Part 13

Lizzie arrived with a great bunch of squawking chickens in each hand. Seeing the gate closed, and unable to help herself, she called out boisterously:

“Whah y’all done lef’ yo’ manners, you can’t come hyuh an’ open dis gate an’ lemme in? You wan’ leave me stay out hyuh all night helpless? Wid all dis mighty roocus dese crazy chickens raisin’ right hyuh in front Lethe door?... Come open dis gate, for Gawd sake. Befo’ some dese inquiztun w’ite folks run up hyuh an’ try to ’res’ Lizzie for robbin’ people hen-roos’ after hours like dis is.... Stop yo’ grinnin’, an’ come hyuh an’ gimme a han’,” she commanded.

Felo hurried to open the gate and let her in, and Lethe led the way to the back yard; both of them laughing heartily at Lizzie’s amusing speech and the antics she performed as she deposited the squawking chickens on the ground. Felo helped her untie the strings from their feet, and after they were put away for the night and Lethe saw that the chicken house door was made fast, the party went into the kitchen and sat down to talk.

After scanning the room inquisitively, Lizzie got up and helped herself to a dipper of water from the bucket standing on the table; then kicked off her shoes and made herself ready to enjoy any form of entertainment the night would offer. Seeing that she was in a loquacious humor, Lethe encouraged her to talk of Chester; knowing how curious Felo was to learn something of his whereabouts. At the mention of his name, Felo asked if Chester was going to the wake.

“No,” Lizzie answered quietly; then added with a grandiloquent air, that Mr. Frackshun was trav’lin’.

“To Lafourche?” Felo inquired.

“No. To furren parts,” Lizzie told him, enigmatically.

“To the sugar-grindin’?” Felo persisted.

No. Mr. Frackshun didn’t care nothin’ ’bout playin’ in a cane field; Lizzie informed him facetiously. Mr. Frackshun said he found cuttin’ cane too bitterly against the constitution.... ’Tain’ everybody kin stand it like wimmins bin use to it.... An’ innyway, Mr. Frackshun said he was afraid of his feets gittin’ fros’-bitten, cold mawnin’s like they had in the country.... And a cane-knife was such a dang’us-lookin’ weepon, Mr. Frackshun said he couldn’t see how he was goin’ to git use to totin’ one....

What was Lizzie tryin’ to make out of Chester? Felo asked her reprovingly. Since when did Chester come to be so high-up and particular that he could pick and choose the kind of work he wanted to do, when niggers in Gritny was glad to do any kind of work that come to their hand, tight as money was this time of the year?... Was she satisfied to listen to Chester’s crazy talk, and leave him stay home playin’ weak and timmasun, layin’ up on her all winter long doin’ nothin’? While she was scufflin’ yonder in the frosty cane-field, workin’ her poor fool-self to death till way after Christmas, when the grindin’ was over?... Lizzie must think Chester was some kind of jew’lry had to be locked up in the house to keep people from runnin’ off with....

“But you know de ole house so rickety an’ lavadated, Mr. Felo, da’s de very reason I sont Chester ’way from hyuh,” Lizzie told him with impressive seriousness. “My li’l ole shanty ain’ no safe place to hide nothin’ w’en dese Gritny w’ite folks commences plund’in an’ searchin’.... An’ jus’ like you say,—Chester so simple an’ timmasun,—Lizzie ain’ feel like she wan’ take no chances.... So da’s how come she make de jew’lry take a depahter.” (Departure.)

“Lawd! Lizzie, you sho is a circus,” exclaimed Lethe, laughing heartily.

Felo looked puzzled and annoyed, and scowled at Lethe, wondering at her amusement. What did Lizzie mean? He asked her impatiently. Did she think he came there to waste time and listen to a whole lot of riddles and humbug?... He wasn’t no chillun.... If she wanted to talk, why didn’t she talk plain and natchal; and not try to talk a mouth full of mystery nobody wasn’t able to ’lucidate....

“Dey ain’ got no myst’ry ’bout Chester goin’ ’way from hyuh, Mr. Felo,” Lizzie explained quietly. “I _sont_ de boy ’way from hyuh; an’ I know de place whah he gone to. An’ dey ain’ nobody else but Lizzie Cole to be helt ’sponsible for de boy welfare, w’en de time come for givin’ ’count on Chester Frackshun disa’pyunce out o’ Gritny.... So sen’ ’um to me, w’en dey wan’ ax queshtun an’ find out somh’n.... I ain’t ’fraid to face ’um.”

