“May—e—e! Si May—e—e!” Maum Hannah called again.
Taking the three empty buckets, Mary filled them to the brim, one by one, then carefully putting one on top of her head, and taking the other two, one in each hand, she stepped quickly into the foot-worn path and walked up the hill toward home, as if she had no load at all.
At the top of the hill she turned to look back at the hazy blue world lying so far away over the river. July had been out there and had overcome all kinds of danger and seen all kinds of places, all kinds of women. He had been in great towns with long streets filled with big white houses, standing at the end of long avenues. He had seen box-bordered gardens full of sweet-smelling flowers like the gardens of the plantation Big House. Many girls out there had tried to get him to stay, but he had come back to her. He wanted her who had never been more than five miles from home for his lawful wedded wife. Thank God. She would never, never do anything wrong again.
The sun was climbing up the sky; the morning’s haziness was going, taking with it the glistening dew. The Quarter street was full of noise, everybody was awake, talking, laughing, tramping up and down the street, going back and forth, helping Maum Hannah get everything in order for the wedding.
IV
As the wedding-time drew near, the house and yard were jammed with people. July came, all clean shaved, with a fresh haircut, dressed up in the fine new clothes June’s money bought him. Mary’s heart began beating faster, but July was calm as could be, laughing and talking with the people, answering their banter, joking with the bridesmaids and groomsmen, even joking with old Brer Dee whose shaggy white eyebrows stuck out farther than ever.
July’s full black eyes were shining under brows that ran in a straight line from temple to temple. His fine new suit looked very grand, though not quite long enough for his arms and legs. Nobody ever looked better than July looked now. No man on earth ever had a handsomer body or one so supple and straight and strong. Mary’s second cousin, Cinder, had tried hard to get him, but she was not the bride, thank God. She might as well go along and sweet-talk June and leave the groom alone.
Reverend Duncan held up the holy black Book to let the people know that the time had come. They must all go outside in the front yard and give the bridal procession a chance to form.
As they hurried out, choking the door, pushing one another, laughing and shouting happily, Maum Hannah put her arms around Mary and gave her a tight hug. “Gawd bless you, Si May-e,” she whispered, and Mary felt a wet old cheek pressed against her own until July stepped up and took her from Maum Hannah, and began hugging her himself. “Lord, gal, you pure look good enough to eat.” He put a kiss right on her mouth, then drew her arm through his. “Come on, honey. De preacher’s ready to make you my lawful lady.”
“You gwine mash Si May-e’s dress, July,” Maum Hannah cried out, and July laughed gaily, but for all his big-doings talk, Mary felt his heart thumping fast under her arm.
Reverend Duncan, a great, fat old man, marched out first with Brer Dee, the oldest deacon of the church, then turned to face them under the big oak tree. The “waiters” marched out next, a couple at a time, ten couples in all. They walked round and round so everybody could see them well, then formed a gay half-circle. The girls wore beautiful bright-colored dresses and had ribbons and flowers in their hair. Twelve little flower girls dressed in white followed the waiters. They walked slowly two by two, holding hands and making funny little mincing steps, for most of them were wearing shoes and stockings for the first time in their lives. Their white teeth gleamed with happy grins as they darted quick looks all around them.
Mary could find only eleven little girls the same size, so Andrew let his little Big Boy take a flower girl’s part in the wedding. Big Boy wore a little, full-skirted, white frock too, and a bow of white ribbon was tied to his short kinky hair.
When the waiters and flower girls finished marching around, Mary and July came arm in arm together down the rickety steps out into the sun-bright air, past the red rosebush, down the violet-bordered path, with Maum Hannah following close behind them. On they went by short slow paces through a narrow aisle made by the crowd. A soft wind stirred and the old hackberry tree scattered bright yellow leaves over them, and Mary’s full skirts billowed around her. Her shiny new shoes squeaked proudly with every step, while grunts and exclamations of approval sounded on every side.
“Lawd, de bride do look sweet, fo-true!” somebody shouted happily.
“Like a fresh blossom.”
“E weddin-dress fits em same like a green shuck fits a young ear o corn.”
“Si May-e must a been melted an’ poured in em.” The laughter that followed each comment was hushed by the preacher’s deep-booming words beginning the solemn marriage service.
Mary’s voice was low and husky when she answered, “I will,” but July spoke clear and loud and ahead of time. Everybody laughed when Reverend Duncan gave Mary a sudden smacking kiss. The ceremony was over and July was her lawful wedded husband, until Death came to part
