Part 7

“Nobody ain’ goin’ know?” Lizzie demanded. “You better look ove’ yo’ min’, boy; an’ think on Felo an’ Soongy an’ ole treach’ous Gussie, an’ all dem yuther niggers dey had to Susan house Sunday, w’en you was tellin’ ’bout how Unc’ Peesah died.... You ain’ think you safe from suspicion wid all dem tongues waggin’; once dey done learned Tempe puttin’ de blame on you. Is you?”

“How you reckon I’m goin’ keep ’um from talkin’?” He appealed to her. “I ain’ see no way I kin stop ’um, if dey wan’ lissen at w’at a crazy ooman say.”

“Da’s de very thing you gotta consider,” Lizzie advised him. “You gotta go see Tempe, an’ talk to ’uh bol’ an’ brazen; an’ make ’uh un’stan she gotta keep still; lessen you give way de whole truth ’bout de thing; an’ bring ’uh up befo’ de law, an’ make ’um prove who de guilty one. Da’s w’at you gotta do.... An’ you better go dis very night; aft’ you done had a li’l somh’n to eat. So come on; lessus git somh’n ready right now. An’ you go yonder to Tempe house soon’s you git thoo.”

Chester got up, and placed two bricks at the front of the hearth, then raked out a small pile of coals between them. He filled a pot with water from the bucket on the table and put it over the bricks, to boil for coffee: Lizzie cut a few slices of salt pork which she took from a basket hanging from a rafter near the window; laid them in a skillet with some grease and sliced onions, and put it over the fire to fry. She cut some cheese, broke a loaf of twist-bread in several parts, put the bread and cheese on a plate, and placed it by the side of the hearth. When the coffee was made and the meat was fried, she filled a pan for Chester and one for herself, and they sat down before the fire and began eating.

Neither one seemed inclined to talk, feeling that conversation of any kind would cause delay; and Chester’s visit to Tempe had to be accomplished that night.

As soon as he finished drinking his coffee, Lizzie said to him: “Leave evvything be, jes like it is, an’ you go straight off. An’ be sho you make Tempe un’stan good, dat you know w’at you know.... An’ don’ talk too timmasun (timorous) either.”

Chester nodded assent; put on his hat and coat, and started off across the pasture, on his way to Tempe’s.

At every second street corner of the town, as a protection in time of fire, there were large underground wells, bricked-in and covered over with heavy boards. In time of drouth, when the supply of cistern water had to be economized for drinking purposes, the villagers used the well water for their cattle, truck gardens, and for washing clothes; but owing to the earthy, swampy taste of the water, it was unfit for drinking.

The floor-like tops of these wells were delightful gathering places for the colored children of the neighborhood on moonlight nights. Here they would congregate for their merry games and romping; the pleasant sound of their happy voices becoming a sort of evening service for the old folks who came out of doors to sit on the gutter-curb and doorsteps, eager to enjoy a bit of friendly gossip after a long day’s toil.

Tempe was sitting in the doorway of her house, in the glowing moonlight, smoking her pipe and listening to the singing children at the corner, when Chester came up to her.

“’Deevnin’, Sis’ Tempe,” he greeted her politely. “I was wond’rin if I was goin’ fin’ you at yo’ house. You know who dis is, don’t you?”

She looked at him quietly, making no sign of recognition.

“Dis me, Sis’ Tempe,” he said, taking a seat near her. “Dis Chester. Chester Frackshun, w’at use to live ’longside you, yonder ’cross de green.”

“I ain’ forgot who you is,” she told him, looking at him searchingly. “I ain’ forget nothin’.... An’ you ain’ need to tell me w’at you come after, either. Cause I’m sho goin’ give de thing back to de lawful owner, now you done come hyuh.”

Getting up to go into the house, she said to him: “Set hyuh on de do’-step till I come back.”

“Lemme come inside wid you, Sis’ Tempe,” Chester suggested, getting up to follow her. “I wan’ talk wid you on a li’l business.”

