Part 16 (1/2)

Seemingly Aunt Sharley approved. For if at the moment she mumbled out a complaint about chillens too young to know their own minds being p.r.o.ne to fly off with the first young w'ite gen'l'man that came along frum n.o.body knowed whar, still there was nothing begrudged or forced about the vocal jubilations with which she made the house ring during the succeeding week. At prayer meeting on Wednesday night at Zion Coloured Baptist Church and at lodge meeting on Friday night she bore herself with an air of triumphant haughtiness which sorely irked her fellow members. It was agreed privily that Sis' Charlotte Helm got mo' and mo'

bigotty, and not alone that, but mo' and mo' uppety, ever' day she lived.

If young Mr. Winslow had been, indirectly, the cause for her prideful deportment before her own colour, it was likewise Mr. Winslow who shortly was to be the instrument for humbling her into the dust. Now this same Mr. Winslow, it should be stated, was a masterful young man.

Only an abiding sense of humour kept him sometimes from being domineering. Along with divers other qualities it had taken masterfulness for him at twenty-nine to be superintendent of our street-railway system, now owned and operated by Northern capitalists.

Likewise it had taken masterfulness for him to distance the field of Emmy Lou's local admirers within the s.p.a.ce of five short months after he procured his transfer to our town from another town where his company likewise had traction interests. He showed the same trait in the stand he presently took with regard to the future status of Aunt Sharley in the household of which he was to become a member and of which he meant to be the head.

For moral support--which she very seriously felt she needed--Emmy Lou took her sister with her on the afternoon when she invaded the kitchen to break the news to Aunt Sharley. The girls came upon the old woman in one of her busiest moments. She was elbows deep in a white ma.s.s which in due time would become a batch of the hot biscuits of perfection.

”Auntie,” began Emmy Lou in a voice which she tried to make matter-of-fact, ”we've--I've something I want to say to you.”

”Ise lissenin', chile,” stated the old woman shortly.

”It's this way, Auntie: We think--I mean we're afraid that you're getting along so in life--getting so old that we----”

”Who say Ise gittin' ole?” demanded Aunt Sharley, and she jerked her hands out of the dough she was kneading.

”We both think so--I mean we all think so,” corrected Emmy Lou.

”Who do you mean by we all? Does you mean dat young Mistah Winslow, Esquire, late of de North?” Her blazing eyes darted from the face of one sister to the face of the other, reading their looks. ”Uh-huh!” she snorted. ”I mout 'a' knowed he'd be de ver' one to come puttin' sech notions ez dem in you chillens' haids. Well, ma'am, an' whut, pray, do he want?” Her words fairly dripped with sarcasm.

”He thinks--in fact we all three do--that because you are getting along in years--you know you are, Auntie--and because your rheumatism bothers you so much at times that--that--well, perhaps that we should make a change in the running of the house. So--so----” She hesitated, then broke off altogether, anxious though she was to make an end to what she foresaw must be a painful scene for all three of them. Poor Emmy Lou was finding this job which she had nerved herself to carry through a desperately hard job. And Aunt Sharley's att.i.tude was not making it any easier for her either.

”'So' whut?” snapped Aunt Sharley; then answered herself: ”An' so de wind blow frum dat quarter, do hit? De young gen'l'man ain't j'ined de fambly yit an' already he's settin' hisse'f to run it. All right den. Go on, chile--quit mumblin' up yore words an' please go on an' tell me whut you got to say! But ef you's fixin' to bring up de subjec' of my lettin'

ary one of dese yere young flighty-haided, flibbertigibbeted, free-issue n.i.g.g.e.r gals come to work on dis place, you mout ez well save yore breath now an' yereafter, 'ca'se so long ez Ise able to drag one foot behine t'other I p'intedly does aim to manage dis yere kitchen.”

”It isn't that--exactly,” blurted out Emmy Lou. ”You see, Auntie,” she went on desperately, ”we've decided, Harvey and I, that after our marriage we'll live here. We couldn't leave Mildred alone, and until she gets married this is going to be home for us all. And so we're afraid--with one more coming into the household and everything--that the added work is going to be too heavy for you to undertake. So we've decided that--that perhaps it would be better all round if you--if we--if you----”

”Go on, chile; say it, whutever it is.”

”----that perhaps it would be better if you left here altogether and went to live in that nice little house that papa left you in his will.”

Perhaps they did not see the stricken look that came into the eyes of the old negress or else she hid the look behind the fit of rage that instantly possessed her. Perhaps they mistook the grey pallor that overspread the old face, turning it to an ashen colour, for the hue of temper.

”Do it all mean, den, dat after all dese yeahs you's tryin' to git shet of me--tryin' to t'row me aside lak an' ole worn-out broom? Well, I ain't gwine go!” Her voice soared shrilly to match the heights of her tantrum.

”Your wages will go on just the same--Harvey insists on that as much as we do,” Emmy Lou essayed. ”Don't you see, Auntie, that your life will be easier? You will have your own little home and your own little garden.

You can come to see us--come every day if you want to. We'll come to see you. Things between us will go on almost exactly the same as they do now. You know how much we love you--Mildred and I. You know we are trying to think of your comfort, don't you?”

”Of course you do, Aunt Sharley,” Mildred put in. ”It isn't as if you were going clear out of our lives or we out of yours. You'll be ever so much happier.”

”Well, I jes' ain't gwine go nary step.” The defiant voice had become a pa.s.sionate shriek. ”Think Ise gwine leave yere an' go live in dat little house down dere by dem noisy tracks whar all dem odds an' ends of pore w'ite trash lives--dem scourin's an' sweepin's whut come yere to wuk in de new cotton mill! Think Ise gwine be corntent to wuk in a gyarden whilst I knows Ise needed right yere to run dis place de way which it should be run! Think Ise gwine set quiet whilst Ise pulled up by de roots an' transported 'way frum de house whar Ise spend purty nigh de whole of my endurin' life! Well, I won't go--_I_ won't never go! I won't go--'ca'se I jes' can't!” And then, to the intense distress of the girls, Aunt Sharley slumped into a chair, threw her floury hands over her face and with the big tears trickling out between her fingers she moaned over and over again between her gulping breaths:

”Oh, dat I should live to see de day w'en my own chillens wants to drive me away frum 'em! Oh, dat I should live to see dis day!”

Neither of them had ever seen Aunt Sharley weep like this--shaken as she was with great sobs, her head bowed almost to her knees, her bared arms quivering in a very palsy. They tried to comfort her, tried to put their arms about her, both of them crying too. At the touch of their arms stealing about her hunched shoulders she straightened, showing a spark of the spirit with which they were more familiar. She wrenched her body free of them and pointed a tremulous finger at the door. The two sisters stole out, feeling terribly guilty and thoroughly miserable.

It was not the Aunt Sharley they knew who waited upon them that dusk at supper. Rather it was her ghost--a ghost with a black mask of tragedy for a face, with eyes swollen and reddened, with lips which shook in occasional spasms of pain, though their owner strove to keep them firm.

With their own faces tear-streaked and with lumps in their throats the girls kept their heads averted, as though they had been caught doing something very wrong, and made poor pretense of eating the dishes that the old woman placed before them. Such glances as they stole at her were sidelong covert glances, but they marked plainly enough how her shoulders drooped and how she dragged herself about the table.

Within a s.p.a.ce of time to be measured by hours and almost by minutes she seemed to have aged years.