Part 6

“I say to myself: Dis ain’ doin’ no good; lay’n hyuh frettin’, an’ big day already come.... Lemme git up an’ dress an’ go walk out-do’as in de fresh air.

“So dah whah I put on my clo’se an’ went ’roun to Lethe house to see’f I could patch up de diffunce w’at comed up between us.

“I knocked on de do’ easy, but she ain’ answer. I knocked agin a li’l louder, an’ call to ’uh, an’ she still ain’ answer.... I say: Maybe she gone up de street to de doctor. I say: Lemme walk ’roun a li’l piece, an’ I come back later an’ maybe she be hyuh.

“So dah whah I went up de railroad track fur as de Chinee-men’s garden; an’ I watched ’um hoein’ an’ plantin’ till almos’ a whole hour had pass; den I start back. I walked slow, an’ picked a bunch o’ tetch-me-nots to bring to Lethe; growin’ so plennyful ’long-side de track, wid de night-jew on ’um, an’ lookin’ so pink an’ nice an’ sweet-smellin’.

“I got to de house an’ it was shet tight, but smoke was comin’ out de chimley. I say: Da’s a good sign. She home; an’ she ain’ dead.... I knocked on de do’, but she ain’ made no answer. I listen to see’f I could hyeah walkin’ in de room, but evvything was still. I knocked once mo’ an’ still she ain’ answer. Den I call to ’uh. I say: Lethe, dis Felo.... I’m on my way ’cross de river, an’ I come after my pants.

“Bimeby I could hyeah stirrin’ in de room; an’ nex’ thing I seen,—de window cracked open a li’l piece, an’ my pants fell down on de gal’ry flo’. An’ den de window shet tight, like nobody was in de house.

“I rolled de pants up in some newspaper I got to de Dago stan’; an’ crossed on de ferry-boat, an’ come hyuh to de castle to consult wid you ’bout w’at to do.... An’ now you got de whole story.”

“And the honor of hearing it well-told by the bold hero himself,” Mr. Amos commented, looking at him with an amused smile.

“Man, don’ laugh an’ make game dat way,” returned Felo, with quiet appeal. “Dis thing too much like a tawment to my soul to try an’ joke ’bout it.... How you reckon I’m goin’ feel if Lethe go blab de thing all over Gritny, an’ de members bring me up befo’ de church? ’Tain nothin’ to play wid. Dis subjec’ is _seerus_.”

“Then you’re not concerned a bit over the loss of Lethe’s teeth, are you?” Mr. Amos asked him.

“Lethe ain’ got to worry ’bout ’uh teeth,” Felo assured him. “She know she gotta look to me to pay de bill for fixin’ ’um. Lethe kin git new teeth; but who you think goin’ puvvide me wid a good reppatashun, after Lethe done spread de news, an’ my name bin walked on by a passul o’ mean-minded Gritny niggers?... W’ich one be de worse off den, me or Lethe?”

“Don’t you suppose Lethe values her good name as much as you do yours?” Mr. Amos argued with him. “If she exposes you, she exposes herself. No woman with pride will do a thing like that. She’ll lie to protect herself. And you’ll see that Lethe is no exception.”

Felo seemed greatly relieved, hearing this.

“Now, da’s de way I like to hyeah you talk,” he said. “Straighten de thing out for me. Tell me w’at I mus’ do.”

“Go to see Lethe tomorrow and have an understanding with her,” Mr. Amos suggested. “Tell her you’re sorry, and you want to set things right. Explain your position in the church, and make her see hers as well. And if she cares anything at all for you, she’ll certainly listen to reason.”

“Da’s suffishen,” Felo agreed, in a tone which seemed to tell that he was resolved to fulfill his duty. Then came an after-thought:

“But I sho Gawd hope dem missin’ teeth in de front ’uh mouth goin’ make ’uh feel ’shame’ ’bout ’uh looks, an’ keep ’uh from goin’ in de street till I git to see ’uh.”