“Who dat you got to face ’bout Chester goin’ away?” Felo asked quickly.

“All dem parties an’ parties settin’ up in de cou’t-house, try’n to play smart,” Lizzie answered.

“W’at thing dis Chester done commit, you gotta worry ’bout people in de cou’t-house callin’ on you?” Felo asked with eager surprise.

“’Tain’ nothin’ Chester did,—’zac’ly speakin’,” Lizzie went on to explain. It was the things the white folks might come to do if they heard that Chester was under suspicion.... Because he had already runned up on danger two times: with all these niggers blabbin’ about the way ole Unc’ Peesah died. And about the needle Tempe got from Chester the night before the old man passed out. Then come Unc’ Nat, spreadin’ the news that Chester was the one that left the well open at the corner the night Tempe got drownded, makin’ it look like the boy wanted to get her out of the way to stop any more talk about the fatal needle.... Who? No indeed.... She wasn’t goin’ to leave a poor simple motherless boy like Chester stay home alone when she went to the sugar-grindin’, so the white folks could come and land him up in jail; when he was just natchally innocent and helpless.... ’Specially when that man lookin’ after the light on the Morgan road, had come to her the mawnin’ after Gussie was runned over; inquirin’ what time it was when Chester come home the night before; and if he seen the switch light burnin’ when he went ’cross the Green.... Tryin’ to make it look like Chester had somh’n to do with bein’ mixed-up in how Gussie come to be runned over by a switch engine....

“Lawd, Lizzie! Go ’way from hyuh,” Lethe exclaimed aghast. “You ain’ never tol’ me dat befo’.”

“W’at you said to de man?” Felo asked, greatly concerned.

“I say: Who you mean, Chester Frackshun?... I say: Dis de place he live; but he ain’ bin home hyuh for over a week.... I say: Chester yonder ’cross de lake, workin’ in a saw mill on Blind River. An’ I know he ain’ seen no kind o’ switch light yonder in dat swampy lonesome country.”

“An’ Chester was already gone away?” Felo wanted to know.

“Who?” Lizzie laughed, pleased with the remembrance of her little stratagem. Chester was right there in the kitchen, down on his knees, she went on to relate; close enough for the man to hear the sound of the scrubbin’-brush swishin’ up an’ down the kitchen flo’, right behind where she was standin’ in the door-way.

“But soon as de man shet de gate an’ went away, I say: Chester, put dat scrubbin’-brush an’ bucket out yo’ han’s, an’ git up from hyuh an’ pack yo’ clo’se quick as you kin git ’um together.... You gotta go ’way from hyuh tonight,—an’ not a _word_ from you.... Hyuh come another death done layed at you do’. So you ain’ got a thing to do, but hurry ’way from dis place, an’ stay ’way from hyuh till all dis commotion pass over an’ times come to be natchal again.... ’Cause you know, I’m goin’ yonder to Lafoosh to de grindin’; an’ you ain’ got strank enough to fight all dese Gritny w’ite folks w’en dey commence pickin’ on you, an’ Lizzie ain’ hyuh to puhteck you.... So git together all yo’ few l’il scat’rin rags; ’cause I wan’ see you leave dis house tonight, soon’s it git dark....”

“An’ you made ’im go ’way?” Felo interrupted.

“Who? Chester ain’ no fool,” she answered. “Chester know too good, how he gotta listen w’en Lizzie lay down de law an’ preach ’im somh’n cuncernin’ of ’is welfare.... Yas indeed, he went away,” she continued. “Went away wid ’is li’l bundle und’ ’is arm, quick as I could git yonder to de boat landin’ on de Basin, an’ make ’rangements wid de man on de charcoal lugger to take Chester ’long wid ’im to do de cookin’ on de trip over.”

“So da’s w’at Chester goin’ do now? Go back to cookin’ on de charcoal luggers for de winter?” Felo inquired.

“I ain’ told you Chester was goin’ stay on no charcoal lugger all winter,” Lizzie informed him sharply.

“Den whah Chester gone?” Felo demanded.

“To furren parts,” Lizzie replied with tantalizing artfulness.

Felo looked at her with a scowl of displeasure, feeling that she meant to withhold something important from him. What made her act so tight-mouth, and try to keep things so secret? He asked with impatience. Did she have to hide things like that from close friends like him and Lethe?... Didn’t she know that both of them would be ready to stand by Chester if he got into any trouble with the white folks?... What ailed her, anyway?

