‘*T take Bina next!’’ Leah called out.
‘‘Bina’s a good one for you’ quilt. K’s a extra fine
Christian,’’
[166]
Pee
THE QUILTING
‘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. ‘‘Sin-
ners is mighty sca’ce at dis quiltin’. Who kin I choose
next?’’ She searched the group.
‘‘Don’ take so long, Zeda,’’ Big Sue ehided. ‘‘ 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’ fin-
gers.”’
The choosing went on until eight women were picked
for each quilt, four to aside. Then the race began.
The two quilt linings, made out of unbleached home-
spun, 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 fash-
ioned with such pains, stitch by stitch, square by square,
were opened out wide and examined and admired.
[167]
BLACK APRIL
‘‘Which one you want, Zeda? You take de first
pick.’”’
“‘Tawd, 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 eotton 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 pufting 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 fin-
ished 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
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THE QUILTING
fat and tender, and already stuffed full of oyster dress-
ing, 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 mo-
lasses. For a time nothing was said except the exclama-
tions 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 0’ 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
ia [169]
Ki
BLACK APRIL
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.
**T 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.
“‘T dunno. Gawd kin do a lot 0’ 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
ereaked as the women bent over and rose with their
needles. Bina sat up straight, then stretched.
“Tf 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.”’
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THE QUILTING
*‘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 un-
der 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 chil-
dren; 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. Some-
times 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
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BLACK APRIL
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’ ’seape Hell if you kin!
‘*Hell is a heat!
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THE QUILTING
“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
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BLACK APRIL
lean and bend and reach threateningly, but something
high and black and shapeless stood in front of Big Sue’s
eabin, 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.
‘‘Wawd!’’ 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 ey my house with me
not home?’’
‘April erunted. ‘‘You better be glad! I had a
hard time drivin’ a bat out 0’ 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 erying,
‘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
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THE QUILTING
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 despera-
tion 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. Noth-
ing 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 despair-
ing 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
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BLACK APRIL
leaped through the bushes over ground that felt un-
steady 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
Bili—Unele Bill!’’
Following the torch’s light he eould 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. S
‘“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 ealled 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 ealm 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! Ill
kill you sho’ as you do!’’
“‘Wo’ Gawd’s sake, Leah! Shut you’ mouth! f
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THE QUILTING
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 erumpled
sidewise and fell flat on the floor, her eyes lifeless, her
face stiffened.
Big Sue had roused into fury. She staggered for-
ward 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
eatch her breath. Uncertain what to do, Uncle Bill
knelt over her and called her name.
“‘Teah! 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
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BLACK APRIL
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
erying 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 merey! 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 tooth-
less 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.
[1783
THE QUILTING
Big Sue jumped at him angrily. ‘‘How’d I know
Leah wasn’ some robber come to cut my throat? Just
’eause Leah is married to de foreman an’ livin’ m
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!”’
[179]
XIV
CHURCH
SunpaY 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 twe
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
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=
CHURCH
bread for breakfast, Breeze and Big Sue put the demi-
johns on the front porch, ready to go to church. They
packed up all the fine dinner in one box, and the com-
munion 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!
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BLACK APRIL
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
“‘egs 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 0’ 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?t”? 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.
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’
;
;
CHURCH
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 scot 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 grand-
father 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 Unele 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.
‘‘Tf 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.
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BLACK APRIL
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
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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 un-
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folded 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 some-
times. 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 en-
couragement 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 east a dis-
approving 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
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Bill said. Maum Hannah gave him a puzzled ques-
tioning 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 under-
stan’ 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,
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‘< ‘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 erash-
ing 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 lps 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 singsong,
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, erying to God in an
agonized, ‘‘Do, Lawd, help us to keep dis law!’’ A
shrill voice screamed out of the rumbling body, ‘‘ Halle-
lujah! 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.
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‘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 ery 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!’’
Maum Hannah jerked up her head and listened.
Her hands wavered apart, then reached out toward the
preacher. She got to her feet and waved her arms,
““You got em wrong, son! Wrong! Great Lawd, don’
say em dat way!’’
Nobody paid her any attention but Uncle Bill, and
he pulled her by the arm and made her sit down, ‘‘ Wait,
Auntie! It ain’ time to shout yet. Set down till after
de sermon.’’ Then he joined in with the others, whose
words lost in feeling, surged back and forth, throbbing,
thundering, until the old church trembled and shook.
““Thou shalt bear false witness against thy neigh-
1??
The preacher’s flashing eyes blazed with fire, as they
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gazed at the people, his shortened breath panted his
words, and the congregation burst into prayer, ‘‘Do,
Lawd, help us to keep dis law!’’
From his seat in the Amen corner Breeze could see
every face. Standing out by itself, April’s bold daring
countenance was lit with a cool sneering smile.
The Ten Commandments were all said, but the
preacher knew others.
“‘Thou shalt be a father to the fatherless!’’
“‘Do, Lawd, help us to keep dis law!’’ The holy spirit
filled the close-packed swaying crowd.
‘Thou shalt be a husband to the-widow!’’
The ever-rising tide of prayer rolled into a flood that
swallowed every soul but April. He sat upright. Un-
moved. Passionless. When the preacher’s ranting
halted to give out a hymn, April got up and walked
down the aisle, and on out of the door. A no-mannered
brazen thing for anybody to do. Every eve gazed at
him, the preacher stared, but Uncle Bill hurriedly
raised the hymn.
The congregation sang it as the preacher lined it out
two lines at a time. When it was finished, then he opened
the Bible and took his text. ‘‘Hold fast and repent!’’
He read it twice and closed the Book, then shut his eyes
and prayed in silence before he asked the question:
**Does all 0’ you members fast?’’ Throughout the
church a solemn silence fell, then a great cry answered:
‘Sho’! Sho’! Yes, suh.”’
“You ean not pray rightly without fasting.’’
*“No, suh! It’s de Gawd’s truth.’’
‘‘The longer you fast, the better you can repent!’
**Yes, brother! You right!”’
‘‘The longer you fast, the quicker your sins will be
forgiven !’’
‘‘Praise His name! MHallelujah!’’ Leah led the
women ef the choir into a low humming tune.
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**Jesus fasted forty days and forty nights!’”
“Yes, Gawd!’’ The choir’s humming swelled and
spread to the women of the congregation.
“‘He got stronger and stronger as He fasted.’’
““Yes, suh!’’ Bodies rocked and swayed to the
mournful tune.
“*He got strong as the devil!’? The preacher’s eyes
flashed bright behind his glasses, but Maum Hannah
Jumped forward at such reckless words.
“‘He beat the devil at his own game!’’ The Rev-
erend shouted as he shook his clenched fists.
‘Glory! Hallelujah!’’ The congregation cried
loud above the women’s solemn wordless chanting.
““Yunnuh hold fast! Get strong like Jesus!’’ The
preacher stamped on the floor.
**Yes, Gawd! Praise His name!’’ The women were
getting to their feet dnd patting time.
**God’ll feed you on the bread of life!”’
*‘Do, Master!’? Maum Hannah cried out so clear,
that he looked at her and caught Breeze’s eye. The holy
spirit left him all of a sudden. Maybe he thought of
the frog legs, maybe of old Breeze, but he stopped short
and cleared his throat and fumbled with the leaves of
the book. He presently said the time had come for
making their offerings. They must sing an old hymn,
and the people must come forward and lay their gifts on
God’s holy altar, which was a small pine table in front
of the pulpit. They crushed into the aisle, an array of
gaudy dresses, weaving in and out among the dark men.
Both aisles were choked with singing people. Waves of
hot breath smote Breeze in the face. Sunday shoes
squeaked. Outside in the churchyard a mule brayed
long and loud. Coins rolled and clinked against one
another on the table. One rolled on the floor and fell
through a crack, lost, as Uncle Bill gave Breeze a
brownie to carry up.
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The hymn was all sung, and the preacher went
behind the pulpit again. In a high voice he declared
that the stay of Jesus on earth was divided into four
parts: the birth, the life, the death and the resurrection.
‘‘Which was the biggest part? Which, brethren?
Speak out!’’ he urged them, for the congregation was
hushed with interest.
*“De resurrection!’’ Uncle Bill shouted.
“De life!’’ somebody else chimed.
‘““No, son!’? Maum Hannah stood up. ‘‘No! De
birthin’ was. If his mammy didn’ birth em Jedus
couldn’ live or either die. No, suh! De birthin’ was de
biggest part.’’
But the preacher wasn’t listening. He blared out
his answer to his own question :
‘‘The resurrection of Jesus took the sting out of
death! Brethren! Sisters! The resurrection brought
angels to the tomb! The resurrection showed Heaven
in the sky!’’
Breeze’s head ached as the sermon went on. His
neck hurt. His feet went to sleep.
| When it was at last ended, sinners were invited to
come up to the mourner’s bench and kneel for prayer,
the preacher plead with them not to wait and be
damned, but to come up and promise God they’d seek
forgiveness for their sins until He gave them some
sign by which they’d know they were saved. <A multi-
tude thronged forward and fell on their knees, sobbing
and calling on Jesus for mercy.
| The preacher begged God to look down. To come
near and bring His holy spirit to save these souls.
Breeze’s heart beat hammer strokes against his breast.
He wanted to be saved too. He wanted to go kneel with
the rest of the sinners. The fear of Hell, and timidity,
combined, shook his knees, and broke him out in a eold
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sweat. All his blood felt frozen, leaking through his
skin as he staggered forward and knelt down, and shut
his eyes, and tried his best to pray.
A rough hand gripped his shoulder, and Big Sue
whispered harshly in his ear, ‘‘Is you gone plum crazy,
Breeze? Git up an’ go on back an’ set down. Don’t you
jerk ’way from me! You ain’ got no business seekin’!
If you miss an’ find peace an’ git religion you couldn’
bat ball on Sunday wid lil’ young Cap’n when he
come! Not if you’s a Christian! Git up! You don’
know nothin’ "bout prayin!’’
Breeze got up sheepishly and went to his seat, but
he thought bitterly; Big Sue didn’t care if he burned
in Hell. Many a time she had told him how those
wicked, hell-bent buckras spent Sundays in sin. Riding
horses. Singing reels. Dancing and frolicking on God’s
day. Young Cap’n played ball, baseball, under the
trees, on the holy Sabbath, just as if it were the middle
of the week. Big Sue said God didn’t like people to
even pick a flower on Sunday. And now she wanted
him to have sin right along with those brazen white
people. She didn’t care how much he burned in Hell.
It wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair. When he got bigger he
was going to pray, no matter what Big Sue said.
The prayer for the sinners was done, and the sinners
went to their seats. The deacons passed the Lord’s Sup-
per; small squares of bread piled up on a plate, and
water glasses full of blackberry wine. Each member
took a crumb and a sip, no more.
Maum Hannah’s fingers shook and fumbled over
the bread and a tiny crumb fell off the plate in her lap.
A bit of Jesus’ own body. Broken for the sins of men.
‘As soon as Maum Hannah stood up, it would fall on the
‘floor and be trampled under foot. Why not get it and
eat it? Nobody’d know.
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Breeze watched it. Once it seemed to move toward
him, to creep nearer to his fingers. The congregation
was singing. Their voices rose, some high, some low,
Maum Hannah’s and Uncle Bill’s with the rest.
Nobody was looking. Why not take that crumb and
taste it?
Breeze’s unsteady, frightened fingers stole sidewise,
following the apron’s folds until they got in reach of
the bit of bread. They closed over it and eased back
to safety, then they slowly, slyly thrust it into Breeze’s
mouth. 4
It fell on his tongue which kept*still, trying to get
its flavor. But it was small. Too small. It melted
quickly and slipped down his throat before Breeze could
stop it. A bit of Jesus’ own precious body. The
preacher said it was that. Poor Jesus. Sold by His
friend to bad people who killed Him, hung Him on a
cross. He let them do it. He wanted to show God how
sorry He was to see poor sinners going down to Hell.
Hopping. Burning. Weeping. Gnashing their teeth
for ever and ever. Jesus was a good man to do that.
Breeze’s heart was rapt with pity. His body quivered.
‘Tears ran down his cheeks in floods. God must have a
a hard heart to let Jesus suffer so bad.
**Nee-ro my Gawd, to thee—
Nee-ro to thee Be
the congregation sang. Old Louder raised up his
head and bayed, like his heart ached too. Nobody
noticed him but Maum Hannah who leaned and patted
his head. ‘‘Hush, Louder. Keep quiet. Pray easy, son.
Hasy.’’
The service was finally over, the benediction said,
people crowded the aisles, poured out through the wide-
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open doors, slowly, quietly, until the church was empty
and its yard full.
An empty hogshead, got from the store, was half
filled with water from the spring at the picnic grounds.
Lemons were cut and squeezed and added. A great
cloth bag full of sugar was poured in. .A great block
of ice was stripped out of its sack and washed clean of
sawdust, and dumped into the barrel with the lemons
and sugar and water.
Maum Hannah disapproved again, and some of the
old people sided with her. She said ice wasn’t a healthy
thing. But the fine stylish town preacher said she was
mistaken. Once, a long time ago, people used to think
ice was not healthy, but everybody knows better now. In
_town people never drink lemonade without ice. Never.
Uncle Bill was worried because the ice’s coldness
seemed to soak up the sugar. The lemonade didn’t taste
at all right. There was no more sugar to put in unless
they sent all the way to the store, and this was Sunday.
It would be a sin to buy sugar on Sunday.
The men on the lemonade committee were arguing
about what to do, when the Reverend, who had been
walking around through the crowd shaking hands with
the people and patting the children’s heads, came up
with Leah, who was smiling and talking and putting on
many fine airs. The preacher said he was sure, Leah,
Mrs. Locust, knew all about lemonade. She could tell
exactly if they’d have to send for more sugar or not.
Just give her a taste. She’d decide for them.
Zeda laughed out. Big Sue muttered something, but
both stood aside to make room for Leah, who giggled
happily, and stepped up to the barrel.
The Reverend took up the long clean hickory paddle
Uncle Bill had used to mix it, and leaning over, gave it
a vigorous stirring. He must have stirred too hard, for
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the cold air rose up out of the barrel into Leah’s nose,
and before she had time even to turn her head, she gave
one loud sneeze and all her white teeth flew out of her
mouth right into the barrel of lemonade.
It was a bad time. Leah said she’d have to have
her teeth back right now. But they were mixed up
with all those hundreds of lemon skins and that big
block of ice. Every man on the committee took a hand
at stirring for them, but the teeth rose up and grinned,
then hid deep in the bottom of the lemonade before
anybody could snatch them out. The preacher said pour
the whole hogshead of lemonade out on the ground!
The idea! Breeze felt relieved when the committee was
firm. Leah would have to wait. The lemonade would
soon be low in the barrel. The people were thirsty.
They’d drink it up in a hurry. Leah didn’t argue but
went off one side and began sniffling and erying with her
mouth hidden behind her pocket handkerchief. Big Sue
chuckled out loud. Uncle Bill stepped forward with a
long handled dipper and filling it brimming full
handed it to the Reverend, with a low bow, ‘‘Have de
first drink, Reverend. I know you’ throat’s dry after
all de preachin’ an’ prayin’ you done to-day! Gawd
bless you, suh!’’
The Reverend fell back a step, and shook his head
and coughed behind his hand,
“If you’ll excuse me——’’ He stammered it, then
coughed again, and walked over to where Big Sue stood
with a broad smile on her face.
But April suddenly appeared.
““What’s all dis?’’ he asked, looking straight at the
Reverend, with a glitter in his eyes.
“Your wife—ah—Mistress Locust—has—ah—met
with a little accident——’’
‘‘Didn’ Uncle Bill hand you a dipper 0’ lemonade ?’’
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‘*Why, yes, Brother Locust.’’
_ “How come you didn’ drirk em? Don’ you be
brotherin’ me, either.’’
‘*Why—ah, I’m really not thirsty, Mr. Locust,’’
“‘You ain’ thirsty, eh?’’
‘*Why, ah, no.”’
April’s Sunday clothes made him look even taller
than usual. His hair was newly cut, and his face
shaved clean, except for a small mustache. He made a
fine-looking, powerful figure to Breeze’s wide-stretched
eyes.
His mouth smiled as he spoke to the preacher, but
his words snarled. It was plain that he was furiously
angry. Breeze felt as if he’d choke with excitement.
The breath was squeezed out of his body as the crowd
pushed closer, and his bare feet were trod on until
he felt his toes were mashed too flat ever to walk again.
The stillness was broken only by Leah’s sniveling,
and April’s hurried breathing.
Uncle Bill put up a warning hand when April slowly
took off his hat. ‘‘Keep you’ hat on, April. Don’t you
dare to butt dis servant of Gawd! You'll git struck
dead, sho’ as you do!’’
April smiled knowingly, then pulled his hat down
tight on his head.
““T doubt if Gawd would knock me ’bout dat, but I
don’ b’lieve I want to dirty my skull on such a jackass,
not no mo’. I butt him good de last time we met. EH
ain’ fo’got.’’
‘Great Gawd! April, shut you’ mouth!’’
‘“‘Did you cuss me for a jackass?’’ the preacher
shrieked and darted furiously at April.
Women screamed out. Children wailed. Men mum-
bled protests. But before anybody suspected his inten-
tion April leaped forward and seized the preacher’s
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head with two powerful hands, held it like a vise, and
bit a neat round mouthful out of the cheek next to him.
Making a horribly ugly face he spat out the morsel of
flesh. Old Louder, Uncle Bill’s faithful hound, caught
it and swallowed it down.
A fearful outery arose. Men groaned. Women
shrieked and yelled. Some went off into trances. The
wounded preacher toppled, fell over, limp as a rag, his
high white collar reddening as it swallowed the blood
that streamed out of the hole in his face. Poor man.
His face would rot off now. Poison would swell it up,
bloat it, then peel it off. :
Woe Bill scolded Louder terribly and frailed him
with a stick until the poor dog cried out pitifully.
Breeze felt sick and faint enough to die. His hair
stood on end. His flesh shook cold on his bones. God
would strike April sure as the world.
The people rushed forward, some calling for water,
some threatening April. Everybody shouted until the
noise and confusion waxed loud and frightful.
Leah and Big Sue vied with each other in stormy
torrents of words and weeping.
April’s fury spent itself with the bite. His strained
muscles unbraced, unbuckled, he cleared his throat and
spat. ‘‘Dat meat taste too sickenin’,’? he grumbled.
Then squaring his shoulders he walked away. Cool.
Master of himself. Alone.
[198]
XV
FIELD WORK
Aut the cotton had been picked except scraps in the
tip-top of the stalks. When these were gathered, the
last chance for the women to-make a little money would
be over until early next spring when the stables were
cleaned out and the black manure put in piles for them
to scatter over the fields. »
The sultry day was saturated with heat. . The
swollen sun shone white through a fog that brought
the sky low over the cotton -field.. The cotton pickers
swarmed thick, sweat poured off faces and hands and
feet. Slowly, steadily they moved, up. and down the
long rows of tall rank stalks, carefully picking every
wisp of staple out of the wide-open brown burrs.
Everybody was barefooted, most of the boys and
men wearing only shirts and overalls, and the women
had their skirts tied up almost to their knees.
Not the smallest gust of wind stirred the steamy air.
Sweat blackened sleeves and shirts and dresses, yet the
talk stayed bright and chatty.
Breeze had picked all morning except for one little
while when he stopped to eat a piece of cold corn-pone
and drink a few swallows out of his bottle of sweetened
water. He wanted to pick a good weight, but the cotton
was light and sparse. April was paying a whole cent a
pound instead of the half a cent he paid when the cotton
was green and heavy.
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If Big Sue would pick faster instead of talking so
much, together they ought to get a hundred pounds.
Maybe even a hundred and twenty-five.
Side by side they trudged along, but too often Big
Sue stopped and straightened up her bent shoulders and
stretched her arms for a rest. Leaning over so long had
her all but ina cramp. Yet when Breeze stopped to eat
she scolded him. This was no time for lingering.
Every pound picked meant a cent.
‘“Wha’ de news f’om Joy?’’ Leah ealled across the
rows.
“‘Joy wa’n’t so well when I heared last.’’
‘“Wa’n’t Joy kinder sickly all last summer ?”’
Big Sue admitted it grumly.
‘‘T hear say Joy have changed e boardin’ place since
e went back to school.”’
Big Sue took her time to answer. After picking sey-
eral stalks clean she said Joy had changed, fo’ true. She
was staying right on the campus now. Right with the
teachers and the professors and all the high-up people.
Leah spat on the ground. ‘‘Lawd, Joy must be
know ev’yt’ing by now, long as e’s been off at school.
How much years? Five or six?’’
‘*Joy do know a lot, but ’e ain’ been off but four
years. You know it too, Leah.’’
“‘Joy’s a stylish gal, Big Sue. Even if e is puny.’’
Zeda was plainly siding against Leah.
“Joy ought to look stylish, much money as I spent
on em. When e went back to school dis fall, Joy’s
trunk looked fine as a white lady’s trunk. Not a outin’
gown inem! Nota outin’ petticoat! Even to de shim-
mys, Joy had ev’yt’ing made out o’ pink and blue
and yellow crépe. Joy is a fine seamster, if I do say
it myse’f. Joy’s clothes is fine as any store-bought
clothes.’’
[200]
FIELD WORK
‘‘Wha’s Joy gwine do when e finish college?’’ Lean
asked presently.
Big Sue was uncertain. Joy was working to get a
depluma. When she got that she could be anything
she liked. Joy was sickly last summer because she had
so much learning stirring around in her head. Leah
laughed—innocently. There was no need to worry, as
long as a girl was sickly from things stirring in her
head.
‘‘Wha you mean by dat, Leah?’’ Big Sue stopped
short and her narrowed eyes gazed fixedly at Leah who
went on picking.
“‘T ain’ say nothin’ to vex you, Big Sue! You’s too
touchous! Joy ain’ gold neither silver.’’
““You keep Joy’s name out you’ mouth, Leah!’’ Big
Sue snapped the words out in a stinging tone that cut
through the heat.
Zeda stood still and gave a wide-mouthed yawn and
a lazy laugh. ‘‘Do hush you’ wranglin’. When it’s hot
like dis, I can’ stan’ to hear nobody tryin’ to start a
brawl. You womens ain’ chillen! Joy’s a nice gal.
Fo’ Gawd’s sake, le’ em ’lone!”’
She looked up at the sun hanging low in a whitish
glow, then down at the short shadows and the heat
wilted leaves. Not a bird chirped. Not a locust or
grasshopper spoke.
“‘T bet Joy’ll marry some o’ dem fine professors or
either preachers,’’ Bina drawled.
‘“Joy might, fo’ true,’’ Big Sue bragged.
Zeda said nothing, but her eyes darted a sharp look
at Big Sue, then turned toward the rice-fields where the
river erept up without a murmur or a shimmer of light
on its surface.
Breeze picked on and on long after his back was
tired and his fingers sore from the sharp points of the
[201]
BLACK APRIL
stiff burrs. The crocus sheets spread out along the
road at the side of the field were piled higher and higher
with cotton which was heaped up, packed down, run-
ning over. The last picking yielded more than anybody
expected.
Thank God, the sun was setting at last. Wagons
were rattling in the distance, coming to haul the cotton
to the big gin-house! This year’s crop was done,
[202]
XVI te
PLOWING
Breen was to do his, first plowing, but instead of
being up and dressed and ready to go to the fields when
dawn first streaked the sky he lay sobbing underneath
the clean bright quilts, which were all rumpled up over
his bed, the big, high, soft.feather-bed in the shed-room
where ee Sue’s Lijah used to sleep.
_He was wretched and lonely and sore from head to
heels. The feather-bed hurt wherever it pressed its fat
eushiony sides against his naked body, although that
feather-bed was made out of the finest down of wild
ducks and geese. Big Sue liked to tell how she took
years to save so many, for she wanted her Lijah to have
the finest feather-bed on the whole plantation. When-
ever the hunters brought wild fowls to the kitchen for
her to roast in the big oven there, she carefully picked
the softest pinless feathers off the breasts, and put them
in a bag and kept them until she finally had enough for
Lijah’s bed. Lijah liked a soft bed. He was like her.
Joy was different. A feather-bed made Joy hot and
unrestful, and she liked to sleep on a mattress filled with
cotton tacked tight to keep it firm and hard and in place.
Joy and Lijah were different altogether. But Lijah
left his feather-bed soon after it was made, and went
away to a far country. Big Sue was not sure whether
the country was named ‘‘Fluridy’’ or ‘Kintwcky.”’
Sometimes she called it ‘‘Kintucky-Fluridy.”’
[203]
BLACK APRIL
The fine softness of Lijah’s bed meant little to
Breeze, for he was homesick and unhappy. He’d
a lot rather go back to his mother’s cabin, on Sandy
Island, and sleep on a pallet made out of a ragged quilt
spread on the splintery hard floor, than to stay here with
Big Sue and sleep in this nest of down feathers that had
once warmed and comforted other children with bill and
wings and webbed feet.
He turned and twisted and heaved with mute sobs.
He felt all alone in the world. He had learned not to
ery out loud. Big Sue had taught him that people with
manners cry low: and easy. Manly boys never ery at
all. If Big Sue would only take time to beat him right
away when he did wrong, he could somehow bear the
pain better, but to be waked up before daylight, and
stripped naked, and made to stand still under the euts
of a strap, or a switch, that’s hard.
When she waddled home at night, after the day’s
work and pleasure were done, she was too weary to do
anything but drop down in a chair and rest. Breeze
had to undo the wide-strung-up shoes and take them
off her fat feet, and fill up her pipe and light it. She’d
smoke a little while and go to bed, worn-out, too tired
to whip Breeze, no matter how much he needed a lick-
ing. -She always waited until next morning, when she
woke up fresh and strong, ready to raise Breeze and
teach him manners. Her usual morning greeting was,
‘*Git up, Breeze. Git up and strip. I want to git down
to you’ rind,’’ his rind meaning his naked skin.
