Cold Sassy Tree

by Olive Ann Burns

  Mama bristled. "Yankee women do work like that, and colored women, and tenant farmers' wives and daughters. We don't. Loma heps in the house and that's enough."

  Loma mostly stayed up in her room (my room) and did what she'd always wanted to, namely, write poems and plays. But pretending to be a writer wasn't much fun without an audience, so pretty soon she brought her pencil and paper down to the breakfast table. Once when the Muse was on her, she sat staring into space so long I got worried. "Reckon Aunt Loma's had a stroke?" I whispered to Queenie.

  "Naw, suh, Mr. Will," she whispered back. "Miss Loma jes' be's sightin' on a poem. She do's lak dat lots a-time."

  But it was easy to see the widow was restless, and before long she waylaid Grandpa, when he stopped by for his snort, to ask if she could come work at the store.

  He said he'd think on it.

  Lord knows he needed somebody, what with Miss Love gone to housekeeping, Uncle Camp gone to Hell, and spring just around the corner. Farmers would soon be coming in to arrange credit terms and buy seed and guano. Ladies were already picking through patterns and piece goods, planning their Easter dresses. And it looked like everybody and his brother was itching for an automobile. On a warm Saturday we could hardly wait on customers for taking folks to ride.

  On the other hand, we couldn't afford to put them off, because the cars were beginning to sell. Grandpa read in the paper that in 1906 there were at least a thousand automobiles in Georgia, mostly owned by farmers, doctors, and residents of small towns. That really fired him up to try to sell a lot in 1907.

  In the meantime, I was still the stable boy for Miss Love and Grandpa. I never had time to talk much when I went up there, but I couldn't help noticing she seemed happier lately, and that was a relief. Ever since That Night at Miss Gussie's house, I'd been scared we'd hear any day that she was leaving for Baltimore.

  Or Texas.

  I do remember complaining to her about the committee that had been set up to find a more modern name for Cold Sassy. "Papa's in favor," I grumped. "I don't see why he ain't noticed that the reason it's called Cold Sassy is because that's its name."

  "Don't worry so, Will," said Miss Love, smiling her big-mouth smile. "You know your grandfather will never let it happen."

  Miss Love was washing a kitchen window that looked clean to me already. It seemed like every time I went down there, she was washing floors or windows, one, despite she'd cleaned the whole house good last summer. "Miss Love, I reckon you ain't heard about fall and spring cleanin'," I said one day. She had come out on the back porch to empty her wash water just as I headed for the barn. I said, "In between spring and fall, and fall and spring, ma'am, you just s'posed to sweep and mop and use the feather duster and like that."

  "I like the Yankee way better," she said, bristling. I reckon she thought Mama had criticized how she did. "Up North, ladies do extra cleaning every week in one room. Brush down the walls and wash the floor one week, maybe wash windows and curtains the next, and so on. When they get that room done, they start on another. The house stays nice year round, and it's not exhausting like doing all the heavy cleaning at once."

  When I told Mama, she said, "I'd rather get worn out twice a year than stay worn out all the time."

  The Rucker Blakeslee Hotel sign was finally up, and they said Mr. Clem Crummy just about got apoplexy every time a stranger asked was the ho-tel owned by the same feller had the brick store up the street. I knew Miss Love thought it was awful of Grandpa to hold Mr. Clem to the drawing, but he just laughed when she said so.

  Then one day she came down to the store with a sign she had made. Grandpa read it and laughed. "Go on, put it in the winder," he said.

  This is what was on it:

  ATTENTION!

  Drummers, Cotton Buyers, Railroad Men,

  And Other Travelers!

  Try the Elegant Refurbished

  BLAKESLEE HOTEL

  Fine Cuisine!

  Clean, Bug-Free Beds!

  Fiddle Music and Parlor Games Every Night!

  The Crummys never even said thank you, but the sign got them some business that usually went to the boarding houses.

  Miss Love's birthday was on Valentine's. (That's how come she was named Love.) The day before, Grandpa told me she had decided to give herself a present. She was going to use some of her savings to put in a bathroom, and of course a sink and faucet in the kitchen. "Hit's fol-de-rol and foolish-ment," he said, but he grinned proud.

