Part 7

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.”

“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.