Part 19

“I ’member. E was powerful big-doin’s. But when death come for him, he had to go same as anybody else. Whe’s e now, Uncle Bill?”

Uncle Bill made a wry face at Big Sue, “I dunno. An’ you dunno. But Gawd knows Ol’ Cap’n had a big heart. A good heart. E wan’ no po’ buckra, or either white trash.” A sly smile lightened his solemn face.

“Dat new preacher preaches dat de Great I-Am is a nigger! Don’ let em fool you, gal. Gawd is white. You’ll see it too when Judgment Day comes. An’ E ain’ gwine be noways hard on a fine man like Ol’ Cap’n. He knows gentlemens. Sho’! An’ if Ol’ Cap’n couldn’ exactly make Heaven, I bet Gawd is got him a comfortable place in Hell, wid plenty o’ people to wait on him. An’ dat’s all e wants, anyhow. E had plenty o’ milk an’ honey an’ gold an’ silber down here, an’ e didn’ count none o’ dem much, nohow.”

The stillness was so intense that when the clock on Big Sue’s mantel banged out an hour, Uncle Bill jumped with a start at its call back to the present. He must be going on to April’s house with the bucket of milk. Time was moving. He had a lot of work to do before the white folks came. Some of the fences needed patching. Blinds had to be fixed in the rice-fields for the duck-hunters and the old trunks had to be mended in places so the ducks could be baited. There were many things waiting for him to do them.

“Did you hear f’om de buckra lately?” Big Sue’s little eyes got smaller as she asked it.

“Not so lately,” Uncle Bill admitted, “but I don’ fret. No news is good news wid dem. I sho’ will be glad to see li’l’ young Cap’n, dough. It’s hard to believe dat one li’l’ boy is de onliest seed de ol’ Cap’n is got left in dis world. E’s de last o’ de name. De last o’ de race. It make me sad to think on dat!”

“Dat same boy is a chip off de ol’ block! Lawd, e’s a case!”

Uncle Bill started up. “You sound like you got somet’ing against de boy? Dat ain’ right. No. When e mammy died, all o’ we promised we’d help raise dat baby to know right f’om wrong. You promised de same way like I promised.”

Big Sue did not answer and Uncle Bill went on, “Ol’ Cap’n, neither young Miss, wouldn’ rest still in dey graves if we didn’ do right by dat li’l’ boy. I too sorry his stepma keeps em yonder up-North most all de time. It ain’ good. It’s a wonder Ol’ Cap’n don’ rise out de grave an’ haunt em.”

Uncle Bill took up his bucket of milk. He must go. Big Sue asked him to tarry longer. Dinner was well-nigh done. He refused politely.

He got as far as the door, when he stopped still, “Miss Big Sue, I gwine tell you something. Ol’ Cap’n was a lily of de valley. E was a bright an’ mawnin’ star. When Death took him, it took de Jedus of dis plantation. Blue Brook ain’ never been de same since den. No.”

A soft drizzle of rain sifted through the trees, the wind moaned drearily.

Big Sue shook her head. “Gawd made Heaven fo’ de humble, Uncle Bill. Hell’s de place where de proudful goes. When a man, white or black, gits to trustin’ to his own strength, ’stead o’ Gawd’s, e is done for, sho’ as you’ born.”

After Leah’s death April seemed lonelier than ever. He passed Big Sue’s house almost every day, but he never looked in nor spoke. He didn’t even turn his head, but walked by, stern, unseeing. Big Sue always stopped what she was doing to go to the door and watch him. She’d nod her head and wink and shrug. Everywhere on the plantation, the talk was thick with prophecies that April would walk himself to death. Day and night he walked, never sitting down anywhere. A bad way for a man to do. That death-sheet had his feet conjured. They’d never rest again in this world, or in the other, unless April made a change in his ways.

Joy took to walking too. Not like April, day and night; but in the evenings, just after sunset, she’d wrap her long cape close around her and go away down the path. Big Sue paid little attention to Joy for her own troubles filled her mind. Occasionally she sent Breeze to see where Joy went, then got in a rage when Breeze reported invariably he couldn’t find her.

Sometimes Joy walked fast, sometimes slow. Nearly always toward sunset. Sometimes when she sat down on a tree root to rest, she’d talk to herself. At last Breeze felt sure she was trailing April, for when she glimpsed him through the trees she’d stop still, with her eyes fastened on him.

Breeze wondered if Joy was going crazy. Had somebody cast a spell on her too! As the days dragged on toward Christmas, she grew more and more silent. She spent much of the time in bed, but whenever the boat-whistle screeched out it had reached the landing, she either got up and went for the mail herself or sent Breeze to ask if any letter had come for her.

She took less and less notice of people and things, but stood by the open window for long stretches, looking out at the trees or the rice-fields beyond them.

