She looked up at the enlarged picture of Unex hanging on the wall. It was taken from a small one he sent her and it cost a lot, but it was good to have his face there over the mantel-shelf where she could look at it the first thing every morning when she got up and the last thing every night before she went to bed. How much like July he was. The same high bony forehead and full eyes, the same broad mouth. If the picture could talk, it might tell her where he was, how he was; then she could be happy and satisfied. But it could only stare and stay dumb.
A large yellow cat crept in through the cat hole, a notch cut in one corner of the door. Mary chuckled. Tom had come home early tonight. The rain must have run the rats too deep in their holes for him to catch; or maybe he found courting no fun on such a wet night. Tom thought of nothing but pleasure: eating, sleeping, courting, keeping his fur smooth. He had not a trouble in the world, although his yellow kittens were scattered from one end of the plantation to the other. He was like all the other men. Children could come and children could go, but as long as his belly was full of victuals and he had a warm dry place to sleep, he was happy and satisfied. Women are different. Poor little Nan cried and could not sleep for grief because her child, a tall weanling, was gone from her.
Somebody stumbled up the steps and made a loud knock and called, “Si May-e, is you home? Do, fo Gawd’s sake, open de door.”
“Who dat?” she cried, almost startled out of her wits, for the voice was Unex’s own. Spirits trick people on nights like this, she must be careful what she did.
“Who dat, I say?” She called out boldly, and the prompt answer came.
“Dis is me, Unex, Si May-e. Do le me in—”
Mary dropped the door-bar. Her brain felt addled, her knees shook, she could not speak a word.
Unex was soaking wet, laden with luggage, a drenched hat pulled over his face. As he staggered toward the fire, each step he took left a puddle of water on the floor. His wet coat and breeches clung tight to his body and he seemed to have no breath left for speaking.
The door swung wide open, pushed back by the wind, and Mary’s hands shook so she could hardly shut and bar it again. She hugged Unex and kissed him with many a sob, and he wept with her, but all the time he held fast to a bundle.
“Unex—honey—whe you come from?” She took off his hat and pushed his head back and stroked his thin cheeks. “Whe in Gawd’s world is you come from, son? Put you bundle down an’ get off dem wet clothes, dey is plastered wid mud.”
Unex held tight to his wet bundle with both his arms.
“Lawd, I’m glad to git here. I mighty nigh give out back yonder in de big road,” he sighed, and bending his head over wiped his wet face on his sleeve.
Mary got up and ran to get him a dry towel.
“Wha dat you got wrapped up so tight, in a blanket?”
Unex smiled a slow sad smile. “Dis is a present I brought you, Si May-e! De nicest present ever was, but I liken not to a got here wid em. Look at em and see how you like em.”
He began undoing the blanket carefully, awkwardly. His hands were cold, the joints of his fingers stiff; but Mary stood still and watched him. At last the top of the blanket was off, and Unex bent over it saying, “Is you wake, Emma? Looka, Si May-e. ’E’s you gramma, honey.”
“Whe in Gawd’s world did you get em from, son?”
The baby’s bright black eyes stared up from a tiny wrinkled face; both small fists were clenched tight. Unex slipped a finger inside one of them, and it held on tight for dear life. “Emma is my own, Si May-e. I fetched em to you to raise for me.”
Mary shifted her weight unsteadily from one knee to the other. “Who had em for you, son?” she whispered.
“E mammy is dead, Si May-e,” the boy answered simply. “I couldn’ raise em by mysef.”
Mary brushed her tears away and patted Unex’s shoulder briskly. “Gi me de child, son. How-come you had em out in all dis rain tonight? You done well not to drown em. Po lil creeter. Put some wood on de fire. Put de kettle up close so de water can hotten, den go wake up Seraphine. I bet dis baby is hungry as e only can be. When did you feed em last, Unex?”
Unex opened the wet paper suitcase and took out a big shining nickel bottle and held it up to show her. It was a fireless bottle, he said. Milk would stay hot in it all day and all night. Emma had been drinking out of it ever since he started for home, two days and two nights ago.
Then he held up a milk-stained glass bottle with marks to show how much milk to give Emma, so she would not drink herself to death. Emma never knew when to stop. Mary looked and listened in bewilderment. She was deeply impressed, but when she looked at the tiny creature in her lap, touched its little cheek, felt its bony hands, she knew it was hungry and cold, too weak to cry or complain. The milk in the fireless bottle must be stale, but she had three babies of her own to feed and Emma would have to depend on Nan’s milk.
“Wake up Seraphine, son,” she ordered.
Seraphine was so dazed it was hard to make her understand
