Part 5

When she woke, the people were singing a pitiful tune. It made her cry. The words were:

“Ne-ro--my--Gawd to Dee---- Ne-ro--to Dee----”

Rose shook her by the arm, and put a hot hand over her mouth.

“How-come you duh cry, gal? Shet you’ mout’.”

But Maum Hannah leaned over and patted her and said:

“Da’s all right, Honey. You ain’ wake up good yet. Set back down on de bench.”

Missie did, but she thought of her mother and her brothers and sisters and wondered where they were and if she would ever see them again, and she sobbed on and on, until Rose said impatiently:

“Git up, gal! It time fo’ go to de baptizin’. Don’ wipe you’ dirty face on you’ dress. You gwine ruint ’em.”

She had forgotten all about her fine dress. She didn’t want to spoil that. She brushed the tears away with her bare hands and followed Rose through the steamy crowd to the churchyard where Old Mike stood waiting to take them home.

Reverend Felder and Reverend Duncan and the candidates for baptism hurried around to the back of the church where a little shed served as a dressing room. They came out dressed in long, white robes. They and the deacons and the members formed a line and marched around the church singing:

“We’re marching to Zion, the beautiful city of God.”

Maum Hannah had a painful knee that kept her from joining the marchers, though her voice chimed in with them. Missie stood holding her hand.

When the hymn was finished, the marchers stood still while Reverend Felder stepped down into the pool. Its green depths quivered. A sudden playful breeze fluttered under his robe and parted it so everybody could see his store-bought undergarments. He went waist-deep into the pool, and while the congregation sang a solemn spiritual, one of the candidates, a slim black boy, stepped doubtfully into the watery grave. His face was ashy under the white cloth tied around his head. His fingers clutched nervously at the front opening of his white robe.

“Come on, brother,” Reverend Felder exhorted him. “Soon you sin will be washed white ez snow!”

“Amen!” shouted Reverend Duncan.

There was a sudden splash and strangled cough and a snort. A double spurt of water sprang from his nostrils. He gasped for breath and broke away from the preacher’s grasp.

“Wait, son! Come on back! You haffer dip again! You dis been dip een de name of de Fader and de Son. You haffer dip een de name ob de Holy Ghost.”

The members caught the unwilling, frightened candidate by the arms and led him back to have his baptism completed.

Once more he was dipped. In the name of the Holy Ghost. That finished it. He was a saved sinner. Saved from hell. One after another, all the candidates were dipped three times.

When the baptizing was finished, Rose and Maum Hannah shook hands with the preachers and curtseyed as they said good-by to everybody else. Andrew came forward and politely helped them climb into the wagon and they started home to Killdee and Jim and the little new baby. Maum Hannah went along home with them, for the new baby had thrash in its mouth and Rose didn’t know what to do for it.

Killdee came out to the wagon and helped them get out.

“How was meetin’?” he asked pleasantly.

“Fine! Fine!” Rose answered. “But I too glad fo’ git home.”

“Lawd, you sho ain’ look like de same ’oman lef’ heah,” Killdee laughed.

Rose didn’t. Missie held her hat and the wig of thick wool. Maum Hannah held Mary West’s spectacles. Rose crawled out of the wagon in her stocking feet, saying:

“Gawd, I too rabin’ fo’ git off dis heah cosset. It pure got my stomach a-huttin’. Hurry, Missie, an’ git my pipe. I wan’ smoke too bad. Whe’ de baby, Killdee?”

The baby was asleep, so Maum Hannah and Rose sat down to smoke a pipeful while they told Killdee all about Reverend Felder and the wonderful sermon he preached.

He was coming back when the crop was laid by to hold a revival meeting. He knew a man who owned a moving picture of hell and he was going to get him to come bring it. The people could see the misery that was ahead of them in the next world in that wonderful picture.

Killdee asked thoughtfully:

“Who dat mek da picture? Who dat see hell an’ come back fo’ draw ’em?”