  That told me one thing. Whether Miss Love was now Grandpa's wife or still just his housekeeper, she wouldn't put her own money into plumbing if she was still thinking about leaving Cold Sassy. On the other hand, she had another think coming if she expected Grandpa to say "Don't spend yore money, let me give you the bathroom for your birthday." He had already bought her a present, a Home Graphophone. It cost five dollars from the Talking Machine Department at Sears, Roebuck and Co., and he'd ordered a dozen "best and loudest music records" to play on it.

  A machine that could talk and play music was, as Grandpa kept saying, a dang marvel.

  You can imagine that when Cold Sassy heard about the Graphophone, everybody remembered he never gave Miss Mattie Lou a birthday present. Granny had always insisted she didn't want one. "Birthdays is for chi'ren," she'd say. "I don't have to mark gittin' older. I can just look in the glass and tell." He did order Granny a coconut and a crate of oranges every Christmas to make him some ambrosia with, but his Christmas gift to Miss Love had been a new buggy top with side and back curtains, and now not two months later he'd bought her that Graphophone.

  From Valentine's Day on, Grandpa never went back to the store after dinner on Wednesdays. Like I said, the stores in Cold Sassy closed every Wednesday around noon, but always before, he went back to work anyway. Said it was a good chance to ketch up on what needed doin'. But now it looked like he was ketchin' up on Miss Love.

  Sometimes they'd go buggy-riding, closed up snug with the side and back curtains snapped shut. One freezing cold Wednesday I went through the house on my way to the barn and found them sitting in the warm kitchen, him in a rocking chair with his glasses on, reading to Miss Love while she sewed. One Sunday after dinner I went up there, just to visit a while, and Grandpa was laying on the daybed in the hall with Miss Love sitting right on the bed beside him, rubbing his forehead. When they saw me, she jumped like somebody caught stealing and hurried to the kitchen, and he sat up muttering something about a backache.

  Plain as day, Grandpa was courting Miss Love. Why else would he be home with her so much? Why else would he have spent so much on the Graphophone and the records for it?

  Despite I couldn't know if they still called each other Miss and Mister when it was just the two of them, I sensed a difference lately. They were always laughing and teasing, and whenever one came in a room where the other one was, you could read a book by the light on their faces.

  To me they were like a book—a book with the last chapter missing. And I couldn't wait to know how it ended.

  At school when we commenced studying Romeo and Juliet, the drama that might or might not be going on up at Grandpa's house laid itself down on every line Shakespeare wrote about love or marriage.

  "Does she call him husband?" I read, and thought of Miss Love, not Juliet.

  "Stony limits cannot hold love out!" That was Grandpa shouting at his Love. "O! I have bought the mansion of a love, but not possess'd it" was his lament.

  But hark! Mayhap Miss Love doth use Juliet's words to tease: "If thou think'st I am too quickly won, I'll frown and be perverse and say thee nay, so thou wilt woo...."

  Well, Grandpa was wooing, no doubt about it. And seemed like Miss Love was enjoying being wooed. But was she yet saying him nay?

  Whenever I was up at their house I'd go to wondering if she still slept in the spare room by herself, or did he come in there sometimes at night, or had she taken over Granny's side of his bed. It wasn't decent, the way I kept picturing in my mind what might or might not
be going on and none of it any of my business. I just wished I knew one way or the other. Then maybe I could quit wondering and, as Papa would say, be-have myself.

  One night I had to go take Grandpa a message from my daddy. As I ran up the front steps, I noticed the parlor draperies were pulled to. And despite the house was shut up tight, I could hear the music machine just a-going. Hurrying in, I saw they'd pushed all the parlor furniture back against the walls, Miss Love had put on a new dance record, and by golly she was teaching Grandpa the turkey trot!

  He was bad to stumble, and kept stepping on her feet, but they were laughing and cutting up, just having the best time. I stood there grinning and they waved at me.

  "I'm gittin' the hang of it, Will Tweedy!" bragged Grandpa, swinging her around. "Next time we go to New York City, I ain't go'n have to pay no partner for her! Here, Love, learn Will Tweedy how," he said, handing her over to me. "I got to rest a spell."

  I was as stumbly as Grandpa, and kept stepping on her feet, too. But boy howdy, I had my arms around her and she was looking up at me, smiling, while Grandpa watched us and beat time to the music. When the machine started winding down, making funny groans and whines, we all three laughed like children.

