by Kate Chopin
VIII
With Loose Rein.
"De Lord be praised fu' de blessin's dat he showers down 'pon us," wasUncle Hiram's graceful conclusion of his supper, after which he pushedhis empty plate aside regretfully, and addressed Aunt Belindy." 'Pears to me, Belindy, as you reached a pint wid dem bacon an' greensto-night, dat you never tetched befo'. De pint o' de flavorin' is w'atI alludes to."
"All de same, dat ain't gwine to fetch no mo'," was the rather uncivilreply to this neat compliment to her culinary powers.
"Dah!" cried the youthful Betsy, who formed one of the trio gatheredtogether in the kitchen at Place-du-Bois. "Jis listen (to) Unc' Hiurm!Aunt B'lindy neva tetched a han' to dem bacon an' greens. She tole meout o' her own mouf to put'em on de fiar; she warn't gwine pesta wid'em."
"Warn't gwine pesta wid 'em?" administering a cuff on the ear of thetoo communicative Betsy, that sent her sprawling across the table."T'inks I'se gwine pesta wid you--does you? Messin' roun' heah in dekitchin' an' ain't tu'ned down a bed or drawed a bah, or done a licko' yo' night wurk yit."
"I is done my night wurk, too," returned Betsy whimpering butdefiantly, as she retreated beyond reach of further blows from AuntBelindy's powerful right hand.
"Dat harshness o' yourn, Belindy, is wat's a sourin' yo' tempa, an' aturnin' of it intur gall an' wormwood. Does you know wat de Scripturetells us of de wrathful woman?"
"Whar I got time to go a foolin' wid Scripture? W'at I wants to know;whar dat Pierson boy, he don't come. He ben gone time 'nough to walkto Natch'toches an' back."
"Ain't dat him I years yonda tu de crib?" suggestod Betsy, coming tojoin Aunt Belindy in the open doorway.
"You heahs mos' too much fu' yo' own good, you does, gal."
But Betsy was right. For soon a tall, slim negro, young and coalblack, mounted the stairs and came into the kitchen, where hedeposited a meal bag filled with various necessities that he hadbrought from Centerville. He was one of the dancers who had displayedtheir skill before Melicent and Gregoire. Uncle Hiram at once accostedhim.
"Well, Pierson, we jest a ben a wonderin' consarnin' you. W'at was de'casion o' dat long delay?"
"De 'casion? W'y man alive, I couldn't git a dog gone soul in de townto wait on me."
"Dat boy kin lie, yas," said Aunt Belindy, "God A'mighty knows evertime I ben to Centaville dem sto' keepas ain't done a blessed t'ingbut settin' down."
"Settin' down--Lord! dey warn't settin' down to-day; you heah me."
"W'at dey doin' ef dey ain't settin' down, Unc' Pierson?" asked Betsywith amiable curiosity.
"You jis drap dat 'uncle,' you," turning wrathfully upon the girl,"sence w'en you start dat new trick?"
"Lef de chile 'lone, Pierson, lef 'er alone. Come heah, Betsy, an' setby yo' Uncle Hiurm."
From the encouraging nearness of Uncle Hiram, she ventured to ask"w'at you 'low dey doin' ef dey ain't settin' down?" this time withoutadding the offensive title.
"Dey flyin' 'roun', Lord! dey hidin' dey sef! dey gittin' out o' deway, I tell you. Gregor jis ben a raisin' ole Cain in Centaville."
"I know'd it; could a' tole you dat mese'f. My Lan'! but dats a piece,dat Gregor," Aunt Belindy enunciated between paroxysms of laughter,seating herself with her fat arms resting on her knees, and her wholebearing announcing pleased anticipation.
"Dat boy neva did have no car' fur de salvation o' his soul," groanedUncle Hiram.
"W'at he ben a doin' yonda?" demanded Aunt Belindy impatiently.
"Well," said Pierson, assuming a declamatory air and position in themiddle of the large kitchen, "he lef' heah--w'at time he lef heah,Aunt B'lindy?"
"He done lef' fo' dinna, 'caze I seed 'im a lopin' to'ads de riva,time I flung dat Sampson boy out o' de doo', bringin' dem greens inheah 'dout washin' of 'em."