She declared that licking Breeze hurt her as much as
it hurt him. She hated to have to do it, but Breeze was
a poor, ignorant, no-manners boy. She had to beat him
to do her duty by him.
A long, thin, black leather strap stayed up on the
mantel-shelf, ready to give lickings. It had a black-
[204]
PLOWING
snake’s hiss, and a crack as sharp as a pistol-shot. But
this morning Big Sue couldn’t lay her hands on it, so
she broke a switch off the plum tree growing beside the
cabin’s front door. There were all kinds of switches
outside. Big Sue could easily have got a smoother,
better one, but she was in a hurry and the plum switch
was in easy reach of her hand.
In the weak morning light she didn’t see that thorns
stayed on it when she pulled off its limbs. Those thorns
had sharp teeth, and Big Sue drove them deep into
Breeze’s back and thighs. Now as he stroked his hurts
with both hands he felt blood warm and wet on them.
Breeze’s mother had never talked to him about man-
ners. Big Sue said she didn’t know them. At Blue
Brook plantation, manners are the most important
things in the world, but they stand between you and
everything you want to do. Nobody ever eats the first
sweet black walnuts that fall on the ground, for eating
green walnuts makes lice in your head, and it is bad-
mannered to be lousy.
To play with the funny hop-toadies, whose little
black hands look just like a tiny baby’s thumbs and all,
makes warts come on your hands, and it’s bad-mannered
to have warts.
If you drink goat’s milk, although it is sweeter than
cow’s milk, you’ll hate water, just like goats hate it.
You won’t want to wash. And it’s bad-mannered not to
like soap and water.
If your feet get cold as ice and you can’t get them
warm any other way, you must not put them on the
warm black pots on the hearth, because the soot on the
pots will stick to your feet, and it’s bad-mannered to
have sooty feet.
To put a finger in your mouth is bad-mannered.
Everything is bad-mannered !
[205]
BLACK APRIL
.. Breeze’s reflections and.sobs were checked by a call
from Big Sue to get up! To make haste too! He
hopped up and pulled on his clothes, and taking a piece
of cold bread in his hand, hurried to the barnyard.
Daylight had already spread through the sky, and was
creeping over the earth. The fall day smelled like
spring. One old apple tree in the orchard had been
fooled. into, blooming by the drowsy warmth. Poor
silly thing!
_ The creek babbled low as the tide swelled it high
up near the bank, and a cow, followed by her new-born
calf, ventured in knee-deep, and sucked up the water
noisily. As she lifted her head to look at Breeze, drops
falling from her mouth were suddenly shot through
with a streak of light. The sun was up! He was late!
Lord, he must run! Every flower had its face turned
eastward to meet the day. They knew it had come.
Cocks began a fresh erowing. Jay-birds chahn-
chahned. Partridges whistled. A mocking-bird trilled.
Tiny brown birds fluttered through the thickets like
dead .leaves come back. to life. Wagon wheels rumbled
on a road out of sight, the pop of a whip cracked out.
Everything was astir, ready for the day’s work.
In the barnyard a lively confusion of men and beasts
.made a thick din that filled Breeze’s heart with excite-
ment. To-day he would begin doing a man’s work. On
Saturday he’d get his pay, like Sherry and all the other
farm-hands.
He could hear the men hailing one another. The
mules neighed. Trace-chains tinkled between shouts of
*“Whoa’’ and ‘‘Gee’’ and ‘‘Haw”’’ and ‘‘Git-up.’’ On
the near side of the barnyard fence a long-legged funny
mule colt went staggering behind old Sally, Unele Bill’s
old bay mare. When he lagged she whinnied to him to
come on.
[206]
PLOWING
A litter of pigs huddled around a lean black sow
wallowing comfortably in a filthy mud-hole. They
squealed to her to le still and let them feed, but she
grunted lazily, and rolled still deeper in the mire. Near
by an old dominecker hen clucked sharply to her biddies
and scratched eagerly for worms in the rich black earth.
She’d better mind. That old sow would eat her up,
feathers and all, and swallow the biddies down like raw
oysters.
The fine fall day felt like spring. Men and mules
stepped briskly, glad to go to work.
For the first time since the boll-weevils came and
pestered the cotton, the crop had been abundant, and
now the field must be cleared of old stalks for the
winter.
The summer’s dry weather had been a big help. No
rain came to wash the poison off. Sherry ran the poison
machine over the fields at night when the cotton was
wet with dew and the thirsty weevils drank poisoned
dew and died. It was a scary thing to see these great
white clouds of poison dust rising and settling to kill.
The people scarcely dared to look.
Now, every lock of cotton was picked, and the plows
were to turn the stalks under so deep in the earth the
boll-weevils would not have as much as one lone cotton
leaf to eat during the winter. April was planning
already to make such a big crop next year, the gins
would have to run day and night when fall came, to
get the cotton packed into bales by Christmas! Money
would be plentiful one more time!
A score of men were plowing, most of them tall
strong fellows, straight and slender as tree-trunks.
‘Their ease and skill made Breeze almost despair, for
plowing was a hard job to him. But Sherry was chaffing
them, calling them scary ladies who stayed at home and
[207]
t ee |
ay
‘a
— BLACK “APRIL
‘slept with the women and children while he and April
fought boll-weevils all night long.
He wouldn’t hold it against them if they’d work
well in the daytime and plow the crop fast and keep the
ground-crust broken and the grass killed. He and April
could attend to the weevils next summer, all by them-
selves. With that big poison machine and three mules,
he could poison forty acres a night. Instead of resent-
ing what Sherry said, the men laughed good-naturedly
and declared they were satisfied to leave the boll-weevils
to Sherry and April. Let the devils fight the devils.
Leah’s Brudge was there, right in among the men.
He plowed last year and showed he felt important.
At first he scarcely noticed Breeze who struggled and
strove to hold his unruly plow steady and straight
like Sherry’s.
Each man had his own mule, taught to his ways.
Sherry’s mule, Clara, was a beauty. Sleek and trim
and spry, she understood every word Sherry spoke.
Brudge had Cleveland, an old brown mule with sprung
fore-knees, but with a steady gait and a nice coat of
hair. Breeze had old Cesar, a shaggy, logy beast,
mouse-colored, except where bald spots marked his hide
black. One blind eye was like a hard-boiled egg and
the other had an uncertain peep, but Sherry said Cxsar
had sense like a man. All Breeze needed to do was hold
the lines and the plow handles together and walk
straight behind. Cesar would do the rest. Breeze
wished he might have had a handsomer beast, but even
old Cesar made his heart thrill.
The earth had been dried out by the warm autumn
sunshine and it sent up clouds of dust as the sharp
steel of the plows cut it deep, and long rows of rank
stalks were uprooted and turned under and carefully
covered with dark smooth soil.
[208]
PLOWING
April stood alone, watching the men and mules
walking sturdily across the field, then back. When they
neared him, their talking hushed except for words
spoken to the mules.
Overhead a blue sky looked down; the breath of the
stirred earth, scented strong with life, rose and brimmed
up, filling the air.
‘When the plowmen reached the far side of the field
again, turning slowly they moved along, side by side,
talking and laughing. Their gay racket hushed in a
hurry when April’s voice floated to them from where he
stood, a tall speck by the trees in the distance. Clear
and sharp his words fell through the sunshine.
‘Hey dere! Yunnuh quit so much talkin’ and
laughin’. I want all dem cotton stalks covered up
deep !’’
Every man of them stepped a little slower, every
plowstock was gripped with a tighter hold after the
correction. Merry chatter changed to stern shouts that
chided the patient mules. ‘‘Hey, mule!’’, ‘‘Watch you
doin’s!’’, ‘‘Gee!’’, ‘‘Haw!’’, ‘‘Come up!’’ The mules
pulled harder and the crunching of the earth as the
plows cut deeper took the place of laughter and gay
bantering words.
The day moved on, warm and drowsy, with yellow
sunshine still hot enough to cast black shadows, and
draw sweat out of both men and beasts. April stood
watching, hour after hour, while the swarm of mules
and men trudged back and forth from the water’s edge
to the woods and then back again, never stopping for
even a breathing spell. The sun rode high in the sky.
Shadows shortened. Breeze longed for the noon hour,
time to stop and eat and drink and rest.
Once or twice as Brudge passed Breeze and Cesar,
he looked at the old mule and giggled. Then he called
[209 }
BLACK. APRIL
out, ‘‘Breeze is plowin’ a spring puppy!’’ When he
had gone a little way past he looked back and said
something that made the plow-hands laugh out. But
Sherry stopped Clara short in her tracks.
“You better shut you’ mouth, Brudge!’’ he warned.
- “You gits too big for your breeches sometimes. Breeze
ean’ lick you, but I kin an’ I will.’’
Breeze couldn’t hear Brudge’s answer, but he
caught up in time to hear the end of Brudge’s outburst
of abuse of Sherry. The other men went on plowing,
except one of the older ones, who. stopped to shame
Brudge for the vile words he had used.
‘*What de matter ail yunnuh?’’ April called.
Nobody answered, so he started walking leisurely
toward them.
Sherry stuck his plow’s point deep in the earth,
dropped his plow lines on the ground, then undid the
trace-chains and hung them up on Clara’s collar.
Brudge stood looking at him, then back at April.
“‘T ain’ botherin’ you, Sherry. You better left me
’lone,’’ he whined.
If Sherry heard him he gave no sign, but stepped
lightly over the furrows toward Brudge, who gave an
outcry and started to run. Sherry’s long arm
reached out and caught him, drew him up close, held
him fast, while Sherry’s words fell fast and hard as
fire-heated rocks.
**T ain’ gwine butt you fo’ what you called me. No.
I’m gwine crack you’ skull for dat what you call my
mammy.’’ Sherry tilted his head back, and Brudge
gave a shrill yell.
‘‘Don’ butt me, Sherry!’’ The words were scarcely
out when Sherry’s slender powerful body swayed
lightly forward from the hips, and his forehead crashed
down right on Brudge’s skull.
[210]
PLOWING
For a second or two after the terribie blow fell
home, Brudge made no sound. Sherry turned him
loose, and he staggered a few paces and fell, screaming
at the top of his lungs. Sherry had killed him! His
head was broken to pieces. Prone on the soft plowed
ground Brudge twisted and writhed, like a fish out of
water.
Sherry paid no attention to him at all, but went back
to Clara, hitched the trace-chains, took up the rope
lines, and clicked his tongue. ‘‘Git up, Clara!’’ he said
quietly, and the mule stepped off.
To Breeze, April was the very greatest man on
earth, but all of a sudden Sherry seemed to grow. His
limbs became taller, straighter, his shoulders broader,
his supple waist slenderer. His eyes were terrible when
they flashed at Brudge, ashine with furious light, and
his strong white teeth ground together as if they could
bite Brudge’s body in two.
April was coming toward them. A little faster now.
What would he say when he got there? The plow-
hands stopped and waited. One shamed Brudge for
his lack of manners, then turned his head away and spat
on the ground with disgust.
April’s long legs strode leisurely across the soft new
furrows, his stout hickory stick stepping lightly beside
him. When his eyes looked at Brudge there on the
ground, holding his head in both hands, rolling up his
body and rocking it back and forth, then falling on
the ground again, howling with pain and shame and
anger, April’s lips curled up from his big yellow teeth in
a scornful smile.
‘What kind 0’ plow-hand is you, Brudge? Is dat
de way you does a man’s work?”’
‘‘Sherry butt me!—E broke my skull!—I got a bad
headache !’’
[211]
BLACK APRIL
**Do shut you’ mouth, an’ git up off de ground! Un-
hitch you’ mule an’ go on home to Leah. Baby!’’
Brudge got up slowly, and moaning low but steadily
did: what he was told. With April, he was very humble.
His trembling fingers fumbled at the lines and trace-
chains, but he kept up a furious sobbing all the time
he worked at knots and links.
‘‘Help him, Breeze!’’ April’s order cracked out like
the snap of a whip.
_ Breeze hurried forward obediently, not that April
had ever mistreated him, or even scolded him, but be-
cause he knew that April ruled everybody and every-
thing on the plantation with a heavy hand. People,
beasts, even plants and insects, had to bend to his
stubborn will, or suffer.
‘“Hey, Sherry!’’ April ealled. ‘‘Come dis way! Left
Clara whe’ e is! Git a move on you, too!’’
April was rarely unjust, and sometimes he was
almost gentle, but now his voice stung the air. Sherry
had better not vex him further, or there’d be trouble.
Although Sherry walked without hurry, he was out
of breath when he reached April. His hands shook a
little as men do when a chill is about to seize them.
‘‘How come you butt Brudge?’’ April asked him
coldly.
‘*You ought to be glad I butt em. Brudge is a no-
manners scoundrel.’’
“If he done wrong, whyn’ you tell me?”’
‘‘T ain’ no news carrier.”’
April’s eyes glittered as he shifted his hickory stick
from one hand to the other.
““You ain’ Brudge’s daddy, you know?’’
‘“No.’? And Sherry smiled. ‘‘I ain’ nobody’s
daddy, not yet.”’
‘Wha’ you mean by dat?’’ April’s voice rose, and
[212]
PLOWING
in a sudden burst of anger he seized Sherry by the
shoulder. ‘‘You can’ sass me, Sherry! You know it
too! If you wanted to butt somebody, whyn’ you come
try my head, instead o’ mashin’ up a li!’ half-grown
boy ike Brudge? I got a mind to make mush out 0’ you’
brains right now. You ever was a’ impudent black
devil!’’
Sherry’s eyes gleamed, his fists clenched, and he drew
closer to April. ‘‘I didn’ had no cause to butt you,
dat’s why! But I just as soon butt you as anybody
else.’’
April smiled. ‘‘I hate to kill you, Sherry. You’s
a good plow-hand, an’ I need you.”’
Sherry’s answer didn’t lag one iota, and he met
April’s eyes with a steadfast look. ‘‘Come try me!
Just stick you’ neck out! One time! Just one time!
You t’ink you’s de onliest man got a skull on dis whole
plantation. I got a bone in my head, too. Come try
em! I’ll butt you’ brains out same as if you wasn’
my daddy!’’ Sherry’s eyes glared, his head crouched
between his shoulders, he came forward with a rush.
But April jerked him clear up off his feet, and his big
head came down on Sherry’s forehead with a butt that
brought the blood streaming from both men’s nostrils.
Sherry staggered back a step, then leaped for-
ward, but April’s powerful outstretched arms hurled
him toward the plow-hands, who caught him and held
him fast, for April warned them.
““Yunnuh hold dat boy. If e comes back at me
Ill kill em. An’ we ain’ got time to be diggin’ a grave,
not till de cotton’s all plowed under.”’
“You mens lemme go, I tell you! I ain’ scared 0’
April. Lemme go!’’
*“‘Yunnuh ain’ to fight! Great Gawd! Yunnuh’d
kill one anudder. You can’ git loose, Sherry. No, suh!’’
[213]
BLACK APRIL
Sherry struggled fruitlessly. Then he stood still.
April wiped his nose on his shirt-sleeve, picked his
ragged hat up off the ground, set it straight on his head,
then quietly buttoned up the neck of his shirt, for a
sudden gust of wind came up cool from the rice-fields.
Casting his eyes up at the sky where a flock of small
ragged clouds hung high and white, he said calmly,
“*Yunnuh better git back to plowin’. It’s gwine rain in
a few days an’ we must git dis big field finished befo’
den.’’
He tried to speak coolly. Quietly. To hold up his
head triumphantly. But his shoulders had a dejected
droop, as he turned his back and went toward the
woods.
After a few steps, he turned around, ‘‘Sherry, you
an’ me can’ live on de same place. Not no mo’.
I'll kill you sho’ as we try it. For a little I’d kill you
now. You git on off. I don’ care whe’ you go, just
so I don’ see you, not no mo’! Git outen de field! Right
now, too.”’
Breeze felt hot, then cold. The blood rose in his
throat and choked him. If he could only help Sherry
kill April! But he stood shaking, shivering, with lips
twitching, until April asked, ‘‘What is you eryin’
about?’’ And Breeze stammered weakly, in a thin reedy
voice, ‘‘I ain’ eryin’, suh.’’ The glare April gave him
made him dizzy like a blow between his eyes.
‘‘Den git at you’ work! Don’ be wastin’ good time
on a mawnin’ like dis!”’
Sherry held up his head and fastened his look on
April, but the tears that ran down his cheeks belied his
hard reckless smile. In a voice broken by hate and
fury he cried out:
“You stinkin’ ugly devil Quit scarin’ dat li’l’
boy! You’s got a coward-heart even if you’ head is too
[214]
PLOWING
tough fo’ Hell! I hope Gawd’ll rot all two 0’ you feets
off! I hope E will *» Sherry stretched out a fist
and shook it helplessly, then broke into sobs.
“Hush, Sherry! You better left April alone now.
You done said enough,’’? warned one of the men, but
April strode away. If he heard Sherry’s eursing he
made no sign of it. And Sherry walked across the field
to Clara, who stood, still hitched to the plow, waiting
for him to come back. He patted her nose. ‘‘Good ol’
Clara. I’m gwine. Breeze’ll take you to de barnyard,
won’t you, Breeze?”’
Breeze tried to answer a loud ‘‘ Yes, Sherry!’’ but a
dumb sob shook his words.
““Good-by, mens!’’
““Good-by, Sherry!’
That was all. Sherry walked away toward the Quar-
ters. As Breeze watched him go the sunshiny noon grew
dim. The plows went on cutting down stalks, burying
them, but the men were silent as death. Birds kept
singing in the forest trees, but their notes had a doleful
sorrowful sound. The day had paled. The rice-fields
meeting the sky yonder, so far away, were hazy and sad.
The wind itself wept through the trees. A flock of
erows passed overhead, croaking out lonesome words
to one another.
The field lay dark. Dismal. Its rich earth changed
to dry barren land. The men who plowed it walked in
a distressful silence.
Sherry was gone. Zeda’s Sherry. The most prom-
ising young man on the whole plantation. April’s big-
doings bullying had run him off. April would pay for
it. He’d poison cotton by himself next summer. He
could make the men do almost anything else, but he’d
never get them to poison boll-weevils. They knew better
than to fight Providence. April wasn’t God. No.
[215]
BLACK APRIL
From the Quarters a scream rose and swelled until
its long, weird, melancholy note went into a death-cry!
Zeda’s grieving! Breeze had to clench his teeth to keep
from bursting out crying himself. Suppose April got
mad with him some time, and butted him? What would
he do? He couldn’t do anything but stand still and take
it and die.
He went on plowing, side by side with the rest in the
painful silence that hung on stubbornly. The soft flat-
footed pattering of the men’s bare feet, the dead flat
thudding of mule steps, the sullen waving of the
branches in the wind, the low murmuring of the water,
all fell together into a dull batch of doleful sound.
Flocks of field-larks rose up and eried out plain-
tively as their feeding-ground was turned under. Old
Louder chased them in a slow trot, sniffed at them, then
at some smell in the earth. Coming up to Breeze, he
rubbed against his legs and whined. Breeze gave him
nothing in return, only a low word or two, and a
furtive pat on the head, so he trotted off to one side, and
sat on his haunches, watching the plowmen with sorrow-
ful eyes. He missed Sherry too.
When the bell rang for noon, Breeze was near the
rice-fields side. His mule stopped short and seized a
mouthful of grass, as he gazed toward Sandy Island.
It was far away to-day. The haze had every sign of it
hidden. A broad sheet of water sparkled and glittered,
as bright reflections of white clouds floated softly,
silently on its shining surface. All the channels were
buried. What was his mother doing now? And Sis?
He swallowed a sob and turned the mule’s head toward
home, and saw Big Sue waddling across the field. She
didn’t follow any path, but came on straight toward
him, over the soft plowed earth. Why was she coming
to the field at noon? He had his breakfast long ago,
[216]
PLOWING
and he always went home for dinner. Maybe she
wanted to talk about Sherry. She stopped and said a
few words to April but she came on to Breeze.
She gave Breeze a hand-wave as she got nearer, but
her face was solemn, without any show of a smile.
“‘April says you kin come straight on home, Breeze.
Somebody else’ll take de mules to de lot.’’
Giving his shoulder a gentle pat, she drew Breeze up
to her with a little hug. She didn’t say a word, and her
eyes looked wet.
April was waiting at the path, and he walked on
home beside them. Tall, solid as a tree, rugged, tough-
sinewed, double-jointed, yet the cruel look in his deep-
sunk eyes that blazed out when they looked at Sherry,
had given way to something else. They glowed bright
as he turned back and looked across the rice-fields
toward Sandy Island, and said gently:
‘Sandy Island is way back behind de clouds to-
day.’’ His anger with Sherry had passed.
His voice sounded unsteady, his features were hag-
gard and ashy.
Big Sue looked at him, then at Breeze. ‘‘ You break
de news to Breeze, April. I ain’ got de heart.’’
April shook his head. ‘‘Me neither.’’
Big Sue’s small eyes blinked. ‘‘Son,’’ she hesitated
strangely, and laid a hot fat hand gently on his shoulder,
‘‘you t’ink you got a mammy, enty?’’
Of course Breeze thought so. He was so sure of it.
What on earth was Big Sue aiming at?
““No, son.’’ She shook her head slowly. ‘‘You ain
got none. You’ mammy went out on de tide befo’ day
dis mawnin’,’’
What did Big Sue mean? Breeze felt confused.
Where had his mother gone on that before-day-tide?
He didn’t understand what Big Sue was talking about.
[217]
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BLACK APRIL
Marsh-hens cackled gaily out in the rice-fields. A
erane croaked. A fish-hawk circled high, then halted
to poise himself for a swoop.
Taking Breeze by the hand Big Sue led him on
through the greenish shade cast by the live-oaks over
the road and the eabin’s yard. Her bright cold eyes
peeped out sidewise at him now and then. She was
trying to be kind. Once she said, ‘‘I’se gwine to be
you’ mammy now, since you’ own mammy’s dead and
gone.’’
Breeze felt as if he was in a dream, walking in his
sleep. His legs were numb and heavy.
‘“‘Hurry up, son! You must walk faster. We got
to dress an’ go to de buryin’, cross de river in a boat.
April’ll let Sherry take we across de river in de boat,
enty, April?’’
‘‘No, not Sherry. Somebody else’ll take you.
Sherry’s done gone off. To stay.’’
‘“Wha’ dat you say, April? Sherry’s gone?’
*‘T run em off de place a while ago.”’
‘*Great Gawd! What is dis! April, don’t you
know Zeda’s gwine kill you? Man! I’m glad I ain’t
you. You might be strong, but you ain’ strong as dat
conjure Zeda’s gwine put on you.’’
Louder had followed them from the field, and now
sat on his hind quarters, listening, watching, snapping
at a fly now and then. Asa squirrel ran down the trunk
of a tree and across the yard, he jumped up and ran a
few paces, then came back and sat down again, as
as though he had done his duty.
““Come on in de house an’ dress, Breeze. I don’
believe you got it straight in you’ head yet. You’ ma
is dead, son! Dead! De people is gwine put em in a
grave soon as dis same sun goes down.’’
Breeze looked up at each of the grown people. He
[218]
cinta tt ie 1). ie
PLOWING
felt hurt, as if his mother had abandoned him just when
he wanted to see her most, to go back home to her.:
Sherry was gone away. She was dead. Nobody was
left, but Uncle Bill. Leaning toward Big Sue he hid
his face in the folds of her skirt and wept.
*‘Don’ ery, son,’’ she soothed him. ‘‘Come on an’
eat some dinner. You got to go wid me to de buryin’.
Enty, April?’’
She led him inside and made him sit in a chair
beside April, while she fried links of sausage to eat with
the bread and cups full of sweetened water. The sau-
sage had a savory smell, and Breeze bit into it and
chewed it a long time, but he could scarcely swallow it
for the choking lump in his throat. His mother was
dead. She was no longer yonder at Sandy Island with
Sis and the other children. She had flown up into the
sky, where Heaven was, and Jesus and all the angels.
April washed his food down with great swallows of
water. How dumb he was.
‘*Lawd!’’ Big Sue grunted as she came out of the
shed-room with her Sunday dress on her arm. ‘‘ Ain’ it
awful to die in sin? It pure scares me half to death
when I think on Breeze’s mammy a hoppin’ in Hell
right now! Great Gawd! Wid fire a scorchin’ em!’’
**How you know?’’ April thundered out.
**How I know? I know e was a’ awful sinner. You
know so too. E got dis same Breeze right here at Blue
Brook whilst a revival meetin’ was gwine on. You don’
call dat sin?’’
April didn’t so much as crack his teeth, and she
looked at him with narrowed eyes.
‘You an’ her all two better had got religion dat
summer.’’
“‘You better keep you’ mouth shut, now, Big Sue.
You’s a-talkin’ out o’ turn. Better help Breeze dress.
[219]
BLACK APRIL
E’s a settin’ yonder on de floor wid jaws hangin’ open!
Boy, you’s gwine swallow a fly if you don’ mind.”’
Breeze was trying to think. His mother, his dear,
kind, good mother, was hopping in Hell. Burning in
a fire nine times hotter than the fire on earth!
‘‘April!’’ Big Sue called out, ‘‘you ought to buy
Breeze a nice pair 0’ shoes an’ stockin’s to wear to de
buryin’.”’
‘‘Brudge is got a pair Breeze kin borrow an’ wear. I
ain’ got time to go to de sto’ now.’’
“‘Please go git ’em fo’ me.”’
April got up stiffly and walked away. In a little while
Brudge came bringing a pair of Leah’s shoes. He had
lost one of his own, but Leah sent her slippers instead.
April said they would do. They were low-cut and
shiny, with high heels and a strap across the instep.
Breeze made such a poor out at walking in them, Big
Sue couldn’t help laughing, although she declared she
was not making sport of him.
‘Take ’em off, son. Tote ’em in you’ hand till we
git to Sandy Island,’’ she suggested, and Breeze did.