“Start early in the morning,” Mr. Amos advised. “Take the day off, and finish up the job before you come back.”

A smile of appreciation lighted his face and his voice resumed its habitual cheerfulness.

“Man, you sho got a good head for somebody bin raised in Gritny. De onles diffunce twix’ you an’ me: you wise-minded from readin’ in books an’ things; an’ po’ me, I ain’ got nothin’ but mother-wit.... But I’m goin’ do jes’ like you say; an’ leave hyuh firs’ thing in de mawnin’, soon as I give you yo’ coffee.”

“And be sure to take the touch-me-nots with you to give to Lethe,” Mr. Amos reminded him, with a playful smile.

Getting up from his chair suddenly, he pretended to be greatly annoyed, and walked over to the bed-side to cover his embarrassment, saying:

“Man, git up from hyuh, wid dat ole cat, an’ lemme fix yo’ bed so you kin lay down an’ sleep an’ stop thinkin’ up a whole lot o’ humbug.... Come on; you done plague me enough for one night.... Lemme turn down de bed for you, so I kin go lay down an’ pray.”

Next morning Felo was away from the house before eight o’clock, on his way to Gretna to make peace with the belligerent Lethe. His mind was disturbed by many conflicting emotions when he tried to think how she would receive him.

As the ferry pulled in to the Gretna landing, his uneasiness became intense; for he recognized several of his colored friends on their way to the City to dispose of their various wares. The pontoon was crowded with _marchande_ women, with large flat baskets of vegetables balanced on their heads; the careful arrangement of the shining, dew-washed, maroon-colored beets, scarlet peppers, pale green lettuce, and the golden carrots with plume-like foliage, making the baskets from a distance appear like gigantic, colorful hats decked for a rustic festival.

In the crowd he recognized Lizzie and Chester, each with a basket of vegetables. If Lizzie had heard anything from Lethe, she would be sure to mention it. He was relieved when she spoke first.

“Hi! Mr. Felo,” she greeted him, as she came off the boat. “Y’awter staid longer to de wake Sunday night. We sho did give Aun’ Milly a good sen’-over. I staid till close on to fo’ clock in de mawnin’. An’ I wouldn’ a-lef’ den, but de coffee gived out.”

“You know if Lethe goin’ to de burryin’?” Felo inquired artfully.

“I ain’ seen Lethe since Sunday night, Mr. Felo. I pass by ’uh house dis mawnin’, but it look like nobody was home.”

This information reassured him. Lizzie knew nothing, therefore Lethe had not told her trouble abroad.

The boat bell rang, and Lizzie and Chester hurried on board, calling to Felo, they hoped to see him next Sunday. He waved good-by to them, passing on with a feeling of gratitude.

As he turned into the street where Lethe lived, he looked toward the house and saw a thin blue reek of smoke curling up from the dilapidated chimney. A mockingbird was sitting on the corner of the roof, singing; telling the heedless world of the prodigal beauty of the sunshine and the fleeting glory of the morning.

“Da’s a good sign,” Felo commented. “Nobody ain’ got no business bein’ down-casted w’en dumb critters kin feel de sperret o’ Gawd wakin’-up inside ’um, like dat bird yonder shoutin’ ’bout it.”

He looked at the old house and thought how different it seemed from the other night when he saw it in the silent moonlight. How inviting it looked, with the sunshine playing over the gallery and its rickety old posts, covered with flowering vines; a veritable basket of rampant wistaria and luxuriant honeysuckle.

He opened the gate and went around the side way, without calling. Lethe was in the back yard, feeding chickens; and she didn’t see him until he came where she was standing. She made no sign of recognition until he spoke.

“Lethe, you don’ wan’ tell me good-mawnin’?” He asked quietly. “If you feel like you don’ wan’ talk, I kin go back whah I come from.”

“Who invite you to come hyuh, any way?” She asked, indifferently.

