“You mean it’s because you haven’t grown up yet, Nell,” the woman said, chuckling to herself. “I used to be just like that myself; but, sakes alive, it doesn’t last, always, girl.”
Both of them laughed, and looked away, one from the other. Over across the cotton field a cloud of white dust hung close to the earth. Mr. Farrington and the colored men were planting cotton, and the earth was so dry it rose up in the air when it was disturbed by the mules’ hooves and the cotton planters. There was no wind to carry the dust away, and it hung over the men and mules, hiding them from sight.
Presently Mrs. Farrington dropped a peeled turnip into the pan and folded her hands in her lap. She looked at Nell, noting her neatly combed hair and her clean gingham frock and white hands. Mrs. Farrington turned away again after that and gazed once more at the cloud of dust where her husband was at work.
“Maybe you and Willis will always be like that,” she said. “Seems like you and Willis are still in love with each other. As long as he stays at home where he belongs and doesn’t run off at night, it’s a pretty sure sign he isn’t getting ready to chase after another woman. Sakes alive, men can’t always be depended upon to stay at home at night, though; they go riding off when you are least looking for them to.”
Nell sat up, startled by what Mrs. Farrington had said, terrified by the directness of her comments.
“Of course, Willis wouldn’t do a thing like that,” she said confidently. “I know he wouldn’t. Willis wouldn’t do a thing like that. That’s impossible, Mrs. Farrington.”
Mrs. Farrington glanced at Nell, and then once more she looked across the field where the planting was being done. The cloud of white dust followed the men and mules, covering them.
“Seems like men are always saying something about being compelled to go to Macon on business, and even up to Atlanta sometimes,” she said, ignoring Nell. “And then there are the times when they say they have to go to town at night. Seems like they are always going off to town at night.”
Several Dominique hens came from under the porch and stopped in the yard to scratch on the hard white sand. They scratched listlessly; they went through the motions of scratching as if they knew of nothing else to do. They bent their long necks and looked down at the chicken-scrawls they had made with their claws, and they walked away aimlessly, neither surprised nor angry at not having unearthed a worm to devour. One of them began singing in the heat, drooping her wings until the tips of them dragged on the sand. The other hens paid no attention to her, strolling away without interest in the doleful music.
“You have pretty chickens, Mrs. Farrington,” Nell said, watching the Dominiques stroll across the yard and sit down in the shaded dust holes as though they were nests.
“They’re nothing but Domineckers,” she said; “sakes alive, a body can’t call them much of a breed, but they do get around to laying an egg or two once in a while.”
Nell glanced down at the basket of eggs in her lap, covering the brown egg with her hand. She looked quickly at Mrs. Farrington to see if she had noticed what she had done.
“How are your Leghorns laying now, Nell?” she asked.
“Very well. Willis gathered sixteen eggs yesterday.”
“My Domineckers seem to be taking a spell of resting. I only gathered two eggs yesterday, and that’s not enough for a hungry man and a yard full of blacks. Sakes alive, we were saying only last night that we wished you would bring over some eggs in a day or two. And now here you are with them. Half an hour’s prayer couldn’t have done better.”
“I thought you might let me have some green peas for dinner,” Nell said, lifting the basket and setting it on the floor. “Willis likes green peas at this time of year, and ours haven’t begun to bear yet.”
“You’re as welcome to as many as you want,” Mrs. Farrington said. “Just walk into the kitchen, Nell, and look on the big table and you’ll find a bushel basket of them. Help yourself to all you think you and Willis will want. We’ve got more than we can use. Sakes alive, there’ll be another bushel ready for picking tomorrow morning, too.”
Nell went into the kitchen and placed the eleven Leghorn eggs and the big brown one in a pan. She filled the basket with green peas and came back to the porch, closing the screen noiselessly behind her.
“Sit down, Nell,” Mrs, Farrington said, “and tell me what’s been happening. Sakes alive, I sit here all day and never hear a word of what’s going on.”