“Stay right whah you is till I come back, I tell you,” she commanded, looking at him fixedly for several seconds before going inside.

Chester sat down again and waited on the steps for her to return.

After a while she came back with a cup of salt in her hand, and stood mumbling some unintelligible words, as she sprinkled the salt across the threshold, in the form of a cross. Having finished, she said to him:

“De one dey call Chester kin come in, now. But w’at be fol’rin ’im, gotta stay out-do’s.”

He made no comment about the strange invitation, but got up and went inside.

The room was in semi-darkness; the only light being the reflected glow of a candle in the back room, and a narrow stream of moonlight coming through the open door at the front, falling across the well-scrubbed floor like a stripe of tarnished silver.

“Set hyuh whah I kin seen you,” Tempe said; placing a chair near the door where the moonlight would fall across him.

Chester took the offered seat, and Tempe sat down opposite, half-hidden in the shadow.

“You mus’ bin know I wan’ see you?” she asked. And without waiting for his reply, she went on speaking in a kind of ecstasy:

“Boy, de sperret o’ Gawd don’ never work in vain.

“An’ don’t you never try to b’lieve de sperret gives up.

“E knows ’is own strank; an’ ’e knows ’is time.

“An’ soon or later, ’e sho goin’ track you down, an’ all de wrong-doin’ you done commit in de dark, de sperret o’ Gawd goin’ drag it fo’th an’ shame you in de light o’ day!

“Yas, Jesus.... You hyeah me talkin’?”

“Yas. I hyeah you talkin’,” Chester answered abruptly. “But w’at you talkin’ ’bout, Sis’ Tempe, ain’ nothin’ cuncernin’ me. You better ’zamine yo’ own cawnshunce, an’ see w’at de sperret o’ Gawd goin’ bring to light to ’cuse you wid yo’ own-self.... An’ don’t you try to drag me in de thing either.... ’Cause you know w’at you know. An’ I know a heap mo’ on de subjec’ w’at you ain’ never thought over.... So dey got two’v us to git up an’ talk on de queshtun, w’en de time come for provin’ who got to stan’ de blame.... So you better cunsider long an’ careful, befo’ you go ’roun hyuh talkin’ so broadcas’.... You hyeah w’at I tell you?”

His tone was severe and emphatic; and she sat looking at him in subdued silence. He felt sorry for her, and wanted her to know that he was willing to help her any way he could.

“You ain’ got to be ’fraid o’ me, Sis’ Tempe,” he told her feelingly. “Don’t you know ’tain’ nobody but you an’ me kin tell anything ’bout de needle?... Put de thing out yo’ ’membunce, an’ stop worrin’ ’bout it. Talkin’ too much on de thing only goin’ make people mo’ suspicious; an’ dat ain’ goin’ help you none.”

Tempe contemplated his face in the moonlight for a few seconds before answering.

“But Peesah de one don’ wan’ lemme res’,” she faltered. “Evvy night, w’en I be sleepin’, ’e comes to me des like ’is natchal self, an’ tawments my po’ soul ’bout dat needle so, till I has to git up out de bed an’ walk ’roun’ de room, an’ try’n fin’ somh’n to do to ease my min’.”

Chester told her of several charms he was sure would help her. The old folks said they were the only protection against ghosts and spirits, and they couldn’t fail if you did them the right way.—A pan of water on the door-step in the moonlight: Death won’t cross water while the moon is shining on it.—A mirror placed by the side of the bed: Death don’t want to see himself in a looking-glass.—Leave a dog in the room when you go to bed; dogs can see spirits in the dark, and Death don’t like to hear a dog howl in the night-time.

Tempe said she had tried them all, and none of the charms had helped her.

He told her about putting nettles on the floor; scattered over the threshold and sprinkled around the bed: Death wouldn’t walk on “stingin’-nettles” in the house, because he had to walk on them in the graveyard. But the nettles had to be picked at midnight, when the heavy dew was on them.