Unele Bill rowed the boat that took them to Sandy
Island, and although he pulled hard with his oars, the
sun was almost down when they reached the cabin up
on the hill above the river.
Mules and oxen hitched to carts filled the yard, and
the house was crowded with people.
Big Sue made Breeze sit down on the ground and
put on Brudge’s stockings and Leah’s shoes. They
made his feet stumble about miserably, but Big Sue said
that made no difference, since they looked nice.
He was terribly excited, but as he walked hand in
hand with Big Sue up the steep path into the yard he
eould hear people say:
‘‘Lawd, Breeze is grow fo’ true. Looka e fine clothes!”
[220]
PLOWING
Seeing his old home made him forget to be polite.
Big Sue whispered, ‘‘When de ladies an’ gentlemens
speaks to you, bow an’ pull you’ foot an’ say, ‘Good
evening.’ Don’ grin at ’em like a chessy-cat! Be man-
nersable!’’
When Sis came to the door Breeze broke away from
Big Sue’s hand and ran, half falling up the steps. Sis
grabbed him and held him tight. He put his arms
around her and squeezed her, and they laughed and
eried together. Poor Sis! Her body felt like a pack
of bones! Where was the baby? Where were all the
other children? Sis whispered they’d been sent off to a
neighbor’s house until after the burying was over. She
didn’t have time to feed them and look after everything
else.
Big Sue interrupted the tight hug Breeze was giving
Sis: ‘‘Come on in, boy, an’ look at you’ ma. Dey’s
ready to put em in de box.’’
The cabin was full of a queer smell. Breeze hated
to go inside, but Big Sue held him fast by the arm
and drew him toward the shed-room door. The room
was dim, for the one wooden shutter was closed so that
very little light could filter through. Breeze saw only
a few solemn-looking black women standing around the
bed. He couldn’t bear to go any farther. But Big
Sue’s firm hand urged him on, its strong jerks making
it useless to draw back. ,
“‘Don’t you cut no crazy capers wid me, Breeze.
You got to come look at you’ ma. I want de people to
see I raised you to have respect fo’ you’ parents. Open
de window, Sis!’’
The small room looked even smaller on account of the
low ceiling, and the bed, the only piece of furniture,
was pushed out from the wall leaving a narrow way all
around it.
[221]
BLACK APRIL
_ Sis undid the window latch and flung the shutter
back. The sun flooded the white bed with blood-red light,
and marked a long slim thing under a sheet. One of the
black women turned the sheet slowly down and exposed
a pinched face. A chin bound with a white cloth. Two
bony black hands crossed on a sunken breast. Two
feet whose black skin showed through thin white stock-
‘ings. The feet were still, not hopping.
That strange stiffness could not be his mother!
Breeze shut his eyes tight to keep from seeing it.
‘“Open you’ eyes, Breeze. Stand ’side you’ ma an’
look at em good fo’ de last time. You ain’ never gwine
see em no mo’.’’
““No! No! Cun Big Sue! Don’ make me look at
em! Please, Cun Big Sue!”’
Breeze began screaming in spite of himself. He
wanted to be good. To please Big Sue. To have man-
ners. But that thing on the bed was too fearful.
He felt himself lifted in Big Sue’s strong arms.
Her hot breath puffed on him as she bore him close to
the bed. The terrible scent filling the house rose in his
nostrils. Sereams split his throat. He couldn’t hold
them in to save his life. Although his eyelids squeezed
tighter shut, tears poured through them.
Big Sue’s determined fingers tugged at them, pulling
them apart, until his eyes, naked, except for tears, were
held over his mother’s face. Her two dead eyes peeped
out from half-closed lids, her black lips cracked open
over a grin of cold white teeth. He strove wildly to get
away, but Big Sue held him until a soft darkness swal-
lowed everything.
When Breeze came to himself he was fiat on the
ground, so near the cape jessamine bush that a cool
clean blossom touched his cheek.
Where were Big Sue and Sis?
[222]
a eo
PLOWING
He raised up, and saw men with white gloves on
their hands bringing a long new pine box through the
door. They came down the steps and went toward a
wagon. As they passed an old mule, the beast tried
to break his tether and run. <A man yelled at him,
another jerked him by the bit, a third got a stick and
frailed him, but Uncle Bill called out, ‘‘Don’ lick em,
son. Dat mule smell death and it fret em. Pat em.
Talk easy to em. Death kin scare people, much less a
mule.’’
Everybody was leaving the house. They had for-
gotten Breeze. He couldn’t stay here by himself, with
nothing to keep him company but that strange smell
that followed the box out of the shed-room and settled
right in the cape jessamine bush. It drowned the scent
of the blossoms.
Hopping to his feet he ran humbly to Big Sue, and
slipped a hand in hers, ‘‘Lemme go wid you, Cun Big
Sue. I ain’ gwine holler no mo’.’’
Big Sue gave his hand a painful squeeze, ‘‘I’m dat
provoke’ wid you, Breeze, I can’ talk. But you wait till
I git you home. You’s de kickin’est nigger I ever did
see. But you wait till I git you home. I bu’sted one
sleeve clean out 0’ my new dress a-tryin’ to hold you.’’
With his heart tingling Breeze tottered on. His eyes
blurred. His legs scarcely could carry him down the
sandy road toward the graveyard under the tall trees.
The afterglow fell clear from the sky on an open
grave with dark earth piled high on each side of it. It
was outlined by flaming smoking torches held in the
hands of the mourners, who marched slowly around it,
singing a funeral dirge. One man, dressed in a long
- white robe, stood at the head of the grave, his deep voice
chanting the solemn burial service. Breeze’s mother be-
longed to the Bury League, and all the members carried
[223]
BLACK APRIL
a white lily. When the leader gave the sign they held
the flowers, arm high, and yelled, ‘‘Christ is Risen!’’
but the leader was a strange man, not his stepfather.
A hymn, or spiritual, was raised, and the whole
crowd joined in with great questioning waves of sound,
sometimes harmony, sometimes dissonance. Breeze’s
heart ached. He wanted to ery out too, to the great
Creator of Life. He felt bewildered when Sis gave a
piercing shrill wail, that rose high and sharp above the
somber death chant. Her ery had scarcely died away
before an answer came echoing from the opposite side
of the grave. Big Sue looked at:Uncle Bill with a mis-
chievous grin that shocked Breeze. How could anybody
laugh here? The very woods reechoed the unearthly
death cries!
The mournful singing gradually changed into a
confused din, a whirlwind of grief. Men and women
shrieked and shouted. They shook and shimmied their
shoulders, and jerked their arms and gyrated about in a
frenzy of grief and excitement. Some of the women
went wild. They beat their breasts and cried above
the roaring hubbub. But all the time Sis’ shrill, piere-
ing, falsetto wailing kept steadily calling across the
grave. Her screams rose high and then melted into the
life of the air.
The tall brown trunks of pine trees around them
loomed up until their plumy tops touched the sky. They
waved gently, mysteriously, above the confused group
of people. Red sweaters and blue overalls, green and
purple and yellow dresses, wide white aprons and tur-
ban-bound heads, black hands and faces, were all tinged
with a rosy glow dropped over them by the sky as night
began creeping out of the forest.
The strong damp odor of the woods freshened, and
mosquitoes stung Breeze’s face and hands and ankles.
[224]
er ee
PLOWING
He was unhappy. Wretched. When Big Sue said,
“‘De mosquitoes is too bad. Dey got me in a fever!
Le’s go,’’ he felt a relief to get away from it all.
Not even Sis paid them any attention as they turned
around, facing homeward. She was too absorbed in
grief, in the terrible thought of Death, that strange
mystery which had just stricken Breeze’s mother.
Breeze hurried along the road, fearing snakes less
than the sound of that inferno of mourning which fol-
lowed behind him.
Sandy Island was quiet; the cabin on the hill empty;
the dusk on the river so deep that the boat was seareely
outlined against the water; but Breeze could see the
old dead pine down on the white sand. It’s head had
fallen. Its whole length rested on the ground.
His brain whirled in his skull. Cold tremors ran
through his body. His mother had buried all her money
at the foot of that tree. So had old man Breeze. But
nothing less than strong iron chains could have dragged
the boy one step nearer it.
Uncle Bill helped Big Sue to her seat in the boat’s
stern, where she sat solemn and stiff and ruffled like a
sitting hen,
They went in silence. The water whispered in
bubbles, but the wind had died out of the trees.
In the cabin, a big fire blazed up the chimney, and a
delicious scent of food came to meet them.
““Who dat in my house?’’ Big Sue cried out, when
April came to the door.
“‘You got company.’’
““Whot You?’’
‘‘No. You guess again.”’
“‘T dunno, an’ I’m too weak to walk, much less talk.”’
‘‘It’s Joy. E come on de boat dis evenin’.’’
[225]
[ow oA Peciran BES Pe coe
BLACK APRIL
Big Sue stopped short in her tracks, dumb-struck.
“<Great Gawd! You don’ mean it! Whe’ is Joy?’’
Instead of hurrying forward she gazed at the cabin
with black dismay as if she turned some terrible
thought over and over in her mind, but a warm laugh
gurgled out, and a low voice called: :
‘“What did you tell Ma for, Cun April? I been
want to fool em!”’
A girl in a bright red dress and with red-stockinged
legs came bounding across the yard to meet them.
‘“How you do, Ma? I bet you is surprised to see
me!’’ She held her mouth up to meet Big Sue’s, their
kiss made a loud smack, then Uncle Bill hurried to shake
her hand.
“‘Lawd, Joy! Just de sight o’ you would cure de
sore eyes! Honey, you looks sweet enough to eat!’’
Breeze stared at her. Deep down in his heart he felt
Uncle Bill spoke the truth. He had never seen any one
like Joy before.
She leaned to pull up one red stocking tighter over a
knee, but she grinned up into Uncle Bill’s face. ‘‘Do
listen at Uncle Bill! A-sweet-talkin’ me right here
befo’ ev’ybody!’’ Her eyes beamed, her low soft drawl
was full of friendliness, and she turned to Breeze with
a blithe greeting:
“How you do, son? I’m sho’ glad to see you here
wid Ma!’’ A small bold hand shot out to meet his,
but Breeze cast his eyes down, bashful and afraid. The
hand gave his shoulder a light pat, took one of his
and led him toward the house.
““You ain’ scared 0’ me, is you, son? Come on in
by de fire. I want to see you good.”’
Breeze couldn’t say a word, but as they walked in
April threw a fat pine knot on the fire to make a better
light. The fire blazed up, crackling merrily, making the
[226]
PLOWING
room hot and bright, but shyness kept Breeze’s face
turned away from Joy, until with a quick laugh she
wheeled him around and lifted his chin.
‘‘How come you won’ look at me, son?’’ Her face
was so close Breeze could feel her breath when she
laughed again, but his eyes were riveted on her twin-
kling shoe-buckles.
“Left de boy ‘lone, Joy. E don’ feel like playin’.
His ma was just buried dis evenin’. Come unstring my
shoes, son. I ain’ gwine let Joy plague you.’’
As he knelt to unlace the shoes Joy appealed to him:
‘‘T ain’ plaguin’ you, is I, Breeze? Me an’ you is gwine
be buddies, enty?’’ Breeze looked up and met her
slanting eyes, and the smile that lit them seemed to him
so lovely, so gentle, he fairly tingled all over. He had
never seen anybody like Joy before. Her slight body
in its seant, red satin dress was not tall, but it had
the straight, swift, upward thrust of a pine sapling.
Her slim black arms, bare from the elbows, and held
akimbo, came out from shoulders lean as his own. Her
short skirt gave a flirt and Breeze’s glance darted to the
skinniness of her red-stockinged legs. But her smile had
thrilled the fear out of him, and given him confidence
enough to feast his eyes on her gay overripe little figure,
from the bright buckles on her shiny black slippers to
the short coarse straightened hair on her small head.
‘“Set down, honey. Talk to Uncle Bill an’ you’ Cun
April whilst me an’ Breeze fixes supper.’’ Big Sue’s
bare feet pattered back and forth from the hearth to the
four-legged safe against the wall, mixing bread, and
smoothing it on a hot griddle, slicing meat and dropping
it on a hot spider, once in a while scolding Breeze for
dawdling, or asking Joy a question about the town or
the school. April smiled and joined pleasantly in the
talk Joy led. A necklace of blue glass beads clinked
[227]
BLACK APRIL
against the smooth black skin of her neck, gold bracelets
glittered on her slim wrists. Breeze was bewildered,
rapt with the glamour of her. Her sparkling eyes
strayed from one face to another until they met April’s,
bold and staring. Joy’s flickered and fell and her
laughter chilled. Like everybody else, she feared him,
and his shining gaze, fixed on her alone, withered
all the fun out of her and put something sober in its
place.
Except for the fire’s cracking a hush filled the room.
Big Sue suddenly straightened up from bending over the
pots and, looking over her shoulder; said, ‘‘Git de plates
out o’ de safe, Breeze. How come yunnuh is so quiet?
Dis ain’ church!’’
April laughed and shifted in his chair and his eyes
turned from Joy to her mother. ‘‘De victuals smells so
good, I’m gone got speechless!’’
““Me too,’’ Joy chimed, but Uncle Bill got up to go.
He had already stayed longer than he intended. He
must go see if everything at the barnyard was in order.
April stood up to say good night, tall, straight-
limbed, broad-shouldered, hawk-eyed.
“‘Stay an’ eat wid us, Cun April, you too, Uncle
Bill! What’s you’ hurry ?’’
Uncle Bill had to go. He had left Jake to see about
feeding the stock, and Jake was mighty forgetful and
careless. Nobody could depend on him.
In spite of the fineness of her red satin dress, Joy
took the plates from Breeze and piling two of them
with the collards dripping with pot-liquor, and chunks
of fat meat and pieces of the newly baked corn-bread,
she gave Big Sue and April each one.
‘““Yunnuh must eat all dis I put on you’ plates,’’ Joy
bade them gaily, but silence had fallen over them. Both
their faces wore a troubled look. April’s eyes held both
[228]
PLOWING
darkness and light, and a kind of sadness Breeze had
seen sometimes in Sis’ eyes.
‘“How was de buryin’?’’ April asked when the edge
of his appetite was dulled.
‘‘Fine! Fine! All but dat fool boy Breeze. E
made me pure shame.’’ Big Sue’s words were smoth-
ered by food in her mouth, but Breeze felt the sharp sting
of their bitter contempt. He longed to get up and go
back into the dark shed-room and hide, but shame
chained his feet to the floor and made his neck so limp
his head drooped lower and lower.
‘“Wha’ dat Breeze done so bad?’’
April leaned his head against the mantel-shelf, and
listened without a word to Big Sue’s story. Most of the
time he looked into the fire, deep in thought, forgetting
to eat his supper.
When Big Sue’s tale was done, Breeze listened fo1
April’s abuse, but instead of scolding him, April spoke
kindly, gently.
*‘Don’ be too hard on de boy, Big Sue. Death kin
scare bigger people dan Breeze. I don’ like to look on
em myself. Gawd made people so. Mules too. When
Dukkin put pizen in de spring last summer and killed
Unele Isaac’s old mule, Lula, I had a time gittin’ em
dragged off to de woods. Sherry said he could hitch Clara
to em, but Clara was so seared, e reared up and kicked
an’ tried to run away. Sherry had to blindfold Clara
wid a cloth over both eyes befo’ she’d go anywhere nigh
old dead Lula. It’s de Gawd’s truth. An’ Clara is a
mighty sensible mule.’
**Po’ li’l’ Breeze,’’ Joy pitied softly, and Breeze’s
heart warmed, for April and Joy both took his part.
Big Sue wouldn’t lick him to-night. She never did lick
him when April was there.
“‘You-all stop talkin’ "bout death. You scare me w
[229]
BLACK APRIL
I wouldn’t sleep a wink to-night! Whe’s Sherry?’’
Joy asked suddenly. .
Big Sue looked at April instead of answering. April
stirred in his chair, his big feet shuffied on the floor, his
slow answer was a growl.
‘‘Sherry’s left de plantation, Joy. I run em off.”’
His black brows knit into an angry line.
‘“Why—why—how come you done dat, Cun April?’’
Joy’s teeth looked white and sharp, her red satin dress
shimmered in the firelight, her words were husky, half
whispered. :
“‘T had to, Joy. Sherry is a impudent rascal. I’d ’a’
killed em if e had ’a’ stayed here.’’
April scratched his head and his eyes turned uneasily
toward the door, but before he spoke, tears welled up im
Joy’s eyes, a deep sob burst from her bosom, and she
got up and ran back into the shed-room where she lay
on the bed and wept, in spite of Big Sue’s reproaches.
‘“Why, Joy! You ought not to take on so! Why,
Honey, Sherry’ll be back befo’ long.’’
[230]
XVII
HOG-KILLING
Now that Joy had come home for good, Big Sue
planned to fix up the cabin. April sent Brudge to help
Breeze whitewash the outside with oyster-shell lime,
burned and crushed right on the beach. Fresh clean
newspapers were brought from the store with eggs and
each wide sheet spread with white flour paste and stuck
fast to the inside walls over the old soiled worn-out
papers that were cracked and broken by last year’s wind
and weather. When this was done, the cabin was snug
and tight. With the window blinds pulled in and the
doors closed, not a bit of cold air could get in except
through the cracks in the floor.
But Joy’s blood must have got thin, for she wore her
long black cape constantly, and had spells of shivering
in spite of its warmth. g
The weather was scarcely cold enough for hog-killing,
but Big Sue said Joy needed some rich food to thicken
and hotten her blood. The girl took little interest in
anything. She’d stand and gaze vacantly out of the
window as if her soul were gone far away and her eyes
tried to follow its flight.
Jeems, the shoat in the pen, must be killed. Joy’s
appetite must be tempted somehow before her blood
turned to pure water. She ate scarcely enough to keep
a bird alive.
Somebody must have conjured her. Those long half-
drowsy spells were not natural, and sometimes she sobbed
[231]
BLACK APRIL
in the night, hag-ridden with evil dreams. Jeems must
be killed for Joy to eat.
Big Sue waked Breeze early. She gave him no
chance to dawdle, for much had to be done in prep-
aration. Joy offered to help, but Big Sue made her stay
in bed and rest. Breeze washed the sleep out of his
eyes, then tipped to Joy’s bedside for a word from her,
but the dawn showed her eyes closed, and her quiet
regular breathing told him she was sleeping. He turned
his eyes away quickly to keep them from waking her.
Before the sun was up he had the big washpot in the
yard, brimming full of water and a fire built under it.
Uncle Bill brought a sound barrel and laid it slantwise
and steady in a dug out place in the ground. He’d scald
Jeems in that.
He took out his great pocket knife and opening its
longest blade told Breeze to look how its sharp point was
flashing! That knife was trained. It had sense like
people. It was pure itching to stick in Jeems’ throat and
slice his neck in two. When he had to kill a hog, he just
pointed that knife blade toward the beast and gave it a
push. It would fairly leap to the right spot. It never
missed the big vein. His eyes twinkled with affection
for his faithful tool as he ran a thick thumb lightly over
its keen edge and felt its shining point.
“‘You hold em, Breeze, till I get de ax. De ax has
to do a li’l’ work ahead 0’ de knife.”’
As he walked toward the wood-pile, Big Sue hurried
out. ‘‘Do don’ knock Jeems, Uncle Bill!’’ She panted
anxiously.
**T’m ’bliged to stun em, honey !’’
**You’ll ruin all de brains.’’
‘ft ean’ help dat, Miss Big Sue. I couldn’ stick
Jeems whilst he was in his right mind. No, ma’am.’’
‘‘Knockin’ a hog on de head makes de head cheese
[232]
HOG-KILLING
all bloody. Please don’ do dat! Go on an’ stick em,
Don’ knock em!’’
Unele Bill stopped and scratched his head.
“‘I’d do mighty nigh anything to please you, Miss
Big Sue, but I can’ suffer a hog any more’n I have to.
I got to knock Jeems senseless, or I couldn’ kill em at all.
Me an’ Jeems is been friends too long.’’
*‘Wor Gawd’s sake don’ be so chicken-hearted.”’
““T ain’ chicken-hearted, but I couldn’ stan’ to suffer
Jeems whilst he was a dyin’. No. Come on, Breeze.
Le’s get dis killin’ over wid!’’
Jeems’ black snout showed through a crack, and his
short impatient grunts meant he was hungry, for Breeze
had not fed him since yesterday noon. Breeze’s heart
ached for his friend. How could Uncle Bill bear to
knock Jeems in the head with that ax, while the poor
beast’s eyes gazed up with such trustful friendliness!
“<Jeems, old man! You’ time is out, son. Git ready
to meet you’ Gawd!’’ Uncle Bill’s voice was sad.
Jeems held his fat face up, straining to see them
better, for his eyes, almost closed with fat, were ham-
pered by ears flapping over them. Poor Jeems!
Unele Bill had his coat off, and his rolled-up shirt-
sleeves showed the play of his powerful sinews under
the skin. The ax rose high in the air, then leaped out
and tightened, as Uncle Bill brought it down with a
thud on Jeems’ forehead. The squeal in the hog’s throat
changed to a strangled gurgle. The short forelegs
staggered and gave way. The great heavy body fell
sidewise to the ground. But Uncle Bill was already
astride it with his knife’s bare blade ready.
A quick sharp stick in the neck brought a spurt of
blood which a deeper thrust turned to a stream. Red,
warm with life, its steam rising like smoke in the cool
sunshiny air, Jeems’ blood poured out and wasted in the
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filth of his pen, until Big Sue’s cries brought Breeze te
his senses.
“‘Great Gawd, Breeze! Ketch dat blood! You
standin’ like a fool lettin’ em waste! I good mind to kill
you! Blood puddin’ is de best 0’ de hog-killin’!’’
Breeze scrambled over the boards of the pen, and
slipped a pan under Jeems’ unconscious head, and held
it in place in spite of the kicking death-struggling legs,
saving the bubbling red stream for a pudding. The
smell of it made him sick, and he couldn’t meet the look
of those half-closed staring eyes.
Poor Jeems! His time was out: His kicks were
getting weaker. His eyelids were wilting down over his
dull sightless eyes. His soul would soon be gone home
to God. Breeze looked up at the sky, but Big Sue called
out to give her the pan before he turned it over. It had
caught enough for a small pudding.
The hog was hurried into the barrel and scalded be-
fore the life cooled out of him, and his skin scraped clean
of hair. As Uncle Bill worked he told Breeze he must
always be careful to see that the moon is right before
he killed a hog. A wrong moon will set the hair in a
hog’s skin so no knife on earth could move it. Meat
killed on a waning moon will dry up to nothing, no
matter how you cook it. A certain quarter of the moon
will make the meat tough and strong, another will rot it,
no matter how much salt you pack around it. If Breeze
would learn all the moon signs he’d be spared a lot of
trouble long as he lived. White people leave money to
their children, but black people teach theirs signs, which
is far better. Money can be taken from you, but knowl-
edge can’t.
When Jeems was scalded and scraped and washed
and cleaned, he was hung up by a hickory stick run
through the white sinews in his hind legs. The carcass
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must cool before it was cut up, for meat, like bread, is
spoiled if cut while it’s warm.
Bina had come to help Big Sue, and the two women
bent over a wooden washtub, sorting out the liver and
lights and chitterlings, putting the small entrails aside
for sausage casings. The hog’s fine condition made Big
Sue cheerful. She declared she’d make a lot more lard
than she’d expected, for all of Jeems’ insides were coated
with fat.
The higher the sun rose the faster they worked, even
when the neighbors dropped by for a little neighborly
talk and to see how the hog-killing went on.
At noon they stopped for a breathing spell and bite
to eat. Hot brown corn-bread and bits of fried liver
were washed down with sweetened water. The grown
people smoked one pipeful apiece, then set to work again,
for Jeems had cooled enough to be quartered.
The back door slipped off its hinges made a table
large enough to hold him. Uncle Bill’s big knife cut off
the huge head, and separated the hams and shoulders
and sides from the long backbone. He trimmed them
neatly, throwing the scraps of lean meat into one tub
for sausage meat, and bits of firm white fat into another
for to-morrow’s lard making.
He wanted to give Breeze the pig-tail to roast on the
coals right then, but Big Sue said Breeze had no time
to be playing with pig-tails now. If he’d work hard
Uncle Bill might find the hog’s bladder for him, and
to-night he and Brudge could pleasure themselves blow-
ing it up like a balloon.
A number of the plantation dogs had gathered, and
they had to be watched, specially the hounds and cur-
dogs. The bird dogs were better-mannered. Big Sue
wanted to scald the lot of them for the pesky way they
nosed around, but Uncle Bill wouldn’t let her. God
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made dogs so they hankered after hog meat. It was
sinful to be short-patienced with them.
One pot simmered and stewed with liver and lights
and haslets and rice liver pudding. Another pot slowly,
carefully sputtered and spat as the blood, mixed with
seasonings, thickened into pudding. The brains were
taken out of the skull, which was put on for headcheese.
Breeze felt neither sadness nor squeamishness now.
Tis mouth watered as his nose sniffed at all the appetiz-
ing smells,
The sun began throwing long shadows and Big Sue
kept him hurrying. Every single hog hair had to be
picked up and saved to plant in the potato patch next
spring. Every hair would make a potato.
The waste had to be thrown in the creek. Breeze
cast it in, a bucketful at a time. Horrid filthy stuff. It
made him shiver, but the water swallowed it down with
scarcely a splash, then flowed on smooth and clear, re-
flecting the bright clouds in the sky, shimmering in the
last sunbeams, rising with the incoming tide to water its
banks, which were yellow with marsh daisies. The wil-
lows were almost bare of leaves, and the slim naked
trunks and branches bent over, looking away down into
the Blue Brook’s quiet depths.