“Why, I haven’t heard of anything new,” Nell said.
“What’s Willis doing now?”
“He’s getting ready to plant corn. He was shelling the seed when I left home. He should be ready to begin planting this afternoon. The planter broke down yesterday, and he had to send to Macon for a new spoke chain. It should be here in the mail today.”
“Myrtie is still there to help you with the house, isn’t she?”
“Yes, Myrtie is still there.”
The hens lying in the dust holes in the shade of the sycamore tree stood up and flapped their wings violently, beating the dust from their feathers. They stretched, one leg after the other, and flapped their wings a second time. One of them spread her legs, bending her knees as if she were getting ready to squat on the ground, and scratched the hard white sand five or six times in quick succession. The other hens stood and watched her while she stretched her long neck and looked down at the marks she had made; and then, wiping her beak on her leg as one whets a knife blade, she turned and waddled back across the yard and under the porch out of sight. The other hens followed her, singing in the heat.
“Couldn’t you find a black woman to help you with the house?” Mrs. Farrington asked.
“A black woman?” Nell said. “Why, Myrtie is colored.”
“She’s colored all right,” Mrs. Farrington said; “but, sakes alive, Nell, she isn’t black. Myrtie is yellow.”
“Well, that’s all right, isn’t it?” Nell asked. “Myrtie is yellow, and she is a fairly good cook. I don’t know where I could find a better one for the pay.”
“I reckon I’d heap rather have a black girl and a poor cook, than to have a yellow girl and the finest cook in the whole country.”
Nell glanced quickly at Mrs. Farrington, but her head was turned, and she did not look at Nell.
There was a long silence between them until finally Nell felt that she must know what Mrs. Farrington was talking about.
One of the Dominiques suddenly appeared on the bottom step. She came hopping up to the porch, a step at a time. When she reached the last one, Mrs. Farrington said, “Shoo!” The hen flew to the yard and went back under the porch. “You don’t mean —”
Mrs. Farrington began rocking slowly, backward and forward. She gazed steadily across the field where her husband was planting cotton with the colored men.
“You don’t mean Willis and —”
One of the roosters strutted across the yard, his eye first upon the hens under the porch and next upon the two women, and stopped midway in the yard to stand and fix his eye upon Mrs. Farrington and Nell. He stood jerking his head from side to side, his hanging scarlet comb blinding his left eye, while he listened to the squeaking of Mrs. Farrington’s chair. After a while he continued across the yard and went out of sight behind the smokehouse.
“Mrs. Farrington, Willis wouldn’t do anything like that!” Nell said indignantly.
“Like what?” Mrs. Farrington asked, “Sakes alive, Nell, I didn’t say he would do anything.”
“I know you didn’t say it, Mrs. Farrington, but I thought you said it. I couldn’t help thinking that you did say it.”
“Well, that’s different,” she replied, much relieved. “I wouldn’t want you to go telling Willis I did say it. Menfolks never understand what a woman means, anyway, and when they are told that a woman says something about them, they sometimes fly off the handle something awful.”
Nell got up and stood beside the chair. She wished she could run down the steps and along the pat
h towards home without another second’s delay, but she knew she could not jump up and leave Mrs. Farrington like that, after what had been said. She would have to pretend that she was not in such a great hurry to get home.
‘You re not going so soon, are you, Nell? Why, sakes alive, it seems like you only got here two or three minutes ago, Nell.”
“I know,” she said, “but it’s getting late, and I’ve got to go home and get these peas ready for dinner. I’ll be back to see you soon.”
She walked carelessly down the steps. Mrs. Farrington got up and followed her across the hard yard. When they reached the beginning of the path that led across the field, Mrs. Farrington stopped. She never went any farther than that.
“I’m afraid I must hurry home now and hull the peas in time for dinner,” Nell said, backing down the path. “I’ll be back again in a few days, Mrs. Farrington. Thank you so much for the peas. Willis has wanted some for the past week or longer.”