Tempe told him she was glad to know the new charm, and would try it that night. She knew where some nettles were growing alongside Miss Collamore’s fence by the corner. Maybe white-folks’ nettles would be better. She would wait until midnight, and go pick them, and sprinkle them on the floor before she went to bed.

Chester assured her that the charm would work; and he felt pleased that he was able to give her something that would divert her attention from the mysterious needle, and the accusing thoughts that disturbed her mind. He wished her good luck, and arose to go; saying that he would pass by in the morning to hear what happened.

Tempe followed him to the door and said good-night. Just as he was leaving, Nat came along; and stopping in front of the door-step, saluted them cheerfully.

“Great-day-in-de-mawnin’, Sis’ Tempe!” He exclaimed. “It done took me so long to walk way down hyuh to see you tonight, I feel like I bin trav’lin de road since day-break.... W’at make you wan’ live so further away like dis, anyhow?... An’ how you do dis evenin’?... An’ boy, I’m sho glad dey got somebody hyuh to help me wid dat mule I come after. Hitchin’-up a strange mule in de moonlight by yo’-self ain’ no fun, lemme tell you. ’Cause I know Sis’ Tempe ain’ none too handy w’en it come to handlin’ harness an’ things, an’ backin’-up a sleepy mule in a dump-cart shaf’, long aft’ hours like dis is.... Ain’ da’s right, Sister?”

“I was lookin’ for you to come hyuh in de day-time,” Tempe told him. “Aft I see de night fell, an’ you ain’ sont no word one way o’ nother; somh’n tol’ me maybe you done change yo’ min’ ’bout buyin’ de mule.”

“But you see me hyuh now, don’t you?” Nat argued. “Anybody ever told you ’bout Nat goin’ back ’is word, aft’ he done promise somebody he goin’ buy somh’n from ’um? An’ de thing be somh’n w’at he need?”

“Unc’ Nat, w’at make you wan’ was’e time dis way, an’ bring up a onnes’sary wrangle?” Chester asked him. “If you wan’ hitch-up de mule to take home wid you tonight, you better come on an’ lemme help you; ’cause I gotta go back ’cross de pastur to Lizzie house befo’ it git too late.”

“Boy, you sho talkin’ gospel,” Nat answered. “Come on, Sis’ Tempe, an’ show me whah de mule at; an’ lemme git thoo an’ go ’way from hyuh.”

“De mule dis way in de yard,” said Tempe, coming out of the house and leading them through the side gate. “But you gotta fetch a bucket o’ water from de well, yonder to de cawnder; ’cause de po’ critter ain’ had no water to drink all day. I ain’ able to tote no water.”

She hunted about the yard until she found a bucket with a rope tied to the handle. She gave it to Chester and he went to fetch the water from the well at the corner. The children had ended their singing and playing for the night and were gone home; and the deserted street seemed to be wondering at the untimely silence coming at an hour of such marvellous moonlight.

Getting down on his knees, Chester tugged with the cover of the well until he lifted it out of its groove. Then he let the bucket down through the narrow opening, dangling and swinging it about until it sank. When it was filled with water he pulled it up; got up on his feet, and made ready to get back to Nat. He deliberated for a second whether or not to close the well.

“Might be I gotta come git a yuther bucket,” he said to himself. “De dev’lish lid so tight to git loose, I’m goin’ leave it stay open till I come back agin.”

Whereupon he took up the bucket of water and went back to the yard.

Nat had finished hitching the mule and was standing by the dump cart talking to Tempe. Chester put the bucket of water before the mule and he drank it greedily, and seemed eager for more. Chester wanted to go for another bucketful, but Nat was impatient to get away, and told him not to go.