Once when she started out alone in the dusk, Breeze offered to go with her. She smiled kindly and told him to come on, but Breeze felt hurt by her steady silence for it told him plainly that she cared no more for his company than for the wind, although his one thought was to please her.

The first time they met April, face to face, he would have passed without speaking but Joy stopped him. “Cun April----”

April turned his haggard face toward her and looked down with eyes that were deep sunken and reproachful instead of bold. “Is you called me, Joy?”

She stood dumb, motionless, a second, then spoke softly, distressfully.

“Cun April, I want to tell you, Ma ain’ been well, not since Cun Leah died. Ma frets all de time. Day an’ night. I can’ sleep fo’ de way she moans an’ goes on. All night long. It’s so pitiful. Please, suh, come talk to her sometimes. Ma never meant to do such a harm dat day. I wish you wouldn’ hold such hard feelin’s.”

April had aged a great deal. His shoulders stooped. His feet inclined to drag. His voice was low and husky. But he answered Joy kindly.

“I don’ hold nothin’ against you’ ma, Joy. Leah was in de wrong too. Leah had no business to throw Big Sue’s whole hog in de Blue Brook. No. Leah done wrong, I know dat.”

Joy stared at him. What he said made her speechless with astonishment at first, but she controlled herself enough to say.

“Stop by an’ see me an’ Ma, sometimes. Please, Cun April. We gits so awful lonesome after dark.”

April promised he would. Promised in words that were very gentle. Then he stalked on, a tall lonely shadow, moving under the trees.

April came to see Big Sue that very night, dropping by so unexpectedly that the sight of him made her dumb for a while. She tried to be natural, to hide her agitation, but her breath caught fast in her throat every time she opened her mouth to talk, and her words were uncertain and stammering.

But April paid little heed to her. He seemed scarcely to know she was there, for his eyes spent much of the time looking at Joy. Breeze thought he saw them flash once or twice, but it may have been the firelight in them.

April declared he had eaten supper and cared for nothing either to eat or drink, but Joy fixed him a cup of water, sweetened with wild honey, flavored with bruised mint leaves, from the mint-bed by the back door. When he tasted it he smiled, and the dull fire in the chimney blazed up, and everything seemed brighter, more joyful than in many a long day.

When April got up to go Joy followed him to the door. She made him shake hands with her and promise to come back very soon.

After that when Joy walked out in the dusk she always let Breeze know she’d rather go by herself. Not that she ever hurt his feelings, but she made some sort of flimsy excuse to be rid of him. He hadn’t shut up the coop where the hen and youngest biddies slept, or he hadn’t cut up enough fat kindling wood, or couldn’t he go fetch a fresh bucket of water from the spring?

Then Breeze discovered that April walked with Joy. He had forgotten Big Sue altogether.

Once Breeze saw them walking shoulder to shoulder, arm touching arm. They talked so softly their words were drowned by the rustle of the leaves under their feet. When April stopped and bent his face so close to Joy’s that she drew back a little, Breeze’s heart almost quit beating. He let them go on unwatched, hidden by the deepening twilight.

When Joy came home Big Sue grumbled as she handed her a panful of supper and a spoon.

“How come you so love to walk out in de night? It ain’ good. You’ll ketch a fever or somet’ing worse. You ain’ been home to eat supper wid me since last Sat’day night was a week.”

But Joy sat mute, looking into the fire, with eyes that gleamed back at the flames.

After that, Joy was always gentle, but except for her evening walk she went nowhere, not even for the mail. For days at a time she scarcely uttered a word. Lying on the bed, or sitting by the fire, she did nothing but think, all the time. When visitors came she said she wasn’t well, and went to lie down in the shed-room. Even Big Sue’s constant scolding got few words out of the girl.

Late one afternoon Big Sue went to see Maum Hannah, whose crippled knee was being troublesome. In the cabin a bright fire blazed merrily, and Breeze and Joy shelled parched pindars to make some molasses candy before time to cook supper. Breeze ran to Zeda’s house to borrow a pinch of cooking soda to make the candy foam up light. When he came back he found April talking to Joy in a strangled husky voice. Both were standing up by the fire, the shelled nuts were scattered on the floor; the smell of the molasses boiling over and burning, made a bitter stench in the room.

“Wha’ you say, Joy?” April asked it very low.

Joy stood dumb, motionless, then she lifted her eyes to his face. “Is you want me fo’ true, Cun April?”

His eyes were on her, so bold, so full of admiration, that she shrank back in confusion, although her white teeth were flashing with excitement.

April leaned closer and whispered, and her beaming eyes darted up sidewise to see by his face if he meant all he was saying. She reflected in silence, with a downcast look. But when she answered him softly, she looked straight up again into his eyes.