Sunset gilded the earth and cabins and trees, and
streaked the white sandy yard with golden light. Unele
Bill hoped that such stillness would not bring rain soon,
for the hay was in shocks in the field yet, and the corn
not all broken in. He looked up at the sky as he spoke,
and at once a light breeze sprang up to tell him to-
morrow would be fair. He laughed with relief, and the
big trees bowed gently, saying that they knew the little
breeze had told the truth. Even the frost-faded grasses
nodded and waved!
To stay fair the weather must turn eooler, and that
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would be good for Big Sue’s fresh killed meat. It would
have a good chance to take the salt well. Such big hams
needed careful curing.
Breeze must clean up the pen to-morrow and scatter
ashes all over it, so Uncle Bill could bring Big Sue one
of Melia’s red pigs to grow and fatten into a fine shoat
by late spring.
Each piece of pork was rubbed well with salt and
stored in Uncle Bill’s small log barn. There, they’d be
safe until the morning, when they’d be rubbed again
with salt mixed with sugar, and packed into a barrel to
cure.
Old Louder sat on his thin haunches, patient and
polite. He knew better than to beg, but his long ears
failed to hide the pleading, wistful look in his eyes.
Breeze tossed him a morsel of meat now and then and
before one could touch the ground Louder caught and
swallowed it with a deft snap of his jaws. Big Sue fairly
screamed out:
‘‘Feedin’ a dog wid my good meat, enty? I seen you.
I'll learn you better’n dat to-morrow mawnin’.’’
As a rule Breeze said nothing, but the falling dusk
looked so mournful, his body felt tired, his legs sore, his
back and arms achy with so much work. This was the
time of day he gave Jeems his supper, after the chickens
and guineas were gone to bed. Now the pen was empty.
Jeems was dead.
Pity for Jeems and himself made a sob heave up into
his throat. Big Sue must have heard it, for her big
moist salty hand closed over his mouth, ‘‘Shut up dat
eryin’. You ain’ nuttin’ but a gal-baby! A-cryin’ here
an’ me fretted half to death "bout Joy! Drop you’
pants. I’s gwine lick you.”’
Next morning, not a streak of daylight was showing
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through the house cracks when Breeze heard Big Sue up,
stumbling around, dressing. She fumbled with the door
bar, taking it down, then went outside. She wanted to
see how her meat was. Breeze turned over, but his doz-
ing was broken up by a long terrible shriek. Without
putting on even his breeches, he hopped out of bed and
ran out to see what was wrong. Somebody’s house must
be afire. Joy followed him, her teeth chattering, al-
though she had a quilt wrapped around her.
Never in his whole life had Breeze heard such screams
as Big Sue was making. Everybody in the Quarter came
hurrying, nobody fully dressed. At first all stood dumb,
panic-stricken with amazement, while Big Sue wailed
out, between body-wrenching sobs, Jeems was gone!
Stolen! Not a hair nor hide was left! The iron hasps
holding the chain and lock in the door were pulled clear
out of the door-frame. Outraged shouts broke from the
erowd. Who here was mean enough to do such a thing?
They eyed one another suspiciously. Even fists were
clenched, for no such thing was ever heard of. Ifa ham
or a side or a shoulder had been taken, that would have
been bad enough, but a whole hog! It was too terrible to
think about.
They tried to find some trace, maybe some tracks on
the ground around the barn, but nothing was there
plainer than Big Sue’s own flat barefooted ones.
She shrieked and beat her breast by fits and starts,
weeping bitterly all in between.
Jeems was the finest hog ever butchered! She had
never seen one lined thicker with fat! His meat would
have lasted until next summer! And now it was gone!
Stolen!
Her grief could have been no greater if Joy herself
had been stolen. Howling with rage she beat her head
against the side of the barn until the blows of her skull
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HOG-KILLING
nad it fairly quivering. The neighbors’ efforts to con-
sole her failed. Not even Joy could make any impression
on her raving. Breeze was at his wits’ end. The sunny
day itself got somber. The birds chirped low and
sorrowfully. ;
Leah was the last Pettis to come. Fat, wabbly, she
strolled up, smoking her pipe, one arm akimbo, and be-
neath her red headkerchief, her eyes gleamed strangely.
““Wha’ dat ail Big Sue? E’s gwine on like e got in
a hornet’s nest!”’
They told her the news, but instead of grieving Leah
sucked her teeth. Big Sue was just trying to make fools
of them. Who’d take a whole hog? How could anybody
do such a thing? Just as likely as not Big Sue had the
hog right yonder in her shed-room.
They all looked in that direction, then back at Big
Sue, who had paused in her wailing.
““Wha’ dat you say, Leah?’’ She was panting with
Tage, and only a narrow piece of ground lay between
them, but Leah gave a taunting wicked laugh. ‘‘You
hear me good enough. It ain’ no use to say all dat
over.”’
“You low liar! You varmint!’’ Big Sue’s voice was
heavy. Her reddened eyelids, puffed with fat and tears,
squeezed as tight as her clenched fist.
‘““Yunnuh hear Big Sue cuss me, enty?’’ Leah cried.
‘‘Hush, Leah! You come on home wid me!’’ April
stepped up and would have led her away by the arm,
but with the fury of a cyclone, she shook him off and
with a savage yell rushed up to Big Sue and spat in her
face.
Like a flash they closed. Arms, fists, heads, bodies,
whirled, staggered, fell, rose. All efforts to pull them
apart were useless. Leah was the first to waver. After
an awful blow in the face her arms dropped. She stood
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BLACK APRIL
still, then tilted back on her heels trying not to fall. As
she struggled for breath her mouth stretched wide open,
gasping as fish gasp out of water.
April ran up and caught her and eased her gently
down on the ground. Horrible fear rose in Breeze’s
heart, for the glazed look in Leah’s eyes was the same
that filled Jeems’ yesterday, when death struck him.
People crowded around her. Somebody ran for a
bucket of water and poured it all over her head and
face.
Breeze could hardly see for the mist in his eyes, but
he knew Leah was dying for one of. her girls gave a long
piercing death-cry.
‘““You is sho’ ruint now, Big Sue!’’ Bina said
distinctly.
“‘You spit in my face an’ I’ll kill you de same
way !’’
‘Hush, Ma. Fo’ Gawd’s sake, hush!’’? Joy plead.
‘‘Leah’s de one stole my hog,’’? Big Sue bawled,
“*Qeah’s de very one!”’
“‘Hush, Ma! Fo’ Gawd’s sake, hush! Uncle Bill,
do come make Ma go home.’’
Next morning Big Sue was too ill to get out of bed.
Joy kept cool green collard leaves tied on her forehead,
and rubbed the palms of her hands and the soles of her
feet with tallow, but she groaned and complained with
every breath.
Joy sent Breeze with some sweetened bread for
Leah’s children to eat with their dinner, but he took a
long time to get there. Dread made his feet lag. He
slunk along the path, scared by every moving shadow.
Ready to jump out of his skin at the crackle of a twig.
He felt relieved when he saw Uncle Bill in April’s
yard helping make Leah’s coffin out of clean pine boards
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HOG-KILLING
lately sawed at the saw-mill. As the sharp plane
smoothed the wood, yellow curls fell on the ground.
One string exactly Leah’s length and another her
breadth, showed how to fit the box to her size.
Breeze finally had to go inside the house to deliver
the bread and Joy’s message that Big Sue would not be
well enough to attend Leah’s burying. He gave both to
Bina, who had a wilted mock-orange bough in her hand,
fanning flies away from the bed where Leah lay covered
over with a sheet.
“‘Big Sue’s right to stay sick. You tell em I say so,
too,’’ Bina said tartly. But in a more kindly tone she
asked Breeze if he wanted to see Leah. When he shook
his head, Bina said Leah looked mighty nice. Just as
peaceful as if she was sleep.
That day was as long as a week. The sun hung still
for hours at a time. There was scarcely a breath of
wind. Breeze was afraid to stay alone, and both Joy
and Big Sue kept to their beds. Once he whispered,
‘“Joy, is you sleepin’?’’ and she answered gently:
*“No, son, I’m wake. Come lay down on de bed ’side
me. I know you is lonesome. I is myself.’’
Reaching her hand out to meet him, she drew his
burning face down against her own soft cheek which
was cold and wet with tears. He raised up and met her
eyes, and the look in them was so sad, so sorrowful, it
cut him elean through to the heart.
At last the sun dropped westward, setting in Leah’s
grave. Curiosity made Breeze want to see what went on,
but fear of death kept him in Calling distance of Joy.
He went up the road far enough to see the dust raised
by the funeral procession, but the wailing death-cries
ran him home.
Joy stood by the open window listening. When one
lone ery rose high above all the rest, her full lips
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BLACK APRIL
twitched, her sad eyes stared more gloomily and farther
away, big bitter tears rolled down her checks.
Big Sue stayed in bed in the darkened shed-room,
drinking root teas that smelled strong and rank.
At last night fell. Bedtime came. Breeze knelt down
and tried to whisper his prayers. ‘‘O Lawd,’’ he began,
but he got no further for Uncle Bill’s old hound, Louder,
who had been resting and scratching fleas on the porch,
suddenly lifted up his voice in a long mournful howl,
and Breeze jumped into bed and covered his head.
Early next morning Bina came,: pretending to ask
about Big Sue’s health, but her eyes were round and her
breathing quick with excitement. Had they heard the
news? No? Everybody on the plantation was talking
about it!
Somebody had put an awful conjure on April!
Leah’s death-sheet had been folded and laid across the
foot of April’s bed. When he woke this morning, there
it was, tucked in at each side so it couldn’t slip off on
the floor. Nobody knew who did it.
April wanted to throw it in the fire, but Maum
Hannah stopped him. Burning a conjure bag, or a
death-sheet, is the worst thing you can do. They have
to be drowned. Maum Hannah sent for Uncle Isaac, and
they both tried to make April drown the sheet in the
Blue Brook, but he was too stubborn and hardheaded
to mind them. Before they could stop him he dashed it
on the red-hot coals. Uncle Isaac grabbed it out, but it
was all blackened and scorched and burned.
Uncle Isaac took what was left of it and tied a rock
up in it to make it sink. When he threw it in the Biue
Brook the water splashed and bubbled and made a
mournful groan, then turned green as grass! That
sheet must have been loaded with conjure poison. Uncle
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HOG-KILLING
Isaae stood just so and counted to ten like the old people
used to do. Bina got up to show them. Holding out the
fingers of her left hand she counted them over twice
with the forefinger of her right, singing as she did it.
Dis-sem-be! Jack-walla!
Mulla-long! Mullinga!
Gulla-possum! Gullinga!
Sing-sang! Tuffee!
Killa-walla! Kawa! Ten!
**Uncle Isaac done it just so.”’
Big Sue was glad. Anybody could see that. She got
up and started putting on her clothes. She seemed to
shed her worries. To get almost cheerful. Once in a
while she sighed. ‘‘I’m sho’ sorry for April. Too
sorry. E ought not to ’a’ scorched dat sheet.’’
The day turned off rainy, dreary, the whole world
was wet and blurred. Big Sue said rain always falls after
a burying to settle the dust on the grave.
Joy’s head ached, and she went to bed. Big Sue
dampened a cloth with vinegar and tied it on Joy’s fore-
head, then she went slushing toward the Quarters.
She had hardly got out of sight when Joy jumped up
and began a hurried dressing. She put on a dark dress,
and tied a white towel over her head.
Breeze cried out in astonishment. Where was she
going?
‘“Nowhere!’’ answered Joy. ‘‘If Ma comes and asks
where I is, you don’ know nothin’ at all. Nothin’!’’
“‘“Tell me whe’ you’s gwine, Joy.’’ ‘Breeze begged.
With a sad little smile she leaned over and hugged
him.
**T’s comin’ back, Breeze. I’m gwine be you’ mammy
after to-day. Ma can’ lick you no more. But don’t you
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BLACK APRIL
tell nobody. I’m gwine to see if de boat brings me a
letter from Sherry.’’
“‘Lemme go, Joy.”’
“‘No, you stay home till Ma comes.”’
He let her go, out in the rain. He couldn’t help him-
self. For a while he pottered about the room, for there
was no use to go out into the mud and rain. Then he
crawled back into bed, and went sound asleep. Once
he roused, and heard the boat puffing on the river. It
blew for the landing and stopped, then went pounding
on into the distance.
Big Sue came in at noon, vexed*about something or
other. She began abusing Breeze for letting the fire die,
soon as she entered the cabin,
““Whe’s Joy?’’
*‘T dunno, ma’am.’’
‘How come you dunno ?’’
**T dunno how come.’’
**You ain’ got no sense, dat’s how come! Blow up dis
fire befo’ I lick you to death!’’
Fear put strength into Breeze’s blowing, and the fire
soon blazed up, cheerful and bright, but Big Sue was
bursting with gall which she vented on Breeze.
He ran about trying to please her, his mouth dumb-
stricken with misery. But her bitter abuse stung him to
the very quick and overcame him completely. He burst
out erying, just as the soft mud outside sucked loud at
somebody’s footsteps,
Uncle Bill called in through the door, ‘‘Is anybody
home?”’
Big Sue’s voice shifted into a pleasanter key as she
invited Uncle Bill to come in, then upbraided Breeze
for erying like a baby about nothing.
Uncle Bill took Breeze’s part, and with a big red
pocket handkerchief wiped Breeze’s face and eyes with
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HOG-KILLING
gentlest care, and stroked his hands and tried to comfort
him.
‘‘Don’ ery, son. You’ eyes is like scraps o’ red
flannel. Joy’ll think you’s a baby fo’ true. She wouldn’
b’lieve you kin shoot a gun an’ plow an’ ride a mule
good as a man.’’
Uncle Bill slipped off his wet shoes to dry them, and
sat in his bare feet. ‘‘Whe’s Joy?’’
**T dunno an’ Breeze wouldn’ tell me whe’ Joy went.
I reckon e’s yonder to Zeda’s house a-listenin’ at Zeda’s
brazen talk.’’
“*Zeda’s talk ain’ brazen since Sherry’s gone,’’ mused
Unele Bill. ‘‘No, Zeda’s down-hearted as kin be.”’
His shoes and feet steamed in the heat, and he drew
both back to a safe distance. Then he showed Breeze
how his ankles were marked with tiny scars. ‘‘See my
snake-cuts? Uncle Isaac fixed me when I wa’n’t no
bigger’n you. You ought git him to fix you next
spring.’’
He explained how the short gashes were made near a
vein, and poison from a rattlesnake and a moccasin
rubbed in. This was repeated until the dose no longer
caused sickness. No snake could ever harm him again.
They knew it. They kept out of his way. Yet snakes
had him out in the rain now, taking a bucket of milk to
April’s children. Snakes had been worse than usual this
fall. They were not satisfied with eating all the eggs
eut of the hen nests, but they sucked the cows dry too.
April’s cow might as well be dry so far as giving milk
for the family to drink.
**April’s got a lot 0’ hogs. Hogs’ll suck cows same
like a calf,’’? Big Sue reminded him.
Uncle Bill was sure the hogs were innocent. And
besides, April’s cow came from a fine breed. She
wouldn’t let a hog suck her. But snakes are tricky.
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BLACK APRIL
While the cow was dozing, in the night, they’d slip up
and wrap themselves around her leg and suck her dry
as a bone and never wake her. Hogs were too awkward
to get all the milk. And a fine nice cow like April’s
wouldn’t stand any foolishness from a hog.
‘‘Maybe de cow is lost her cud. Dat’ll dry up de
milk,’’ Big Sue suggested again.
Uncle Bill dismissed that with a shake of the head.
Cows did lose their cuds. One of his own cows lost hers
every time the hags rode her, and that was mighty near
every young moon. Giving her an old greasy dish-rag
to chew on helped her get it back for a while, but she got
so bad off, even that failed. Finally he had to go to
Unicle Isaac and get him to take the conjure off her.
She was conjured, no doubt about that.
‘“Who you reckon done it?’’ Big Sue’s ears had
pricked up with the word ‘‘conjure,’’ but Uncle Bill
wouldn’t say. It was better not to talk too much about
such things. When they come, rid yourself of them the
best you can, but don’t talk about them after they go.
The less they get into your mind, the better off you are.
“*Cows suck dey own se’f, sometimes,’’ Big Sue went
back to the old subject. ‘‘April’s cow might be a-doin’
dat.”’
Uncle Bill was certain that wasn’t so. Somebody
would have seen her. Cows did it, he knew. He once
owned a fine one that did it and her mother before her
did it. Every daughter she had did it too. They had
to wear pens around their necks, but nothing could ever
break them from the ugly habit. It was born in their
blood, just as some dogs are born gun-shy. ° It’s in the
breed. People and dogs and cows are born to be what
they are. They may cover it up for a long time, but it
will come out sooner or later.
Big Sue nodded, agreeing, ‘‘Dat’s how come I went
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HOG-KILLING
clean over de river to Sandy Island when I wanted a
boy to raise. I knowed Breeze come f’om good seed.
E’s good stock.’’
““You’s right. Sho’! If you want to raise corn,
plant corn seed, not cotton seed.”’
‘‘April ever was a mighty rash man, Uncle Bill.’’
Big Sue hinted at something dark, and Uncle Bill slipped
a look at her, then turned his eyes to look out in the
rain, where a mocking-bird was whistling exactly like a
young turkey. Big Sue got her sewing and sat down to
talk.
*‘April wouldn’ rest not till e pizened dem boll-
evils. I couldn’ hardly sleep in de night all las’
summer fo’ dem machines a-zoonin’, Everybody was
seared to look out de door whilst April an’ Sherry was
gwine round de fields. De pizen dust was same as a fog.
Lawd! I slept wid my head under a quilt ev’y night.
April better had left dem boll-evils right whe’ Gawd put
?em. I don’ kill no kinder bugs exceptin’ spiders. Not
me! Fightin’ Gawd’s business’ll git you in trouble.
April’s got off light so far, but e better quit tryin’ to
do all de crazy t’ings de white people says do. E sho’
better! Bad luck’s been hangin’ round ever since dat
radio-machine at de Big House started hollerin’ an’
eryin’ an’ singin’ year befo’ last. People ain’ got no
business tryin’ to be Gawd. Not black people anyways.
Let de white people go on. Dey is gwine to hell any-
how!”’
She took a fresh thread and moistening the tip of a
finger in her mouth made a fat knot in its end. But
before she stuck it into the cloth, she looked at Uncle
Bill with bright points of light in his eyes. Her words
troubled him.
“You is talkin’ mighty fast now, daughter. I been
workin’ wid white people all my life an’ I ain’ got no
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BLACK APRIL
complaint to make of dem. No. Ol’ Cap’n raise’ me
to have respect fo’ everybody.’’
‘‘Whe’ you reckon Ol’ Cap’n is to-day, Uncle Bill?’’
The old man pressed his lips tight together until they
puckered, and shook his head.
Big Sue laughed, ‘‘You don’ want to say, enty? I
don’ blame you. But between you an’ me I spec’ e is
whe’ I hope e ain’t; a hoppin’ in Hell dis minute!’’
‘*Shut you’ mouth, gal! Gawd’ll strike you dead
first t’ing you know!’’ Uncle Bill gave her a hard look.
‘Ol’ Cap’n had his faults, but e was a man! Yes,
Gawd! A man!’’
Uncle Bill wasn’t listening. He had gone back to the
past, ‘‘Lawd, I kin see Ol’ Cap’n now. High an’
straight. Slim till de day e died. His eyes could go
black as soot an’ flash wid pure fire when e got vexed,
but dey could shine soft as gal-chillen’s eyes too.’’
Uncle Bill’s own eyes brightened as he talked.
‘‘Dat man could ride horses dat would ’a’ killed any-
body else,’’ he boasted. ‘‘An’ Uncle Isaae, yonder, used
to be aman too! EK drove de carriage wid a pair o’ coal
black horses. When dey’d pass you in de big road dem
horses’ breath was hot as pure steam. Dey nostrils was
red as any blood! De gold an’ silver on de harness
would blind you’ eyes same as a flash o’ lightnin’!
You’d have to stop an’ stand still an’ cover up you’ face.
Dem was de days! You young people don’ know
nothin’! Not nothin’!’’
A merry laugh crinkled up his eyelids, and filled the
hollows in his thin old cheeks. It tickled him when he
thought about the case Ol’ Cap’n was. He was a case.
A heavy case! Sometimes his company would get drunk
and reckless with pistols. Cap’n would always caution
them to be careful not to shoot any of his servants. He’d
always brag that he had the best stock of niggers and
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dogs and horses in the state, and he didn’t want any of
them hurt.
**T ’member. E was powerful big-doin’s. But when
death come for him, he had to go same as anybody else.
Whe’s e now, Uncle Bill?’’
Uncle Bill made a wry face at Big Sue, ‘‘I dunno.
An’ you dunno. But Gawd knows OI’ Cap’n had a big
heart. A good heart. E wan’ no po’ buckra, or either
white trash.’’ A sly smile lightened his solemn face.
‘‘Dat new preacher preaches dat de Great J-Am is a
nigger! Don’ let em fool you, gal. Gawd is white.
You'll see it too when Judgment Day comes. An’ E
ain’ gwine be noways hard on a fine man like Ol’ Cap’n.
He knows gentlemens. Sho’! An’ if Ol’ Cap’n couldn’
exactly make Heaven, I bet Gawd is got him a comfort-
able place in Hell, wid plenty o’ people to wait on him.
An’ dat’s all e wants, anyhow. E had plenty o’ milk
an’ honey an’ gold an’ silber down here, an’ e didn’
count none o’ dem much, nohow.’’
The stillness was so intense that when the clock on
Big Sue’s mantel banged out an hour, Uncle Bill jumped
with a start at its call back to the present. He must be
going on to April’s house with the bucket of milk. Time
was moving. He had a lot of work to do before the
white folks came. Some of the fences needed patching.
Blinds had to be fixed in the rice-fields for the duck-
hunters and the old trunks had to be mended in places
so the ducks could be baited. There were many things
waiting for him to do them.
‘‘Did you hear f’om de buckra lately?’’ Big Sue’s
little eyes got smaller as she asked it.
‘‘Not so lately,’? Uncle Bill admitted, ‘‘but I don’
fret. No news is good news wid dem. I sho’ will be
glad to see li’l’ young Cap’n, dough. It’s hard to believe
dat one li’l’ boy is de onliest seed de ol’ Cap’n is got
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BLACK APRIL
left in dis world. E’s de last 0’ de name. De last o’ de
race. It make me sad to think on dat!’’
“Dat same boy is a chip off de ol’ block! Lawd, e’s
a case!’’
Uncle Bill started up. ‘‘You sound like you got
somet’ing against de boy? Dat ain’ right. No. When
e mammy died, all 0’ we promised we’d help raise dat
baby to know right f’om wrong. You promised de same
way like I promised.’’
Big Sue did not answer and Uncle Bill went on, ‘‘Ol’
Cap’n, neither young Miss, wouldn’ rest still in dey
graves if we didn’ do right by dat li'l’ boy. I too sorry
his stepma keeps em yonder up-North most all de time.
It ain’ good. It’s a wonder Ol’ Cap’n don’ rise out de
grave an’ haunt em.’’
Uncle Bill took up his bucket of milk. He must go.
Big Sue asked him to tarry longer. Dinner was well-
nigh done. He refused politely.
He got as far as the door, when he stopped still,
**Miss Big Sue, I gwine tell you something. Ol’ Cap’n
was a lily of de valley. E was a bright an’ mawnin’
star. When Death took him, it took de Jedus of dis
plantation. Blue Brook ain’ never been de same sinee
den. No.”’
A soft drizzle of rain sifted through the trees, the
wind moaned drearily.
Big Sue shook her head. ‘‘Gawd made Heaven fo’ de
humble, Uncle Bill. Hell’s de place where de proudful
goes. When a man, white or black, gits to trustin’ to
his own strength, ’stead 0’ Gawd’s, e is done-for, sho’
as you’ born.’’
After Leah’s death April seemed lonelier than ever.
He passed Big Sue’s house almost every day, but he
never looked in nor spoke. He didn’t even turn his head,
but walked by, stern, unseeing. Big Sue always stopped
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HOG-KILLING
what she was doing to go to the door and watch him.
She’d nod her head and wink and shrug. Everywhere
on the plantation, the talk was thick with prophecies
that April would walk himself to death. Day and night
he walked, never sitting down anywhere. A bad way
for aman todo. That death-sheet had his feet conjured.
They’d never rest again in this world, or in the other,
unless April made a change in his ways.
Joy took to walking too. Not like April, day and
night; but in the evenings, just after sunset, she’d wrap
her long cape close around her and go away down the
path. Big Sue paid little attention to Joy for her own
troubles filled her mind. Occasionally she sent Breeze
to see where Joy went, then got in a rage when Breeze
reported invariably he couldn’t find her.
Sometimes Joy walked fast, sometimes slow. Nearly
always toward sunset. Sometimes when she sat down
on a tree root to rest, she’d talk to herself. At last
Breeze felt sure she was trailing April, for when she
glimpsed him through the trees she’d stop still, with
her eyes fastened on him.
Breeze wondered if Joy was going erazy. Had some-
body cast a spell on her too! As the days dragged on
toward Christmas, she grew more and more silent. She
spent much of the time in bed, but whenever the boat-
whistle screeched out it had reached the landing, she
either got up and went for the mail herself or sent
Breeze to ask if any letter had come for her.
She took less and less notice of people and things,
but stood by the open window for long stretches, looking
out at the trees or the rice-fields beyond them.
Once when she started out alone in the dusk, Breeze
offered to go with her. She smiled kindly and told him
to come on, but Breeze felt hurt by her steady silence
for it told him plainly that she cared no more for his
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company than for the wind, although his one thought
was to please her.
The first time they met April, face to face, he would
have passed without speaking but Joy stopped him.
““Cun April ee
April turned his haggard face toward her and looked
down with eyes that were deep sunken and reproachful
instead of bold. ‘‘Is you called me, Joy?’’
She stood dumb, motionless, a second, then spoke
softly, distressfully.