“One bucketful enough to hol’ ’im till we git up yonder on the coas’; den he kin lap de whole ditch dry if he like, w’en I turn ’im loose in de lane.... Come on, lemme go ’way from hyuh,” he said, climbing up on the seat of the cart. “An’ Sis’ Tempe, I’ll see you ’bout de secon’ payment aft’ I done tried de mule out wid de harrow in de fiel’ tomorrow.... An’ boy, lemme thank you for givin’ me a han’ wid de mule nice like you did. An’ I’ll sho think to bring you somh’n from de g’yarden, nex’ time I come down to Gritny.... Peace an’ hap’ness to y’all.... Come on, ole mule. Nat’s gone.”

The cart went bumping up the street, and Tempe closed the gate and walked with Chester towards the front door. As she went into the house, he reminded her to go for the nettles at midnight; and to be sure that nobody saw her when she stooped to pick them. Tempe said she would remember to do all he told her; bade him good-night and closed the door as he walked away.

Eager to get back and tell Lizzie the outcome of his visit to Tempe, Chester took the short cut across the pasture. The moonlight was so brilliant, he could trace the entire length of the worn pathway through the shining dew-dripping weeds along its edges. A cool breeze was blowing from the woods, and the dampness of the grass causing him to feel chilly, he pulled up his coat. As he walked along, singing, he was conscious of being pleased that he had accomplished something. He had spoken his mind and felt satisfied that Tempe would stop talking, and no blame would be attached to his name. Lizzie would be glad to know how he straightened things out with Tempe, and she would stop worrying about his getting into trouble.

When he reached home, the door was closed and the house was in total darkness. Lizzie had gone to bed; and he knew he would have to go in quietly, because if he wakened her, she would be cross and make a racket.

Disappointed that he would have to wait until morning to tell her about his visit, he undressed quietly and got into bed. The sound of snoring in the next room told him that Lizzie was in her “first sleep”; so he knew that it would be a long time before she would awake. Thinking he might forget his disappointment, he began to pray.

However short and simple of form his sincere appeal may have been, it served him as might any formula of cabalistic worth. Bringing to his childish mind not only quiet forgetfulness; but quick, conquering somnolence, with a myriad train of fantastic visions; tantalizing his superstitious soul, and holding him in helpless captivity until the mystic hour of midnight came to break the spell.

A rooster, high up on a branch of the persimmon tree in the side yard, looking out across the pasture, and seeing the moon slipping down the heavens, flapped his wings lustily and gave a ringing salute that floated off on the wind to tell his fellow-fowls that morning was on the way to greet the sleeping world.

Chester heard the clarion sound in the tangle of his dream, and awaking with a start, he jumped out of bed and ran to Lizzie’s room, calling to her excitedly:

“Lizzie! You ’wake?” He shouted, going to the bed-side, and shaking her roughly. “Wake up, for Gawd sake; an’ lemme talk to you!... Did you hyeah dat noise jes’ now befo’ I come in de room?”

Lizzie sat up quickly and answered in an angry tone:

“Boy, you mus’ be losin’ yo’ min’, ain’t you? W’at you mean, comin’ hyuh an’ wakin’ me out my slumbers, axin’ me ’bout any noise, like somebody done gone crazy?... Go back to bed, yonder in yo’ room. An’ damn you an’ dis kind o’ humbug; way in de middle o’ de night like dis!... You ain’ walkin’ in yo’ sleep, is you?”

“Lizzie, for Gawd sake lissen at w’at I’m try’n to tell you,” he pleaded. “Ain’t you hyeah’d de noise,—like somebody callin’ for help?... Callin’ an’ moanin’ so pitiful, it woke me out a heavy sleep.... Gawd knows. I could hyeah it plain as day.... An’ ’long wid de moanin’ I could heayh de soun’ like water splashin’.... Gawd knows, Lizzie.... An’ I dunno w’at make you ain’ bin able to hyeah it, loud an’ natchal as dat thing was soundin’.”

Becoming suddenly aware of the humor of the situation, Lizzie began laughing with keen enjoyment.