His breath came quick. His eyes glinted fiercely. Joy drew back, but she was nodding yes all the time. April caught her and squeezed her to him and kissed her. She started struggling to free herself, but Big Sue’s steps sounded outside and April hurried away out of the door. Joy’s eyes followed him until the darkness had swallowed him, and only the tramp of his feet could reach her ears. She pulled a chair up to the fire and sat down, with her eyes fixed on the flames. She sat there a long time. Once she smiled to herself, then she frowned, but her eyes stayed glittering like a high spring tide under a full noon sun.

“Joy,” Big Sue called her name sternly, “I b’lieve you’s conjured. I know April is. Dat death-sheet is had him walkin’ his feet off ever since Leah was buried. You’s a fool to let dat man talk wid you. I wish to Gawd e’d stay way f’om my house.”

* * * * *

When the boat blew for the landing early next morning on its way to town, Breeze and Big Sue had gone in Uncle Isaac’s cart to the lime mill near the seashore to get lime enough to whitewash the front of her house fresh for Christmas. Every cabin on the whole plantation was being scoured and scrubbed and dressed up with papers. Big Sue wanted hers to be the finest of all. Breeze had wrung next year’s supply of straw brooms out of the old unplanted fields and had swept the yard clean with a new dogwood brush-broom.

Joy had helped some, but in a half-hearted way. She wouldn’t even ride out with them to get the lime. Her excuse was that Julia looked wild. Breeze knew she didn’t mean it, for no mule ever moved more sluggishly. Breeze had to get a stick and frail Julia to make her trot at all.

Noon had passed when they got back home with their load.

Big Sue called Joy to see what nice white fresh-burned lime it was. Like flour. Not a lump in it. But Joy was not at home and Big Sue grumbled.

“Gone to Zeda’s again. Joy keeps hankerin’ to hear news from Sherry. E may as well quit dat. Sherry’s gone! Fo’ good! E ain’ got Joy to study ’bout! Not no mo’! No!”

When the sun went down, a great red ball, floods of brilliant light gushed up around it, foretelling a cold night and a windy day to-morrow. Water birds flew over the rice-fields, crying out in dread. The trees were full of sighs. The open window blinds creaked dismally. A puff of smoke came down the chimney. Winter was coming.

Dusk fell and the night closed in dark. Joy’s supper waited on the hearth. Where could she be so late?

Breeze went to ask Zeda, but she wasn’t at home. Maum Hannah’s house was dark, so he stopped at Bina’s to ask if any one there had seen Joy lately.

Bina looked at him with searching eyes, “You is tryin’ to be smart, enty? A-actin’ fool to ketch sense!” She sucked her teeth scornfully, but Breeze didn’t understand what she meant.

“Don’ stan’ up an’ lie to me, boy! You know Joy an’ April went off on de boat dis mawnin’.”

Breeze could scarcely believe his ears heard Bina right.

Joy and April gone? Together? Where had they gone?

Why hadn’t Joy told somebody?

He flew to tell Big Sue.

Instead of meeting the news with an outburst of grief, Big Sue chuckled, “Who’d ’a’ thought my Joy could catch April! An’ Leah not yet cold in her grave! Lawd! April’s old enough to be Joy’s daddy! Well, all I got to say is dis! April was born fo’ luck. E ever did git de best o’ ev’yt’ing on dis plantation.”

* * * * *

The boat was due to return three days hence. When the time came the whole plantation was at the landing to meet it.

As the old battered hulk hove in sight, around the bend, a hush fell on the crowd, and every eye was fixed on the lower deck where April and Joy stood, side by side, smiling happily. April took off his hat and waved it. Joy fluttered a handkerchief to greet them.

They were both dressed fit to kill. Joy, gay as a peacock, in a dress striped with yellow bands, and a hat with green ribbons and red flowers. April looked youthful in a brand-new suit that showed off his broad shoulders and slim waist well. He held Joy’s hand and led her carefully over the unsteady gangplank, and she fell into Big Sue’s arms while April looked on smiling and rubbing his hands awkwardly.

The crowd crushed around them, wishing them happiness, hoping they’d live like Isaac and Rebecca, wishing them joy and a gal and a boy. Breeze pressed forward too until he could touch Joy’s hand, and she bent down and gave him a smacking kiss, then a hug.

“Looka li’l’ Breeze, Cun April,” she said, and April reached out and shook his hand, and Joy added; “I done told you I was gwine be you’ mammy, Breeze, and Cun April’s you’ daddy, now.”

The people crammed too close around them. Breeze could scarcely breathe. He got out quickly as he could, and went to the store steps to wait with old Louder, who sat wagging his tail, and making short whines of pleasure. Breeze and Big Sue, and most of the neighbors, went with them to April’s cabin, where a huge fire was built, and the whole room made light as day.

Big Sue and Bina bustled around cooking supper, and April’s children and Breeze all helped. Sweetened bread and fried bacon and coffee with plenty of cream and sugar, were passed around. The cabin was filled with the fragrance of the food. But Joy couldn’t eat. Big Sue pressed her to take something, but she said she couldn’t swallow a bite to save her life.

