Three? How could she have three? Unex was puzzled.
Mary told him how on the night her own twins were born, another baby was found behind the organ. Nobody had ever owned the child yet. Unex looked at Seraphine and growled.
“Who had em, Seraphine?”
But Mary laughed pleasantly, and warned him not to let himself get upset. Seraphine was a good girl. If she had missed and tripped one time, it must not be held against her, and he must not hurt her feelings by asking her questions.
Tears filled Unex’s eyes. “You is too good, Si May-e. I bet dey ain’ no ’oman in de world good as you.”
“I know so,” Seraphine echoed softly.
Mary shook her head and sighed. No, she was far from good. She loved her children and she was not going to let anybody hurt their feelings.
She had a few more questions to ask Unex. Had he seen July on any of his travels? Unex shook his head. He had not. He looked for July but he would not have known him anyway, for July left home when he was a helpless baby, less than a year old.
And how did Unex get money to have the baby’s mother buried?
Unex explained that the baby’s mother belonged to a burying society which pays sick people fifty cents a day every day while they are sick and buries them when they die. Most city people belong to some society like that. It’s a big help too. City people have some nice ways.
“We got a Bury-league, now,” Seraphine boasted. “I don’ belong to it, but a lot o people in de street does. De members pays fifty cents evy time somebody dies; if you lose a child as much as twelve years old, you get fifteen dollars; if you lose a baby or a child under twelve, you get twelve dollars and a half; if a man loses his wife he gets twenty-five dollars an’ a good store-bought box to bury em, an’ a nice tombstone.”
“How much does a dead man bring?”
Seraphine looked grave. “A lawful husband brings sixty dollars, but if e ain’ married to you, you don’ get a Gawd’s cent.”
“Dat don’ seem ezactly right,” Unex ventured, but Mary said it didn’t matter. She and Seraphine had no husbands and did not belong to the Bury-league, not yet. It was cheaper for her and the children to stay well, so they could spend the money they made on rations and clothes and pleasure. None of them was likely to die anytime soon. Of course, if one was to show any sign of getting weakly, she might join then, but it was not a bit of use now. Not now.
XXIX
A wide-seated split-bottom chair with a pillow for a mattress, made a fine bed for Emma, who seemed glad enough to sleep and roused only for food or fresh clothes. Then she wailed pitifully and shook her fists and waved her thin legs about. Mary woke at her first whimper and, gathering her up close in her arms, soothed her with low crooning words, fed her with Nan’s sweet rich milk, and patted her back to sleep again.
Unex slept beside Emma on a pallet of quilts on the floor with his feet up near the fire, for the night stayed damp and chilly and his blood was hard to warm after that terrible wetting the rain had put on him.
Dawn brought a stiff wind that cleared the clouds out of the sky, and a winter sun came out white and warm, drying off the drenched earth. Before sunrise Mary mended the fire which blazed up bright in spite of the wet wood, but Unex slept on heavily. Poor fellow. How long and narrow he was stretched out there on the floor. His body seemed shrunken, his face dry and ashy, deep black shadows lay under his eyes. Sorrow had left its mark on him. Nothing but time could heal him, but good food and rest and love would help him.
When Unex woke, he said his bones ached, his head felt heavy and a misery had his insides restless, but Seraphine hurried about, waking the children for Mary, helping them dress, laughing and playing with them, stirring a pot, cooking the sausages while Keepsie milked the cow, and the cabin became gay with happiness except for Unex’s sadness. He tried hard to seem glad, to meet the children who had come into the world since he went away, but his heart was in none of it; Mary could see that. Maybe he was hurt with her having so many children; maybe he was sick and weary from his long journey, sad that Emma’s little mother was dead.
Big Boy came in for breakfast, and ate greedily, a great pile of hominy wet with sausage gravy, great hunks of sausage, one after another; it did Mary’s heart good to see such an appetite; but Unex shuddered when he looked at the nice panful of victuals she fixed for him. He wanted nothing but a cupful of sweetened water. He was thirsty, he craved things to drink, yet when he swallowed them down, they burned his insides. A strange thing ailed him.
The news of Unex’s arrival spread with speed, and all the Quarter people hastened to greet him and bid him welcome home. Everybody brought something; the cabin table was full of good things, but he ate nothing. By daylight his hands looked bonier than ever, the hollows in his neck deeper. His shoulders were stooped; his feet were heavy and dragged him along slowly, wearily. Once he reeled, then he sat quickly down in a chair and leaned his face forward in his hands. Unex was sick. Still, when the neighbors kept coming with their hands filled with gifts: chickens,