“Nigger, you mus’ bin had de night-mare,” she told him. “You better go look an’ see if you ain’ knocked over dat bucket o’ water on de table yonder.... Talkin’ ’bout hyeahin’ water splashin’.... Go back to bed, boy, an’ lay down. An’ quit dis foolishness, an’ lemme git some mo’ sleep.”

Determined to convince her that what he heard was no imaginary sound, he persisted:

“Lizzie, w’at make you think I wan’ joke on somh’n seerus like dis thing is?... I tell you de noise I hyeah’d was a reel, _natchal_ noise. An’ it kep’ up de whole time I was gittin’ out o’ bed till I got hyuh an’ shuck you ’wake. An’ w’en I commence walkin’ ’cross de room, it look like all my laigs was stingin’ me, same as if somebody bin switchin’ ’um wid stingin’-nettles.”

“Chester, git out o’ hyuh, wid yo’ lyin’ self!” Lizzie commanded, with a show of irritation. “Hyuh you done laid up in yo’ bed half de night in a crooked position, till yo’ blood done gone to sleep; an’ come tellin’ me ’bout somebody switchin’ yo’ laigs wid stingin’-nettles!... Git out o’ hyuh.... ’Cause I know if I raise up out dis bed an’ shove you thoo dat do’, you sho Gawd will go lay down, aft’ my han’s done fell on you.... You hyeah w’at I’m say’n?”

“I hyeah you,” he answered forlornly. “But you watch if you don’ hyeah bad news tomorrow mornin’.... A callin’ noise like dat noise I hyeah’d, sho do puhdick somh’n.... An’ Jesus goin’ be my witness I ain’ lissen at nothin’ on-natchal dis night o’ my good Lawd.”

Leaning over the side of the bed, Lizzie trailed her hand along the floor until she found one of her shoes. Suspecting her intention, Chester started to leave the room, when she fired the shoe at him, shouting:

“Git out o’ hyuh, I tell you! An’ don’t you lemme hyeah you say another word tonight.”

Unable to sleep, he lit a candle on the mantelshelf, and sat down on the side of his cot, trying to calm himself. He tried to pray, but he could not concentrate, his mind was so disturbed. The room was cold, and the dim cheerless light of the candle made him uncomfortable. Maybe if he lit a fire and made some coffee he would feel stronger, he thought.

Taking some dried leaves and chips from the box in the corner, he put them on the hearth between the andirons; laid a few branches over them and lighted the fire with the candle. As the bright flame leaped up the chimney, brightening the room with a cheerful glow, and streaking the floor and ceiling with long quivering shadows; he sat down before the hearth and began humming softly.

Seeing the reflection through the open door, and hearing the low rumble of his voice, Lizzie called to him impatiently:

“Chester, if you think you goin’ hol’ a all-night swaree yonder in dat kitchen wid nobody but yo’ fool-self, you better come close dis do’, so dat light won’ keep me from sleepin’.”

He got up and closed the door quietly; went over to his cot and took the quilt; and after wrapping it about him, he drew a chair before the fire and sat down. The genial warmth and the soothing crackling of the burning branches set his mind to thinking of other things; and very soon he found himself tranquilly sinking into utter forgetfulness; snugly enfolded by the “fifty revelashuns of de forty-seven wonders.”

The season for growing things being almost over, only a few vegetables were left in Nat’s garden. Several beds of sweet potatoes and pumpkin vines told that a few yams and cashaws remained to be gathered; and there was still a small supply of succulent spinach, bordered with rows of bright green parsley; and plenty of glossy red peppers on the sturdy bushes growing along the side fence.

Before seven o’clock in the morning, with a warm sunshine falling over everything, Nat was at work with Tempe’s mule hitched to the harrow; trying to get the ground ready for lettuce planting before the first frost fall.

Up and down the long rows of lumpy ground he followed the harrow, singing pleasantly to amuse himself; apparently satisfied with the mule for the work he had in mind. The sunshine was bright and comforting; and nothing disturbed his meditations except the playful sniffing and barking of his three dogs, Leave-it-lay, Scawl and one-eye Companyun, following at his heels, hunting out toads and ground-puppies under the newly-broken clods.