Neither Maum Hannah nor Rose knew, but Reverend Felder did. He knew about it all. Killdee would have to go see it when it came. He’d change his mind then about being a member. He’d join the church then.

Killdee laughed. He said he was willing for Rose to go whenever she liked. He’d stay at home and keep Jim and the baby any time for her, but he couldn’t go to church with her. He hadn’t time, he said.

Missie slipped into the shed room and took off her white dress and folded it up carefully and put in back into Rose’s trunk. She lovingly wrapped the red ribbon around her fingers and laid it smooth and shining on top of the dress. Killdee was the best man in the whole world. He bought the cloth for that dress and the red ribbon to wear with it, too.

Rose called her. The baby was awake. Missie hurried to the bed and took the child up.

“Bring em heah, Missie. Le’ Auntie look at ’e mout’. ’E got de t’rash so bad ’e can’ res’.”

Missie laid the tiny, black thing in Maum Hannah’s arms. Maum Hannah peeped through the soft lips at the tender gums that were covered with whitened patches.

“T’rash, fo-true. Po’ lil creeter,” she said, pulling the small chin down so she could see inside better.

“’E so little, ’e can’ stan’ strong treatment. I dunno wha’ fo’ say. Ef we had somebody heah--somebody wha’ ain’ nebber look on dey daddy face--da’ somebody could cure dis t’rash good----”

Rose beamed. “Looka Missie, Auntie. I doubt ef Missie eber see ’e daddy face een ’e life. We could try Missie--enty?”

Maum Hannah turned her bright, old eyes to meet Missie’s puzzled ones.

“Mebbe ’e ain’ nebber see ’e daddy, fo-true. Who you daddy, honey? Is you know?”

But Missie had no daddy. She never had had one. And she shook her head.

“Le’ Missie try, Rose. Mek em tek ’e finger an’ run em roun’ all een de baby mout’ eby mawnin’. Ef Missie ain’ nebber look on ’e daddy face, dat’ll do de baby all de good. You try dat, Missie. ’E ain’ gwine hu’t nuttin’ fo’ try.”

Rose repeated, “You heah, Missie, enty? Eby mawnin’ you do like Auntie say. Don’ fo-git. Sis mout’ is so so’ ’e can’ eat, eder sleep. You wan’ em fo’ git well, enty?”

Missie promised not to forget and she ran to the spring to get a fresh bucket of water while Rose fed the baby and Maum Hannah helped Killdee take the dinner from the pots on the hearth.

As Missie ran lightly down the hill, she was very happy. She had seen so much to-day. She had worn her new dress and red ribbon. She had heard how to be saved from hell. How to pray. She must seek forgiveness until Jesus gave her a sign.

As the water filled the bucket, she thought some day she’d be a member, too. And now if she could cure “t’rash” in babies’ mouths, Rose would be glad to have her here all the time. Sometimes Rose seemed cross with her and beat her for almost nothing. After this, Rose would like her better. When she became a member, maybe Rose would never beat her again.

With the bucket on her head, she climbed the hill thoughtfully. Reverend Felder was fine-looking. He wore fine clothes and he could read, but nobody was fine like Killdee. Nobody in the world. Killdee was so good. So easy. He never got vexed like Rose and said hard-sounding things.

She’d rather have Killdee for her daddy and look on his face than be able to cure all the sickness in the world. But he wasn’t, so there wasn’t any use to think about it.

Yet Killdee was a sinner. When he died he would go to hell. Rose said so. He would burn and burn always. Forever. He would never stop burning. Daddy Cato said that the fire in hell is seven times hotter than the fire people have here. God swam it through seven rivers to cool it before He brought it into the world.

What a strange man God must be!

When Missie thought about Him, she hurried and stumped her toe on a root in the path and the water spilled, and she had to pick up the bucket and hurry back to the spring for more. How cross Rose would be because she was taking so long! But Maum Hannah was there. Maybe Rose wouldn’t scold her much.