‘*Cun April, I want to tell you, Ma ain’ been well, not
since Cun Leah died. Ma frets all de time. Day an’
night. I can’ sleep fo’ de way she moans an’ goes on.
All night long. It’s so pitiful. Please, suh, come talk
to her sometimes. Ma never meant to do such a harm
dat day. I wish you wouldn’ hold such hard feelin’s.’’
April had aged a great deal. His shoulders stooped.
His feet inclined to drag. His voice was low and husky.
But he answered Joy kindly.
*“‘T don’ hold nothin’ against you’ ma, Joy. Leah
was in de wrong too. Leah had no business to throw
Big Sue’s whole hog in de Blue Brook. No. Leah done
wrong, I know dat.’’
Joy stared at him. What he said made her speech-
less with astonishment at first, but she controlled her-
self enough to say.
“Stop by an’ see me an’ Ma, sometimes. Please, Cun
April. We gits so awful lonesome after dark.’’
April promised he would. Promised in words that
were very gentle. Then he stalked on, a tall lonely
shadow, moving under the trees.
April came to see Big Sue that very night, dropping
by so unexpectedly that the sight of him made her dumb
for a while. She tried to be natural, to hide her agita-
tion, but her breath caught fast in her throat every time
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she opened her mouth to talk, and her words were un-
certain and stammering.
But April paid little heed to her. He seemed scarcely
to know she was there, for his eyes spent much of the
time looking at Joy. Breeze thought he saw them
flash once or twice, but it may have been the firelight
in them.
April declared he had eaten supper and cared for
nothing either to eat or drink, but Joy fixed him a cup of
water, sweetened with wild honey, flavored with bruised
mint leaves, from the mint-bed by the back door. When
he tasted it he smiled, and the dull fire in the chimney
blazed up, and everything seemed brighter, more joyful
than in many a long day.
When April got up to go Joy followed him to the
door. She made him shake hands with her and promise
to come back very soon.
After that when Joy walked out in the dusk she al-
ways let Breeze know she’d rather go by herself. Not
that she ever hurt his feelings, but she made some sort
of flimsy excuse to be rid of him. He hadn’t shut up the
coop where the hen and youngest biddies slept, or he
hadn’t cut up enough fat kindling wood, or couldn’t he
go fetch a fresh bucket of water from the spring?
Then Breeze discovered that April walked with Joy.
He had forgotten Big Sue altogether.
Once Breeze saw them walking shoulder to shoulder,
arm touching arm. They talked so softly their words
were drowned by the rustle of the leaves under their
feet. When April stopped and bent his face so close to
Joy’s that she drew back a little, Breeze’s heart almost
quit beating. He let them go on unwatched, hidden by
the deepening twilight.
When Joy came home Big Sue grumbled as she
handed her a panful of supper and a spoon.
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BLACK APRIL
‘‘How come you so love to walk out in de night? It
ain’ good. You’ll ketch a fever or somet’ing worse. You
ain’ been home to eat supper wid me since last Sat’day
night was a week.’’
But Joy sat mute, looking into the fire, with eyes
that gleamed back at the flames.
After that, Joy was always gentle, but except for
her evening walk she went nowhere, not even for the
mail. For days at a time she scarcely uttered a word.
Lying on the bed, or sitting by the fire, she did nothing
but think, all the time. When visitors came she said
she wasn’t well, and went to lie»down in the shed-
room. Even Big Sue’s constant scolding got few words
out of the girl.
Late one afternoon Big Sue went to see Maum
Hannah, whose crippled knee was being troublesome. In
the cabin a bright fire blazed merrily, and Breeze and
Joy shelled parched pindars to make some molasses
candy before time to cook supper. Breeze ran to Zeda’s
house to borrow a pinch of cooking soda to make the
candy foam up light. When he came back he found
April talking to Joy in a strangled husky voice. Both
were standing up by the fire, the shelled nuts were
scattered on the floor; the smell of the molasses boiling
over and burning, made a bitter stench in the room.
‘*Wha’ you say, Joy?’’ April asked it very low.
Joy stood dumb, motionless, then she lifted her eyes
to his face. ‘‘Is you want me fo’ true, Cun April?”’
His eyes were on her, so bold, so full of admiration,
that she shrank back in confusion, although her white
teeth were flashing with excitement.
April leaned closer and whispered, and her beaming
eyes darted up sidewise to see by his face if he meant
all he was saying. She reflected in silence, with a down-
cast look. But when she answered him softly, she looked
straight up again into his eyes.
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si th tla tal i i i ee i i ie i ae
eee ee eS eee
}
HOG-KILLING
' His breath came quick. His eyes glinted fiercely.
Joy drew back, but she was nodding yes all the time.
April caught her and squeezed her to him and kissed her.
She started struggling to free herself, but Big Sue’s steps
sounded outside and April hurried away out of the door.
Joy’s eyes followed him until the darkness had swallowed
him, and only the tramp of his feet could reach her ears.
She pulled a chair up to the fire and sat down, with her
eyes fixed on the flames. She sat there a long time.
Once she smiled to herself, then she frowned, but her
eyes stayed glittering like a high spring tide under a
full noon sun.
‘“Joy,’’ Big Sue called her name sternly, ‘‘I b’lieve
you’s conjured. I know April is. Dat death-sheet is
had him walkin’ his feet off ever since Leah was buried.
You’s a fool to let dat man talk wid you. I wish to
Gawd e’d stay way f’om my house.’’
When the boat blew for the landing early next
morning on its way to town, Breeze and Big Sue had
gone in Uncle Isaac’s cart to the lime mill near the sea-
shore to get lime enough to whitewash the front of her
house fresh for Christmas. Every cabin on the whole
plantation was being scoured and scrubbed and dressed
up with papers. Big Sue wanted hers to be the finest of
all. Breeze had wrung next year’s supply of straw
brooms out of the old unplanted fields and had swept
the yard clean with a new dogwood brush-broom.
Joy had helped some, but in a half-hearted way. She
wouldn’t even ride out with them to get the lime. Her
excuse was that Julia looked wild. Breeze knew she
didn’t mean it, for no mule ever moved more sluggishly.
Breeze had to get a stick and frail Julia to make her
trot at all.
Noon had passed when they got back home with their
load.
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BLACK APRIL
Big Sue called Joy to see what nice white fresh-
burned lime it was. Like flour. Not a lump init. But
Joy was not at home and Big Sue grumbled.
‘“Gone to Zeda’s again. Joy keeps hankerin’ to hear
news from Sherry. E may as well quit dat. Sherry’s
gone! Fo’ good! E ain’ got Joy to study "bout! Not
no mo’! No!’’
When the sun went down, a great red ball, floods of
brilliant light gushed up around it, foretelling a cold
night and a windy day to-morrow. Water birds flew
over the rice-fields, crying out in dread. The trees were
full of sighs. The open window blinds creaked dismally.
A puff of smoke came down the chimney. Winter was
coming.
Dusk fell and the night closed in dark. Joy’s supper
waited on the hearth. Where could she be so late?
Breeze went to ask Zeda, but she wasn’t at home.
Maum Hannah’s house was dark, so he stopped at Bina’s
to ask if any one there had seen Joy lately.
Bina looked at him with searching eyes, ‘‘You is
tryin’ to be smart, enty? A-actin’ fool to ketch sense!’’
She sucked her teeth scornfully, but Breeze didn’t un-
derstand what she meant.
**Don’ stan’ up an’ le to me, boy! You know Joy
an’ April went off on de boat dis mawnin’.’’
Breeze could scarcely believe his ears heard Bina
right.
Joy and April gone? Together? Where had they
wone?
Why hadn’t Joy told somebody ?
He flew to tell Big Sue.
Instead of meeting the news with an outburst of
grief, Big Sue chuckled, ‘‘Who’d ’a’ thought my Joy
could catch April! An’ Leah not yet cold in her grave!
Lawd! April’s old enough to be Joy’s daddy! Well,
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HOG-KILLING
all I got to say is dis! April was born fo’ luck. E ever
did git de best 0’ ev’yt’ing on dis plantation.’’
The boat was due to return three days hence. When
the time came the whole plantation was at the landing
to meet it.
As the old battered hulk hove in sight, around
the bend, a hush fell on the crowd, and every eye was
fixed on the lower deck where April and Joy stood, side
by side, smiling happily. April took off his hat and
waved it. Joy fluttered a hankerchief to greet them.
They were both dressed fit to kill. Joy, gay as a pea.
cock, in a dress striped with yellow bands, and a hat witk
green ribbons and red flowers. April looked youthfut
in a brand-new suit that showed off his broad shoulders
and slim waist well. He held Joy’s hand and led her
carefully over the unsteady gangplank, and she fell into
Big Sue’s arms while April looked on smiling and rub-
bing his hands awkwardly.
The crowd crushed around them, wishing them
happiness, hoping they’d live like Isaac and Rebecca,
wishing them joy and a gal and a boy. Breeze pressed
forward too until he could touch Joy’s hand, and she
bent down and gave him a smacking kiss, then a hug.
*‘Looka li’l’ Breeze, Cun April,’’ she said, and April
reached out and shook his hand, and Joy added; ‘‘I done
told you I was gwine be you’ mammy, Breeze, and Cun
April’s you’ daddy, now.’’
The people crammed too close around them. Breeze
could scarcely breathe. He got out quickly as he could,
and went to the store steps to wait with old Louder, who
sat wagging his tail, and making short whines of
pleasure. Breeze and Big Sue, and most of the neigh-
bors, went with them to April’s cabin, where a huge fire
was built, and the whole room made light as day.
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BLACK APRIL
Big Sue and Bina bustled around cooking supper,
and April’s children and Breeze all helped. Sweetened
bread and fried bacon and coffee with plenty of cream
and sugar, were passed around. The cabin was filled
with the fragrance of the food. But Joy couldn’t eat.
Big Sue pressed her to take something, but she said she
couldn’t swallow a bite to save her life.
April had eyes only for Joy. He leaned over and
whispered softly, ‘‘Is anyt’ing ail you, honey!?’’
But she shook her head. She was only weary, too
weary to eat.
Some of the young folks suggested a dance, but April
said they must come back another night; Joy was weary.
The boat trip was long, and the chill of the river wind
had her trembling yet.
When everybody had something to eat and drink,
they said good night, and tramped out into the night,
Breeze and Big Sue last of all.
The dark roads and paths swarmed with merry peo-
ple, the air rang with songs and laughter.
‘April sho’ is a fool over Joy!’’ Big Sue grunted as
they turned into the path toward home. ‘‘A pure fool.
A ol’ fool is de worst fool too.’’
Joy and April took supper with Big Sue Christmas
Eve, and they helped fill Breeze’s stocking. He knew,
for soon after supper he was sent to bed. They were
in a hurry to get to Maum Hannah’s house where ap
all-night meeting was to be held.
Breeze wanted to go too. He wanted to stay up for
all the singing and shouting, and see the cows kneel down
and pray at midnight, and the sun rise shouting in the
east in the morning. But Big Sue said he was too sleepy:
headed for her to fool with him, and if he didn’t go to
bed like a good boy old Santy Claw would leave his
stocking empty.
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HOG-KILLING
They all said good night and went out of the door
and Breeze thought they had gone for good. He was
about to hop up and look at his stocking when Joy ran
back in, and, falling on the bed where he was, burst out
erying.
What on earth! Big Sue and April hurried in, and
did all they could to quiet her. Was she sick? Had
somebody hurt her feelings? April petted her and
called her tender names, but she cried on even when her
tears were spent and broken sobs shook her of their own
free will.
Big Sue called April into the other room and
whispered to him. He came back and asked Joy
if she wouldn’t rather stay quietly with Breeze and rest?
He’d stay too if she liked, or go to meeting with Big Sue.
Whatever she wanted was the thing he wanted too. She
got up and wiped her eyes. She’d go home and go to
bed. He could do whatever he liked. Her words
sounded cold, almost bitter.
But soon the next morning she came to show Big
Sue the Christmas presents April had given her. A
watch to wear on her wrist, and a diamond ring! The
two must have cost twenty-five dollars, if not more.
The winter days passed slowly, many of them dull,
gray, with an overcast sky, where low clouds sailed and
east their murky color over the ground. The first March
day came in bright and warm, with a wind that
roared over the land, whipping the trees, snapping
off their rotten limbs, lifting old shingles off of roofs,
sweeping yards and woods clean, thrashing fields
until clouds of dust and sand rose and floated in the sky.
But everybody rejoiced that winter was over and gone.
And besides, a windy March is lucky. Every pint of
March dust brings a peck of September corn, and a
pound of October cotton. Let it blow!
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BLACK APRIL
Such a high wind could never last. A March that
comes in like a lion will go out as quiet as a new-born
lamb. Let it blow! But watch the fires! One little
spark can easily be fanned into a flame.
New leaves quivered and glittered on the restless
boughs. Old leaves, dead for months on the ground,
hopped out from their resting-places and skipped and
flew, making brown leaf whirlwinds that spun around
dizzily, then settled in new sheltered places.
The wind lulled a little at sunset, and the night fell
black and cloudless. A multitude of stars crowded the
sky, foretelling rain close at hand. ,.The rain was wait-
ing for the blustery gale to hold ‘still so the clouds
could gather and agree. In the night the wind rose and
beat against the cabin’s sides. It shook the walls, and
whistled and whined through the cracks. The front door
banged wide open, as the nail that held the bar frame
was jerked out by its force. Finally Big Sue made
Breeze get up and get a hatchet and a long nail out of
the tool-box Santy Claw had given him, and she held
the door while he nailed it up.
Big Sue was frightened. She kept talking to Breeze,
trying to keep him awake with her, but he was too
sleepy-headed to listen. When he woke at dawn a flood
of rain was pouring down, and thunder roared louder
than the rain or wind.
As a fearful crash shook the earth, Big Sue opened
the back door and peeped out and quavered, ‘‘Git up,
Breeze! Lightnin’ is struck dat big pine yonder, close
to April’s house! It’s afire! Dat bolt shooken de whole
earth. I bet April’ll find it. Lawd! E’s been diggin’
at de roots o’ struck trees to git a bolt a long time! An’
now one mighty nigh hit him!”’
‘*What’s a bolt, Cun Big Sue?’’
The wind howled as she answered, ‘‘ Why, son, a
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HOG-KILLING
thunder bolt is a’ iron rod. If you finds one, you’ll have
de power to rule life an’ death!’’
The cabin was closed tight, yet so fierce was the
lightning it blazed through cracks right into the room.
Blood-red streaks of light took turns with others that
were blue. Breeze shut his eyes and put the pillow over
his head. He finally dozed off, and slept until the
morning had come, clear of rain and wind, and filled
with the warm breath of the earth.
He was alone. Big Sue had gone to see April’s struck
pine, so he dressed and ran to see it too.
A crowd of people were around the burning tree, and
others were coming. All were talking excitedly. God
must have His eye on April to aim a thunderbolt so close
to his house. He had a narrow escape. His house might
catch fire yet, for pieces of burning limbs were falling,
and water could not put out fire started with lightning.
Nothing could, but new milk from a cow with her first
calf. Where would April get enough of that to do any
good?
April was brazenly unafraid. He laughed at the
notion of getting a heifer’s milk. He said he’d make
water outen this fire, or any other fire, that bothered
his cabin. They’d see.
April sat in front of the fire on his hearth, and when
Big Sue fixed his breakfast in a pan and handed it to
him, he called to the neighbors, standing outside,
‘“‘Yunnuh come an’ eat some breakfast wid me. We’s
got a plenty fo’ ev’ybody.’’ At first all of them
answered, ‘‘No, thank you,’’ but when April insisted, a
half-dozen or more went in and took a piece of bread,
or a mouthful of sweetened water.
‘‘How’s Joy?’’ Bina asked Big Sue politely.
“‘Joy’s awful nervish since dat tree got struck. I
made em stay in bed dis mawnin’.’’
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BLACK APRIL
“‘Joy ain’ been well in a good while,’’ Bina com-
mented.
Big Sue’s eyes snapped. ‘‘Joy ever was a delicate
child, Bina. You know dat good as me.’’
The thick high trees, lapping their branches over-
head, sheltered the cabins from a sun that burned down,
fierce and bright, drawing a strong steamy stench up
from the heated mud-flats left naked by the outgone tide.
The fields were all too wet for plowing, and the black-
smith shop was the center for the day’s work. Plow-
shares needed to be filed and sharpened. Plow-stocks
mended. Mules’ feet trimmed. Manes and tails clipped
short. A few of the older, thinner beasts had got lousy.
The hair must be cut off them and their hides wet with
tea made out of china-berry leaves.
The men laughed and talked and chewed tobacco and
smoked, as they worked leisurely at their different tasks.
A difference of opinion rose as to the best place to twitch
a mule to make him stand still for his hair to be cut off.
A twine-string could be twisted around an ear, or tied
to the upper lip. Uncle Bill preferred the lip. He said
mules have pockets inside their ears and a string twisted
tight enough to hold the beast quiet, will tear that pocket
in two. April objected to the twitch on the lip, for it
often caused a painful swelling.
The question was still unsettled when Brudge came
running hard as he could, erying out that Joy had been
taken with a death-sickness. She was lying on the bed
ina trance. She couldn’t speak a word. Brudge almost
popped out his eyeballs showing how her eyes were
rolled away back in her head. Her hands and feet were
cold as clabber. Big Sue said April must hurry or Joy
would be gone before he got there!
April did not wait to hear the end of Brudge’s talk,
but flew home ahead of them all with Breeze ¢lose at his
[262]
he
¢
2
‘
os
puree,
HOG-KILLING
heels. Lamentations and outcries met them ag they got
nearer. Big Sue’s above all the rest. Joy was dying.
Nothing but a death-sickness could strike a young woman
down so hard.
Breeze was almost petrified with terror, but he
dragged himself on to the cabin, which was already
filled with the neighbors. Joy lay on the bed covered
over with a quilt, up to her very neck. Her eyes were
shut. Her head moved from side to side. Her lips
whispered things nobody could hear at all.
Big Sue sat near the bed in a low chair, her fat body
rocking. Big tears rolled down her cheks as she chanted
over and over.
“‘Do, Jedus! Don’ let Joy dead!
““Oh, my Gawd! Help my chile! Help em!
“Oh, Lawd! Oh, my Gawd!
*‘Don’ let Joy dead dis mawnin
April broke through the crowd surrounding the bed,
and taking one of Joy’s hands from under the cover felt
her pulse, then leaned over to hear what she was saying.
““No. No, honey,’’ he crooned, ‘‘you wouldn’ dead an’
leave me. No. No. I couldn’ do widout you nohow.
I wouldn’ ’a’ left you last night in dat storm, but I was
*fraid de stables would blow down an’ kill all de mules
an’ horses. De storm is gone. De lightnin’ didn’ hurt
nobody. Death is gone away off now. E can’ take you.
No!”
Breeze pricked up his ears. Was death about to take
Joy?
As her life fluttered uncertainly, Big Sue’s wailing
and misery were less hard to bear than April’s fierce
resolute manner.
Joy had to get well. No matter what ailed her. If
she was conjured, Uncle Isaac had to take off the spell.
If the storm had scared her until her heart-string was
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BLACK APRIL
strained, she must keep still and rest until it went back
into place. Nobody must come in the room to worry her
with talking. Send for Maum Hannah. No maiter if
she was at the end of the earth instead of the end of the
“‘Neck,’’ go fetch her! Hurry! Don’t tarry and waste
any more time! Fetch Maum Hannah! Joy had a
death-sickness !
Uncle Bill hitched up the fastest horse in the barn-
yard to the lightest cart, and went flying down the road
for Maum Hannah, who had gone to a sick woman some
miles away. When he got back, several hours later, the
horse was lathered with sweat, and all but broken
winded, but Joy was still alive.
The room was chock-full, the door choked with
people, both windows were dark with heads. Big Sue’s
mourning that had fallen into a low mumbling prayer to
Jesus now changed and livened to:
‘Do, Maum Hannah! Help my Joy!
‘‘Do, Maum Hannah! Don’ let Joy dead!
““Do, Maum Hannah!’’
Maum Hannah hurried up the steps as fast as her
crippled knee would let her. She was all out of breath,
but instead of pitying Big Sue, she stopped still and
eyed her with an impatient grunt. ‘‘Do shut you’
mouth, Big Sue! You ought to be shame’ to cut all dis
crazy! You can’ fool dese people. No! Everybody
knows wha’ ails Joy, ’eceptin’ April. An’ e ought to
take you out an’ duck you good in de creek fo’ makin’
such a fool out o’ him! Dat fine horse is most dead!
Bill made em run so fas’, de wind likened to ’a’ cut my
breath off. You people go home. Gi’ Joy a chance to
turn dat chile loose. Joy done well to hold em dis long
but e can’ hold em no longer. Yunnuh go on! Go on,
Breeze! Yunnuh clear de room!’’
Big Sue stopped grieving and stared, but Maum
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HOG-KILLING
Hannah’s talk stung April to the quick. He stepped up
to her angrily, but she stopped taking off her cloak long
enough to pat his arm, ‘‘Don’ be vexed wid me, son. I’m
tellin’ yunnuh what Gawd loves, de truth! Joy’s done
well to hold dat chile dis long. You married in de
Christmas, enty? Well, Joy can’ hold em six more
months. I know dat. Dat gal’s got to turn em loose, no
matter if it do hurt you’ feelin’s!’’
Joy trembled like a leaf in a storm. Her dazed eyes
turned from Maum Hannah to April, who was silent,
~ except for one word. ‘‘Bitch,’’ he snarled, and his
eyes blazed like lightning flashes, as he turned and
left the room.
Breeze left too, but he scarcely knew where he was,
or where he was going. April had cursed Joy and she
a-dying!
He dragged himself home and fell across Joy’s own
bed, for Big Sue was not there to stop him. He wept
until his tears failed him. He tried his best to pray,
““O Gawd, don’ let Joy die—’’ but he went fast asleep.
He slept heavily until a harsh hoarse voice waked him.
He came instantly to his senses, and tried to stammer
out some excuse, but Big Sue’s grim swollen face made
his words falter, and the slap her hand laid on his jaw
brought shining stars in front of his eyes.
‘“Git up and go borrow a piece o’ fire f’0m somebody !
Hurry, too, befo’ I kill you!’’
He ran to April’s house, but stopped at the step for
a tiny baby was crying inside. He ran all the way to
Zeda’s and borrowed a piece of fire, then flew home. As
he made up the fire for Big Sue, she walked around the
room unsteadily, mumbling between her teeth. If April
mistreated her Joy now, she herself would put a ‘‘hand’’
on him; one so strong that it would wither his hands!
And his feet! She couldn’t keep still or stop talking.
[265]
BLACK APRIL
Her tongue lashed April and Joy too, and each word was
a poison sting. Who was he to blame Joy? He had
children scattered from one end of this ‘‘Neck’’ to the
other. Now he cursed Joy as if she were lowest of the
low. It wasashame! A heavy shame! Joy must leave
him at once!
The wind had risen and whistled through the trees,
tossing the branches, making them moan. Big Sue talked
on and on. Breeze was glad when she went back to
April’s cabin, although she left him without a bite to
eat. He’d go somewhere and get supper. Maybe Uncle
Bill was at home. He’d go see.
To his surprise April was there too, sitting by the
fire, miserably dejected, while Uncle Bill talked to him,
trying to cheer him.
Breeze had hardly got inside when Zeda arrived and,
brushing past Uncle Bill, walked up to April and put
a hand on his shoulder. Look at me, April. I got
somet’ing to say to you.’’ Bitter spite hurried her
words.
But April, instead of looking up as she bade him,
leaned forward and spat in the fire.
‘“Wha’ ails you, now, Zeda?’’ he asked curtly.
‘‘T kin easy say what ails me; dat new-born child
yonder ’side Joy is my gran’! But e’s you’ gran’, too!
Joy had dat chile for Sherry, an’ you ain’ gwine put
no dis-grace-ment on em. No. If nobody else ean’ hin-
der you, I kin. I already got you’ feet so dey can’
rest. Wid Leah’s death-sheet.’’
April heard her, and although he didn’t answer, his
jaw set his teeth hard enough to bite a ten-penny nail in
two. Zeda smiled.
“You may as well give in, April,’’ she persisted.
‘*Sherry’s you own, an’ who is Breeze, but you’ own?
Ev’body knows dat. It’s a wonder somebody ain’ cut
[266]
nll Mes
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HOG-KILLING
you’ throat long time ago. If you wa’n’t so lucky you’d
’a’ been in hell wid some 0’ dem women you sent dere.’’
‘“How come you meddlin’ in my business so raven?”’
April suddenly flashed out.
“‘Dat lil’ chile is my business. Joy had em fo’
Sherry, a li’l’ boy-chile, too. You go on home an’ tell
Joy to hurry up an’ git well. Tain’ no use to hold hard
feelin’s ’gainst em. No! Joy’s had you a gran’son.”’
When he did not stir, she blazed out: ‘‘ You’ neck
is stiff, enty! So’s my own! An’ I hope a misery’ll
gnaw you’ heart in two. I hope you’ll die of thirst an’
; hunger. I hope ev’y lawful yard-chile you had by
Leah’ll perish. I hope you’ feet’ll rot os
“*You shut you’ mouth, Zeda. If you cuss me again
I’ll choke you’ tongue down you’ throat.’’ April got
up and fled from her bitter words.
(267
XVIII
JOY AND APRIL
For days after Joy’s child was born, Big Sue kept
to her cabin. Joy had disgraced her, made her ashamed
to show her face in company. She’d never forgive Joy
as long as she lived. Never. Joy saw Leah drop dead
in her face, yet she went straight on and married Leah’s
husband. A shame! Joy would sup sorrow yet. She
might bewitch April and make a plumb fool out of him,
but she’d pay for bringing disgrace on her mother who
had worked her knuckles to the bone to keep Joy in
school!
If Joy had behaved herself, she might have married
anybody instead of a man old as her daddy, and con-
jured to boot. That death-sheet had put a spell on
April. Sure as preaching. He’d never be the same
man again. He’d have run Joy out of his house
if he had been in his right mind.
