“Get a cup out de safe an’ go milk lil Nan. Stale milk’ll gi dis baby de colic. E needs warm milk fresh from de breast. Nan’ll have a plenty. E ain’ been milked since befo sundown.”
Seraphine hesitated. “It’s dark outdoors, Si May-e. How can I find Nan?”
Mary laughed, Seraphine ever was afraid of the dark. “Open de door, gal. You can see em; lil Nan shows white on de darkest night.”
Seraphine soon had a cup and was gone, and Mary got the baby unwrapped. Poor little thing. Such a tiny mite. Its hands were no bigger than bird claws, its belly was withered up with emptiness, yet its eyes were bright as chinquapins. Emma had a brave little heart.
All the clothes in the paper suitcase were either wet or soiled, so Mary got things belonging to the three babies and dressed Emma in them. When Seraphine had the milk bottle washed clean with soapsuds and rinsed with spring water, Nan’s milk was mixed half and half with hot water from the kettle, and Emma’s supper was ready.
“Dat is too much,” Unex protested when Mary filled the bottle almost full. Emma was not due to have more than up to the first mark on the bottle. Mary laughed.
“Do, fo Gawd’s sake, Unex. Emma’ll know when e belly gits full. Gawd made chillen wid more sense’n people. If Emma misses and drinks too much, e belly will know, and throw em straight back up, and be shet of em.”
Unex gave up. Mary was too positive for any argument.
“Do looka how Emma duh level down on de milk. ’E’s pure a-starvin, po lil creeter,” Seraphine sympathized.
And while Emma leveled down, Mary untied the strings of Unex’s wet shoes. When he got off his wet clothing, he had no dry ones to put on so he wrapped himself in a quilt and sat by the fire warming, stretching his bare feet out to the fire, while he ate a little cornbread and goat meat. He was not hungry. For two or three days a burning in his belly had killed all his appetite.
When Emma was fed and dozing, Seraphine took her and sat listening, while Unex and Mary talked.
When he left home he went straight up north.
“Wid Yankees?” Mary asked quickly.
“Yes, wid Yankees.” But they seemed much like other white people except for their talk. At first he could hardly understand a word they said.
He drifted from one city to another, looking for better work, bigger wages. Then he met a girl, her name was Emma, and he went no farther. That was last spring. He saw her almost every night and on Sundays; in the weekdays both of them were busy, both working. By Thanksgiving she had to stop work, but he worked on at the docks helping load and unload ships that came and went over the ocean. He made her come stay with him, but she didn’t seem well. She had to stay in bed most of the time and that was when she made Emma so many clothes. Unex paused and looked sadly at the pile of rumpled things on the floor. It was not little Emma that got her so poorly, but a fever. First a night fever, then an inward fever gnawed steadily at her insides and gave her no rest day or night.
He bought that same fireless bottle for her so she could have something hot to drink any time she wanted it without getting up out of bed and worrying herself to fix it. Thirst troubled her a lot, and cold things gave her a chill. One night, when he came home late from work little Emma was there, but the little mother was gone.
Unex sat silent, looking at the fire. Nobody spoke for a little, then Mary told him that inside fretting is bad for people. It is better to cry and get it out. Unex shook his head. Talking would do more for him than crying. He had tried crying and it made him feel worse. He wanted to tell her all about it, and then he would speak no more of it again.
The people in the house did all they knew to help him, the policeman on the corner came in and said he could have sent Emma to the hospital if somebody had only told him she was so sick. But it was too late then. She was gone. Nobody could bring her back. They took her out on the far edge of the city in a graveyard crowded with other poor people and put her in the ground.
One of the women in the house offered to take the baby and raise her, but babies in cities have a hard time. He wanted Emma’s to have a chance to live. So he sold some of his things, gave the rest away and bought a ticket for South Carolina.
On the train everybody was kind, from the engineer to the conductor. They gave him two seats and asked if the baby’s milk was hot and sweet. They washed the milk bottle and did everything they could to help him. People are kind all over the world.
When the train reached town, there seemed no way to get home up the river before morning, for the old river boat had its engine broken. By the time it was fixed the tide was right to help push it up the river through the blackest darkness God ever made. They reached the landing in the pouring rain. He would have spent the night there, but Emma’s milk was out and she had to have fresh clothes.
Unex looked at Mary with a wistful smile. “You don’ mind raisin de baby for me, is you, Si May-e?”
Mary smiled back. Lord no. She was glad to do it.
“I see you ain’ forgot how to hold babies yet,” he added, then Mary laughed out.
“Who? Me? Great Gawd, I ain’
