On Agate Hill

by Lee Smith

  Pictures of animals, fruit, flowers and old dead people hang all around the room including one I like particularly, actually it is an embroidered picture of Mama Marie and her six sisters grouped around a table in their parlor doing various things— needlepoint, reading, playing the harp. Where are your sisters now? I asked, and she said, Gone, all gone, my darling, off into the world of light.

  She smiled peacefully, to my amazement, for my family is dead too and I am NOT peaceful. I hate it that my own family is a ghost family. I dont know if Mama Marie is too old to care, or if she has got a philosophy. I keep waiting for one to come to me.

  Julia has a beau, I started telling Mama Marie, but she drifted off to sleep right then before our very eyes.

  Come on now, Susie whispered.

  We followed her out looking back from the door to see Mama Marie so slight in the bed it seemed that no one was even there, sunlight winking off the cut glass punch cup that held her boiled custard.

  Yall better come on and get your coats now, Susie said, for Aunt Mitty lives on the ground floor and keeps her door open all the time even in the winter, she cant stand a closed room or a room without a door in it. We went inside.

  Its about time. Where have you been? Her strong old ratchety voice sounds like a rusty hinge opening.

  We stood looking all around the messy room. As always, her coffin rested on its low wooden stand in the corner.

  Well? Cat got your tongues? she asked.

  Mary White and I looked at each other, but we could not figure out where the voice was coming from. Aunt Mitty wasnt there.

  Good morning! Suddenly she sat bolt upright in the coffin. Mary White screamed, backing out the open door, while I started laughing and couldnt stop.

  What in the world are you doing Aunt Mitty? I asked. Trying to scare us to death?

  Just practicing, she said. I find it keeps me focused.

  Focused on what? We both drew nearer.

  On what is important, she said. And I would advise you to do the same Molly Petree, for though I have always liked you, I see that you are a rebellious girl with a dangerous nature, headed into a lot of trouble. I advise you to turn to God my dear, for He is watching you every moment, always and everywhere. Forget all this makebelieve. Read your Bible.

  I all ready read it once, I said. And now Aunt Cecelia is making us read it again. I would rather read something else. I would rather read poetry.

  Aunt Mitty pointed her long skinny finger at me. You have an eternal soul Molly Petree, she said, whether you want it or not.

  Well I dont want it, I said. This is true. I did not say that I dont want to go to Heaven either. I dont want to be an angel any more than I want to be a ghost girl. I want to be a real girl and live as hard as I can in this world, I dont want to lie in the bed like Mama or be sick like Mary White. Or be a lady. I would rather work my fingers to the bone and die like Fannie. I want to live so hard and love so much I will use myself all the way up like a candle, it seems to me like this is the point of it all, not Heaven. I want to have a demon lover and also a real boy who will be my husband and love me more than life itself. I want to live on my own land not somebody elses plantation. I dont give a damn about Heaven. But the horrible thing about Aunt Mitty is that she seems to know all this without me even telling her. Her little black eyes behind her spectacles are bright and sharp, like jet earrings. It is like she can see right down into my soul, like she knows how hard Mary White and I laughed after the camp meeting when old Mister Pink McCloud got saved, falling down on the ground in a fit of religion and hollering out, Boys he’s done got me by the short hairs now. Mister Pink McCloud has this big old goiter. I dont care to go to Heaven if he is going to be there, or Aunt Cecelia, or Mister Gwyn either one. But I dont believe in Heaven anyway. I have seen too many die. I have seen their spirits leave their bodies as in the case of Mamma and Willie, and believe me, they are gone. They get cold and hard very fast. They do not fly up to Heaven on angel wings, if they are anything they are ghosts. I used to be a ghost girl myself but now I am a real girl, and I am not going back.

  Molly, Molly. Aunt Mitty sat straight up in her coffin staring at me. Oh I know you Molly. I recognize you. For you are my own girl, the girl of my heart. But the time draws nigh. You must listen to me, as I dont have long to tell you the things you need to hear, the things you must take to heart.