“I ain’ had to wait for no inv’tation,” he answered curtly. “I come hyuh ’cause my min’ lead me to come hyuh. To see how you gittin’ ’long.... To bring you dis aw’inge-rine purzerve I made for you.” (Offering her a glass of home-made orange marmalade.)

She looked at him unmoved; without a show of surprise, resentment or just indignation; wondering what to say to him. Was he conscious of his meanness, she thought. If so, was she ready to forgive him, having had time to consider her unwarranted jealousy, provoked by Lizzie’s malicious gossip? But why did she doubt Felo when he tried to make her know that Lizzie lied. She knew he never showed any interest in other women as long as she had known him. And if he came specially to see her today, surely he would be ready to stand the expense of a few missing teeth. What was the loss of a few teeth compared with the loss of a friendly company-keeper like Felo?... And any way, wasn’t she the one who struck the first blow?...

Having deliberated with herself to her apparent satisfaction, she told him to put the glass of marmalade in the kitchen, “till I ketch me one dese chickens to make some soup.”

“You goin’ have comp’ny?” Felo asked. The thought of chicken seeming to indicate the approach of some festive occasion.

“W’at I wan’ do havin’ comp’ny, wid all dese teeth missin’ out de front o’ my mouth?” She replied sharply; wondering at his total lack of judgment. “People can’t eat chicken out dey own yard lessen dey gotta have comp’ny to eat wid ’um?”

“I ain’ findin’ fault wid you ’bout yo’ likin’s, Lethe,” he apologized. “I was thinkin’ ’bout you settin’ down by yo’self, eating lonesome; ’dout anybody to talk wid you, da’s all.”

Her frown seemed to deepen, and her voice assumed a tone of annoyance.

“Wa’t I want wid anybody comin’ hyuh to talk to me, all lavadated like I is; wid all dese teeth missin’ in de front o’ my mouth? You come hyuh to make game an’ crow over me, ’stid o’ beggin’ my pardner for de nasty trick you done played on me?... You ain’ think one li’l ole glass o’ aw’inge-rine purzerve kin make up for de wrong you done commit, is you? You mus’ be a fatal fool, if you do.”

Felo looked at her appealingly. He was ready to make any number of apologies, if she would only listen. As for the teeth, she “oughta know de one w’at broke ’um called on to put new ones in dey place; if ’e any kind o’ man w’at calls ’imself a man.”

“But some people waits a long time aft’ dey bin called on; makin’ up dey min’ ’bout de thing dey gotta do,” she told him. “An’ a toothless ooman ain’ need to have much patience w’en she look in de glass an’ see how ugly she be.”

“Lethe, for Gawd sake don’ talk so fas’,” he pleaded. “Go ketch yo’ chicken, like you say you wan’ do; den leave us set down an’ talk de thing over an’ un’stan’ one-’nother. ’Cause my min’ too upset ’bout de whole business; an’ I wan’ try an’ git straight befo’ I go ’way from hyuh today. Go ketch de chicken. I kin look to de stove an’ fix de pot o’ scaldin’ water an’ things ready for you, yonder in de kitchen.”

Whereupon he went into the house, Lethe’s silence being a sign of approval.

As he walked away, Lethe threw a handful of feed from the pan she held, and the chickens gathered about her and began pecking greedily. After looking them over carefully, she selected the one she wanted; stooped slowly and grabbed the unwary chicken by the neck. She took a tight grasp just below its head and began swinging it around vigorously. Two or three times it went around in a circle at arm’s length; when suddenly it was severed, the body of the chicken falling to the ground, the head remaining in her hand. The frightened hens ran off, squawking; and the roosters ran over where the bleeding victim lay kicking, pecking at it and making loud commotion. Lethe stood by and watched it until the last sign of life was gone; then stooped and picked it up and went into the house.