  Later I couldn't help but try and imagine what it would be like dancing with Lightfoot McLendon. In my mind I saw her in a silk ball gown, smiling up at me as I held her, and us circling and whirling.

  I still thought about Lightfoot a lot, and still wondered sometimes if she hated me for kissing her. But I was too busy to moon over it much. Things had got real bad at the store.

  Aunt Loma kept pestering Grandpa for a job. He didn't pay her any mind, but he did start saying he had to hire somebody. One morning before school I was stacking big sacks of cow feed and guano outside against the brick wall of the store when Grandpa ambled out, spat brown tobacco juice through a crack in the board sidewalk, and said, "Will Tweedy, you know the mill boy thet come in here a while back wantin' a job? What's his name, son?"

  I knew right off who and what he had in mind, and it made me mad as heck. But all I said was, "Hosie Roach?"

  "Thet's the one. Is he in school this term?"

  "Yessir."

  "How old you reckon Hosie is? He ain't a real big boy, as I recollect. But he's some older'n you, ain't he?"

  "Yessir. He's prob'ly twenty. Maybe twenty-one." I couldn't help adding, "And still ain't finished school."

  "Well, he seemed right smart to me." Grandpa had sense enough to know the reason Hosie hadn't graduated was that he worked a lot at the cotton mill and couldn't get to school regular. "I liked thet boy. Tell him to come see me this evenin', son. I got to git me some more hep."

  I told Hosie what Grandpa said. He didn't jump up and down about it like I thought he would. Didn't even let on he was excited. But he couldn't hide the deep flush that came on his face.

  "Tell Mr. Blakeslee I cain't come today," he said, putting his scaly hands in the pockets of his dirty, ragged overalls. "Tell him I'll be by t'morrer."

  "He ain't go'n like it, you not comin' when he said to." I spoke hateful. "He's used to folks sayin' yessir when he tells'm something."

  Hosie flushed again. I swear he looked like my dog T.R. when he's ashamed and trying to wag his tail and drag his belly at the same time. "Will," said Hosie, "be shore and say I'll see him t'morrer, hear. Tell him I'll be by fore school takes in."

  I fell in step with Grandpa next morning as he left our house after his snort. "I'm goin' by the store and get me a pencil," I said.

  Crossing North Main, with T.R. trotting ahead, I decided to speak up about Hosie Roach. "There ain't but four things wrong with him, Grandpa."

  "What, son? Besides he's a mill boy."

  "Some folks in Cold Sassy will think when it comes to workin' at your store, him bein' a linthead is enough and too much." I was being real smart-aleck. "Main thing, sir, he's got cooties and the itch and he stinks."

  "He was clean as you thet day he come in astin' for a job."

  "Well, he ain't clean when he comes to school. He don't grow much beard, but his hair's so long and tangled and dirty it looks like a dern cootie stable, haw!"

  Hosie was waiting in front of the store when we got there. I didn't hardly recognize him.

  Naturally he was barefooted, and his feet were cracked and bleeding from the cold. But he had on new overalls and a clean long-sleeved denim shirt. His face was shaved smooth and scrubbed raw, the tow hair clean and wet-combed.

  I knew now why Hosie wouldn't stop by yesterday. He was too proud to show up dirty. He must of scrubbed himself from suppertime to midnight.

  "I come to see about the job, sir," he said as Grandpa unlocked the big door. "Sir, I hope you ain't a'ready hired somebody."

  "Come on in, son." I knew Grandpa was surprised at Hosie being so clean, after what I said, but I could see it pleased him.

  While he went behind the counter to unlock the cash register, I walked over to the rack where the tablets and pencils were. But of course all I really had on my mind was Hosie Roach.

  If he got hired, it wouldn't be Uncle Camp he'd be replacing. It would be me. He'd get the floors swept and the stock put out every morning in no time. Within a week he would find a hundred ways to make himself useful. Without being asked, he'd get the chickens crated up to ship to Atlanta, and the cars washed, and I don't know what all. Lord, smart as Hosie was, it wouldn't be any time before he'd know how to drive and start taking people out for demonstration rides. And unless folks didn't want his hands on their foodstuff, he'd soon be weighing up sugar and flour and drawing molasses out of the barrel.