Mr. Felo had to excuse her, Lizzie informed him politely; but she just natchally couldn’t trust no ’ceitful niggers, any more than she could trust some of the white folks.... ’Specially white folks like some of them shoo-fly offsprings they had sittin’ up in the court house....

“But who is you, in de name o’ Gawd?” Lethe asked in a surprised voice, looking at her quietly and speaking very slowly. “Settin’ hyuh talkin’ ’bout niggers bein’ ’ceitful,—wid all dis mighty ’thawity to criticize yo’ own color?... _You_ ain’ ’ceitful, is you?... Scandalizin’ w’ite folks you done growed up wid; w’en you oughta be proud to give ’um respec’ for all de ’sistance you got from ’um in de needed time.... Gawd knows, Lizzie, you sho oughta be shame to make little o’ yo’ Gritny people like dat.”

“Leave Lizzie ’lone, an’ quit talkin’, Lethe; an’ le’s go yonder to Gussie wake whah things is peaceful,” Felo suggested with sudden abruptness. “Lizzie ain’ bin use to nothin’, no-how; an’ da’s w’at make her so scawnful ’bout de w’ite folks. She jus’ like de res’ o’ dese po’ ignun niggers, ain’ got no inher’tunce.”

What kind of inheritance did some of the white folks sittin’ up in the court house have? Lizzie wanted to know. Did Mr. Felo ever take notice how many of the people holdin’ high office in the court house, ain’t been connected with nothin’ but cows, one generation to another?... Who?... She could look back long as she knowed, and could tell about the time when their gramma and grampa went grassin’ ’long-side the railroad track with a wheel-barrow.... And the many times she seen their parents pushin’ cows to the pasture back and forth.... And right now, she could call the name of _plenty_ of them drawin’ pay from the court house, what was makin’ extra change, sellin’ cream cheese and buttermilk from the cows they had in their yard.... And was that kind o’ practice-habit the thing Mr. Felo wanted to call inheritance?... Who? She asked him, laughing with great amusement.... A grass sickle, cows, and some cream cheese moulds wasn’t nothin’ she could see to make people set up and put on airs like folks what comed from a family of ’ridginy people....

“But w’at all dis hist’ry got to do wid Chester goin’ away from Gritny?” Felo asked with eager curiosity.

It had plenty to do with it; Lizzie assured him. She was sharp enough to know what would happen if people kept on talkin’ about Chester and Tempe and the needle and the fatal switch engine; tryin’ to make him answer for somethin’ when he wasn’t guilty.... No indeed. She wasn’t goin’ to take no fool chances with court-house people she knowed so good.... White folks what always bin used to somh’n, never was hard on niggers; even way back in Reb’-time days. And anybody ever bin had any traffic with them could tell you the same thing.... And Mr. Felo could ask his Ma Fanny, and find out for himself she wasn’t tellin’ no lie. ’Cause all the people along the coast knowed the hist’ry about the Derbignys and the Garderes and the De Gruy family, and some them yuther plantation people what always had somh’n; and how they was good to their cullud folks.... Even today....

“But who wan’ put inny pennunce in shoo-fly people an’ off-springs?” She asked indignantly. “No indeed, Lawd! Not Lizzie Cole.... No matter if her father is a preacher o’ de gospel, an’ tries to make her b’lieve she gotta love her neighbor like she love herself.... Who? Mr. Felo think she goin’ study ’bout givin’ people love an’ trus’, w’en she look back an’ ain’ see nothin’ behin’ ’um but a ginneration o’ cattle an’ cows?” ...

“An’ you ain’ goin’ leave none yo’ own color know whah Chester gone to?” Felo asked.

No. Lizzie answered positively. She had passed her hand ’cross her mouth, and wasn’t goin’ to say nothin’ to _nobody_ till she came back from the grindin’ after Christmas, with a pocket full of money.... Then she would bring Chester back to the castle yonder ’cross the pasture, and spread joy for all the hongry niggers in the East Green.... But now that she had the boy out of danger, she was goin’ to Lafoosh to have a good time, with Scilla and Nookie and Carmelite and Pinkey, and all the other wimmins that said they were goin’.... Soongy said she was countin’ on goin’, if she could fix it so Dink could stay at Aunt Fisky’s house till she come back.... Now that Gussie was gone, Dink would be a good help to Aunt Fisky; runnin’ to the groc’ry and washin’ dishes and ’tendin’ to her ducks and things. ’Cause Soongy cert’ny had raised Dink handy and nice.