Felo was ready with the pot of scalding water, which he poured over the chicken when Lethe put it in the dishpan. After it cooled a bit, he began picking off the feathers; while Lethe busied herself with other preparations for the little meal for two. The time being propitious, Felo made ready to unburden himself, and began his explanation. His talk was free and persuasive, and Lethe listened, offering little or no dissenting comment. She could appreciate his feeling of pride, and assured him that she would be the “las’ person in dis worl’ to put bad mouth on him an’ roll any stone in his way.”

He told her he was glad that he had not been disappointed in her, and thanked her profusely. She was the right kind of a woman. He “always knowed she was’n no shoo-fly, picayune nigger; an’ knowed still better now, since he done had good chance to tes’ her senserra.” (Sincerity.)

While the chicken boiled they sat talking of Lizzie and Chester; Aunt Milly’s funeral, which was to take place that day; and many other things of mutual importance—Lethe getting up from time to time to add the necessary vegetables and seasoning to the chicken soup to “give it supshun.” She “stirred up a bowl o’ batter for pan-cakes,” which she fried in bacon grease; and as soon as she finished dripping a pot full of strong coffee, they sat down to eat.

It was a veritable feast to Felo, now the old relations were re-established between them; and he hated the thought of leaving. But he was obliged to be on duty when Mr. Amos came home in the evening. He wanted Lethe to go to Aunt Milly’s funeral for a “li’l pleasan’ change o’ mind”; but she said she “felt too ’shame’ to face a big crowd o’ people wid no teeth in her mouth”; that she would stay at home.

He told her good-by at the front gate, and started home feeling like he had a “whole nes’ full o’ butterflies turned loose in his stummick.”

Lizzie Cole was one of those ignorant, reckless children of Nature, utterly disregardful of the simplest rudiments of anything resembling law or religion; in consequence of which, she was unable to live at home with her God-fearing father and conventional step-mother. For a long time she had lived by herself, in a decrepit-looking two-room hut, far across the pasture in the East Green, away on the other side of the town.

The old shanty sat back in the yard, partly hidden from the road by a high, dilapidated picket fence and a hedge of giant cocklebur bushes; with two scraggy persimmon trees on one side by way of ornament.

If you happened to pass by on wash day, and saw the cocklebur bushes decorated with innumerable articles of clothing of every imaginable color, you soon learned their usefulness and lost sight of the unnecessary expense of a clothes-line. It also gave you a better understanding of Lizzie’s impatience with anyone who stupidly advised cutting the cocklebur bushes down as worthless weeds and dangerous breeding places for snakes and mosquitoes.

From time to time, Chester made “guests visits” to the retired hut; doing the cooking, washing, sewing and other domestic work; while Lizzie walked out selling blackberries and vegetables; or went gallivanting here and there in search of friendly entertainment.

To Lizzie’s cheerful way of thinking, there was no form of pleasure more enjoyable than a “good funeral.” The news of anybody’s dying always wakened up her spirits; and she “never missed goin’ to a wake or burrin’ if Gawd lef’ her strank to git there.”

It was just about sunset when Lizzie came back from Aunt Milly’s funeral. Chester was in the yard, washing, under the persimmon trees; and long before he saw her, he heard her coming across the pasture singing gaily. As she opened the gate and came in, she called to him good-naturedly:

“Leave dem ole tubs alone for tonight, Chester, an’ come-in-doahs; I wan’ tell you ’bout evvything w’at happened.”

He followed her into the house, eager to hear all she had to tell.

The room was dark, and he lit a candle and put it on the mantelpiece. A sickly fire was smoldering on the hearth; and after raking the coals together and starting it to burn well with a few shingles, he threw a large piece of wood across the andirons, and sat down on the floor.