_Finding Peace_

The big farm bell rang loud. Clear. The noon hour was over. A little figure lying prone on the ditch bank in the warm spring sunshine rose slowly and looked around. It was a little black girl. Missie.

Her big, soft eyes had a rapt expression as they wandered over the wide cotton fields stretched far out in front of her. Heat waves shimmered over them, making the dark earth bright and blue as the sky, the blue sky that held heaven and God and the angels.

The child’s faded, checked homespun dress was stained purple with blackberries. So were her fingers and lips.

As if still in a dream, she took up the tin pail that was near her on the ground. It was filled to the brim with ripe, black fruit. With careful-stepping, slim, bare feet, she picked her way through the thorny, briery vines to the path that led to the cabin barely in sight yonder at the far edge of the woods. Maum Hannah’s house. She’d go by there and talk to her a little while before she took the berries to the store to sell.

She walked slowly until she could plainly see an old woman sitting there in the doorway bent over her sewing. Then she hurried forward and, when she got near, called out eagerly:

“Auntie! Auntie! I b’lieb I _done fine peace_! Kin you heah me? I b’lieb I is! I seen a house all wash-white. Yes’m.”

The words came distinct to the old woman’s ears. She looked up from the clean, ragged garment she was patching. Tenderness shone in her bright old eyes as she watched Missie coming toward her. They were keen old eyes, although their black lids were withered and hung in tiny, wrinkled folds about them.

“Auntie! Auntie!” the little girl called again, but the old woman answered with a caution:

“Mine, gal, mine! You gwine spill dem blackbe’y fus’ t’ing you know. Walk slow, an’ wait tell you git nigher to me fo’ talk!”

Missie came carefully up the path and up the steps and put the pail on the floor by the pile of clothes to be mended. She came close and leaned on Maum Hannah’s shoulder affectionately.

Maum Hannah searched her face curiously and sympathy showed in her warm, gentle voice as she said:

“Tell Auntie now, Honey. Whe’ you been? Wha’ all you been see? Tell me ’bout em. Whe’ you been when you fine peace?”

The little girl felt Maum Hannah’s arm around her. It gave her a feeling of security, of safety, of courage. Maum Hannah’s voice was saying again:

“Tell Auntie, gal.” Her tone was full of kindliness.

“Auntie----” Missie began, then hesitated. How could she tell it in words?”

From the cabin’s narrow doorway the blue hills far over the river yonder showed plain. They had never seemed so bright to her before. They were almost the color of the shiny clouds that they touched in the sky to-day. Something about them held her eyes until Auntie’s arm pressed her closer and Auntie’s patient voice roused her.

“Wha’ you duh dream ’bout, chile? Wha’ you duh see?”

Missie took a deep breath and the little berry-stained dress tightened across her chest. Maum Hannah’s wise old eyes noticed that coming maturity had already begun to develop slight, curving breasts there. Yes, they showed plain with each quick breath that Missie took. Missie’s little heart seemed very full of something.

Tears came into the wise old eyes, for it came to Maum Hannah for the first time that Missie was becoming a woman. A woman. Maum Hannah’s mind could hardly accept it, yet it was so. Little Missie would soon be a woman, with all the troubles, the sorrows, of womanhood.

Lately, Missie had been seeking peace. Peace. And Maum Hannah knew that womanhood would bring her no peace. None. Missie was already turning to religion. To God. Asking for peace. Tears wet the old eyes, but she could tell Missie nothing. Missie couldn’t understand. Nobody could tell her. Nobody.

Old age might bring her peace. It might. But that was far off for Missie. And old age---- But Missie had started talking. She must listen.

“Auntie,” the low voice was husky, “dis mawnin’ at I git my bucket full up wid blackbe’y, I leddown fo’ rest’--I sta’t den fo’ pray.”

