“Seraphine ain’ like dat, Cousin. Seraphine is a sensible gal. E do wear shoes lately fo-true, by e got such a awful splinter in e heel de last time e danced barefeeted. But e skin is black an’ e teeth is solid as my own. Soon as e gits a depluma ’e’s comin straight home to stay.”
“Wha dat you call a depluma, Si May-e?”
“Gawd knows what e is, Cousin. I ain’ never see one in my life, but Seraphine craves to get one, I know dat.”
“If dat is what Seraphine craves, I hope e won’ be disappoint.”
The big boat was coming up the river, bellowing and splashing water like a great vexed alligator. The day was passing. Mary must go. And yet the news about Seraphine had rooted her feet to the ground so she could hardly pull them up and move them.
“De day is young, Si May-e. It ain’ middle-day, not yet. What’s you hurry?”
“I’m gwine by Heaven’s Gate road, Cousin. Dat’s a long ways home.”
“Is you comin to Heaven’s Gate Friday night?”
“I might. I ain’ certain.”
“You better come see de place whe you is gwine some o dese days.”
“Who? Me?” Mary laughed. “Lawd, Cousin, when you gets to Heaven I’m gwine to be waitin for you, ready to set right by you side.”
“I hope so. I hope you will, gal.”
The cool air outside was full of delicious scents which were all the more pleasant after the horrid smell of Andrew’s shop with its black coal smoke. Mary sniffed it, then breathed it in deep before she started walking swiftly on the road leading toward Heaven’s Gate Church.
New leaves, fragrant weeds and grasses were reaching up to catch all they could of the day’s yellow sunshine. A light breeze full of summer softness floated in from the rice-fields and, snatching at the strong sweet smoke Mary pulled out of her pipe, swept it away, then climbed up and whirled some of the yellow tassels down from the trees.
Mary was worried. What in God’s world ailed Seraphine? Big Boy was a fine-looking fellow. When he got on his Sunday clothes and tilted his hat over on one side, any girl would be glad to get him for a husband. She must try to straighten Seraphine out somehow. She would go to Daddy Cudjoe and get a love-charm for Big Boy to use on Seraphine and cure her of any foolish notions book reading had put into her head.
Meantime, she might try her own hand at working a spell on Big Boy’s daddy. Andrew was a fine-looking fellow. Such a proudful fellow too. She would like to see him humble just once. One time would not do him any harm.
She would have to be careful, for he was fiery-tempered and headstrong, and if she displeased him he would make her rue the day she ever crossed his path. He had the name of being a good friend but a mean and heartless enemy. He liked to think he set an example which ought to be followed by every other man on the plantation, but the strongest men were weak before her little cloth conjure rag. If it failed to put a hand on Andrew it would be because he was such a faithful Christian man, always praying and singing holy hymns and abusing sinners and sin. If she did fail to get a spell laid on him, it made no difference. Plenty of other men were in the world, and the difference between one man and another does not amount to a very great deal. There had been a few men she preferred to all the rest for a day or a week; some as long as a year, because they were kinder or stronger or maybe weaker and more in need of what she had to give, but not one of them had ever satisfied her long at a time. Not one, although she had always picked the best.
Men are too much alike, with ways too much the same. None is worth keeping, none worth a tear; and still each one is a little different from the rest; just different enough to make him worth finding out. Everybody has a selfness that makes the root of his life and being.
If getting men, taking them from their rightful owners, had been hard work, she would never have bothered about it; but it was such an easy thing. All she had to do was call them with a look, or a smile, or the wave of a hand. Sometimes with no more than a glance. Whichever man she wanted came running, whether he was old or young, sinner or church member. All she had to do was to wear that little charm on a string around her neck as it was today.
Most of the women who had grown up in the Quarters with her were fat and logy or skinny and sharp. Thank God, she had kept supple and young. The years had been easy on the others and hard on her, but toil and carrying heavy loads had hardened her sinews and lengthened her wind and kept her body lean and slim. She could swing an ax and cut the toughest wood for hours at a time without a taint of weariness. She could jerk a hoe day after day through the hottest sunshine. She could pick cotton with the best and come home at night as cheerful and fresh as when she waked at dawn. Thank God!
Instead of going straight into the Big Road, she chose to leave that at one side for a narrow path which made a shortcut through the neighboring woods, where everything was silent and still. Hardly a leaf or blade of grass trembled as they reached up to catch the light, and forest shadows made a dark veil across the damp earth.
Mary walked on, fast at first, then more slowly, for she had two heavy