  Come on. I pulled Mary White out the open door onto the gallery.

  What is the matter with her? Mary White asked.

  She is just old and crazy, I reckon. She is old as the hills, I said.

  Molly! Aunt Mitty shrieked after us like a witch.

  I pulled Mary White down the gallery steps and we ran around the side of the house giggling and did not say good bye to anybody, not even Susie.

  We started the long walk home. First through the Big Field and past the hollow tree where we encountered a black and white dog who was very friendly. I patted him while Mary White rested, she gets so tired. We had crossed the mill race on the bridge and were walking through the forest when all of a sudden Mary White, running ahead, began to scream. At first I thought she was playing a game. What is it? I called.

  Molly come here quick, please come, oh Lord this is awful, she called, so I took off running and found her standing stock still in a clearing where an old wagon trail crosses the path. She pushed at her head with both hands like she was trying to hold it together. Her wispy bright curls made a halo in the sunlight. Oh Molly. She gulped to catch her breath and in the silence I heard birds chirping. A squirrel ran across the path.

  What is it? I said.

  Look. She pointed down the wagon trail and then I saw it too, a negro hanging by the neck from a rope attached to a big old oak tree. His body turned slowly in the air. He was a large negro, very black, with his swollen head drooped over to the side and his mouth open and his tongue out, eyes naught but bloody holes. He wore no shirt nor shoes, his back a bloody mess. From whipping. Or beating. I knew this. The day was as bright and sunny as before except that now the ice was melting and in the quiet we could hear trickles of water running everyplace, like a little song. Some clothes and trash lay at the negros feet where the mud was all trampled up. Mary White was crying and I started crying too.

  We must have walked right past him on the way over here, she said.

  We didnt even look down that road, I said.

  But now we could not stop looking.

  It was the KuKlux, I said. You know it was. I told Mary White how they had hanged another colored man down in Chatham County a while back, and drowned a colored woman in a mill pond because she was impudent to a white lady.

  How do you know that? Mary White whirled around.

  I read it in Uncle Junius newspaper, I said. And over in Moore County they killed a colored blacksmith and murdered his whole family and set the house on fire. They found everybodys bones the next morning.

  Stop it, stop it! Mary White put her hands over her ears.

  I’m sorry, I said. I dont know why I always have to know things like that, why I have to go on like that, but I do. It is the way I am. I always have to know everything.

  The body turned round so slow. The red dirt road went on underneath and beyond it, into the dark piney woods.

  Mary White took her hands down. She was paler than ever, with red spots on her cheeks like a doll. We have to go back to Agate Hill right now, she said.

  And so we left then, walking fast, and the sun was low over the river when we got there. It was getting colder.

  Aunt Cecelia flung open the door, hair falling out of her bun.

  Grandmama! Mary White, who can be a real baby, hugged her skirts. Grandmama the most terrible thing happened—

  But Aunt Cecelia pushed her out to arms length and said, For once, girls, none of your nonsense. Lets not dramatize. Junius is gravely ill, do you hear me? Gravely ill. I have sent Washington for Doctor Lambeth.

  But we saw a dead man hanging from a tree, Grandm
ama, a negro, and he was all bloody, and his eyes were gone.

  Aunt Cecelia shook Mary White like a rag doll.

  You did not, she said. Listen to me. Girls you did not see that, do you hear me? I wont hear another word about it. Not another word. Now is that understood?

  But Uncle Junius will want to report it to the magistrate, I was saying when she slapped me hard on the cheek. It felt like a burn.

  Listen to me Molly, she said, eyes wide and nostrils flaring. This is none of our business. Just forget it. We have got enough trouble here, there is no sense borrowing more. Now do you understand?

  Yes, I said, but I dont, and I am going to tell Uncle Junius anyway, and I am going to tell Doctor Lambeth when he gets here, which ought to be soon. I am looking out through the chink for him now.

  December 8, 1872

  Dear Diary,

  I have done what I said. I sat on the heart pine floor of the passage just outside Uncle Junius door for an hour, waiting for Doctor Lambeth. Finally he came out shaking his head. He put on his coat.