  Hosie wasn't any better worker than me. But whereas I always had to go home in time to milk and bring in stovewood, he could stay all night if Grandpa wanted him to. And whereas my daddy always asked how much Latin or geometry I had to do that night, and lots of times made me go home early to get at it, Hosie would of course quit school if he got the job.

  Bad as he wanted to leave the mill and amount to something, Hosie would be equal to ten of Uncle Camp plus maybe two of me, and Grandpa would respect him. Jealousy rose in me like a pain as I heard them talking terms.

  Grandpa had sense enough to know how cheap a linthead would work. However little he paid, it would be more than Hosie made at the mill. He would cost more than me, since I didn't get paid anything, being in the family, but he would be cheaper than Uncle Camp, who had to be paid enough for him and Aunt Loma to live on.

  The whole idea of it made me mad.

  I was fixing to call the dog and go on to school when I heard Grandpa ask Hosie if he had cooties.

  Hosie would of hit any town boy at school who even mentioned such. I stood there hoping he'd hit Grandpa. Because if he did, that would be the end of that.

  "I ain't wantin' to shame you, boy," Grandpa said, propping his left elbow on the oak counter top and leaning forward. "I jest got to make shore. If'n we bring cooties in here, or the seven-year itch, I ain't go'n have no customers."

  "Yessir. I unner-stand, sir." And Hosie turned to leave.

  "Wait a minute now. I ain't said I cain't hire you, son. But most folks gits the itch now and agin, so lemme tell you what to do—if'n you got it or if'n you git it. Will Tweedy?" Hosie jerked around. He must not of known I was still there. "Go in the storeroom, Will, and open up thet case a-Siticide. Bring me a bottle for Hosie."

  Why did he have to say that? Oh, well, let him make Hosie mad. Nothing I'd welcome more than to take on Hosie Roach at recess today.

  "You heard about Siticide?" asked Grandpa.

  "Naw, sir."

  "Well, it's itch medicine. Use it at night, not when you comin' to work, cause it's the stinkin'est stuff you ever come acrost in yore life. Got sulfur in it. Makes the skin yaller and you'll smell like a rotten aigg. But by dang it'll cure the itch. Dr. Lem Sharp over in Harmony Grove invented it—Commerce, you know. Dr. Lem ships the stuff all over the United States of America, so it's got to be good."

  "Yessir
." Hope was rising in Hosie's face.

  "Now bout cooties. I ain't a-sayin' you got'm, but we cain't be too careful. What you want to do is git yore ma to cut yore hair short—short as mine. Wash yore head with lye soap ever night for a while, and use you one a-them fine-tooth combs to git the nits out. Y'all got one them combs, boy?"

  "Naw, sir."

  Grandpa reached up on the shelf back of him, but the comb box was empty. "I'll order some from the wholesale house, son. We do a real good bizness in fine-tooth combs. Lots a-town folks got trouble with them critters." He didn't say that town people with cooties were usually teachers or children who'd caught them at school from lintheads.

  Hosie bent over to pet T.R., I guess so his red face wouldn't show. Finally he said, "Mr. Blakeslee, I can start work today. I'm ready and willin', sir."

  "Naw, not today," said Grandpa. "Naw, you go git squared away at school, son, and git yore hair cut and all. T'morrer will be jest fine."

  Like I said, Grandpa could get away with anything.

  And he had finally done what the school superintendent never could. He'd made Hosie Roach willing to quit school.

  Mama had a fit when Papa told her about Hosie being hired. She said Grandpa was crazy to think town folks would accept a mill boy in the store. "Well, maybe y'all can keep him in the back," she decided. "You really got to have some hep."

  Papa and Cudn Hopewell Stump opened up next morning, but Hosie was there ahead of them. He had found a broom out back and was sweeping the board sidewalk in front of the store when they walked up. "Lord, Mary Willis, we didn't know who he was!" Papa said at dinner. "That boy was bald as a newborn babe!"

  Hosie hadn't just got his hair cut. He'd shaved his head. I really resented him wanting to please all that bad. Especially after Papa asked could I spare an old cap so Hosie wouldn't look so funny.

  Papa was real impressed with Hosie.