“It’s as fair an exchange as I can offer for the Leghorn eggs,” she said, laughing. “Because if there’s anything I like better than those white Leghorn eggs, I don’t know what it is. I get so tired of eating my old Dominecker’s brown eggs I sometimes say I hope I may never see another one. Maybe I’ll be asking you for a setting of them some day soon.”
“Good-by,” Nell said, backing farther and farther away. She turned and walked several steps. “I’ll bring you another basket soon, Mrs. Farrington.”
It seemed as if she would never reach the house, even though it was only half a mile away. She could not run, because Mrs. Farrington was in the yard behind her watching, and she could not walk slowly, because she had to get home as soon as possible. She walked with her eyes on the path in front of her, forcing herself to keep from looking up at the house. She knew that if she did raise her eyes and look at it, she would never be able to keep herself from running. If she did that, Mrs. Farrington would see her.
It was not until she had at last reached the end of the path that she was able to look backward. Mrs. Farrington had left her yard, and Nell ran across the road and around to the back of the house.
Willis was nowhere within sight. She looked first at the crib where she had hoped she would find him, but he was not there, and the crib door was closed and locked. She looked down at the barn, but he was not there, either. When she glanced hastily over the fields, she was still unable to see him anywhere.
She stopped at the bottom step on the back porch. There was no sound within the house that she could hear, and not even the sound of Myrtie’s footsteps reached her ears. The place seemed to be entirely deserted, and yet she knew that could not be, because only half an hour before when she left to go to Mrs. Farrington’s to exchange eggs, Willis was sitting in the crib door shelling seed corn, and Myrtie was in the kitchen scouring the two frying pans.
Nell’s hands went out and searched for the railing that led up the porch steps. Her hands could not find it, and her eyes would not let her see it.
The thought of Mrs. Farrington came back to her again and again. Mrs. Farrington, sitting on her own back porch, talking. Mrs. Farrington, sitting in her rocking chair, looking. Mrs. Farrington, peeling purple-top turnips, talking about yellow girls.
Nell felt deathly sick. She felt as if she had been stricken with an illness that squeezed the core of her body. Deep down within herself, she was deathly ill. A pain that began by piercing her skull struck downward and downward until it became motionless in her stomach. It remained there, gnawing and biting, eating the organs of her body and drinking the flow of her blood. She sank limp and helpless upon the back porch steps. Although she did not know where she was, she could still see Mrs. Farrington. Mrs. Farrington, in her rocking chair, looking. Mrs. Farrington, peeling purple-top turnips, talking about yellow girls.
Nell did not know how much later it was when she opened her eyes. The day was the color of the red seed corn Willis had been shelling when she last saw him sitting in the crib door, and it swam in a sea so wide that she almost cried out in fear when she saw it. Slowly she remembered how she had come to be where she was. She got to her feet weakly, holding to the railing for support.
Stumbling up the steps and across the porch, she flung open the screen door and went into the kitchen. Myrtie was standing beside the table mashing the boiled Irish potatoes with a long fork that had seven tines. Myrtie looked up when Nell ran in, but she did not have an opportunity to speak. Nell ran headlong through the dining room and on into the front room. Myrtie looked surprised to see her running.
Nell paused a moment in the doorway, looking at Willis, at the room, at the daybed, at the floor, at the rugs, at the open door that led into their room. She stood looking at everything she could see. She looked at the pillows on the daybed, at the rugs on the floor, at the chairs against the wall, at the counterpane on their bed. Remembering, she looked at the carpet in their room. Willis sat in front of her reading the Macon Telegraph that had just come in the mail, and he was calmly smoking his pipe. She glanced once more at the daybed, at the pillows arranged upon it, and at the rug in front of it. Running, she went to their room and ran her hands over the counterpane of the bed. She picked up the pillows, feeling them, and laid them down again. She ran back into the other room where Willis was.
Willis looked up at her.
Nell ran and fell on her knees in front of him, forcing her body between his legs and locking her arms around him. She pressed her feverish face against his cool cheeks and closed her eyes tightly. She forced herself tightly to him, holding him with all her might.