“How much day dis is you been prayin’ and seekin’?” Maum Hannah interrupted.

Missie reflected and answered thoughtfully:

“Dis mus’ be de gwine on een de two week, Auntie.”

“I reckon e is,” Maum Hannah agreed.

Missie went on:

“I leddown right on de ditch bank een de blackbe’y patch. Dut been pile up high underneat’ my haid same lake pillow. I shet my eye--I pray--an’ Auntie--it seem like I was gwine todes sunrise-side--’cross de fiel’. It seem like I was walkin’ deep down een de furrow. Den de furrow, e gone tu’n to hill! De hill been steep. It labor me fo’ climb up em----”

The round, black eyes took on a dreamy look, and the little body leaned heavier on Maum Hannah’s shoulder. But the old woman sat silent. Serious.

“It seem lak a house, same like we-own, been by de side o’ de pat’. A black ’oman come out an’ stan’ een de do’. ’E call me. ’E say: ’Stop heah an’ res’ awhile,’ but I tell em: ’No.’ It seem like I gone on a-climbin’ up de hill. I gone an’ gone----”

The low voice faltered. The soft eyelids drooped drowsily.

“Den I see--a white house--an’ a man. ’E was a-stanin’ een de do’. ’E hab face lak--I dunno who ’e hab face lak----”

Maum Hannah stirred a little. Her shoulder was tired. But she said nothing, and Missie went on, each word dropping slowly:

“De man, ’e say: ’Stop an’ res’.’ I stop. I res’. De noon bell--it wake me.”

That was all. A silence. Maum Hannah stirred again. She must ask Missie some questions. But first--she must think. A man?

“Honey,” she began, “Honey, de man been ol’, enty? Wid long whisker an’ t’ing? ’E hab somep’n nudder lak sheet wrop roun’ em too, enty?”

That was the vision that many claimed to see. Had Missie seen it too? Missie’s lips curved in a smile and she shook her head:

“No, Auntie. No. De man I talk wid, ’e ain’ been stan’ so--no.”

Maum Hannah’s eyes narrowed. She turned and scanned the child’s face. Missie met the look and decided she couldn’t tell more. No, Maum Hannah would think strange if she knew the man was Killdee himself. Killdee!

“Wha’ de man been say, den, Gal? Who ’e been look lak?”

“I fo-git wha’ ’e say, Auntie----”

Missie drew away from Maum Hannah’s shoulder. After all, she must have been mistaken. The house was white, but that may not have been a sign after all. Not a sign her sins were forgiven.

“Mine, gal, mine,” Maum Hannah warned threateningly, “don’ you tell me no lie. You ain’ fo’git a’ready wha’ da man say. No!”

Missie looked straight at her. The spell of the vision she had seen seemed broken. Maum Hannah thought she had not seen the right vision. She had not found peace. Maum Hannah’s face showed it. They had all told her to pray until she saw something white. That would be a sign. She had seen something white--and now Maum Hannah seemed cross about it.

Missie sighed and turned to the pail of berries, saying:

“See how I got de bucket full-up wid blackbe’y, Auntie? Ain’ dese nice one?”

She was sorry she had spoken at all about her dream. The house was white and yet the man looked a lot like Killdee. That was wrong. Killdee was a sinner. Killdee was no sign of peace. No.

“Mebbe you is fine peace, Missie. Mebbe you is. I dunno,” was Maum Hannah’s answer. “You go talk wid Brer Cato. Tell em all you see. Ef de man had-a been ol’, an’ kinder strange fo’ look at, it would ’a’ been mo’ better. But den--maybe Gawd is gi’ you a diff’unt sign. Anyway, de house was white.”

Other words that were in her mind would not come to her lips. She could not say them. Instead she said brightly:

“Take you’ blackbe’y on to de sto’, chile. Hurry. Dey is makin’ wine to-day. Dey needs all de blackbe’y dey kin git. Eby lil bit he’ps em out.