She talked so fast and loud one morning she didn’t
see Uncle Bill until he was at the door-step. ‘‘How
come you tiptoes around so easy dis mornin’!’’ she
asked tartly.
“Gawd knows how I’m a-walkin’, I’m so fretted.’’
‘Wha’ dat ail you now?’’
*‘Joy sent me to tell you.”’
‘How come Joy don’ fetch e own answer?”’
**Joy’s too troub-led.’’
Big Sue shot a look at him and sucked her teeth.
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JOY AND APRIL
‘“Joy’s mighty late gittin’ troub-led,’’ and a hard, wicked
smile touched her mouth.
“*Joy’s troub-led about April. April ain’ well, Miss
Big Sue.’’
Big Sue sniffed and said April was due to have some-
‘thing wrong with him, wicked as he had lived, hard as
he had been with everybody that crossed him. What
kind of sickness did April have?
*‘Somet’ing ails his feets.”’
‘‘Dat ain’ surprisin’. April slept wid a death-sheet
on ’em a whole night.’’
“‘Uncle Isaac took dat spell off em.’’
“‘Well, who put dis spell on em, den?’’
Unele Bill sat down on the step. He was so troub-
led in his mind, it was difficult for him to say what
ailed April. At first it favored chilblains; then ground-
itch, for April went out barefooted in the dew every
morning God sent, and any little scratch that lets dew
get inside your skin may give you ground-itch. But none
of the chilblain or ground-itch cures helped him at all.
His appetite was clean gone. He had eaten nothing but
spoon-victuals for a week. He was thin as a fence rail.
Big Sue made an ugly mouth. What did she care?
Why hadn’t April married a settled woman who could
cook decent rations instead of a scatter-brained girl like
Joy who didn’t know the name of one pot from another?
He needn’t be sending word here about victuals. Let
April eat what Joy fixed for him. Love would season
up lumpy hominy and make doughy bread taste good.
Uncle Bill sat frowning, chewing his tobacco wearily,
studying. Joy had said she hated to worry Big Sue. She
was sorry for all that had happened. Joy was a good
girl. She had slipped up once, and made a bad mistake,
but any young inexperienced girl is likely to miss and
do that. April did right to excuse her.
[269]
BLACK APRIL
Big Sue sneered. Joy had worked one sharp trick.
Leah herself couldn’t have fooled April any slicker.
Joy ever was tricky, though. Just like Silas for the
world. Likely as not, Joy had April conjured right
now.
Uncle Bill pursed up his lips so tight, they looked as
if they’d never open and speak again, and his eyes
were full of worry.
““Whyn’ you go see Uncle Isaac? E might could
help April?’’ Big Sue asked presently.
“‘T done seen em. When de bear-grass poultices and
de violet-leaves tea failed, I went-an’ got Uncle Isaac.
Joy sent me. I don’ like charms. I don’ trust ’em. I
know a Christian man ain’ got no business foolin’ wid
’em. But Joy was so fretted, I done it to please her. I
kept a-studyin’ over it; one mind said do it; another
mind said, no, I better ask all de Christian people to
hold a prayer-meetin’ an’ ask Gawd to help April; !
listened at dem two minds arguin’ one whole night befo’
I give in to Joy. An’ now I wish to Gawd I didn’ heed
Aine”
‘““How come sof April wouldn’ wear em, I bet
you!’’ Big Sue was listening with interest now, anxious
to know what happened, but Uncle Bill took his time.
April did everything Joy said. Wilful and unruly
as he was with every one.else, he tried to please Joy.
And yet when Joy brought that charm to him and began
coaxing him to let her tie it around his neck, he balked.
Joy had to outtalk him.
For a whole day and night April wore it, a little
cloth bag, tied with a white horse hair; but because it
didn’t eure his feet right away, he jerked it off and
threw it in the fire. Such a pity. Even strong charms
take time to start working. April ever was a short-
patienced man. He made trouble for himself by hasti-
[270]
JOY AND APRIL
ness. A man can be hot-blooded and pettish with people
but not with charms or magie.
Joy snatched the bag out of the flames, but it was
scorched and a hole burned in one side. A speck of the
mixture inside it spilled out on the coals and smoked
such a strong smoke, April sneezed three times!
Right then, the gristles in April’s feet got hard.
Hard as a rock! God only knew if they’d ever go back
to their rightful softness.
Uncle Isaac made Joy take the bag off to the woods
and bury it at the foot of a locust tree, but April got
worse and worse. His feet were numb and hard and
dry. Joy wanted to send for a white doctor. They
might get one to come on the boat from town, and with
the crop so promising they’d have money to pay him
next fall. But April wouldn’t have it. He said Maum
Hannah knew more than any white doctor.
Big Sue kept shaking her head and grunting shame-
lessly until Uncle Bill got up painfully to go. Some-
thing in his sad face must have moved her, for all of a
sudden she scrambled to her feet, letting her scraps fall
on the floor. ‘‘I made some nice little sweetened breads
dis mawnin’. Take some to April. I sho’ am sorry
*bout his feets. You tell em so. I’m gwine broil em a
fat pullet, too.’’
‘“‘Ev’y man has to manage his own dueness, but
how *bout gwine along wid me, to see April, Miss Big
Sue? You done chastise Joy long enough. De gal’s in
trouble.’’
“‘T ean’ go, not so well, right now, Uncle Bill, but
Breeze kin go if e’ll thread me two or three needles
first.”’ She started to say more, but she changed her
mind and kept silent, her eyes cast down on her sewing.
When she did speak it was to say Joy had been mighty
shut-mouthed about April. Joy had funny ways.
[271]
BLACK APRIL
Breeze and Uncle Bill found April with a quilt
around him, sitting alone by the fire, looking at his feet.
Looking and looking. His heavy black brows over-
shadowed his sad eyes as they lifted and hovered over
Breeze, then Uncle Bill. But as soon as he shook hands
and said ‘‘thank you”’ for the food, they fell, and set-
tled on his feet, which were bare and on the hearth
very close to the fire.
The weather had turned off cool in the night, but
there was no reason for April to keep his feet so close
to the fire. Uncle Bill told him he’d scorch them, but
April shook his head and said they felt no heat at all.
Not a bit. They had gone to sleep or something. They
felt like blocks of wood. And he moved them stiffly,
as if they were.
He complained that he had no appetite. He was
tired too. Sitting still was the hardest work he had
ever done in his life. If he could read, or if he had
somebody to talk to, if he had something pleasant to
think about, it would help pass the time. But he
couldn’t read, and he didn’t want anybody to stay at
home out of the field. Cotton needs fast hoeing during
these warm wet days. He wished he could stop off
thinking. Stop short off. He’d like to go to sleep and
never wake up any more. He’d go crazy if he had to
stay still and look at his feet much longer. What in
God’s name ailed them! Nobody seemed to know!
Uncle Bill tried to tell him the plantation news, but
April’s eyes stayed on his feet. Uncle Bill offered to
teach him to read if he wanted to learn. Now
would be a good time for April to learn how to write.
He ought to learn to write his name if no more. Every
man ought to know how to write his name. But April
said he never had much faith in books and reading.
Black people were better off without it. It takes their
[272]
POY AND APRIL
mind off their work. It makes them think about things
they can’t have. They’re better off without knowing
how. Uncle Bill didn’t argue. ;
All of a sudden a coal popped out of the hearth
with a sharp explosion. It fell right between April’s
feet, as if it could see and did it on purpose. It lay
there, red, bright, like a dare. April opened his tired
eyes wide, and leaned forward and looked at it, for
instead of dying out it burned freer. April carefully
raised one long black bony foot and placed its heel on
the coal. He waited a moment; then he lifted it up
-and stared at Uncle Bill. His scared eyes told what had
happened. Breeze knew too.
April had felt no heat. His foot was dead. It
eouldn’t feel fire! April grabbed the fire shovel, and
scraped up a batch of live coals from under the fire
and dropped them on the hearth. He’d see if fire had
stopped being hot. Uncle Bill didn’t raise a finger to
stop him when he lifted his other foot and pressed its
heel down on the coals and mashed hard on them.
The bitter smell of his burned flesh stung the air.
April’s eyes glared, and he laughed a harsh discordant
laugh. But a sob quickly caught him by the throat and
choked him. He leaned over and picked up a live coal
in his fingers, then dropped it quickly, for his fingers
were alive. They could feel. The coal burned them.
But his feet were dead. They couldn’t feel even fire!
**Oh, Gawd!’’ he moaned, and his long fingers
knotted and clenched, his strong tobacco-yellowed teeth
ground together.
Joy came in from the field to feed her little baby.
Nobody heard her bare footsteps, until she spoke to
Uncle Bill and Breeze. She went up to April and put
a hand on his arm, and asked how his feet were. She
leaned over and looked at them, but he drew them under-
[273]
BLACK APRiL
neath his chair. He didn’t want her to see. He reached
for the quilt on the floor beside him and covered them
over.
‘‘My feets is all right,’’ he told her grufily.
But Joy sniffed the air once or twice, she searched
the fire with her eyes, then she swept the hearth clean of
the coals. She patted April’s shoulder, and said gentle
things to him. He must have patience. She’d make
some fresh violet-leaves tea and soak his feet. She was
sure that would help them.
Bright tears ran out of April’s eyes, down his thin
hard cheeks, and fell on the bony clasped hands that
held tight to each other in his lap. Breeze could hardly
‘bear to see those tears. Uncle Bill got up and tried to
say something, but his voice broke, and he began punch-
ing the fire. For April was erying out loud. Saying he
had given out! He couldn’t go on any longer!
Joy put her arms around him and held his head on
her bosom, and patted his face and tried to hush him.
She wiped his tears away with her homespun apron, and
smoothed his eyelids softly. Her fingers were trembling,
but April became quieter. She stroked his head and
begged him to go back to bed and lie down and rest.
He was hard and sullen, and frowned as if she
had insulted him. He’d stay right where he was. Bed
and chair were the same to him now. Joy stood with
her eyes on the red embers, never answering back a
single time, even when anger made the words strangle
in his throat. It was hard for him to bend his neck
under such a galling, hellish yoke.
Until now he had never asked a favor of anybody in
his whole life. He had always worked, and made others
work. His women and children too. And now his feet,
the feet that had carried him faithfully through all
these years, the only ones he could ever have, had failed
[274]
,
JOY AND APRIL
him. They made game of him. And it was more than
he could bear. He bellowed out recklessly, but Joy got
a pan and spoon and dipped some hot soup from a pot
on the hearth and urged him to taste it. He shook his
head. He didn’t want soup. He didn’t want anything
to eat. He’d rather starve to death than be helpless.
Joy began some pleasant talk. How fast the cotton was
growing. The fields were green. Last night’s shower
was the very thing spring oats needed. He leaned back
in his chair, humbled, crushed with misery. Uncle Bill
said he would come back a little later and bring April
some medicine. Some strong medicine from the Big
House medicine chest. It would help those feet.
April reached out and took his friend’s hand. He
put it up to his cheek, but dropped it, for the back log
burned in two and broke and a shower of sparks
spun threads of fire that reached out and threatened
to catch the quilt!
**‘T’ll stay wid em,’’ Joy said gently. ‘‘T’ll warm
up de nice chicken an’ rice you brought an’ feed em
wid a spoon.”’
When Breeze got home Big Sue asked him lots of
questions about April. How his feet looked? Did April
seem down-hearted over them? Was Joy with him?
How did she take his trouble? Breeze told her all he
remembered, and she shook her head. She was sorry
for April.
It was past mid-afternoon when Uncle Bill came
back, and asked Big Sue to lend him a quart cup and
a teaspoon. He wanted to measure some water and
medicine for April’s feet. He was going to soak them in
water flavored with a medicine the white folks used.
She offered to lend him her new tin washtub, but Uncle
Bill said Joy had plenty of tubs.
‘Dey might not be new an’ clean as my own,”’ Big
[275]
BLACK APRIL
Sue insisted. ‘‘Joy ever was careless. A new tub is
better anyhow.”’
Uncle Bill consented, and Breeze went along to carry
it. They found Joy sitting by the fire patching, and
April holding a pan of food in his lap.
Joy asked them to come in and sit down and talk
to April and coax him to,eat his dinner. His appetite
was slow. She did her best to talk cheerfully.
But April’s face was glum, and his voice lagged
wearily as he said, ‘‘I don’ wan’ to eat.’? With
a bony hand he held out the pan, still full of food.
“Take em. I got ’nough.’’
_ Joy took it and moved away without speaking. As
she walked toward the shelf she almost stumbled into a
small boy, who hopped nimbly into the room, laughing
and out of breath. She put her hand on his shoulder
and shook him, and he got sober. Soon the other ehil-
dren came trooping in, little and big, and all in-between
size, one with Joy’s baby in his arms.
“‘Mind. Keep quiet,’? Joy warned. ‘‘Pa don’ like
no fuss.”’
Then they tipped around quietly, and whispered to
Breeze to come with them while they cut some wood
and brought it in, and went to the spring for water.
The older ones said, ‘‘ How you feelin’, Pa?’’ That was
all, for April did not turn his head or answer.
Every child glanced at his feet. April saw it. And
he saw how they all looked away quickly, except one
little boy who giggled out loud.
Joy shook her head vexedly, and motioned to the
child to go on out, for anger erazed April. His own
child had laughed at him! He sat up and blazed out,
*‘Dat’s de way! Let a man git down an’ e’s de butt 0’
his own flesh an’ blood! Dat’s de way! Chillen don’
hab respect fo’ nobody! Not dese days!’’
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JOY AND APRIL
Breeze felt afraid. He didn’t want to play. He’d
rather stay close by Uncle Bill. When things got
quieter again, Uncle Bill suggested kindly:
** April, son, I tell you wha’ le’s do. Lemme hotten
some water an’ gi’ you’ feet a good soakin’. You would
feel better when dey’s had a dose 0’ dis medicine f’om
de Big House.’’ He held up the small bottle. It had a
skull and cross-bones label. The white liquid in it
trembled, with a glitter.
April did not answer, and Joy filled the big black
kettle on the hearth with water, and pushed it up nearer
the red coals.
As soon as it sang out that the water was hot, Uncle
Bill poured it quart by quart into the tub. Then he
carefully measured quarts of water from a bucket on
the shelf to cool it. He felt it with his hand, and Joy
felt it too, so it would be neither too cold nor too hot.
**TIt’s “bout right,’’ she said, and Uncle Bill put in
the medicine. One spoonful to every quart of water.
How it smelt! Joy pushed the tub closer to April, then
lifted the helpless feet, one at a time, and put them into
the water.
“It’s "bout right, enty?’’ she asked him.
*‘T dunno,’’ April gloomed. ‘‘I can’ feel em.’’
And she turned away with a sigh.
The clothes to be patched were on the floor in a pile.
Joy mended the fire, then moved nearer its light to sew.
Uncle Bill sat and talked pleasantly while April’s feet
soaked. The crops were promising. Cotton and corn,
and peas and potatoes, and rice all were up and grow-
ing. Everybody ought to be thankful with so many
blessings. The fire kept up a spiteful popping, aiming
bits of live coal at each of them. Some fell into the
water and died; others hit Joy’s pile of clothes.
April moved restlessly. ‘‘I’m ready fo’ lay down,”’’
[277]
BLACK APRIL
he said dully. ‘‘Uncle Bill, you help Joy git me to
bed.”’
Joy got up, letting her lapful of things scatter over
the floor. ‘‘Wait. Lemme git something soft fo’ wipe
you’ feet on.’’ She hurried to an old trunk in the cor-
ner and got out a piece of soft worn cloth. Then she
came back and knelt down by the tub.
April and Uncle Bill both jumped when she gave
a sharp outcry and sat back flat on the floor. She stared.
Then she leaned over with squinting eyes, as if the
light hurt her eyes. She gasped like her wind-pipe was
eracked, ‘‘Great Gawd, what has you done, Uncle Bill!”’
Her body was trembling and her eyes had a foolish roll
as they lifted to April’s face. She was shivering all
over. She was having a chill, or some kind of a stroke!
April told Breeze to call some of the children to
come to Joy. He put out his hand to help steady her.
But she sat back on her feet and put a hand to her
head. Maybe she ate too much dinner. Breeze felt
giddy himself, and tired and unhappy. His head swam
when he moved. He wanted to go home, but he couldn’t
leave Uncle Bill to bring Big Sue’s tub.
**Set down, Joy. Set down!’’ April seolded fret-
fully. ‘‘Don’ try fo’ stan’ up. You might fall. None
0’ we ain’ able to ketch you if you do. You haffer take
care 0’ you’se’f now. I ain’ able fo’ look atter you.’’
He spoke quickly for his patience was short.
**You must ’a’ strained you’ eye on de sewin’. Lay
flat on de floor till you feel better. I kin wait.’’ April
moved stiffly, with a deep sigh.
But Joy’s wide-opened eyes stared at the tub. She
was gone plumb fool! Plumb daffy!
**Uncle Bill ’” her lips shook so they could hardly
make his name. ‘‘Looka! Fo’ Gawd’s sake!’’ she
whispered. ‘‘De medicine must ’a’ been too strong!’’
[278]
SOY AND APRIL
Breeze could scarcely tell what she said, for she ran
her words all together and she shook with a chill. Fever
makes people so sometimes.
“Do talk hard, Joy. I can’ hear no whisperin’!
‘Who you scared gwine hear you? A sperit?’’ April
scolded.
Breeze’s eyes followed Joy’s to the tub. He stared
too. He saw what made her teeth click together
April’s toes.
They had come loose from his feet, and floated
around in the tub. Im the clear warm water, sharp-
flavored with the strong white medicine. Breeze felt
dazed. His head was queer. The room, the walls began
to move around and wave up and down.
When April saw the toes he began to laugh. An
ugly croaking, high-pitched laugh that chilled Breeze’s
blood, and made the water swish in the tub.
The toes, all loose, free from the feet, swam around
swiftly and circled and danced. One big toe slid next
to a little one and stopped!
April half-rose to his feet and shouted:
“‘Look! My Gawd! Is you ever see sich a t’ing in
you’ life? My toes is come off. Dey runs by deyse’f!
Fo’ Gawd’s sake!’’
His reddened eyes shone. He tried to step. Then
he sat down clumsily. Heavily. He leaned forward,
spellbound, whispering horrified words. Breeze shook
with terror, for April’s words were as strange as the
toes jumbled together. He glared at Breeze, then at
Uncle Bill. ‘‘Yunnuh hurry up! Hurry up!’’ he yelled
fiercely, getting up on his feet again. ‘‘Do somet’ing!
Quick! My toes is off!’’
He tottered, for the bottom of the tub was slippery
footing for his broken feet, and with a crumple he fell
forward on the floor.
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Joy cried out sharply, and begged Breeze to go call
the children. Then she ran to the open door, and
stretching her body to its utmost height, tilted back her
head and sent out long throat-splitting calls that cut
into Breeze’s ears! She stopped to tell Uncle Bill to go
fetch Maum Hannah, who had gone way down the
country, catching children.
She wrung her hands and wailed. That medicine
must have been too strong! Too strong! Uncle Bill
said maybe that charm did it! April wore it a whole
day around his neck! Did that old hoodoo doctor over
the river have aught against April? That charm was
too strong. Maybe Joy had buried it wrong! Maybe it
ought not to have been buried at all—maybe—
maybe—Leah’s death-sheet was to blame.
Breeze tried to help Joy and Uncle Bill get April to
bed, then Joy slipped out of the door. She’d go try to
find that charm. But if she found it, what could she
do? April’s toes were off. No charm could put them
on again. That was certain.
Uncle Bill was sure he measured the medicine. Over
and over, he said it; a teaspoonful to the quart of water.
That was all he put. It couldn’t hurt a tender baby’s
feet. He had seen the white people use it, and they
have weak skins. But April’s toes were off! And there
was no way to put them back on. That scorched charm
must. be to blame, unless poisoning boll-weevils last
summer poisoned his feet too. Uncle Isaac had drowned
the death-sheet, and killed its spell—in spite of Zeda.
April didn’t seem to realize what had happened. He
kept saying, over and over, ‘‘How’m I gonna walk wid-
out toes?’’ He was too stiff in his joints to bend over
far enough to look at his feet. Uncle Bill got the mirror
that hung by the open window. A small square wavy
looking-glass that made foolish-looking images. The old
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+ A a eee re
FOY SAND APRIL
man tried to hold it so April could see the feet in the
mirror, but his hands shook so that Breeze had to take
it and hold it. The horror in April’s face made Breeze’s
own blood freeze. April’s lips and tongue went stiff.
They could scarcely say, ‘‘How’m I gonna walk widout
toes.’’
He asked to see the bottle of white medicine Uncle
Bill used in the water. He took out the stopper and
smelled it, touched it to his tongue. It was too strong!
Yes! Too strong! It cut his tongue!
Two days later when the boat came Uncle Bill and
Brudge took April to the town in the river’s mouth, so
some white doctor might see him and cure him. But
when they came home Uncle Bill said the white doctor
had taken April to a hospital and cut both his legs off,
at his hips! The doctor said blood clots in the veins of
April’s legs had cut off the blood flow to his feet. That
was why they died. The doctor called it gangrene. He
said no charm could cause it, not even a death-sheet.
April would get well after a month or two, and he could
wear wooden legs with steel joints. They’d walk and
carry him as well as his old legs had done, when he
learned how to rule them and make them step. But it
would take time. April would have to have patience
now. Long patience.
The white doctor was kind, polite. He would write
Joy exactly how April mended. She mustn’t worry.
Everything would come right. April was no common
weak man to give up. Never in this world. The plan-
tation people must all pray for April to keep in good
heart, and not get scared about himself. And Joy must
have faith that April would get safely through this
great trial.
Uncle Bill went to see the preacher April had bitten.
His cheek had not rotted off at all. The white doctor
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had fixed it. But it looked queer, for it was drawn up
tight like the mouth of a tobacco sack pulled together
with draw-strings.
From that day Joy showed no sign of weakness. She
shirked nothing, yielded nothing to Leah’s children who
gave up being impudent to her face and did their grum-
bling about her behind her back.
When the stables were cleaned out and the black
manure piled out in the corn-field, Joy went out at dawn
with the other women, barefooted, scantily dressed, a
rough crocus sack made into an apron to hold the stuff,
and scattered it all day long, up and down the corn
rows, leading the women as they marched abreast, sing-
ing, ‘‘ Follow me—’’ to their chorus, ‘‘We’s a-followin’
on,’’ and ending, ‘‘I’ll lead you gentel-eee home!”’
When the cotton was up to a thick stand and ready
to be thinned, she tied her skirt up high out of the dew
and took her hoe and chopped row for row with the best
hoe hands, leaving the stalks one hoe’s width apart and
cutting out every grass blade. She hung up eggshells
to make the hens lay well, fed them sour dough to make
them set, patched the garden fence and filled the rich
plot of earth with seed.
She set hens and took them off with broods of biddies
and dusted them with ashes to kill the lice. For one so
frail-looking, Joy did wonders.
Everybody praised her but Leah’s children, who had
naught against her except she had married April, and
Big Sue, who kept her distanee, pretending that Joy
had disgraced her. But Zeda said Big Sue was jealous
of Joy’s getting April.
Joy visited few of her neighbors except Maum Han-
nah and Zeda, and she took no part in the plantation
quarrels and disagreements, or in the arguments about
what had caused April’s trouble. People asked her a
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JOY AND: APRIL
thousand questions, but she was a close-mouthed woman.
She didn’t know anything about anything, to hear her
tell it, and she listened, mute, dumb, when they came to
her, wondering if the death-sheet or the scorched charm
or the white folks’ medicine had ruined April? Joy
agreed with them that charms were dangerous. But store-
bought medicine is not to be trusted either. Leah got
herself salivated by taking one lone teaspoonful of a
scentless, tasteless white powder. It looked weak as flour,
yet it loosened every tooth in her mouth and made them
all drop out, whole. If April hadn’t been a mighty
faithful man he’d have left Leah altogether right then.
Where’s another man would stick? Leah was a fool to
prank with things she didn’t understand. April did»
well ever to look at her again, for no man could be raven
about a salivated woman, yet he even took her to town
and bought her new teeth. No man could have done
more than that. They cost more than a bale of cotton.
Leah was ever contrary. Jealous. Maybe it was Leah
that had tricked him now. Who could tell? She died
too hard to rest easy in her grave. And she never took
her eyes off of April while she lived. No doubt her spirit
was after him still.
The weather was exactly right for the cotton; morn-
ings wet with dew, noons fever hot; nights still and
steamy and stifling. Except for the accursed boll-wee-
vils the crop was most promising. The tender leaves
multiplied and widened, and from morning until night
they lifted their faces to get every bit of sunshine they
could hold. The three-cornerd squares clustered on the
limbs, but not a blossom showed, for swarms of boll-
weevils punctured these buds and made them drop off
before a creamy petal could form. Well-nigh every
fallen square held a grub. A few days more and they’d
be weevils, ready to lay more eggs in new squares, and
83]
BLACK APRIL
hatch more weevils. Unless something was done to stop
them, the crop might as well be thrown away.
Uncle Bill and Uncle Isaac were upset. What were
they to do? They sent every man and woman and child
on the plantation to the field to pick the squares and try
to catch the weevils, but the squares fell off behind them
as fast as they picked those in front, and the pesky wee.
vil fell off the stalks on the ground, too, as soon as any:
body came near them. They played dead like "possums,
and they were colored so near like the dirt, the sharpest
eyes couldn’t find them. :
Uncle Bill walked up and down the rows watching,
and frowning darkly. At last he stopped beside Zeda,
and asked her where Sherry was. He’d have to come
home and poison the cotton or the whole crop was done
for. Not enough money would be made on the whole
place to buy a pair of rope lines. Sherry would come
back if he knew how bad things were. He wouldn’t hold
hard feelings against April if he eould see him. God
had punished April enough to wipe out every sin he
had ever done in his life. Sherry must forgive him too,
and come back and help fight the weevils. Zeda listened
coldly. She looked at Uncle Bill, then at the others.