April had eyes only for Joy. He leaned over and whispered softly, “Is anyt’ing ail you, honey?”

But she shook her head. She was only weary, too weary to eat.

Some of the young folks suggested a dance, but April said they must come back another night; Joy was weary. The boat trip was long, and the chill of the river wind had her trembling yet.

When everybody had something to eat and drink, they said good night, and tramped out into the night, Breeze and Big Sue last of all.

The dark roads and paths swarmed with merry people, the air rang with songs and laughter.

“April sho’ is a fool over Joy!” Big Sue grunted as they turned into the path toward home. “A pure fool. A ol’ fool is de worst fool too.”

Joy and April took supper with Big Sue Christmas Eve, and they helped fill Breeze’s stocking. He knew, for soon after supper he was sent to bed. They were in a hurry to get to Maum Hannah’s house where an all-night meeting was to be held.

Breeze wanted to go too. He wanted to stay up for all the singing and shouting, and see the cows kneel down and pray at midnight, and the sun rise shouting in the east in the morning. But Big Sue said he was too sleepy-headed for her to fool with him, and if he didn’t go to bed like a good boy old Santy Claw would leave his stocking empty.

They all said good night and went out of the door and Breeze thought they had gone for good. He was about to hop up and look at his stocking when Joy ran back in, and, falling on the bed where he was, burst out crying.

What on earth! Big Sue and April hurried in, and did all they could to quiet her. Was she sick? Had somebody hurt her feelings? April petted her and called her tender names, but she cried on even when her tears were spent and broken sobs shook her of their own free will.

Big Sue called April into the other room and whispered to him. He came back and asked Joy if she wouldn’t rather stay quietly with Breeze and rest? He’d stay too if she liked, or go to meeting with Big Sue. Whatever she wanted was the thing he wanted too. She got up and wiped her eyes. She’d go home and go to bed. He could do whatever he liked. Her words sounded cold, almost bitter.

But soon the next morning she came to show Big Sue the Christmas presents April had given her. A watch to wear on her wrist, and a diamond ring! The two must have cost twenty-five dollars, if not more.

The winter days passed slowly, many of them dull, gray, with an overcast sky, where low clouds sailed and cast their murky color over the ground. The first March day came in bright and warm, with a wind that roared over the land, whipping the trees, snapping off their rotten limbs, lifting old shingles off of roofs, sweeping yards and woods clean, thrashing fields until clouds of dust and sand rose and floated in the sky. But everybody rejoiced that winter was over and gone. And besides, a windy March is lucky. Every pint of March dust brings a peck of September corn, and a pound of October cotton. Let it blow!

Such a high wind could never last. A March that comes in like a lion will go out as quiet as a new-born lamb. Let it blow! But watch the fires! One little spark can easily be fanned into a flame.

New leaves quivered and glittered on the restless boughs. Old leaves, dead for months on the ground, hopped out from their resting-places and skipped and flew, making brown leaf whirlwinds that spun around dizzily, then settled in new sheltered places.

The wind lulled a little at sunset, and the night fell black and cloudless. A multitude of stars crowded the sky, foretelling rain close at hand. The rain was waiting for the blustery gale to hold still so the clouds could gather and agree. In the night the wind rose and beat against the cabin’s sides. It shook the walls, and whistled and whined through the cracks. The front door banged wide open, as the nail that held the bar frame was jerked out by its force. Finally Big Sue made Breeze get up and get a hatchet and a long nail out of the tool-box Santy Claw had given him, and she held the door while he nailed it up.

Big Sue was frightened. She kept talking to Breeze, trying to keep him awake with her, but he was too sleepy-headed to listen. When he woke at dawn a flood of rain was pouring down, and thunder roared louder than the rain or wind.

As a fearful crash shook the earth. Big Sue opened the back door and peeped out and quavered, “Git up, Breeze! Lightnin’ is struck dat big pine yonder, close to April’s house! It’s afire! Dat bolt shooken de whole earth. I bet April’ll find it. Lawd! E’s been diggin’ at de roots o’ struck trees to git a bolt a long time! An’ now one mighty nigh hit him!”

“What’s a bolt, Cun Big Sue?”

The wind howled as she answered, “Why, son, a thunderbolt is a’ iron rod. If you finds one, you’ll have de power to rule life an’ death!”

The cabin was closed tight, yet so fierce was the lightning it blazed through cracks right into the room. Blood-red streaks of light took turns with others that were blue. Breeze shut his eyes and put the pillow over his head. He finally dozed off, and slept until the morning had come, clear of rain and wind, and filled with the warm breath of the earth.

He was alone. Big Sue had gone to see April’s struck pine, so he dressed and ran to see it too.