"Dat's so; it war good dinna time w'en he come a lopin' in town. Dathoss look like he ben swimmin' in Cane Riva, he done ride him so hard.He fling he se'f down front o' Grammont's sto' an' he come a stompin'in, look like gwine hu't somebody. Ole Grammont tell him, 'How youcome on, Gregor? Come ova tu de house an' eat dinna wid us: de ladiesbe pleas tu see you.' "
"Humph," muttered Aunt Belindy, "dem Grammont gals be glad to see anyt'ing dat got breeches on; lef 'lone good lookin' piece like datGregor."
"Gregor, he neva sey, 'Tank you dog,' jis' fling he big dolla down onde counta an' 'low 'don't want no dinna: gimme some w'iskey.' "
"Yas, yas, Lord," from Aunt Belindy.
"Ole Grammont, he push de bottle to'ads 'im, an' I 'clar to Goodnessef he didn' mos fill dat tumbla to de brim, an' drink it down, nevablink a eye. Den he tu'n an treat ev'y las' w'ite man stan'in' roun';dat ole kiarpenta man; de blacksmif; Marse Verdon. He keep on atreatin'; Grammont, he keep a handin' out de w'iskey; Gregor he keepon a drinkin' an a treatin'--Grammont, he keep a handin' out; don'tmake no odds tu him s'long uz dat bring de money in de draw. I ben astan'in' out on de gallery, me, a peekin' in. An' Gregor, he cuss andswar an' he kiarry on, an 'low he want play game poka. Den dey allgoes a trompin' in de back room an' sets down roun' de table, an' Icomes a creepin' in, me, whar I kin look frough de doo', an dar deysets an' plays an Gregor, he drinks w'iskey an' he wins de money. An'arta w'ile Marse Verdon, he little eyes blinkin', he 'low', 'y' allhad a shootin' down tu Place-du-Bois, _hein_ Gregor?' Gregor, he nevasay nuttin': he jis' draw he pistol slow out o' he pocket an' lay itdown on de table; an' he look squar in Marse Verdon eyes. Man! ef youeva seed some pussun tu'n' w'ite!"
"Reckon dat heifa 'Milky' look black side li'le Verdon dat time,"chuckled Aunt Belindy.
"Jis' uz w'ite uz Unc' Hiurm's shurt an' a trimblin', an' neva say nomo' 'bout shootin'. Den ole Grammont, he kine o' hang back an' say,'You git de jestice de peace, 'hine you, kiarrin' conceal' weepons data-way, Gregor.' "
"Dat ole Grammont, he got to git he gab in ef he gwine die fu' it,"interrupted Aunt Belindy.
"Gregor say--'I don't 'lows to kiarr no conceal' weepons,' an he drawnudda pistol slow out o' he udda pocket an' lay et on de table. By dattime he gittin' all de money, he crammin' de money in he pocket; an'dem fellas dey gits up one arta d'udda kine o' shy-like, an' sneaksout. Den Gregor, he git up an come out o' de room, he coat 'crost hearm, an' de pistols a stickin' out an him lookin' sassy tell ev'y bodymake way, same ef he ben Jay Goul'. Ef he look one o' 'em in de eyedey outs wid, 'Howdy, Gregor--how you come on, Gregor?' jis' uz peliteuz a peacock, an' him neva take no trouble to yansa 'em. He jis' hollaout fu' somebody bring dat hoss tu de steps, an' him stan'in' 's biguz life, waitin'. I gits tu de hoss fus', me, an' leads 'im up, an' hegits top dat hoss stidy like he ain't tetch a drap, an' he fling mebig dolla."
"Whar de dolla, Mista Pierson?" enquired Betsy.
"De dolla in my pocket, an' et gwine stay dah. Didn' ax you fu' no'Mista Pierson.' Whar yu' all tink he went on dat hoss?"
"How you reckon we knows whar he wint; we wasn't dah," replied AuntBelindy.
"He jis' went a lopin' twenty yards down to Chartrand's sto'. I goeson 'hine 'im see w'at he gwine do. Dah he git down f'um de hoss an' goa stompin' in de sto'--eve'ybody stan'in' back jis' same like fu' JayGoul', an' he fling bill down on de counta an' 'low, 'Fill me up abottle, Chartrand, I'se gwine travelin'.' Den he 'lows, 'You treatseve'y las' man roun' heah at my 'spence, black an' w'ite--nuttin' fu'me,' an' he fole he arms an' lean back on de counta, jis' so.Chartrand, he look skeerd, he say 'Francois gwine wait on you.' ButGregor, he 'low he don't wants no rusty skileton a waitin' on him w'enhe treat, 'Wait on de gemmen yo'se'f--step up gemmen.' Chartrand 'low,'Damn ef nigga gwine drink wid w'ite man in dat sto',' all same hekine git 'hine box tu say dat."
