Not Without Laughter

knows, I couldn’t ’ford it⁠—took all de money from three week’s o’ washin’, but I knowed she’d been wantin’ a watch. An’ this front room⁠—I moved ma bed out last year an’ bought that new rug at de secondhand store an’ them lace curtains so’s she could have a nice place to entertain her comp’ny.⁠ ⁠… But de chile goes with such a kinder wild crowd o’ young folks, Sister Whiteside! It worries me! The boys, they cusses, an’ the girls, they paints, an’ some of ’em live in de Bottoms. I been tried to get her out of it right along, but seems like I can’t. That’s why I’s glad she’s in de country fo’ de summer an’ comes in but only once a week, an’ then she’s home with me. It’s too far to come in town at night, she say, so she gets her rest now, goin’ to bed early an’ all, with de country air round her. I hopes she calms down from runnin’ round when she comes back here to stay in de fall.⁠ ⁠… She’s a good chile. She don’t lie to me ’bout where she goes, nor nothin’ like that, but she’s just wild, that’s all, just wild.”

“Is she a Christian, Sister Williams?”

“No, she ain’t. I’s sorry to say it of a chile o’ mine, but she ain’t. She’s been on de moaner’s bench time after time, Sunday mawnin’s an’ prayer-meetin’ evenin’s, but she never would rise. I prays for her.”

“Well, when she takes Jesus, she’ll see de light! That’s what de matter with her, Sister Williams, she ain’t felt Him yit. Make her go to church when she comes back here.⁠ ⁠… I reckon you heard ’bout when de big revival’s due to come off this year, ain’t you?”

“No, I ain’t, not yet.”

“Great colored tent-meetin’ with de Battle-Ax of de Lawd, Reverend Braswell preachin’! Yes, sir! Gwine start August eighteenth in de Hickory Woods yonder by de edge o’ town.”

“Good news,” cried Hager. “Mo’ sinners than enough’s in need o’ savin’. I’s gwine to take Sandy an’ get him started right with de Lawd. An’ if that onery Jimboy’s back here, I gwine make him go, too, an’ look Jesus in de face. Annjee an’ me’s saved, chile!⁠ ⁠… You, Sandy, bring us some drinkin’ water from de pump.” Aunt Hager rapped on the window with her knuckles to the boy playing outside. “An’ stop wrastlin’ with that gal.”

Sandy rose triumphant from the prone body of black little Willie-Mae, lying squalling on the cinderpath near the back gate. “She started it,” he yelled, running towards the pump. The girl began a reply, but at that moment a rickety wagon drawn by a white mule and driven by a grey-haired, leather-colored old man came rattling down the alley.

“Hy, there, Hager!” called an old Negro, tightening his reins on the mule, which immediately began to eat corn-tops over the back fence. “How you been treatin’ yo’self?”

“Right tolable,” cried Hager, for she and Sister Whiteside had both emerged from the kitchen and were approaching the driver. “How you doin’, Brother Logan?”

“Why, if here ain’t Sis’ Whiteside, too!” said the old beau, sitting up straight on his wagon-seat and showing a row of ivory teeth in a wide grin. “I’s doin’ purty well for a po’ widower what ain’t got nobody to bake his bread. Doin’ purty well. Hee! Hee! None o’ you-all ain’t sorry for me, is you? How de storm treat you, Hager?⁠ ⁠… Says it carried off yo’ porch?⁠ ⁠… That’s certainly too bad! Well, it did some o’ these white folks worse’n that. I got ’nough work to do to last me de next fo’ weeks, cleanin’ up yards an’ haulin’ off trash, me an’ dis mule here.⁠ ⁠… How’s yo’ chillen, Sis’ Williams?”

“Oh, they all right, thank yuh. Annjee’s still at Mis’ Rice’s, an’ Harriet’s in de country at de club.”

“Is she?” said Brother Logan. “I seed her in town night ’fore last down on Pearl Street ’bout ten o’clock.”

“You ain’t seed Harriett no night ’fore last,” disputed Hager vigorously. “She don’t come in town ’ceptin’ Thursday aftenoons, an’ that’s tomorrow.”

“Sister, I ain’t blind,” said the old man, hurt that his truth should be doubted. “I⁠—seen⁠—Harriett Williams on Pearl Street⁠ ⁠… with Maudel Smothers an’ two boys ’bout ten o’clock day before yestidy night! An’ they was gwine to de Waiters’ Ball, ’cause I asked Maudel where they was gwine, an’ she say so. Then I says to Harriett: ‘Does yo’ mammy know you’s out this late?’ an’ she laughed an’ say: ‘Oh, that’s all right!’⁠ ⁠… Don’t tell me I ain’t seen Harriett, Hager.”

“Well, Lawd help!” Aunt Hager cried, her mouth open. “You done seed my chile in town an’ she ain’t come anear home! Stayed all night at Maudel’s, I reckon.⁠ ⁠… I tells her ’bout runnin’ with that gal from de Bottoms. That’s what makes her lie to me⁠—tellin’ me she don’t come in town o’ nights. Maudel’s folks don’t keep no kind o’ house, and mens goes there, an’ they sells licker, an’ they gambles an’ fights.⁠ ⁠… Is you sho that’s right, Brother Logan, ma chile done been in town an’ ain’t come home?”

“It ain’t wrong!” said old man Logan, cracking his long whip on the white mule’s haunches. “Gittiyap! You ole jinny!” and he drove off.

“Um-uh!” said Sister Whiteside to Hager as the two toil-worn old women walked towards the house. “That’s de way they does you!” The peddler gathered up her things. “I better be movin’, ’cause I got these greens to sell yit, an’ it’s gittin’ ’long towards evenin’.⁠ ⁠… That’s de way chillens does you, Sister Williams! I knows! That’s de way they does!”

III

Jimboy’s Letter

Kansas City, MO
13 June 1912

Dear Annjelica,

I been laying off to written you ever since I left home but you know how it is. Work has not been so good here. Am with a section gang of coloreds and greeks and somehow strained my back on the Union Pacific