“But none y’all ain’ goin’ to Gussie funeyul tomorrow?” Lethe asked her dubiously.

“Who?” Lizzie exclaimed, greatly surprised at the question. “You ain’ think Lizzie goin’ run to de country careless, an’ leave a fine brass ban’ behind her, like dey say dey goin’ have tootin’ music in front o’ Gussie, is you?... No indeed.... Lizzie too crazy ’bout music to go ’way from hyuh till after dey done put Gussie away an’ all de purrade over. Den she kin git on de train wid happy membunce o’ Gussie, an’ go to de grindin’ well pleased.”

If the band of music was the only thing leadin’ Lizzie to stay over to go to the funeral, she ought to be more decent and not tell it; Felo reprimanded, batting his eyelids crossly. If she didn’t want to give any respect to Gussie, she ought to stay at home, and not play hypocrite so brazen before a whole crowd of people, right in front of Aunt Fisky’s face.

She never did care nothin’ for ole no-nation Gussie; Lizzie told him frankly. And she didn’t have respect to study about. But a brass band was a diffunt queshtun.... _Goin’_ to the funeral wasn’t the main part she had to consider. It was comin’ back, dancin’ to the music, all the way from the graveyard to the Gritny ferry-boat.... Who?... That was enough to make her don’t care if she missed forty Morgan trains goin’ to the grindin’.... Everybody knowed how all them Gritny niggers would come skippin’ and prancin’ up Main Street, when they heard that brass band commence soundin’ them teasin’ blues.... And if they just started playin’ “O Didn’t He Ramble,”—she cert’ny knowed there wasn’t _nothin’_ goin’ to keep her from shakin’ her fool-self to a fraz’lin finish....

“Lethe!” Felo exclaimed, exasperated; rolling his eyes ominously. “You sit hyuh quiet, an’ listen at dis Hell-bound ooman talk like dat, an’ ain’ say nothin’ to ’uh?... Git up from hyuh an’ come on, if you goin’ wid me to Gussie wake tonight. An’ leave Lizzie hyuh to do like de devil lead ’uh to do.... ’Cause I done los’ all patience wid ’uh. An’ I know Gawd ain’ goin’ bother wid ’uh.... So come on!”

“You goin’ to de wake?” Lethe asked her, getting up and reaching for her shawl, hanging on a nail behind the door.

“No,” Lizzie answered, smiling placidly. “You go ’head an’ take yo’ pleasure wid Mr. Felo, yonder munks de Chrishtuns. I’m goin’ stay hyuh for a li’l w’ile an’ make me some weak coffee, if you don’ mind.... But I’ll sho meet you tomorrow, dancin’ in de road, comin’ back; befo’ I take de train in de evenin’ for Lafoosh plantation.”

Lethe told her to make herself at home, and started for the front door with Felo following her, his eyes fixed on Lizzie with a glowering look.

“Good night, Mr. Felo,” she called to him in a derisive tone. “An’ I hope Gawd take care o’ yo’ th’oat w’en you singin’ over Gussie so bol’ an’ manful, yonder munks de Chrishtuns.”

On reaching home in the evening, Mr. Amos was somewhat surprised to find all the windows and doors open and lights burning in all the rooms, seeming to anticipate the arrival of some friendly guest. The table was set for one person, and the pots on the kitchen stove gave evidence that everything was ready for the evening meal; but Felo was not in sight. Going to the kitchen door, Mr. Amos found him in the back yard, quietly hoeing his little hill of snap-beans, growing along the side fence; so intent upon his gardening that he was not aware of being watched until Mr. Amos spoke; inquiring what all the illuminations meant, and if he were expecting anybody.

“Nobody but you,” Felo told him placidly. “Lessen somebody comin’ hyuh unbeknownce.”

“Then, why all the lights?” Mr. Amos faltered.

“Man, go inside an’ set to de table; an’ don’ be so hard to please,” Felo went on. “W’at dey is wrong, you can’ come home now an’ den, an’ fin’ de house lookin’ like things givin’ you welcome, aft’ a hard day struggle?... If dis yo’ resident, an’ de place whah you look to find yo’ peace an’ comfut; I ain’ see how you gotta think ’bout makin’ a whole lot o’ extra show for out-side people, an’ don’ wan’ make none for yo’-own self.... ’Specially w’en you cunsider you ain’ got so long to enjoy yo’ life; an’ dey ain’ nobody to ’preshate de place no better’n you an’ me.... Go set down, for Gawd sake. An’ don’ try to make me feel any wusser’n I feel already.... Disappointed like I bin today wid people I sho thought I could count on....”

