A shadow passed over Mary’s heart as Maum Hannah spoke, but she smiled in spite of it. “I’m gwine to settle down, Auntie, soon as I birth dis same child.”
“I hope so, honey. I hope so. But you ought to settle down befo de time comes to birth dat child. You stays too wild an’ wicked. If you keep on a-settin such a bad pattern to live by, befo you know it, one o you gals will walk straight in you tracks.”
“I’d lick de hide off em too,” Mary burst out. “My gals ain’ to do like I do, but do like I say. Enty, Budda?”
Her effort to get gay met with a dead silence. Ben frowned, and Maum Hannah’s eyes were filled with distress.
“May-e, honey, de way you do pure hurts me to my heart. I ain’ got much longer to live in dis world an’ I know it, but I couldn’ rest easy in Heaven if you an’ Ben was to miss an’ lose you souls. Hell is a awful place.”
When she took up a corner of her apron to wipe the water out of her eyes, Mary got up quickly and went to her and, putting her arms around the old woman’s shoulders, began trying to soothe her as she soothed little troubled children.
“Don’ fret, Auntie, please don’ fret. Me an’ Ben ain’ gwine to be lost. No. We is gwine to seek an’ pray in plenty o time. All-two o we is gwine to set right beside you in Heaven some o these days. You’ll see. Ben is gwine to stop sayin so much-a sinful words, an’ I’m a-gwine to pray, myself, sometime soon. I ain’ gwine to wait so much longer to repent—not so much longer, Auntie—”
The sight of Maum Hannah’s sorrow made Mary feel sad enough to get down on her knees and start praying right then. She could not bear to see suffering, and Maum Hannah’s tears would make her promise anything on earth. It had always been so. She never could argue or disagree with the kind old soul. She always wanted to say whatever was the best-mannered thing. Even when she was a little motherless child running around, living from house to house in the Quarters, petted, spoiled, loved by everyone there, Maum Hannah’s disapproval cut her to the very quick.
“You is a sweet-talkin sinner, Si May-e, but I know how much you promises mean. Promisin talk don’ cook rice.”
“I’m gwine to change,” Mary spoke earnestly.
“Please, honey, change. Try to ’scape Hell if you can.”
Mary met the old eyes bravely, and her voice was steady as she declared solemnly, “I’m gwine to change, Auntie. Satan ain’ gwine never put his hands on me. Not never.” Her words were eager with kindness for she loved Maum Hannah dearly.
“I wouldn’ pester you, May-e, if I didn’ love you.”
“You is right to pester me, an’ I tank you fo it. Soon as you learn de new way to birth chillen, you come practise em on me de first one. No matter how bad it is, I’ll do anyting you say, Auntie. Anyting in Gawd’s world.”
“Except leavin off sin. But you wait: Gawd’ll whip you an’ plague you till you quit, some o dese days. You’ll see. Gawd’s done let dat hay-press cut off Keepsie’s leg. Dat’s one plague E sent on you. Unex is gone an’ left you; dat’s two plagues. You cotton patch ain’ made a lock o cotton in Gawd knows when; dat’s three plagues.”
“You b’lieve Gawd would cut off Keepsie’s leg, Auntie.”
“Sho E would, if it would save you soul from Hell. Keepsie better go to Heaven wid one leg dan for you to go to Hell with two. You better pray before Gawd plagues you again. De next plaguin might be de worst one ever was.” Maum Hannah sighed. She was so crippled she could hardly put one foot before the other one, but she did not complain for she believed God knew what was best for her.
XXI
As the years passed life seemed to divide most of the people Mary knew into two groups: men and women; and the women were all her rivals and competitors, except Maum Hannah. Even her oldest girl child, Seraphine, was pitted against her for the first place in the heart of Budda Ben, although maybe Budda Ben could hardly be counted a man. Certainly Maum Hannah was so old she could hardly be counted a woman. For she lived in another world, seeking only the love of God and Jesus, craving only to do what was pleasing in Their sight. To her, human men were no more than children who needed to be fed and encouraged and warned and pitied.
She had been like a mother to Mary all through the years and the love between them was natural, but what bound Mary to Budda Ben was not so much his kindness to her nor her pity and affection for him, but another thing altogether.
The rest of the Quarter people lived and moved and thought in droves and flocks like chickens or sheep. They could not be happy or help themselves except in crowds or groups. They had societies, bury-leagues, sick benefit circles, lodges.
They all belonged to Heaven’s Gate Church, whose strict rules tried to curb their conduct. They allowed no ground between sinners and Christians. Church members were all Christians, saved from sin. They, only, were the children of God and brothers and sisters of little kind Jesus. Everybody else would be damned in Hell.
Budda argued that the Christians often turned right into wrong, justice into injustice. They denied some of the plainest,