‘“Uncle Bill is talkin’ out a new side o’ his mouth
to-day, enty?’’ She tried to laugh indifferently, but
everybody knew Sherry’s going had cut her to the quick
and she’d be glad enough to get him back.
“*You’s right, Zeda. I is talkin’ a new talk. But de
ox is in de ditch. An’ de ditch is deep. De plantation
is in distress, an’ nobody can’ save em but Sherry.’’
All the people stood still heeding every word, now
and again making low remarks to one another.
‘““You’s right, Uncle. I know I don’ relish plowin’
f’om sun to sun not lessen I’m doin’ some good. De
more we plow, de more de cotton grows an’ de more it
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pilin Wa I a ew
JOYVOAN DO AP EIL
puts on squares to feed de boll-evils. April pizened
’em last year. Sherry helped em den. Lle’s send at
Sherry to come home. Git a letter wrote to em an’ tell
em if he would come home we mens’ll make em foreman.
How ’bout dat?’’ asked Jake, Bina’s husband.
The men looked at him, searched one another’s faces,
growled among themselves. The women fell into groups,
the loudest talkers laying out opinions, some for, some
against, Sherry’s being made foreman. True enough,
they needed a foreman. No plantation as large as Blue
Brook could half-way run without a man to head the
hands and be their leader. Sherry was young. Wild.
Head-strong. He wasn’t even married and settled.
Zeda called out impatiently:
*“Talk it over good! Make up you’ minds! Sherry’s
comin’ or not comin’ is one to me! E’s got a fine job,
yonder up-North. E’s makin’ money hand over fist.
His wages fo’ one day is more dollars dan e would see
in a month here at Blue Brook.”’
Her words struck home. After a few silent moments,
the people began saying:
‘“Write em to come, Zeda!”’
“Tell em we want em fo’ foreman!’’
““Mell em de crop’ll be ruint widout em!”’
‘“We sho’ do need em!”’
Casting a side-glance toward Joy, alone at one side,
saying nothing, yet keeping track of every glance that
passed between the others, Zeda stood a little straighter,.
and cleared her throat that her words might be plain,
‘‘One more t’ing; I ain’ told nobody before. Not
yet. But Sherry is married to a gal yonder up-North.
She might not be willin’ to come to Blue Brook.’’
Joy’s body stiffened, her eyes widened, her arms fell
to her sides, but the others laughed and joked over the
news until their voices ran into an excited chorus.
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BLACK APRIL
‘‘Write Sherry to bring dat gal on home!’’
‘‘Lawd, dat news sho’ do surprise me!”’
“link o’ Sherry takin’ a wife in dat strange
country !’’
‘‘Lawd, dat boy done fast work! Jedus!”’
‘‘Who’s gwine help Sherry pizen de cotton if he do
comet’’ Zeda was in earnest.
** All 0’ we!”’
** All de mens!’’
‘Sho’! Ev’ybody’ll help em!’’
Zeda bowed. That settled it. She’d get Joy to write
a letter to send off by the next mail.
The crowd felt such relief, they broke into gay
laughter. Merry jokes were cracked. The boll-weevils
were left in the field. Sherry would fix them.
The people all turned home. In groups of three or
four they talked and laughed boisterously, boasting
what a good crop would be made this year. The cotton
plants were strong. Able. The grass well-nigh killed
out. Poisoning would do the rest.
Every trace of down-heartedness was gone. Dis-
couragement forgotten. Sherry would come back and
kill all the boll-weevils. Blue Brook would roll in money
next fall.
Joy plodded home, stopping at times as if she didn’t
see the path clearly. Once or twice she stumbled. The
whole way, she stayed mute. At April’s house she
stopped, but instead of going in, said to Breeze:
“I’m gwine an’ ax Ma to let you come stay wid me.
I want you to mind my baby. Brudge an’ dem other
chillen is so awful careless wid em. You'll come, if Ma
says so, enty?’’
Breeze opened his mouth twice to answer before he
got to speak out loud enough for her to hear,
“*Sho’, I’ll come, Joy.’’
[286]
XIX
AT APRIL’S HOUSE
’
Tue first night Breeze spent in April’s cabin was a
bad one, although he slept in the same room with Joy
and her baby.
_ Joy wrote to Sherry for Zeda that same afternoon,
and when she mailed the letter she bought some sweet
animal crackers from the store for supper. She had
a good supper. She pressed them all to eat a-plenty, and
when they were done, she bustled about briskly, washing
dishes, straightening things; but she had nothing to say
to a soul. What was she thinking about, to stay so
silent?
She and Breeze and Leah’s children sat by the fire
for a while. It burned low and dim, for the night was
too hot to keep it bright. Nobody talked. Now and
then one of the flies sleeping on the newspapered wall
roused and buzzed. The leaves on the trees outside
made a timorous noise. Brudge darted glances at
Breeze and cleared his throat again and again, but
everybody was polite
One by one they went off to bed until only Joy and
Breeze were left. She got up.
‘Come on, Breeze. Le’s go to bed. Me an’ you an’
de baby, we stays in here.’’
Breeze slept on a cot in the corner of the room and
Joy in the bed where Leah’s dead body had been.
Where was Leah now? Breeze gazed at the dark. He
could hear things moving about in the yard. Something
[287]
| j
q
&
‘fumbled at the door. The latch rattled. The steps —
ereaked. Somewhere in the distance a dog howled. Joy’s —
little baby cried out, but she patted it and sang softly: —
BLACK APRIL
‘“Bye, baby buntin’
Daddy’s gone to de cow-pen
To git some milk fo’ de baby.
Go to sleep.’’ °
Breeze lay open-eyed. Restless. The cabin was
stifling hot. Fear had him sweating.
When the long night, baked with heat, passed into
a warm, dewy morning, the baby woke and Breeze took
him to see the men pass with the mules and plows on
their way to the corn-field, then to watch Leah’s children
and Joy stick sweet-potato euttings into the ground.
Time went slowly. If one morning could be long as
this, when would those cuttings ever make a crop? The
baby’s weight burdened his arms. His shoulders ached.
He’d go sit on the step and sing it to sleep, then he’d
rest. ‘‘Bye an’ bye, when de mawnin’ comes!’’ Breeze
sang, and the baby’s eyelids drooped. ‘‘Bye an’ bye,
when we’s gathered home!’’ The eyelids closed down
tight. ‘We'll t-e-l-l de story! H-o-w we over-come,’’
Breeze sang it softly, the baby was ready to ease down
on the bed. His tired arms could rest a while. He
might take a nap himself.
The day was so quiet when he sat on the step again
and leaned his head back against the door-facing that
the old tree, bending its head across the yard toward
the cabin, whispered every time a breath of air stirred
it. A wood-pecker’s tapping made a tumult of sound.
The twitterings of a pair of wrens with a nest in a knot
[288]
Seat ate oy
ALT APERLICS HOU SE
hole under the eaves made a distinct clamor. Drowsi-
ness glazed Breeze’s eyes, stopped up his ears. The
morning flowed on by.
When the noon bell rang he jumped, awake, with
the bare shadow of a gasp. Then he remembered he was
living with Joy, not Big Sue, and he stretched his mouth
ina lazy yawn. .
The Quarters soon bustled with people coming in.
from the fields. The women, first, with hoes on their
shoulders, then the men. Hens cackled, telling of eggs
they’d just laid. Ducks quacked. Pigeons wheeled in
low circles.
Joy arrived ahead of the children, her arms droop-
ing, her steps lax and careless, her eyes noting naught
around her, not even Breeze, who got up to let ‘her pass.
Then something on his head made her heed. ‘‘ Wha’ dat
on you’ head, Breeze? Who put em dere? Great Gawd,
Breeze whe’ you been?’’
Breeze put up a seared hand and felt all over his
head. There was nothing so far as he could tell. ‘‘ Wha’
e is, Joy? I ain’ feel nothin’.”’
“‘Looka!’’ Joy lifted a white horse hair and held it
in front of his eyes. ‘‘Take em an’ drown em, Breeze.
Drown em quick. I bet Brudge done dis. De scoun-
drel! Brudge is tryin’ to scare you. Dat’s all. He
can’ do you nothin’. No. Brudge don’ know how to
cunjure nobody. But you go chunk dis in de Blue
Brook anyhow. Tie em on a rock an’ chunk em far in
as you kin. But don’ le’ Brudge know you done it.’’
Breeze writhed with cold fear. That short white
horse hair was a burden to his shaking fingers. He
shifted it from one hand to the other, until he reached
the Blue Brook’s bank. When a lizard scurried under
a log to hide, its light rustling made Breeze almost drop
his load. But he found a pebble, twined the hair around
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BLACK APRIL
it, and after looking all around to be sure nobody saw,
he cast it into the water.
- As it fell with a light plop a giggle broke in the still-
ness. Breeze’s blood turned hot with fury. If Brudge
had dared to follow him, watch him, laugh at him, he’d
get a stick, a rock, something that could kill, and kill
the scoundrel. -
His eyes searched the surroundings, but nothing was
at hand. Festoons of trailing moss floated from the
limbs of the enormous live-oaks, making a weird canopy
over his head; a cicada chanted shrilly in a clump of
vine-tangled shrubbery; huge coiling, writhing roots
spread around great rough trunks, then dropped out of
sight, burying themselves in the earth. No weapon for
him to use was anywhere in sight. He’d hunt until he
found one. A narrow bit of a short blue skirt flickered
from behind a tree-trunk and disappeared. Emma’s!
Maybe it was she who had tricked him, not Brudge! He
stopped short with a sharp indrawn breath. He’d slip
up on her, catch her, hold her—maybe push her in the
water !
Tipping stealthily forward, he went toward the tree,
holding his breath for fear Emma might hear him and
get away. He’d make her pay for teasing him, scaring
him, making him believe somebody had put a conjure
spell on him with that white horse hair.
When Emma peeped out to see where he was, he
grabbed her by the arm so suddenly she gave a little
frightened ery.
“IT got you! Now I’m gwine drown you!’’ he
growled, but instead of pulling away, trying his
strength, her eyes filled, her mouth quivered.
“*T was jus’ playin’ wid you, Breeze—you oughtn’ to
be mad wid me—a-jerkin’ me a:
The moss waved softly overhead, the grass heads
[29e}
AT APRIL’S HOUSE
leaned sidewise in the gentle wind, two round drops of
water dreaned out of Emma’s eyes and ran down her
cheeks. They cut clean to Breeze’s heart, startling,
paining him. The small arm inside his fingers was soft
as Joy’s baby’s. He wouldn’t hurt it for the world.
“‘T ain’ mad. I’m a-playin’ wid you, too,’’ he ex-
plained.
“‘Enty?’’ Emma’s smile was so sudden, so merry,
Breeze felt confused, troubled.
The Blue Brook trickled on with a soothing purl, its
surface shimmering as the wind stirred it into rolling
ripples. Roses and honeysuckles added fragrance to the
stench of decaying leaves and wood. A deep stillness
began spinning a web over them all.
‘“Oh—Breeze!’’ Joy was calling.
““EKe—oo! I’m a-comin’!’’ He answered, and
Emma was gone.
Joy sent him to the post-office, and when he came
back with a letter, she snatched it out of his hand, but
it was from the hospital and said April was improving.
He’d soon come home, and he sent messages to all his
friends. He craved to see them.
Dewberries were ripe, wild plums reddening, may-
pop vines had the roadsides purple with bloom. The
day drowsed with heat, the rice-fields smelled sweaty,
the sun, half-way between noon and sunset, drew out
perfume from the grass and flowers.
Breeze was in the pasture picking berries for supper
when the boat whistle made a long extra blow for the
landing. He stood up and held his breath to listen, for
he knew something unusual had happened. It wasn’t
long before Brudge came in sight, waving his arms and
shouting, ‘‘Sherry’s come! De boat fetched em just
now!’’
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BLACK APRIL
Breeze sprang up in such haste, he spilled every
berry in the bucket and had to stop and pick them up.
“How do e look, Brudge?”’
Brudge made a face. ‘‘E look ugly as ever to me.’”
“‘T got a good mind to choke you,’’ Breeze threat-
ened.
‘“‘Come on an’ choke! Ill mash you’ goosle flat!
Wid one hand! Ha! Ha!”’
Burning with hate for Brudge and joy over Sherry’s
coming, Breeze flew home by a short-cut. Joy sat on
the steps, feeding her baby, but it was plain she knew
Sherry had come, for her words halted so she could
hardly speak, and her eyes were wide and bright.
‘‘Sherry’s come!’’ Breeze panted, all out of breath.
‘‘T’m gwine to see em.’’ She stroked her baby’s fat
little legs, then clasped both small feet together.
‘“Tell em—tell em No, don’ tell em nothin’. I'll
go tell em myself.”’
She laid the baby face down across her lap and began
unfastening him in the back. ‘‘Go git me some lean
clothes fo’ em befo’ you go.”’
She leaned quickly and kissed the back of the: tiny
neck where the head joined the plump body, leaving a
hollow shaped just right for her mouth.
She slipped his one garment off his soft rolly body,
slipped the clean one on over his head, laughing at the ~
way his head wabbled, then suddenly cuddled him close
in her arms. She held him so tight, his restless arms and
legs squirmed to get loose.
Breeze hurried to Zeda’s cabin so fast he had no
wind left to tell Sherry how glad he was to see him.
Sherry gave him a hand-shake, then a mighty hug that
squeezed Breeze into a happy laugh.
‘‘Lawd, boy, you is growed! How’s Clara? Did e
kick you yet?’’
[292]
er
AT APRIL’S HOUSE
‘Breeze could do nothing but grin. How much bigger
Sherry looked! How much finer! He was a town man
now, with shoes and cravat and a white straw hat, and
presents for everybody. Breeze was so happy blowing
his new mouth-organ he didn’t see Joy until she asked,
‘*You don’ know me, Sherry? Is I changed dat much?”’
Her words shook, her smile trembled.
*‘No, Joy, you ain’ so changed. No—— But I didn’
know you had a bab x
“‘Sho’ Lis. Look at em. Ain’ e de fines’ t’ing you
ever see? E kin ’most talk, enty, Breeze?’’
Breeze could hardly take his eyes off Sherry long
enough to answer her, but the baby cooed and his wabbly
head bobbed back and forth against Joy’s arm. His
toes stretched out in the hot sunshine, and both tiny
balled-up fists tried to thrust themselves into his small
drippy mouth. He gnawed at them, then let them go, and
a disappointed wail suddenly wrinkled up his small face
and made it so funny-looking, even Sherry had to laugh.
‘“Wha’ e name, Joy?’’
“EH name Try-em-an-see, but I calls him Tramsee fo’
short.’’
‘‘Whe’ you git dat name?’’
‘‘Maum Hannah helped me to make em up. It’s a
lucky one, too.’’ Joy turned away suddenly, and her
full short gingham skirt twirled about her thin legs.
They were bare and matched her small wiry body well,
and her face had been greased until its black skin shone
hard with glints of blue in the sun. Her ripe breasts
strutted full under her tight-fitting dress. Her bare
head had its wool wrapped into tight cords with white
ball thread. She looked very different from the stylish
town-dressed Joy who came home just before Christmas.
No wonder Sherry stared at her.
All her town airs were gone. She was as countrified
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BLACK APRIL
as Zeda. Sherry gazed at her so hard, Joy dropped her
eyes. Her lips twitched and the hollows at the corners
of her full mouth deepened.
“‘I’m sho’ glad you come home, Sherry. Whyn’
you bring you’ wife?”’
The slim fingers of one hand plucked at a button on
the back of the baby’s dress. Her voice, raised and
strengthened, sounded clear and hard.
‘““E wouldn’ come South, Joy. But I thought you
had mo’ sense dan to go take Leah’s husband. You’d
sleep in dat house fo’ Leah to hant you? You kin rest
dere?”’
Joy’s eyes flickered and shifted in a side-glance
toward him, then beyond him, where trees fringing the
rice-fields shimmered blue like trees in a dream.
‘‘Sho’, I kin rest dere. April’s a fine man, Sherry.
E treat me white too. I wish to Gawd e didn’ got
sick. De crop has been a-needin’ him bad.”’
‘Whe’ e is now?’’ Sherry’s eyes were cloudy, his
voice dull.
‘To de horspital.’’
The china-berry tree full of purple blossoms cast a
pool of hot shade at Joy’s feet. Reddish scions, sprung
up around the root of the crépe myrtle, gave out a sickly
scent as Sherry’s restless feet trampled and bruised
them. The yellow afternoon glare stressed a stern look
in his eyes and marked a swift-beating pulse that
throbbed with tiny strokes in a vein of his thick strong
neck,
It was a relief to hear Joy say coolly, ‘‘ April’ll be
glad you’s come. De boll-evil is swarmin’ in de eotton.”’
And Sherry answered, ‘‘I’m glad to git back, Joy.
Yonder up-North ain’ like home.”’
‘‘Stay an’ eat supper wid us, Joy. You an’ Breeze
all two,’’ Zeda invited cordially.
[294]
AT APRIL’S HOUSE
Breeze looked at Joy and waited for her answer.
‘You stay, Breeze,’’ she said. ‘‘But don’ stay late.’’
And she walked on home to April’s cabin.
Sherry slept a good part of each day, but at night
the big poison machine hummed over the cotton-fields,
puffing out clouds of white poison dust until every stalk
was covered, every leaf silvery. The dry weather was
a help. No rain came to wash the poison off. Plows
kept the middles of the rows stirred and the fallen
squares buried. After a week’s rest the poison machine
ran all night again. The cotton throve. The stifling
nights were perfumed with the honey of cotton blooms.
Already bolls were showing, some as large as hickory
nuts! April himself could have managed no better
than Sherry.
Joy bustled about working hard all day, but she
sang at her work and night found her unwearied.
Brudge got more and more sullen and surly. He was
often impudent to Joy, but she paid him no attention.
One night when the supper things were washed and put
away she slipped out of the door and walked off in the
darkness alone. When the others had gone to bed
Brudge barred all the doors so she couldn’t get in. As
if she were not April’s wife and the mistress of the
house. But even then she laughed and treated it as a
joke.
The next day her baby lay on the bed sleeping.
Brudge walked up and looked at it and called it an ugly
name. Joy heard and before Brudge had time to catch
his breath, she grabbed him and gave him such a beating
he yelled for mercy.
After that Brudge spied on her all the time, even
jumping out of bed to see if anybody came home with
her at night. And Joy drove him to his work every day
as if he were a lazy mule. They quarreled constantly.
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BLACK APRIL
The cabin became a wretched place to Breeze, except
those times when Joy sat on the steps in the dusk and
talked to him and told him how much she thought of
him and of the help he had been to her.
With her face wreathed in smiles and her eyes bright
with gladness, she’d look up at the stars shining through
the tree-tops and Breeze would hold his breath and listen
at her voice and sigh with love of her, and forget that
life was ever painful or burdensome.
One night Sherry walked home from meeting with
Joy, but when they reached April’s house she didn’t
ask him in. He stood by the step and rolled a cigarette,
lit it and walked away. Brudge watched him with eyes
full of cunning and when he was out of hearing laughed:
‘‘Sherry t’inks he’s somebody. My Gawd!’’
‘‘Sherry is somebody,’’ Breeze defended. ‘‘Sherry
is de foreman now.’’
‘You wait till Pa gits home. You'll see who de
foreman is den. Me an’ Uncle Bill is gwine to town to
git Pa befo’ long. I bet a lot o’ t’ings’ll change den.
You'll see it too.’
The moon glittered thin and sharp in the sky.
Crickets chirruped. Katydids droned long shrill eries.
A whip-poor-will called and called. Breeze was so
fretted that he forgot Joy sat on the step beside him.
He jumped when she spoke, although she spoke quietly:
‘‘Sherry an’ Uncle Bill is gwine to town on de boat
to fetch Cun April home. You is not gwine, Brudge.’’
Joy’s voice was husky, perhaps from the dew or from
singing so long at meeting. Brudge made no answer,
but in a little while he got up and slunk off to bed with-
out even saying good night.
The people met the boat to weleome April home just
as they met it when he brought Joy, a bride. All ex-
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AT APRIL’S HOUSE
cept Joy herself. She stayed to have everything ready
for him at the house. She knew he’d be hungry and
the soup must be kept hot, the chicken nice and tender
but not too done. Unwatched rice is easy to scorch.
And besides, the chicken’s raw heart had already mys-
teriously disappeared! Out of the pan! After she had
washed it and salted it! She told Breeze this in a
whisper.
Sherry picked April up in his arms and brought him
ashore. April was not much longer than Joy’s baby,
now, and tears poured down his cheeks, but he seemed
not to eare at all who saw them. Lord, he was so glad
to get home! There was no place like Blue Brook!
The close-packed crowd listened, motionless and
hushed, for April’s voice was low and broken and his
words like somebody else speaking. Lord, how the man
was changed! His lean body with its broad bony shoul-
ders and long thin arms was a shocking sight. No
matter what wrongs he had done, he had been punished
enough. More than enough! Uneasy and curious, but
filled with respect, they pressed around him. They fed
their eyes on his terrible plight. April was no longer a
man. Poor soul! God’s hand had fallen hard, heavy,
upon him.
A grave silence held most of them, but April, so full
of joy at getting home again, called out cordial greet-
ings to every one of them by name. He was so glad to
hear the crops were good, so glad Sherry was back, so
glad for the dry weather.
When he paused to take breath, their sorrowful pity-
ing words fell: ‘‘Do, Jedus!’’ ‘‘I too sorry fo’ em!’’
‘““My Gawd!’’ ‘‘T ain’ never see sich a t’ing!”’
Breeze’s heart shrank smaller until it felt no larger
than the heart of a mouse in his breast. Old Louder
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BLACK APRIL
gave a long sad howl. The birds sang no more. The~
sun in the west hid under a dark drab cloud.
April was the only cheerful person in the whole
crowd.
‘“‘How yunnuh likes Sherry fo’ de foreman?t’’ he
asked brightly.
No answer came at first, then Jake cleared his throat
an@ spoke out:
‘‘Sherry does de best e kin, but e ain’ got no time
wil you, April. No.’’
Then many other answers chimed in, ‘‘Shucks, no-
body livin’ could make de foreman you was!”’
‘‘Dat’s de Gawd’s truth!’’ Sherry’s voice praising
April as loud as any.
Uncle Isaac had Julia hitched to Uncle Bill’s buggy
to take April home, and when the old mule became ter-
rified at the boat’s whistle, April laughed at the beast’s
lack of sense. Poor Julia! So old and so foolish!
Breeze had never realized how much April loved
averybody. ‘‘How all o’ yunnuh do?”’ he asked affee-
tionately. ‘‘How’s all home?’’ He had to choke back a
sob as he looked into their serious faces.
Sherry put him on the buggy seat beside Uncle Isaae,
who held the reins, but April couldn’t keep his balance,
and Uncle Bill had to get in and hold him steady.
April excused himself by saying he was weak and
nervish from lying flat down on his back so long. A
bed draws a man’s strength in a hurry. Even a chair
will do it.
Over and over he said how good everything looked.
He breathed deep of the smell of the woods full of bay-
blossoms. The splash of Julia’s feet in the shallow
branch made the water come into his eyes. Everybody
who walked alongside the buggy could see it.
When they got in sight of the barnyard, Julia broke
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AT APRIL’S HOUSE
into a trot. It was her supper time and she was in a
hurry to eat. April laughed at her sudden willingness
to go. ‘‘No, Julia. You can’ stop at de barnyard, not
dis time. You got to pull me home. You don’ know I
can’ walk, enty?’’ But his voice broke, and Uncle Bill
began telling about the crop, how fine it was, how loaded
with fruit. When he got stronger, April must take
Julia and the buggy and ride everywhere. Sherry did
very well, but he was young and needed advice about a
Jot of things.
Joy and Leah’s little children stood waiting out in
front of the cabin to meet him. A quiet awed group.
April was the only one who felt at ease.
“‘How you do, honey?’’ he said gently to Joy, who
eame forward first, but she looked uncertain what to do
or say. ‘‘I reckon I is look strange to yunnuh. But I’m
thankful to git home widout comin’ nailed up in a box.’’
The children huddled together watching April as if
he were a perfect stranger.
““Come speak to you Pa, chillen,’’ Joy bade them,
and they came forward slowly, shyly. Brudge snuffled
and sobbed right out loud, so moved was he, but one of
the littlest boys looked at his father’s shortened body
and giggled. Joy grabbed his shoulder and shook him
soundly and sent him behind the house, just as she did
when he laughed at April months ago.
‘‘E don’ mean nothin’, April. E ain’ got so much
sense. E’d laugh if e was a-dyin’ himself. His mammy
must ’a’ marked him so.’’
Joy spoke kindly, but April’s face changed. THis
mouth quivered; a strange weary look wrung all the life
out of his eyes. His own child had made sport of him.
Laughed at his shame. The last time it happened he
had reared and pitched, but this time his bosom heaved
and he wiped his eyes with his sleeve.
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BLACK APRIL
Joy helped Sherry to take him inside the cabin and
lay him on a bed in the shed-room. It did look inviting.
The feather mattress was puffed up high and covered
with a clean white spread. April sighed deeply as he
sank in its soft depths, and he closed his eyes in enjoy-
ment.
His head was too low to see well, and he asked Joy
to get him another pillow. She looked at the long empty
trousers that twisted about foolishly over the white
counterpane. April whispered to her that she’d have
to cut them off shorter for him, or. pin them back. Joy
didn’t answer, but she got a quilt from another bed.
When April saw what she was going to do, he protested
that it was too hot to lie under a quilt. But something
he saw in Joy’s eyes made him change his mind, and he
let her cover him up.