What could have happened to bring on a mood like this? Mr. Amos wondered. Did anything go wrong at the wake or the funeral? “I thought you would come home bubbling over with news, and couldn’t wait to tell what you saw,” he said to Felo, as he came in from the yard and began making ready to serve dinner.

He didn’t feel like talkin’, Felo answered. He had to look after them snap-beans, and twist them around the cane-reed poles he brought from home; before the wind broke all the runners and fixed them so they wouldn’t make no beans; after all the bother he had with them, waterin’ and ’tendin’ them like he did every evenin’....

“So set down an’ eat, an’ don’ plague me,” he said, appealingly. “Evvything hyuh on de table for you. An’ if you want somh’n, I’ll be right hyuh in de yard, an’ you kin call me.... Da’s alright?” He asked hesitatingly.

“Go on,” Mr. Amos told him with an amused smile. “Maybe the fresh air will revive you; and later on you’ll be more sociable.”

He didn’t need no fresh air to revive his feelin’s; Felo argued with himself as he worked with his beans. Wasn’t he out in the fresh air nearly all day? But that didn’t keep him from gittin’ down-casted. Even with music playin’, and the Peefus members marchin’ back and forth around Gussie’s tomb, callin’ out to the devil and beatin’ him off with their battle axes. And with the people singin’ and talkin’ and goin’ on like they did.... Excitement ain’t had nothin’ to do with his feelin’s bein’ upset. It was what people did to him that made him feel troubled in his mind.... Just like Mr. Amos thinkin’ he wasn’t sociable. Somebody onsociable was ’most as bad as somebody what wasn’t no Chrishtun.... He went on ruminating.

What make Mr. Amos think he ain’t sociable, after he done come back from Gritny plumb disgusted with evvything; glad to git home where he could look over his mind peaceful, when he was doin’ his cookin’ and tryin’ to make things look nice and invitin’ to please nobody but him.... That wasn’t no way to talk to an ole-time fellow-servant, just because he ain’t ready to stretch his eyes and grin the minute somebody look at him.... It sho was disencouragin’.... Couldn’t Mr. Amos keep patience, and wait till he got through twistin’ them snap-beans? And finished up evvything in the kitchen, so he could talk to him free and light-minded, after both of them went upstairs?

It sho was strange, for people what was raised together, and played with each-another from the days of their younger youth, not to be able to ’zern anybody condition when they seen them lookin’ like somh’n heavy was layin’ on their mind....

“De man ain’ know me yet; an’ hyuh I bin servin’ ’im thoo evvy kind o’ close quarters all dese many years? Lawd, Lawd! Hyuh somh’n else done comed up povokin’,” he went on cogitating aloud; hurrying through his work to get upstairs, where he knew he would find Mr. Amos in his room, lying down, reading.

Hearing Felo’s habitual goat-like sniff with which he playfully announced his arrival, Mr. Amos turned and saw him leaning against the door frame, waiting to be invited to have a seat. Knowing Felo’s propensity for all kinds of “good stimalashun,” and wanting to see him in a pleasant frame of mind, Mr. Amos gave him the keys of the armoire, and told him to get the bottle of Scotch whiskey he would find on the shelf, and help himself to a comforting drink.

Felo brought the bottle and two glasses and put them on the washstand, and sat down, looking at the bottle without speaking.

“Don’t you want a drink?” Mr. Amos asked in surprise. “Lord knows you look like you need one.”

“How long you bin had dis bottle o’ w’iskey?” Felo asked with quiet artfulness.

“About two weeks.”

... “Is you know de bottle open, an’ some de licker gone from out it?” Felo asked, with a knowing side glance at Mr. Amos.

“Yes. I opened it,” he told him. “What about it?”

“So da’s de way you does now,—drinks yo’ licker _secut_!” Felo accused him playfully. “You sho is a nasty ’ceitful w’ite man,” he went on, resuming something of his natural humor. “Done got you a nice full bottle o’ w’iskey settin’ up in yo’ cubbud, locked up; an’ ain’ say a word to nobody,—an’ me right hyuh in de same house wid you; an’ comes up hyuh to yo’ room on de sly, an’ drinks to yo’ ease; an’ den got de cheek to tell me ’bout bein’ onsociable!... Man, you oughta go ’way from hyuh.”