“Tell Killdee you find peace to-day. You ought to be baptize nex’ fo’th Sunday. Tell em des so. ’E might gi’ you a new dress. ’E might. ’E hab a good heart. Killdee’s a mighty good man, eben ef ’e is a sinner. Sho.”

Missie’s eyes were shining happily again. Killdee was good indeed. Better than anybody in the world. She took up her hat from the floor where she had dropped it. It was an old, worn, dusty man’s felt hat. Regular slits had been cut in the brim and through these a strip of turkey-red calico was run with the ends tied in a bow at one side.

Maum Hannah smiled when Missie put the hat on.

“How-come you trim up you’ hat so fine fo’ seek een? You put red on you’ hat when you go fo’ pray! Do, Jedus! A gal is somet’ing else een dis worl’. When de spring o’ de yeah come, dey sho is gwine dress deyse’f up. None o dat ain’ b’longst to seekin’, dough, Missie, or needer to findin’ peace. No. Red bow don’ bring no peace. No, gal. Red bow bring somet’ing else!”

The child’s face was still bright with happiness as she stepped lightly down the steps. She ran down the path that led to the Big House, but Maum Hannah suddenly called her back.

“Come heah des a minute, Missie. I got somet’ing fo’ tell you befo’ you go. Auntie’s a ol’ ’oman fo’ true. But you know ol’ people is wiser’n chillen, enty? Ef you see Brer Cato, you talk wid em. But dey ain’ no need fo’ tell em de man ain’ been a ol’ man. No. Dey ain’ no need fo’ say ef de man been ol’ or ’nyoung. Go long, now. Sell de be’y. Killdee might gi’ you a dress fo’ wear to de baptizin!”

Missie listened and then walked slowly, thoughtfully, down the path. After all, what difference did it make if she found peace or not? Killdee was a sinner. She’d just stay a sinner with him. Sinners seemed better than Christians, anyway, all except Maum Hannah. And Maum Hannah wasn’t a very strict Christian. Maybe she was too old to be one.

Missie took the berries to the cross-roads store and got money for them and took it home to Rose.

“Dis all you git to-day? How come? Seekin’ mus’ be mek you pick be’y mighty slow.”

“I reckon ’e is,” Missie agreed. “I ain’ gwine seek no mo’. I tired prayin’, Aun’ Rose. You better lemme wait. I ain’ gwine dead any time soon. Please lemme wait ’bout prayin’.”

“It ain’ me. It you. Ef you kin stan’ fo be lost, den stop seekin’. You de one gwine bu’n een hell. Not me,” Rose said indifferently.

Killdee had come in and he heard this last.

“Don’ mek de gal seek. Not now, Rose. I miss ’e laughin’ an’ playin’ too much. It don’ seem natchel fo’ Missie to be gwine roun’ wid ’e face so long. A-prayin’. Le’ em res’ off from prayin’ an’ seekin’.”

“’E kin do like ’e wan’ do,” Rose said curtly. Missie grinned gayly and cut a little dance step to show how relieved she was not to have to seek peace any more, but a sharp stinging in the bottom of her foot made her stop with a wry face.

“A splinter,” she said, sitting down on the floor and looking in the sole of her foot to see.

“You see, enty?” Rose exulted. “Gawd mek you stop you’ dancin’ quick. ’E mek splinter stick you.”

But Killdee took out his pocket knife and with its big, sharp blade cut the splinter out as gently as he could.

_The Red Rooster_

The night was hot. The heavy fragrance of the blossoms in the china-berry tree near Killdee’s cabin door thickened the air and made it more difficult to breathe.

The red rooster sleeping high up on one of its limbs stirred uneasily and crowed in a dull hoarse voice.

Killdee lying beside Rose inside moved restlessly. He tried to keep still. He didn’t want to wake Rose. She went hard as she could at her work all day long. When night came, she was tired. Worn out. Glad to go to bed and rest. He must keep still and let her sleep.