“Did Mrs. Farrington exchange with you?” he asked. “I’ll bet a pretty that she had something to say about that big brown egg in a basketful of Leghorns.”
Nell felt her body shake convulsively, as if she were shivering with cold. She knew she had no control over herself now.
“Look here,” he said, throwing aside the Telegraph and lifting her head and looking into her eyes. “I know where that brown egg came from now. I remember all about it. There was one of Mrs. Farrington’s old Dominecker hens over here yesterday morning. I saw her scratching in the yard, and she acted like she didn’t give a cuss whether she clawed up a worm or not. She would scratch awhile and then walk off without even looking to see if she had turned up a worm.”
Nell felt herself shaking again, but she did not attempt to control herself. If she could only lie there close to Willis with her arms around him, she did not care how much she shivered. As long as she was there, she had Willis; when she got up and walked out of the room, she would never again be that certain.
(First published in Story)
The First Autumn
THEY SAT ON THE lawn looking up at the fluttering leaves on the old maples. He was beside the wagon with his arm over the red wooden body; she was on the other side, sitting with her legs crossed under her and with her hands folded in her lap.
“That is the oldest tree over there,” Elizabeth said, pointing across the lawn. “I know it’s the oldest, because it’s the one where the squirrels live.”
“But that’s not why it is the oldest, silly,” Robert said. “It’s the oldest because the leaves stay green the longest. The little trees turn red first.”
A week ago all the trees were as green as the newly mown lawn, and then all of a sudden they had begun to turn. The grove of maples on the hill was orange and gold, the younger trees were the deeper color; and in the yard the old maples that had been there scores of years were turning yellow and purple. In a short while the leaves would begin to twirl and spin on the branches when the breezes blew, and then they would twist themselves off and come fluttering down. After that the grass would die, the flowers would shrivel, and the hills and fields would be a deep dark brown until the first snow fell.
“The sky was raining paint last night while we slept,” Elizabeth said. “It rained a pot of paint on every tree.”
“Daddy says it is the end of summer. He said that the trees turn red and o
range and yellow every year when summer is over.”
“I didn’t see it last year.”
“But Daddy said that last year all the trees were colored. They were yellow for a while, and then all of them were red. When the leaves turn red, that’s when they are ready to fall almost any minute. That’s because they are dead.”
The front door opened. Robert dropped the wagon tongue and raced to the porch. “Here’s Daddy! Here’s Daddy! Daddy’s come out to play!” Elizabeth ran after him. They clambered up on the porch steps as fast as they could.
“Now what?” Daddy said.
“Play!” said Robert, jumping up and down, swinging on his arm. “We’re going to play!”
“Is this the end of the week, Daddy?” Elizabeth asked. “Are you going to stay two whole days now?”
“It’s the end of the week. No more city for two whole days.”
“Let’s play,” Robert said, pulling him down the steps. “Let’s play everything!”
“We are tired of playing bear, aren’t we?” Daddy asked. “We played bear last week-end. What’ll we play this week?”
“Bear!” Robert cried. “Let’s play bear again. It’s more fun than anything else.”
“I’ve just thought of a new game to play,” Daddy said. “How would you like to play horse, Robert?”
“Oh, let’s play bear first of all,” Elizabeth begged, pulling him across the lawn. “Just for a little while, Daddy, and then we can play all the other games.”
“All right, then,” Daddy said. “Who’s going to be the great big black bear this time?”
“You are!” Robert said. “You’re always the bear, Daddy. Let’s hear you growl!”
“Woof!” Daddy said, dropping down on his hands and knees. “Woof! Woof! Woof!”
“Oh, don’t scare me so!” Elizabeth cried, crawling backward. “Please don’t scare me so! I’m awfully scared of bears!”
“Woof! Woof! Woof!” Daddy said, pawing the lawn and waddling after her.
Stories of Erskine Caldwell Page 20