  Cant you do anything? Aunt Cecelia wailed. She popped her eyes and twisted her handkerchief up in her hands.

  They didnt even see me.

  No Cecelia, he said. I regret to say this. I have loved Junius Hall from the day we first met, when he and I were young men together fifty years ago, running these woods like bird dogs. I was just remembering the time we went down the Cape Fear River on a flatboat, all the way to Wilmington. Now that was a memorable trip. He smiled his wide sad smile. Ah, but that was a different time, he said. The wrinkles on his face looked like cobwebs. Keep him comfortable, he said. Give him the medicine.

  Aunt Cecelia made a sound and turned away.

  Doctor Lambeth put on his hat. He picked up his doctor bag.

  I jumped up and darted in front to open the door.

  Molly, he said. My goodness but you are growing up into a real young lady now. It has been some time since I’ve seen you.

  I held the door and Doctor Lambeth came and we went outside into the cold gray day and stood on the stone piazza while Washington rode the horse up the lane.

  Listen. I grabbed Doctor Lambeths bony arm and told him all about the negro hanging and where it was. I told him everything. Report it to the sheriff, I said. Tell the magistrate. Somebody has to do something. I did not say that whenever I close my eyes now I still see that bloody body turning around and around on the rope in the little breeze.

  Yes, Doctor Lambeth said in his deep kind voice. I will do so Molly, I promise. I will do everything in my power. But I cannot promise what the outcome will be. I want you to know that. I cannot say what if anything will be done. He put down his bag and hugged me into his great black coat. These are hard times, honey, he said. His coat smelled like tobacco and traveling. Then he got on the horse and Washington stood beside me while we watched him ride away.

  December 10, 1872

  The middle of the night

  Dear Diary,

  Again as before I have been sleepwalking. Last night soon after we had laid down I awoke with a start to find myself in the hall with a light still burning below and angry voices floating up the stairs. Making no noise I tiptoed down them and along the passage. There stood Aunt Cecelia in her monstrous blue dressing gown just inside Uncle Junius room where he lay propped up on many pillows with his mouth open, breath rattling in his chest. Doctor Lambeth says it will not be long. Selena sat on the rumpled bed beside him. Her hairbrush lay on the counterpane, her clothes were thrown about the room. She stays there with him now.

  Aunt Cecelia was saying, Junius, this is intolerable.

  Let him be. Selena said. For Gods sake. Go to bed Cecelia. Her black hair fell to her waist. She was wearing one of his old shirts which she clutched together across her breasts.

  Junius! I am speaking to you, Aunt Cecelia said.

  Uncle Junius turned his head and looked at her but he was not himself, and will not be himself, as he is dying. Drowning is what he says. I am drowning in that awful voice. Before, he was thrashing around and yelling but now since Doctor Lambeth came he is quieter. He is dreamy and more content.

  Selena gave him a spoonful of the medicine from the little blue bottle and then put it back on the table next to the lamp. Listen here Cecelia, she said. I have some news for you. Junius and I will be married within the fortnight. Her black eyes were flat and shiny.

  Why this is preposterous! Junius is not a stupid man, I will wager that he sees what you are up to as plainly as the rest of us. My brother will never marry you, you hussy. You whore. You have just cooked this up while he lies here dying too weak to protest.

  Ce-ce-lia. Uncle Junius pushed himself up from his pillows looking like Death itself. What does it matter? If I marry or if I do not marry? What does any of it matter? I am tired Cecelia. I am tired to death of this stupid life. He drew in a long gurgling breath and fell back exhausted against the pillows.

  But Junius—Agate Hill? Aunt Cecelia could scarcely speak.

  Frankly Cecelia Agate Hill is nothing but an encumbrance and a monument to the colossal vanity of men who enslaved other men. Let it go, I say, back to a pile of rubble, back to the rocky earth of this rocky hill. Let it all go. He closed his eyes.

  You see? Selena smiled her big triumphant smile at Aunt Cecelia.