The place was orderly; the floor, spotlessly clean. Near the window was a deal table with a few dishes and pans on it, and a wooden bucket of drinking water and a dipper. Across from the chimney in the “guest corner” of the room, was a low cot covered with a patch-work quilt, a trophy from one of Carmelite’s raffles; a gay masterpiece of bewildering design which she called the “fifty revalashuns of de forty-seven wonders.” The walls were covered with newspapers, ornamented here and there with gay-colored circus posters and magazine covers; and the mantelshelf, decorated with a towering pyramid of empty coffee, tomato and baking-powder cans, bright and shining as “any natchal silver on de w’ite-folks side-boa’d.”

While Chester was fixing the fire, Lizzie had gone into the adjoining room and taken off her shoes and exchanged her “good street clo’se” for a “sloven fit”; so her body, as well as her mind, might enjoy perfect freedom of movement throughout the evening conference.

“Now, I kin talk to my natchal comfut,” she said to Chester, coming into the room and drawing a stool before the fire and sitting down near him.

Chester was all attention, so there was little need for useless preliminaries. Looking at the fire meditatively Lizzie began her interesting soliloquy, her voice low and quiet.

“Nobody can’t say that ole Aunt Milly didn’t have a fine burryin’,” she told him.... “Look like people had come from every direction to sing over Aunt Milly just for ole time sake; and because she come from so far away.... Look like some people shed tears over Aunt Milly because she was gone; and some for the good she did.... And she never knowed one woman her own color, old or young, to have so many fine flowers at one time; flowers so natchal till they looked artificial....

“But de one thing goin’ keep my min’ rollin’ for a long time,” she continued, stressing every word with dramatic fervor, “was de soun’ o’ dat water gluggin’ in de coffin w’en dey let Aun’ Milly down in de grave.... De same way you hyeah it go glug-glug-glug w’en you hol’ a empty bottle und’ de water, an’ de soun’ keep on’ gluggin’ till de bottle be filled up.... Yas, Lawd.

“It sho was a soun’ dat made me cunsider w’at I want y’all do wid me w’en de time come for puttin’ me away.... An’ Chester, I want you look to it; you hyeah me?... You know dis lan’ is a swampy lan’; an’ it hol’s de water a long time; ’specially aft’ a heavy rain bin fall. An’ you kin bail de water out a grave much as you want, but you can’ keep it from seepin’ back in agin.... So you make ’um put me way up on a top shelf in dat big tomb ’long-side de back fence, yonder in de Gates o’ Mary, high an’ dry out de flood. ’Cause I sho don’ wan’ think ’bout bein’ drownded aft’ I done died in my bed natchal.... No Lawd, not me!”

“Sho mus’ bin made Aun’ Amy felt bad,” Chester commiserated.

“Who?” Lizzie exclaimed with sudden animation. “Aun’ Amy ain’ knowed a single thing w’at went on w’en dey put Aun’ Milly way.... She fell to sleep in de ca’idge on de way to de graveyard; an’ w’en dey reached de place, an’ wan’ try an’ make Aun’ Amy git out an’ walk to de grave-side, leadin’ de moaners; de po’ ole soul was so helpless drunk, dey had to leave ’uh settin’ up in de ca’idge in de road.... An’ she ain’ took no part in _none_ de excitement.”

Chester laughed heartily. “Lawd! I’m sho sorry I missed goin’ wid you,” he remarked. “But stop talkin’ ’bout dead people, Lizzie; an’ tell who else you seen yonder.”

“Chester, you ain’ expec’ me to tell you ’bout all dat mult’tude o’ niggers dey had to Aun’ Milly funeyun, is you?” Lizzie asked, playfully. “De main thing I got to tell you, is ’bout Sis’ Tempe. Me an’ her walked home together; an’ chile, w’at she had to say, sho got my min’ upset thinkin’ ’bout it.”

“W’at make you wan’ worry ’bout anything Sis’ Tempe tell you? Don’t you know Tempe ain’ bin right ever since Unc’ Peesah died? An’ her min’ comes and goes?” Chester reminded her.

