Part 6

“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.

The red rooster out in the china-berry tree crowed huskily. It was hot. The blossoms thick on the tree out there were too heavy sweet. Their fragrance filled the cabin. They made breathing an effort. Rose couldn’t sleep. Killdee lay so quiet, he must be asleep.

Rose sent out a prayer in the darkness; a prayer for her baby, that God, wherever He was, would take care of her little girl. Then she prayed for Jim. She prayed again for herself, that she’d get well--well as she was before Sis was born---- Then she prayed for Killdee, that he would have longer patience--and be happier--and get saved from sin.

But her thoughts wandered. She was praying here in the darkness. Where was God that He could hear her?

A fear of things crept into her heart--a fear of the dark, of what she didn’t know. Her fear made her get closer to Killdee and, gently lifting his heavy arm, she put it over her. She somehow felt protected by it, and soon fell into a heavy sleep.

* * * * *

When breakfast was ready the next morning, Killdee got up and ate hurriedly and went to the field with his mule and plow. Missie followed with a hoe. Rose stood in the door and watched them going to the field. Killdee looked tired, though the day’s work had not begun. His lean shoulders were stooped, and he was only a young man.

The plow was rickety. Missie did the best she could, but she was little and the grass was tough and wiry.

But this was Monday morning. Rose didn’t have time to be standing there thinking foolish, useless thoughts. No! She had work to do.

First, she sat down by the hearth and ate a bite of breakfast; then covered up what was left in the pot and put it closer to the coals to keep warm until Jim woke.

She hadn’t slept well last night. The china-berry blossoms were too sweet, and the red rooster kept crowing all through the night. She had never heard him crow so loud before. He woke up baby Sis two or three times. Jim never waked for anything. No. He was a good sleeper. That was why he grew so fast.

She went to the bed where he lay asleep. In the early morning light her two chubby, little black children looked almost exactly alike. One was a very little larger than the other. Rose looked with pride at Jim’s soft, round chin; his curved cheek. The full lips, slightly parted, showed teeth white as new milk. A sturdy little boy, but Rose shook her head as she looked, and her eyes filled with tears. Jim’s little clothes were all ragged.

The red rooster gave a shrill crow right at the doorway. Baby Sis, asleep in the cradle beside Rose’s own bed, woke and cried out sharply. Rose went quickly to her and took her up and held her close and murmured:

“Did de bad ol’ rooster wake up my baby? E did! E skeery ’em. Go to sleep----”

She sat in the creaky rocking-chair and crooned to the child she fed at her breast.

The sun had risen bright and hot. A light breeze fluttered through the leaves of the china-berry tree outside and came in through the door, cooler than the fire-warmed air inside the cabin.

Rose rocked back and forth till Sis’s little eyelids fell, then she kissed the fuzzy little head gently and, rising carefully, tipped over to the cradle and laid the baby down.

The red rooster crowed. Baby Sis’s bright eyes opened wide. Rose leaned over and patted the soft little body and rocked the cradle till the heavy eyelids closed tight again. Then she went to the door and waved her apron fiercely at the red rooster.

“Git on off!” she whispered angrily at him. “Git on off! Sometime I wish you was dead! You won’ let nobody sleep een de night wid you crowin’! Now you keep wakin’ my baby up! Quit you doin’s! I got work fo’ do! I ain’ got time fo’ be runnin’ you ’way f’om de do’! Shoo!”

He ran away cackling with terror. Rose began getting up the clothes to wash. This was Monday morning. She piled them all together in the middle of the floor. Then she took up each garment, piece by piece. She must find where there were missing buttons or torn, worn places.

A small paper box sat on the mantelshelf, a box that had once held shells for Killdee’s gun. Now it held her one needle and a ball of coarse thread. She drew the rocking-chair to the door where there was light, and with her big-eyed needle and coarse thread, she repaired the clothing carefully.

The big, black, iron wash-pot sat out in the yard not far from the woodpile. Killdee and Missie had filled it on Saturday. Rose built up a hot fire under it. She took the two wooden washtubs out from under the house and put them up on a bench by the cabin, in the shade of the china-berry tree. Then she brought out the clothes and separated the white ones from the colored ones. With a tin bucket she dipped hot water from the big, iron pot and poured it into the tubs. Soon she was bending her body up and down, up and down, over the wash-board, and white soap-suds foamed through her fingers.