  In that case, I shall be leaving immediately. Clearly Junius has lost his mind. Aunt Cecelia puffed herself up like one of Liddys pullet hens.

  Selena rared back hooting with laughter. And where will you go? she asked. You didnt come here to help us—Selena spat out the word help— We didnt need any help. The truth is that you came here because you had nowhere else to go. The truth is that you thought Junius was a rich man, didnt you? You thought you would take over. You thought you would take advantage of him, and see how it has worked out now. Junius doesnt want you here. Nobody wants you anywhere.

  Insufferable bitch, Aunt Cecelia said all red-faced. Dont you worry. I have powerful friends and resources. I have innumerable connections. I will go back to Alabama where people were vying for my presence and aid. This was only one of my many choices. We will be just fine, I assure you.

  Selena sat up straighter and composed herself. You do know that I will take good care of Junius, she said in a different voice.

  I know nothing of the kind, Aunt Cecelia said. You will watch him die, thats all. He will never marry you. This is a dream my dear. He would never cheat his children out of their inheritance, this is ridiculous.

  Selena laughed. What inheritance? There is no inheritance, you must know that by now. You would never leave, otherwise. If there was any money to be got, youd stay here and try to get it. Dont deny it Cecelia. I have never had the luxury of being good—but if I am bad, you are just as bad as me. We are exactly the same. If I am a bitch, you are a bitch too. We are two bitches from the same litter.

  Well said my dear, came Uncle Junius voice.

  Aunt Cecelia started violently, her hand flew up to her breast.

  The carrion speaks, Uncle Junius said in his deep and gurgling voice, while the buzzards fight over him. His mouth turned up in a smile. Selena smiled too. As she leaned down on one elbow to kiss him, her shirt fell open to show one long breast.

  Good bye Cecelia, Uncle Junius said, raising his bony hand a few inches above the counterpane.

  Aunt Cecelia made a sound which was neither a sob nor a snort but something in between. She whirled and collided with me before I could understand her intentions and get myself out of the doorway. Her shriek would have woken the dead.

  What is it? Selena jumped up and stared at me.

  Oh Molly! Aunt Cecelia shook my shoulders hard. You bad girl, I thought you were a ghost.

  I am, I said. I am.

  December 12, 1872

  Dear Diary,

  Here I sit while the business of packing is heard throughout the house, a dragging scraping sound as the trunks are dragged out and then packed and then dragged away, it is like they a
re dragging them across my heart to leave a bloody scrape like you get when you fall down running in the road. It is the worst kind of bloody knee to get for it never heals.

  I hate Aunt Cecelia.

  December 16, 1872

  Dear Diary,

  Mary White has left in the dark of the morning with Aunt Cecelia, the horses breaths making clouds in the air, lanterns lit on either side of the carriage driven by Washington, Virgil following with the wagon. They started off so early due to the threat of more snow.

  First there was the comickal scene of Aunt Cecelia getting up into the carriage, this required everybody pushing despite the stepstool they had brought out for her. The carriage bounced on its springs when she finally plopped down, I saw it. It would have been funny if it wasnt so sad, for there was Mary White too in her little red coat looking up here to this cubbyhole where she knew I would be watching, for I could not stand to go outside and say good bye.

  She did not smile. Her face was round and white in the lantern light, it looked like a little moon. She kept on staring up here. It was all I could do not to run down there although we have already split up our collection of phenomena—I gave her the Yankee hand— and said good bye yesterday at the willow house in a special ceremony of Mary Whites devising.

  December 18, 1872

  Dear Diary,

  I feel like a top that someone is spinning faster and faster.

  First Selena moved Blanche and Godfrey up here as soon as the carriage disappeared. Back and forth from the tenant house they trudged in the snow carrying all their possessions. Now Blanche is staying here in the girls room with me and actually I am glad of this, though she is a dim quiet little girl who is not much company. She sleeps in the other bed with a sighing noise all night long. But I will never show her this cubbyhole. I do not know where Victoria is, nor have I asked.