Big Sue came to see if there was anything she could
do for April’s comfort. She spoke kindly to Joy and told
Breeze he looked well and grew fast. April hardly heard
Big Sue’s offer, for his friends had crowded into the
room and ealled to him from the open windows. They
meant to be kind, still no one of them could conceal
astonishment and horror that April had no feet, no legs,
at all. There were gentle murmurs of:
‘God bless you, son, how’s you gwine do widout
legs?’’
‘‘T’m sho’ glad you lived to git home, but what’s you
gwine to do?’’
April’s pleasure at being home was somehow chilled.
He kept saying he thought two or three times he’d never
see them again and he had to pull hard to do it, but
his cheerful tone had faded into gloominess.
Uncle Bill suggested that the people had better leave.
April had had a long trip. He was tired. He had been
very weak. He wasn’t strong enough to stand much
[800]
ATTAPRIIAS HOC SE
excitement. They were all good-mannered about it.
They passed out of the door with little to say, and their
tones were subdued when they spoke.
When the last one had gone, April burst out crying.
He held Uncle Bill’s hands and blubbered out he was
nothing but a baby! He had no manhood left at all!
He couldn’t even stand kindness! Everything made
him ery! Everything!
Joy came back into the room and stood by the bed
and looked down at him and he reached up a long arm
and took her hand uncertainly and called her by name.
No eyes were ever more appealing, no voice in the whole
world ever plead for tenderness as April’s did then.
**Joy, you don’ mind me bein’ dis way, enty? I’m
gwine git wood legs befo’ long.’’
Joy stood silent, a shudder ran through her, her
fingers lay imp in April’s. April groaned and let her
hand go.
Then Joy tried to smile bravely and say she didn’t
mind. She had fretted herself half to death about him
and now she was happy because he had come. But it
was too late. She couldn’t fool April. He had seen
how she felt; and he drew away from her as from a
stranger,
She turned and went briskly out of the room, and
April turned his face to the wall. His thin breast lifted,
while one deep bitter sob after another shook him. He
had fought a long hard fight with Death, and now he
was sorry he had won! If he had known how things
would be, how Joy would feel, he would have given up,
but it was the thought of Joy that made him try to live.
April stayed on the bed in the shed-room day after
day, looking out over the rice-fields where the tides rose
and fell. Breeze’s work was changed from minding
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BLACK APRIL
Joy’s baby to staying with April, keeping the flies off
him, handing him water to drink.
Few plantation sounds could reach this shed-room at
the back of the cabin and when staying by April became
unbearable, Breeze would go outside and walk as far as
the water’s edge, or stand by the window watching
eranes and kingfishers. One old bald eagle spent much
of his time on a branch of an old dead tree and when a
fishhawk dived and got a fish the eagle took it from him.
April complained little. Once, when the night was
damp and the sound of the poison machine louder than
usual he got very restless. He said it was hard to lie
helpless. Without legs. Flat on his back. Most of the
time alone. While another man took his place. But
except for sighs and a few moans, that was all.
At first the people on the place came often to see
him. They brought him things to eat. A chicken, a few
eggs tied up in a cloth, a bottle of molasses, whatever
they had that they thought he might enjoy. Occa-
sionally some friend put a piece of money in his hand.
But his persistent low-spiritedness and down-heartedness
did not encourage them to come back. Soon they
stopped only long enough by his window to say, ‘‘ How
you do to-day, April?’’ or ‘‘Tlow you feelin’?’’ as they
passed by, with troubled glances.
Uncle Bill was the exception. He came very often
and he’d sit and listen as long as April wanted to talk
about his weariness or his misery.
April never grew tired of telling over and over his
experiences at the hospital. About the nurses and doc-
tors, their kindness to him and interest in him. How he
had fought through the long dark nights with pain. At
first it was a steady fight, then after a while the pain
came in showers. But he had thought out many things.
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AT APRIL’S HOUSE
He’d learned that every man has to bear his suffering
alone. He realized that the doctors could not help him.
Neither could his children, nor any friend. He had to go
the whole way through by himself—to the very end.
When April first came home, Joy stayed with him
every night, then she began going to parties and birth-
night suppers once in a while, and finally, every night
as soon as the supper was over and the dishes washed
and put away, she’d tip quietly down the steps and go.
Without a word.
- April said little about it. Nothing to Joy herself.
What was the use? What was he? Just half a man,
that was all. He had no right to expect Joy to stay
always at home with him. Breeze was always there to
mind the flies or give him a drink of water, or tie a
collard leaf on his aching head.
Joy shirked no household duty. She had learned
to cook almost as well as her mother. He had no cause
to complain of the food she gave him. It was well sea-
soned enough for those who had appetites to eat.
Joy was young. She had to pleasure herself. He
hadn’t the heart to forbid it. And nobody could say
she was a gad-about. She kept the house clean, the
- clothes washed and patched, and she did her full share
of the field work too.
April talked fairly enough to Maum Hannah and
Uncle Bill and Zeda, even to Big Sue, who came to see
him once in a while. But all of them could see that
- jealousy was disturbing him, making him fretful and
suspicious.
Hour after hour he stared doggedly out of the win-
dow, moaning, sighing, wishing he could go to sleep and
never wake up. His gloom filled the whole cabin.
Breeze could hardly bear to stay with him, and Uncle
Bill came in as often as he could spare the time.
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BLACK APRIL
One night Uncle Bill begged April to pray. It was
the only way to find peace, to be satisfied. If he would
do like Jacob, and give God no rest day or night until
he had some sign his prayers were heard, his whole
heart would be changed and filled with rejoicing.
April answered that he had lost faith in God’s fair-
ness. What had he ever done to make God deal with
him so? Would any decent man on the plantation treat
a dog any worse than God had treated him? Or suffer
a worm as much?
Uncle Bill admitted God had Jaid a heavy hand on
April. Had smitten him hard, but if April’s suffering
would make him pray, and save his soul from ever-
lasting torment, then all suffering would be gain. Pure
gain.
Joy had a Bible and Uncle Bill could read well
enough to teach April to spell out a few verses. At
first he learned a few of them by heart, then he strove
to learn how to find the right place in the Bible and to
read them there. ‘‘The Lord is my Shepherd’’ was the
first one he located. It was the easiest of all to find and
learn. Next he learned ‘‘In my Father’s house are
many mansions.’”
Sometimes Uncle Bill read a whole chapter to him,
but it was a hard task for them both, labored work for
Unele Bill to read and for April to understand.
The one April liked best was ‘‘ Behold, He that keep-
eth Israel shall neither slumber nor sleep.”’
Breeze wondered who Israel was and who kept him,
but he durst not ask.
One day Unele Bill stumbled on this verse: ‘‘As a
man chaster:eth his son, so the Lord thy God chasteneth
thee.’’? The words were scarcely spoken before April
put up a hand.
‘‘Don’ read dat one, Uncle. E’s done me too bad.
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AT APRIL’S HOUSE
E ain’ treat me fair. Looks like E ought to let up on
me. E done suffer me so long si
April turned his face toward the window to hide
the tears that poured out of his eyes, and there was
Sherry in full view, riding the sorrel colt and holding
Joy’s baby in his arms!
April’s face went a ghastly gray, his moist features
shriveled. Tremors shook the muscles in his jaws, but he
said nothing.
Uncle Bill stroked out the fingers of one long, blue-
nailed hand, but they curled back into the palm as soon
as they were released.
*“You must be gittin’ a chill, April.’’ Uncle Bill’s
eyes were full of fear. ‘‘How ’bout a mustard plaster
on you’ back?’’
‘‘Nemmine, Uncle. Nemmine,’’ Apri! chattered.
As the dusk fell Zeda came to inquire about April,
but she found him shaking as with ague. He said he was
cold through and through and his insides felt wrung
and twisted. The very heart in his breast ached sorely.
Zeda said if April had a chill Joy had better give
bim some red-pepper tea. She’d go home and make some
tea out of her own red pepper. Her pepper was strong,
hot, she had gathered it at noon on a sunshiny day.
The jangle of a cow bell broke through the still night.
On and on it rang, saying it was meeting night. Uncle
Bill had promised to lead, and when he got up to go, Joy
suggested that Breeze go along with him. Not that
Breeze cared especially for the singing and praying, but
anything for a change would do him good.
Maum Hannah’s house was crammed. Half the
people had to stand outside, and heads crowded the
windows so not a breath of air could come in or go out.
The night was stifling hot and sweat trickled down Uncle
Bill’s forehead as he read the Bible by the dim smelly
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BLACK APRIL
flame of the smoky lamp. He read about a man named
Jonah who sinned, and a great whale in the sea
swallowed him whole! God sent the whale to get him!
Unele Bill closed the book when the chapter was
ended and talked slowly, sorrowiully, about the sin that
prevailed on the plantation. The people bickered with
one another instead of living in love and charity. In-
stead of praying for each other, they spent good money
for charms to conjure one another. They danced and
sang reels instead of shouting and singing spirituals
and hymns. Unless they changed, ‘no telling what would
happen! God-is patient. Long-suffering. He gives
men every chance to get saved. But they had over-
looked every warning. They had forgotten that the jaws
of Hell were stretched wide that very minute, craving to
swallow every soul in that room just as the whale
swallowed Jonah. Jonah got out of the whale after
three days, but no man ever gets out of Hell. Sinners
spend eternity burning in fire and brimstone.
Why not give up sin? Why not trust in Jesus in-
stead of putting fresh stripes on His bleeding wounds?
Every sin cut Him to the quick! Not only the sins of
grown men and women, but the sins of little children.
Jesus was crucified over and over again by the sins of
people right on Blue Brook Plantation. And yet He
had died on the cross to save them from that awful place
where there was nothing but weeping and wailing and
gnashing of teeth!
The members moaned and groaned until Maum
Hannah lead the spiritual, ‘‘God sent Jonah to Nineveh
Land, Jonah disobeyed his Lord’s command.’’
The congregation sang answers in a solemn refrain.
Verse by verse the whole story of Jonah’s awful
punishment was told.
Breeze had never heard it before and he shuddered
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AT APRIL’S HOUSE
from head to foot with horror and pity for poor Jonah.
God seemed as cruel and awful as the Devil. Between
the two, there was small chance for any safety. Poor
Jonah! Poor April! Poor Breeze!
On the way home through the night he held to Uncle
Bill’s hand so tight that Uncle Bill asked what was the
matter. Breeze admitted he was afraid. Afraid of the
dark, of God, of the Devil, of everything, especially
while it was night.
**De spirit is strivin’ in you’ heart, son. Strivin’ to
eonvict you of sin. You start prayin’ to-night. Soon
as you git home. Rassle wid God. ‘To-morrow, you
go off by you’self in de woods. Wallow on de
ground an’ pray. Don’ rest, not till you done found
peace, so you won’ never be ’fraid no mo’. I'll
come stay wid April to-morrow whilst you seek salva-
tion. Start to-night, son. Pray hard as you kin. Ax
Gawd to le’ you be born again. You is a human chile
now, subject to sin an’ death an’ hell. When you’s
born again, you'll be Gawd’s chile. Free! Nobody
can’ touch you or either harm you. Nobody!”’
The cabin was dark and silent. Joy opened the door
and whispered that April was asleep. Uncle Bill
whispered back he’d come next day and stay with April.
Breeze was going to start seeking.
‘‘Brudge come in just now an’ said he was gwine
seek too.’’
‘‘Well, I declare! Dat is de best news I heared
lately! De sperit is workin’ fast to-night.’’
Joy put the door-bar in place and Breeze went to
bed. As soon as he crawled under the covers he tried
to begin his praying for the dread of Hell racked him
as bitterly as the fear of God. A round spot of moon-
light fallen through a hole in the roof made an eye on the
floor. A round, shining eye, that stared at him, winkless.
[307]
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SEEKING
Ir was early dawn when Joy woke him. He must
get up and fetch plenty of water,.and cut some wood.
By that time Uncle Bill would be here to stay with April
and he could go to the woods and seek.
Breeze sat up and rubbed his eyes and tried to listen,
but it was all he could do to keep from sinking back deep
under the covers and pulling them over his head. He
didn’t want to seek, he’d a thousand times rather sleep.
But April spoke:
“‘Git up, Breeze! You don’ hear Joy talkin’ to
you!’’ And Breeze opened his heavy eyes and sprang
to his feet. He dressed, then put his bed in order, and
went at his work. By the time it was done, Uncle Bill
had come, and he was set free to pray.
Cocks were crowing, birds chirping, crows eawing.
Unele Bill said they were saying their morning prayers.
Breeze must listen how earnestly they did it, and learn
how to pray just as hard.
Everything out-of-doors was silvery with dew, and
the early sun gave the earth a mysterious radiance that
dazzled Breeze’s drowsy eyes as he dragged himself
slowly along. The woods looked far away. In the
distance their hazy darkness blent into the sky. The
path to the corn-field was shorter, and it led toward the
sunshine, whose warm yellow light drew every flower
face toward it.
He reached the corn-field before the morning dew
[308]
6s Dian, at atk ooh yea emncicehiillle
SEEKING
was dry. The black furrows between the tall green rip-
pling blades felt cool and damp. As a light breeze
blew, the corn rustled and waved and the silks added
their perfume to the fruity blossomy fragrance in the
air.
Breeze sat down on the ground and looked up at the
sky overhead, pondering. He couldn’t remember his
sins. He hated Brudge, but that couldn’t be sinful,
mean as Brudge was. Anybody who knew Brudge
would hate him.
““Oh, Lawd,’’ he began, then halted. If he knew
how to pray it would be easier. Where was Jesus? How
could he make Jesus hear him? The blue sky where
Heaven was looked high and far and empty.
Getting on his knees Breeze closed his eyes and re-
peated the words of Uncle Bill’s prayer as nearly as he
could remember. Over and over he said them, until in
spite of all his striving to keep awake, the stillness over-
eame him and he fell into a gentle doze. Something
tickled his nose, then crawled across his lips. He
jumped, hit at the pest, a straw. The sun’s midday
light was a hard hot glare; the black shadows short.
Emma stood over him, her white teeth shining in a
broad grin that vexed him bitterly, a wisp of dry grass
in her fingers.
“‘How you duh sleep! You ain’ gwine pray?’’
Emma giggled as she asked it.
Breeze rubbed his eyes and looked all around. He
hated being caught, and Emma had no business tickling
his face while he slept. Stung to the quick with shame
and vexation, he snapped out angrily:
‘‘How come you duh grin like a chessy-cat? Who
you duh laugh at so frightenin’?’’
His ill.humor sobered her and she made haste to
explain, ‘‘I ain’ laughin’ at you. I’m a-laughin’ at
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_
BLACK APRIL
Brudge. Brudge is done found peace in dem woods back
o’ we house. Lawd, e hollered so loud, I thought sho’
e had got in a yellow-jacket’s nest! Jedus, you ought
to heared em!’’ Emma’s laugh rippled out and shook
her slim shoulders so that the beads Joy had given her
chinked merrily against the hot black skin of her little
black neck. Her three-cornered face glowed with fun,
her slanting eyes sparkled as they met Breeze’s, but he
shrugged disdainfully. ‘‘I know dat ain’ so. Brudge
didn’ start seekin’, not till dis mawnin’. E couldn’ find
peace, not dat quick. You can’ fool me. Shucks!’’
“‘T am’ tryin’ to fool you. Gramma made me go
see wha dat was ail Brudge, made em squall an’ holler
so loud.’? Emma’s face had got serious, her teasing
eyes grave.
In spite of the too-big, ugly dress she wore and the
long awkward sleeves that hung over her small hands,
the child had a half-wild grace and lightness, and as she
knelt down in the soft dusty furrow and one hand crept
out from the folds of her dress toward Breeze, he
grabbed it and held it before it could draw back.
‘“Breeze——’’ her husky little voice made his name a
new thing. He could feel a smile twitch at his mouth.
“‘Breeze—if you’d find peace, you wouldn’ be scared to
git baptized?’’
Breeze knelt beside her and he glowed, all on fire
with courage now. ‘‘Whot Me? Lawd, I ain’ scared
o’ nothin’. Not nothin’!’’
Emma’s eyes widened with wonder and respect for
his boasting. ‘‘You ain’ seared 0’ nothin’ in de world ?’’
Breeze turned his head and spat far away like a
grown-up man. ‘‘Not nothin’ in de world.’’
Breaths of hot air drove the clouds along over their
heads. A grasshopper played shrill faint music, a dove
mourned softly, the corn blades rustled gently,
[310]
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SEEKING
Breeze dropped her hand and grasped her thin
shoulders, but she tore herself from his hold with a
breathless laugh. Then he caught her arm, but she was
stronger than he thought. The muscles in her small arm
tightened under his fingers and, wriggling herself loose,
Emma went flying down the corn row, calling back
mockingly, daringly:
“Better go on an’ pray. A witch might git you!”’
And Breeze answered boldly, his fear of God and the
Devil all forgotten,
“‘T ain’ gwine pray. No! Wait on me, Emma!
Don’ run so fast! You t’ink you kin outrun me! Good
Lawd, you can’ do dat! I’ll show you so right now!’’
At the eabin a crowd of people gathered. Breeze
could hear them babbling together, then keeping silent
while one voice rose high. There was no making out
what it said, and Breeze went as fast as he could, eager
to know what was the matter. He found Brudge telling
his experience. The boy had told it over and over until
his voice was hoarse and trembly, yet he kept on, ex-
citedly, as the people, mostly women, urged him to tell
them again what God had done for him. Brudge said he
was away off in the woods praying. Down on his knees
with his eyes wide open, looking up through the trees
at the heavens, begging God to hear him, to give him
some sign, to let him know his sins were forgiven, just
as Uncle Bill said he must do. He had been there for
an hour or two, calling on Jesus with every breath, when
all of a sudden the light cut off, just like the lights in
the Big House at night when the white folks go to
bed. Everything was pitch black dark. There was not
one sound anywhere. He thought he had died and it
seared him so he raised up and hollered loud as he could;
the light came back quick as a flash, with such a bright-
[311]
BLACK APRIL
ness he was mighty nigh blinded. All the trees over
his head began waving their arms and shouting. All
the clouds up the elements broke in half, and in the
middle of them he could see people, crowds of people
waving their arms and shouting. He jumped up and
shouted with them! He felt light as any feather! The
wind fair blew him along as he ran home to tell the
people what he had seen this morning!
“Great Gawd, what a vision dat boy did have!’’
“‘Dat’s de first time anybody on dis place ever did
see right spang into Heaven!”’
““Son, Gawd is sho’ blessed you to-day!’’
“‘It makes me pure seared to hear de boy talk!’’
“Tt sounds to me like Brudge is called to preach!’’
‘‘De Holy Sperit sho’ did knock em on de head.
Listen how de boy talks!”’
‘Now ain’ it so? Brudge must l’arn how to read
an’ write.’’
“‘Sho’! A preacher has to read readin’ an’ writin’
too.”’ :
“‘Don’ you know Leah is happy in Glory to-day!”’
The mention of Leah’s name brought pitying groans.
‘Po’ Leah. Gawd took em home too soon. Leah
ought to be here to-day.”’
Brudge’s ranting became louder, more breathless, as
he declared God had made him so strong he could lift
up a mule by himself. He would pray for April’s legs
to grow back. God would answer his prayer. The
people would soon see. April would be well.
April lay on the bed by the window, his short body
covered over with a quilt. When Breeze peeped in at
him, he threw out his long arms with an impatient
gesture that made the flies rise with a buzz.
‘*Tell Uncle Bill I say come here!’’ he ordered, then
he groaned and put his clasped hands under his head.
[312]
SEEKING
Breeze felt vaguely uneasy. He whispered to Uncle
Bill to hurry, and the old man’s feet stumbled up the
steps, for Brudge’s unexpected conversion had him
shaken and bewildered. But he steadied when April
burst out furiously, ‘‘Whyn’ you make Brudge hush
dat fool talk? Brudge’s mind ain’ never been solid, an’
now yunnuh’s gwine run em clean crazy! Tell dem
people to go on home! Brudge went to sleep in dem
woods. E ain’ seen nothin’ but a dream! No!’’
Uncle Bill patted his shoulder and tried to cool his
heat. ‘‘Brudge is just happy, son. Dat’s all. I know
ezactly how de boy feels. I felt de same way when I
found peace. You ain’ never been saved. Dat’s how
come you don’ un’erstand. Brudge is ealled to preach,
April. Sho’ as you’ born. You ought to be so t’ank-
ful!’’
‘Great Gawd!’’ April fairly bellowed. ‘‘You is
fool as Brudge! Whe’s Joy? Tell Joy to make Brudge
hush dat fuss! I can’ stand so much racket! No!’’
April’s eyes glowed fever bright and his forehead
held drops of sweat. Nobody but Uncle Bill would have
dared to cross him, and even Uncle Bill was upset.
“You mustn’ fret dis way, April. You’ll git you’
liver all hottened up. I’ll make Brudge stop talkin’, but
you mustn’ holler like a baby. People’ll t’ink you’
mind ain’ solid. Anybody else but you would be
rejoicin’!’’
The yard was soon empty, the cabin still. Only Joy
and Uncle Bill sat outside on the steps, talking in
whispers.
That night Joy went out in a blustery wind and rain,
and did not come home until late. The heavy steps that
always left stealthily came inside along with hers. Doors
creaked sharply. There were little hissing sounds like
whispers. Maybe it was the wind.
[313]
BLACK APRIL
April raised up on an elbow. Listened. Leaned
toward Joy’s room and listened. Crawling out of bed
on his long thin arms, he crept across the floor and
strained his ear against the wall between his room and ©
the room where Joy slept.
He crouched and listened but he made no sound. It
was not the wind that he heard.
Suddenly, something inside him seemed to break.
Something in his head or his breast. With a yell he
beat on the door, and tried to break it down. Then he
lost his balance and fell back on thé floor where he lay
and raved and cursed himself and Joy and God.
During the days that followed, April’s darkened
room was filled with his wild delirium. Joy sat by him
for hours at a time, brushing the flies away, wiping off
his face with a cool wet cloth, trying to hush him, to
lower his fever with the root teas Uncle Isaac brewed
for him. Outside in the heat, the trees slept, the moss
on them hung limp, the tree ferns were brown and
lifeless.
Whenever Joy flung herself down on Breeze’s straw
mattress in the corner to rest, Uncle Bill took her place,
watching, waiting for some change to come. His big
rough hands, blue at the nails and knuckles, squeezed
each other distressfully, or stroked April’s restless
fingers trying to stop their plucking, plucking, at the
cover. Coaxing them to stand still. His old ears con-
stantly listened at the window for the marsh birds to
tell him if the tide came in or went out and his eyes
were dim with pity and sorrow and love for April, who
tossed on the bed, mumbling, raving.
Sometimes April thought the mules were loose in
the fields and trampling the cotton, and cried out to
stop them! Once he thought he had swallowed Joy’s
[314]
SEEKING
fine diamond ring and it was cutting his chest to pieces.
He babbled of boll-weevils and poison and ginning the
eotton.
Uncle Bill tried to hold the weak nerveless hands, to
steady them and keep them quiet. Over and over he
prayed to God to have mercy on April, to give him back
his right senses, not to let him die out of his mind, and
at last his prayer was heard.
The night was sultry, the cabin parching hot. Joy
had broken down, panic-stricken, and she knelt on the
floor with her head on Uncle Bill’s knee. She burst into
a storm of weeping that drowned out April’s raving, but
Uncle Bill put his arms around her and took her into
another room and made her go to bed. She must sleep.
He’d wake her if he needed anything. Breeze would
sleep with one eye open and jump up the minute Uncle
Bill called him. Zeda and Jake were both coming at
the first turn of the night after midnight. Joy must
not fret and wear herself out. She’d poison her breast
milk and make her baby sick.
Midnight must have passed but dawn had not come
when April called Uncle Bill so distinctly Breeze woke
up, leaped to his feet, but Uncle Bill was at April’s bed.
“‘Unele,’’ April called again weakly, ‘‘you’s wake,
enty?’’
“‘Yes, son, I’m right ’side you.’’ Uncle Bill took
both April’s hands and held them close, while he leaned
low to hear every word the sick man spoke.
‘“‘My time’s come, Uncle. I ain’ got much
longer. ?? April’s voice climbed up, then dropped.
Uncle Bill looked up at the rafters. ‘‘Do, Jedus,
look down. Do have mercy!’’
“‘Don’ stop to pray! De time’s too short now
April’s short patience had come back, but his shortened
breath held it in sudden check.
{315}
17?
BLACK APRIL
“‘Uncle—my feets is cold—I feels death up to my
knees os
‘‘Son, you ain’ got no feets; neither knees! Is you
forgot?’’
““No, I ain’ forgot. But I feels "em—dey’s cold——
Listen, Uncle——’’
April’s sense had come back. He was in his right
mind, even if he did feel the feet and legs that had been.
gone for months. His low husky words were earnest.
**T ain’ seared to go. I’d sooner go dan stay. My
time’s out. I’m done for. I know it. I got one t’ing
to ask you. Not but one. You'll do it, enty? I couldn’
rest in my grave—if you fail me——’’
His breath cut off his words and he closed his eyes
as it came with a rattle through his teeth. Uncle Bill
called Breeze to open the window.
‘‘Open em easy, son. Don’ wake up Joy, not yet,’’
he cautioned.
**Not yet,’’? April’s whisper echoed.
Outside, the black trees sounded restless. An un-
easy pattering and rustling ran through the dry lips
of the leaves. Flying insects buzzed into the room and
beat against the walls with noisy humming wings.
Moths flew wildly about the glass lamp on the floor at
the foot of the bed. They were crazed by its smoky
yellow bitter-smelling light.
‘‘Uncle——’”’ April’s breath stifled, his eyes
widened with the strain, but he foreed his lips to twist
out the words he wanted to say.
‘Bury me in a man-size box
A man—size—box
cle Six feet—fo’!’’
The blaze in his eyes fell back, cold, dim. A long
shudder swept over him. The tide had turned.
You un’erstan’ ?—
I—been—six—feet—fo ’—Un-
THE END
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