She sang as she worked, a low, spiritual melody. She felt happier, somehow. Work was good, after all. It helps people to shed their troubles. As she washed each garment in one tub, she dropped it into the other tub to be washed again. They’d all be clean when she finished with them.

The red rooster hopped up in the doorway. Rose did not see him. He peeped around carefully to see if she heard him, but she was thinking just then she would have to be careful or the soap would not last through this washing. Jim and Killdee used so many clothes this rainy weather. So many more than she did, or Missie. They got them so dirty too. She didn’t mind that, bless their hearts, if the soap would hold out. Rubbing clothes without soap made sorry washing.

The red rooster stepped cautiously inside the cabin. He was hungry and curious, and with Rose out of sight he was bold.

He looked at the pot on the hearth. The fire coals near it blinked red and hot. He was afraid to go closer to them.

He looked all around the room. A few white threads were scattered on the floor. He pecked at one. It hung on his beak, a tasteless, annoying thing. He shook it off with a croak of disgust.

Jim was a sound sleeper. He did not wake. But Baby Sis’s ears were keen. Her eyes opened wide and caught sight of the red rooster’s glossy, bright feathers and his scarlet comb. She cooed with delight.

The red rooster listened and walked timidly up to the cradle. He stretched his neck and looked over the side to see what was there. Tiny dimpled fists and small black feet jerked uncertainly, quickly. Two black eyes danced and sparkled.

The red rooster leaned a little closer. The child seemed harmless enough.

He was hungry. He had not had a single grain that morning. Not a crumb. Rose and Missie and Killdee had all forgotten to feed him.

The hens were scratching for worms, but it was very hot. They had to hold their wings out away from their bodies while they scratched. A tiresome thing.

Maybe these two, bright shiny eyes would be good to eat. He would have to be quick to get them. They didn’t keep still like blackberries. No, but maybe they tasted better.

His yellow beak was sharp and his long neck was strong, and he gave a swift peck.

Rose outside was washing and singing, but she heard the strangled gasp of terror, the silent held breath, then the shrill, heart-breaking scream.

She flew up the cabin steps, stumbling over the frightened red rooster. He squawked and cackled with terror and tried to fly past her out through the door.

It was easy to see what had happened. A bloody hole gaped, then it poured out red tears.

Rose’s eyes dazzled. She picked up the child and held her close while she stumbled blindly, wildly over the soft furrows to where Killdee worked to kill grass in the field. Killdee would know what to do. He’d know.

“Killdee--Killdee----” she moaned as she went, “mah po’ lil baby---- Looka wha’ de rooster done to em, Killdee----”

Killdee heard her and went running to meet her. Missie ran too. Killdee looked once at Sis’s poor little blood-stained face and turned away with a breath that whistled sharp through his teeth. His mouth went hard. His lips taut.

Why couldn’t he speak? What was the matter with him?

Rose put out a hand to touch him, then drew it back.

He was laughing--no--not laughing, either, but his face was working curiously----

Missie followed his eyes as they looked wistfully across the fields where heat waves danced merrily in the hot sunshine. What was Killdee thinking? Why was he so quiet?

“Yinner mus’ be blame me--yinner won’ say nuttin’,” Rose sobbed. Killdee said slowly, hoarsely:

“No--I dunno nuttin’ fo’ say----”

Rose turned away crying. Killdee was blaming her. She had let the rooster get in. It was Monday. She had to wash. He knew that.

“Look lak you’d come kill de rooster--Killdee---- Don’ look lak you’d stan’ up dere an’ don’ say nuttin,--an’ don’ do nuttin’----”

Killdee held out his arms.

“Gi’ Sis to me, Rose. Lemme tote em home fo’ you. Missie, you go walk behime Mike. He kin keep to de row an’ plow tell I git back. You des hol’ de plow up fo em.”

With the child in his arms, he walked toward the cabin. Rose followed him, sobbing and saying as she went:

“I can’ wash no mo’ to-day. No. Not at mah baby eye done pick out---- You haffer kill da rooster, Killdee. I can’ stan’ fo’ hab em roun’ de do’ no mo’--no--not at e pick mah baby eye out. I know all de time somet’ing been gwine happen. Nobody wouldn’ lis’n at me when I talk--nobody wouldn’ pray, but me.”

Killdee did not answer, but he remembered how the new moon hid behind the china-berry tree last night. Bad luck had come. Yes.

When he killed the rooster, he’d cut the damned tree down too.

_Teaching Jim_

Killdee walked home beside the load of wood. In a kind voice he urged Mike on. The sun was going down.