“Da’s de very thing I’m comin’ to,” Lizzie answered. “Tempe simple-minded, I know. But if she keep on goin’ ’roun ’munks people an’ talkin’ like she talk to me today; ’tain goin’ be but _one_ po’ nigger land in jail befo’ de end o’ dis year be over; a’ dat nigger ain’ goin’ be nobody but Chester.”

“W’at thing dis is Tempe done mixed me up in?” Chester asked in dull amazement.

Lizzie told him how Tempe complained to her about everything going to ruin since Peesah died, leaving her with nobody to take care of the place. How the garden needed plowing, and nobody wanted to do it for her. How she thought of selling her mule and dump cart to Nat, because she had no money to keep them; and what money she got by selling them would buy food and clothes and all she needed.... That she knew somebody was burning a candle over her to keep bad luck in her way just for “envy-stripe”.... That she was sure of it; because she found red pepper and buzzard feathers and candle-sperm tracks on her front door steps, three Friday mornings hand-running....

But they couldn’t fool her. She knew who it was; and wasn’t afraid to tell, either.... It wasn’t nobody but the same sly nigger that lived next-door to her the time Peesah died so sudden.... Couldn’t be nobody else.... That’s why he moved away from next door.... To keep people from knowing anything about the needle.... But Gawd don’t sleep. And everything got to come out when God command you to speak your mind....

And Peesah had come to her in her sleep three times already. And she saw the needle in his hand plain as day. And he called out to her so loud, her sleep was broke for the rest of the night....

“She say she hyeah’d Unc’ Peesah call to ’uh:

“Tempe, take dis needle back! Put it in de place whah de needle b’lonks. Lissen w’at I tell you, an’ do w’at I say!”

“An’ dah whah she say she seen de needle in ’uh own han’; but Unc’ Peesah was gone clean out o’ sight.”

Chester looked about the room uneasily; and got up and closed the front door. Lizzie watched him, waiting for him to speak. He went over to the cot and sat down, looking at her questioningly.

“You think Tempe seen Peesah sperret sho’ ’nuff?” He asked her.

“Da’s de very thing I wan’ know myself,” she answered. “But ain’t you say Tempe min’ comes an’ goes?... Maybe ’tain’ nothin’ but Tempe ’maginashun make ’uh think she seen Unc’ Peesah sperret.”

“But ain’ she say she had de needle in ’uh own han’ aft’ he done lef’?” Chester reminded her.

“Da’s w’at she say,” Lizzie answered. “An’ if you wan’ b’lieve ’uh, it sho look like de needle p’intin’ to’ads you bein’ de lawful owner; Tempe nex’-do’ neighbor, de time Unc’ Peesah died. Don’t it?”

He couldn’t deny that Tempe had come to him for the needle and that he had given it to her. Lizzie knew that he had always been an obliging neighbor to Tempe, lending her anything she needed if he happened to have it.

The evening Uncle Peesah “took down wid de colic,” Tempe ran over to Chester to borrow a needle and thread to “sew up a salt-sack full o’ hot bran, to lay on Peesah stummick to ease de mizry.” Chester gave her the needle and thread and she went home with it. Late that night Uncle Peesah died; and Tempe told every one that his death was caused from eating cucumber salad and buttermilk. It was a reasonable excuse, and as nobody bothered about making any sort of examination to ascertain the real cause, Tempe felt perfectly secure. But Chester had his doubts. Tempe had long confided her troubles to him, and he knew how Peesah’s unfaithfulness had aroused her jealousy on numerous occasions; and how she had threatened to wreak vengeance, and “git even wid ’im for runnin’ wid yuther wimmins.” Therefore it was natural for Chester to suspect her of using the borrowed needle for a secret instrument of fatal despatch.

“But who you think goin’ pay any ’tenshun to Tempe ramblin’ talk ’bout who de needle b’lonks to?” Chester asked, after thoughtful consideration. “Nobody ain’ goin’ know w’at she mean.”