Part 17 (2/2)
I was just crawling up on Papa's knees when Mama came in from the kitchen.
”Bandershanks! Shoo, shoo, to bed! It's time all chickens were on the roost!”
”I ain't no chicken, Mama!”
”Yes. You're a chicken. Mine and Papa's littlest chicken, not even feathered out yet!”
She led me back to one of the double beds in the far end of the fireplace room.
”I ain't sleepy, Mama.”
”You don't have to go to sleep. Just lie down and rest. I aim to work on my quilt for a few minutes while Mierd and Wiley finish their lessons. Then we'll all get off to sleep.”
”Mama, lem'me get in yours and Papa's bed.”
”Not tonight.” Mama turned down the covers.
”Just for a little while?”
”No, no. You're supposed to sleep with Mierd.”
I climbed in while Mama was fluffing up my pillow. ”Remember your prayer.”
”I will, Mama.”
Papa and Mama watched the fire and talked for a long time-about a letter from my married sister Gertie, and about Clyde and Walker finally coming home from the war.
Papa said, ”You know, Nannie, I'm in hopes Walker will stay on here at home and plant a crop, come spring.”
”Me too. It'd be a sad mistake for him and his wife to settle in town and him take up public work.”
”Yeah. Working for the other fellow's no good. Besides, town ain't a fit place to live-folks all crowded together! A man needs room for his own shade tree if he's to stand the heat of the day.”
”Trouble is, you can't tell young folks nothing. They've got to find out things for themselves.”
Papa was quiet for a while. Then he said, ”Nannie, I wasn't aiming to tell you, but I reckon I'd better.”
”What, Jodie?”
”Our friend is in business now!”
”Where you reckon he got the money?”
”Beats me. You know, he's made a batch and hauled it off in the middle of the night.”
By that, I knew Papa was telling Mama that Mister Goode or somebody had cooked a batch of ribbon cane syrup in the nighttime instead of the daytime. I never cared a thing about syrup, except when it was poured on a hot biscuit or batter-cakes, so I turned my face toward the wall and snuggled farther down under the covers.
”Ned told me, Nannie,” Papa said. ”That poor Negro is scared to death of Ward! He was sitting there on my store porch, shaking, when I got there this morning.”
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