At length, the click of the iron latch on the front gate attracted Nat’s attention; and looking up, he saw a woman with a _marchande_ basket coming down the grassy path. As she came nearer, Nat recognized Scilla, coming to buy vegetables to take to the City to sell. She was walking hurriedly, and seemed to be excited. Before reaching him, she called out breathlessly:

“Lawd, Unc’ Nat! W’at you reckon done happen?... An’ had to fall on me, to be de firs’ one to see de thing; an’ go spread de news, yonder in Gritny.”

Unmoved, Nat looked at her, and answered quietly:

“Ooman, take yo’ time; an’ don’ trip ove’ yo’ words so fas’. W’at excitement dis is, you done brought hyuh so soon in de mawnin’?”

“Unc’ Nat,” Scilla continued with growing animation, “ain’t you hyeah’d ’bout Tempe gittin’ drownded in de street well, yonder by Miss Collamo cawnder?”

“Great-day-in-de-mawnin’! gal,” Nat exclaimed. “Is you come hyuh jokin’? Or is you tellin’ somh’n w’at happen for-true?”

“I ain’ play’n, Unc’ Nat,” Scilla assured him. “Tempe drownded yonder in de well. An’ nobody ain’ know nothin’ ’tall ’bout it, till I comed along soon dis mawnin’; an’ seen Tempe body floatin’ on top de water, hol’in a bunch o’ stingin’-nettles, tight-shet in one ’uh han’s; like she mus’ bin grabbed ’um off de side de well w’en she was fallin’ in.”

Nat contemplated her face for a second, still doubting the information. “Gal, go ’way,” he said to her. “I bet you ain’ seen nothin’ but a bunch o’ weeds, or somh’n-nother floatin’ on top de water, made you think ’twas Tempe body; dark like it mus’ bin w’en you peeped in de well.”

But Scilla was positive about what she had seen, she told him. Saying that she had started away from home very early, on her way to Nat’s garden after vegetables; and seeing the well uncovered when she reached the corner, and fearing that someone would meet with an accident; she stooped to cover it. As she was putting the wooden lid in place, a ray of sunlight, slanting through the opening, attracted her attention to a strange-looking object in the water. Getting down on her knees to look at it more closely, she discovered that it was Tempe’s body; with one arm pointing upward, and the hand clutching a bunch of nettles.

“I was so sk’yeard, Unc’ Nat, I start to run an’ holler for help,” Scilla went on, with dramatic effect. “W’en jus’ ’bout dat time, I seen Mr. Gully baker wagon come ’roun de cawnder, an’ I call him to come see.

“Mr. Gully got down off de wagon, an’ looked in de well. An’ w’en he seen for hisself ’twas Tempe body, he tol’ me go call somebody. So I went got two or three mens; an’ dey all fetched a rope an’ things from Tempe yard; an’ dey commence strug’lin wid de rope, till dey got it hitched roun’ Tempe body. An’ aft’ a li’l w’ile, dey pulled ’uh up.

“Den dey all took Tempe to ’uh house; an’ I went got some wimmins livin’ close-by, to look aft’ ’uh an’ fix ’uh nice for de burryin’.... So aft’ I had did all I could, I lef’ ’um all yonder, an’ come hyuh to git my vegetables to carry over to New Leens to sell.”

Nat looked at her in thoughtful contemplation.

“Nobody ain’ said nothin’ ’bout how Tempe come to fall in de well?” He asked her.

“Some de people say ’twas a accident. An’ some say Tempe bin so bad-off for so long, she was jus’ natchally weak-minded, an’ mus’ bin commit,” Scilla advised him.

“I gotta go yonder dis evenin’, an’ see ’bout de funeyun,” Nat murmured softly, as if talking to himself. “Tempe ain’ got nothin’. An’ she bin too good a ooman to leave dem don’-care-fied niggers lay ’uh away, yonder in potter’s fiel’.”