She had not mended just right after Sis was born. Maum Hannah said it was the warm weather. Maybe so. But Rose stayed downhearted somehow. Dissatisfied. He felt she had lost faith in him.

To-night he went to meeting because Rose wanted him to go. She wanted him to get religion and join the Church. Rose thought if he’d be a member they might have better luck. Killdee pondered over it.

Being a member could not make old Mike, the mule, younger; or Mike’s teeth sound, so he could chew corn and get fat. Mike was too old and slow to keep up with the grass, especially when dog days came and it rained every day God sent. Being a member could not stop that.

The air in the cabin was close. Killdee got up softly and took the bar down and opened the door wide. Baby Sis moved. Her ears were keen. She had never been as sound a sleeper as Jim.

Killdee stood perfectly still until she seemed quiet, then he stepped out and stood on the doorstep. He breathed deep and looked up at the stars. How thick and bright they were! A sign of rain to-morrow. More rain. Always rain. And the grass had already wound its strong roots around the tender cotton. He would ruin the stand trying to kill the grass out. Why couldn’t the sun shine awhile?

A glittering sliver of light shining through the china-berry tree caught his eyes. He instinctively turned them away from it--then with a wry smile he turned them back again.

No use to look away now. He had seen it. He couldn’t fool himself. No. He knew well enough what it was. The new moon. He had seen it _through trees_. More bad luck for a month. More bad luck. Of course. He had nothing else. Never. He’d cut that tree down and be rid of it. It was always screening the moon.

He moved to the side of the door where he could see the moon clear. There it was. Thin and white.

Something in his heart felt sick. Why did he always see the new moon through trees? To-night he had been out in the open field. Why didn’t he see it then?

He didn’t mind work. Nor doing without things for Missie and Rose and Jim and Sis. The question was, why couldn’t he have a chance to work and make something? That was all he wanted.

Bad luck. Shucks! Everything bad that could happen had already happened. He turned inside and closed the door and put the bar in its place. He felt in the darkness for the foot of the bed, then laid himself down again beside Rose. He listened for her breathing. She was very still. Then a sudden jerk of her body made him know she was awake. Awake and sobbing.

“Rose,” he said softly, “why you duh cry, Honey? Don’ do dat. Wha’s de matter? I tryin’ fo’ do de bes’ I kin. I know you ain’ de one fo’ complain. I know dat. Not my Rose. Ain’ we got de putties’ lil boy an’ lil gal een de worl’? Tell me dat. How-come you cryin’, Honey? Please don’ do em. Jim’s a-growin’ so fas’, an’ Sis, too. An’ Missie--Missie kin hoe same ez a grown ’oman. We haffer be t’anksful. T’anksful. Da’s de way. You t’ink I can’ mek a good crop o’ cotton? Shucks!”

Rose did not answer and Killdee put his hand on her arm and patted it gently, then let it rest there. Soon it became heavier and heavier, then it slipped down limp on the straw mattress beside her.

Killdee had seemed so downhearted that Rose made him take Missie and go to the quarter to meeting. She thought if he’d listen to the people sing and pray and see his friends and hear a sermon he’d feel better.

She had stayed at home with the children.

When Jim was asleep she put the creaky little rocking-chair close to the door where she could see out across the field while she rocked baby Sis to sleep.

How bright the stars seemed in the sky! There right up over the china-tree was a new moon. She saw it clear. Good luck! Thank God for that! Killdee was at meeting. Maybe he’d decide to pray and seek.

But Killdee came home from meeting as low-spirited as he had gone. Nothing seemed to cheer him up. He did work hard. But things kept going wrong all the time. If Killdee would do like other men----

If Killdee would seek and get religion--that might help. But he wouldn’t. Rain came and made the grass eat up his cotton, and no telling what else would happen unless he changed.