“Now, honey, don’ cry so hard. Si May-e loves you just de same as e ever did. Evybody loves you. Budda Ben’s eyes ain’ big enough to see you. Big Boy is most dead e loves you so much.” Instead of helping, this kind of talk made Seraphine cry more. It was doing harm instead of good. So she tried different talk.
She drew her arms away and stood Seraphine on her feet. “Look at me, gal. You think I don’ know what ails you? I do. You ain’ frettin because you done wrong. No. You’s frettin because one o dem town mens tricked you and dropped you. You is a fool. As much mens as Gawd put in his world, any ’oman what would shed a tear over one man ain’ got good sense. You make me pure shame. Shame. Me an’ de chillen an’ Budda Ben all has been a-pinchin an’ savin an’ doin on half-rations so you could stay yonder to school until you got a depluma. Gawd knows what a depluma is, but I know I rather have dat lil gal-child yonder home den all de deplumas in de world. You got to stop dis behavishness or I’m gwine to tell evybody on you. Budda Ben and Big Boy an’ evybody else.”
“No, Si May-e—don’ tell Budda—”
“If you don’ eat more victuals so some can stick to you ribs, I’m gwine to tell em sho as you live. None o my chillen ain’ never been weakly before now. I can’ stand to see a weakly ’oman, creepin around a-lookin doleful. Nobody can stand em. If you want people to hate de sight o you, stay weakly.” Mary smiled and softened her voice. “Listen, gal, if you wants de mens to be raven ’bout you, don’ never gi em a chance to feel sorry fo you. You better listen to me; an’ eat a plenty and get fat an’ sassy again. Soon as cotton-pickin time comes an’ I get some money ahead, I’ll buy you a hat an’ a dress an’ some shoes an’ pay you way on de boat to town. You go let dat man what fooled you see how you forgot em. You go look em straight in de eye, suck you teeth at em, den walk off an’ leave em. Walk off proudful. Strut. Dat is de way to treat big-doins town men. Let em see you ain’ noways downhearted.
“I wasn’ no older’n you when July done me de same way. My Unex was just ’bout de same age as you lil baby when I found out how July was a-runnin roun.—It like to kill me at first. I fretted haf to death—I couldn’ sleep—neither eat—I got po as a snake. I sure did love dat low-down July. I did. Same like you love some strange man yonder to town.”
Seraphine looked up, and a pitiful smile flitted over her lips.
“It don’ pay to love mens too much, gal. When a man finds out fo-true a ’oman is crazy bout em, he don’ crave dat ’oman no mo. Dat’s de very time e gwine crave some new ’oman altogedder. Gawd made mens so. It don’ pay to love no one man too much. It’s all right to like em. But don’ never let yousef tink on one man all de time. It’ll run you crazy if it don’ kill you.”
Seraphine’s face was thoughtful. It had a faraway look. She stood with her arms akimbo. Her full skirts, tied up short with a string around her hips, were wet with dew. Her plain homespun waist, buttoned straight down the front, was open at the neck where swift beats showed how fast her heart was running, but her bare feet, brown as the dirt they stood on, held her weight up firmly.
She was almost crying, yet ready to smile again, as she gave Mary a hug around the neck. “Si May-e, you’s de best ting ever was, yes, you is. I love you too good, Si May-e.”
“I’m glad, honey, I need a lot o lovin. Now, le’s go home and milk de cow an’ de goat an’ give all dem babies a good supper.”
“I hungry myself. I’m gwine cook some fried corn-cakes to eat wid dem peas I left in de pot dis mawnin.”
XXVI
As they walked home a bright afterglow tinged the fields and Mary hummed happily. At last, thank God, everything in the world was right. She talked of how she’d cook the bread for supper that night; she’d mix the meal thick and pat it into little flat cakes and fry them. She hadn’t made corn-cakes that way in a long time, and the children would be glad for the change. They’d taste fine with the new wild honey Keepsie had robbed from a tree.
For some reason, July came into her mind, maybe because July liked fried corn-cakes better than any other kind of bread or maybe talking to Seraphine about fretting brought July back to her mind. Where was he—gone so long—where? How did he look—after all these years? Had he forgotten her too?
She heaved a sigh as she poured water into the basin on the shelf and washed her hands to mix the meal and water together. The children would all soon be coming in hungry. Already she heard steps outside and a soft tiptoeing right up to the doorway.
Mary smiled. One of the children was tipping up the steps, getting ready to jump at her and scare her; an old game of July’s. She’d be ready.
She put the pan on the table and crept softly along the wall till she reached the door, then she eased behind it and stood waiting—
Somebody was outside, right at the door. She could hear the quick breathing. She could almost hear the heartbeats as she waited, too, breathless. It was a game she and the children often played. But now the wait became too long. She would jump first, and turn