"Lord, Lord, de ways o' de transgressor!" groaned Uncle Hiram.
"You want to see dem niggas sneaking 'way," resumed Pierson, "deyknows Gregor gwine fo'ce 'em drink; dey knows Chartrand gwine make ithot fu' 'em art'ards ef dey does. Gregor he spie me jis' I'se tryin'glide frough de doo' an he call out, 'Yonda a gemmen f'umPlace-du-Bois; Pierson, come heah; you'se good 'nough tu drink wid anyw'ite man,
'cept me; you come heah, take drink wid Mr. LouisChartrand.'
"I 'lows don't wants no drink, much 'bleege, Marse Gregor'. 'Yis, youwants drink,' an' 'id dat he draws he pistol. 'Mista Chartrand wantdrink, too. I done owe Mista Chartrand somethin' dis long time; I'segwine pay 'im wid a treat,' he say. Chartrand look like he on fiar, heso red, he so mad, he swell up same like ole bull frog."
"Dat make no odd," chuckled Aunt Belindy, "he gwine drink wid nigga efGregor say so."
"Yes, he drink, Lord, only he cuss me slow, an' 'low he gwine break myskull."
"Lordy! I knows you was jis' a trimblin', Mista Pierson."
"Warn't trimblin' no mo' 'en I'se trimblin' dis minute, an' you drapdat 'Mista.' Den w'at you reckon? Yonda come Pere Antoine; he come an'stan' in de doo' an' he hole up he han'; look like he ain't 'feard nobody an' he 'low: 'Gregor Sanchun, how is you dar' come in dis heahpeaceful town frowin' of it into disorda an' confusion? Ef you isn't'feard o' man; hasn't you got no fear o' God A'mighty wat punishes?' "
"Gregor, he look at 'im an' he say cool like, 'Howdy, Pere Antoine;how you come on?' He got he pistol w'at he draw fu' make Chartranddrink wid dis heah nigga,--he foolin' wid it an' a rubbin' it up anddown he pants, an' he 'low 'Dis a gemmen w'at fit to drink wid aSanchun--w'at'll you have?' But Pere Antoine, he go on makin' a su'monsame like he make in chu'ch, an' Gregor, he lean he two arm back on decounta--kine o' smilin' like, an' he say, 'Chartrand, whar dat bottleI orda you put up?' Chartrand bring de bottle; Gregor, he put debottle in he coat pocket wat hang on he arm--car'ful.
"Pere Antoine, he go on preachin', he say, 'I tell you dis young man,you 'se on de big road w'at leads tu hell.'
"Den Gregor straight he se'f up an' walk close to Pere Antoine an' hesay, 'Hell an' damnation dar ain't no sich a place. I reckon she know;w'at you know side o' her. She say dar ain't no hell, an' ef you an'de Archbishop an' de Angel Gabriel come along an' 'low dey a hell, youall liars,' an' he say, 'Make way dah, I'se a gittin' out o' heah; disain't no town fittin' to hol' a Sanchun. Make way ef you don' wants togo to Kingdom come fo' yo' time.'
"Well, I 'lows dey did make way. Only Pere Antoine, he look mightysorry an' down cas'.
"Gregor go out dat sto' taking plenty room, an' walkin' car'ful like,an' he swing he se'f on de hoss; den he lean down mos' flat an' stickhe spurs in dat hoss an' he go tar'in' like de win' down street, outo' de town, a firin' he pistol up in de a'r."
Uncle Hiram had listened to the foregoing recital with troubledcountenance, and with many a protesting groan. He now shook his oldwhite head, and heaved a deep sigh. "All dat gwine come hard an' heavyon de madam. She don't desarve it--God knows, she don't desarve it."
"How you, ole like you is, kin look fu' somethin' diffunt, Unc'Hiurm?" observed Aunt Belindy philosophically. "Don't you know Gregorgwine be Gregor tell he die? Dat's all dar is 'bout it."
Betsy arose with the sudden recollection that she had let the timepass for bringing in Miss Therese's hot water, and Pierson went to thestove to see what Aunt Belindy had reserved for him in the shape ofsupper.