B B L 35 le? LIBRARY UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA SANTA CRUZ A- AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD BY MERCEDES GILBERT McGrath ‘Publishing Company College Park, Maryland Reprinted from the copy at the Reprinted from the copy at Duke University Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 74-76108 Manufactured in the United States of America by Arno Press, Inc., New York COPYRIGHT 1938 BY THE CHRISTOPHER PUBLISHING HOUSE (23 Sº 2 I-44 At , |^3 &_ FOREWORD Miss Mercedes Gilbert, who comes from Florida to Broadway as one of America's leading Negro actresses, returns again to the deep south for the scene of her first novel, “Aunt Sara's Wooden God.” This is an authentic every-day story of thousands of little families below the Mason-Dixon line, bound to the soil by poverty and blackness, but living their enclosed lives always in the hope that some- day some one of them may escape the family group and go on to higher things. Their tragedy is that there is so small a foundation on which to base such a hope. The wooden god of Miss Gilbert's novel is a mulatto country boy, worshipped by his mother, but himself unable to fulfill the faith and belief she has in him, balked as he is by poverty, the color- line, and his own inner weaknesses born of conceit and fear. That he lives and dies a hero to Aunt Sara, although he tortures and hurts so many others, constitutes the ironic tragedy of this book filled with little pictures of the rural and small-town life of the South. Those readers who enjoyed “Jonah's Gourde Vine” or “Ollie Miss” will find in “Aunt Sara's Wooden God” a kindred volume. Langston Hughes vii AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD CHAPTER I “Ah’m gonna lay down my burden Down by de river side Down by de river side Down by de river side “Ah’m gonna lay down my burden Down by de river side Ain't gonna study war no more.” Sara Lou's song trailed off to a whisper as William's voice, raised angrily, broke the silence of the early morning. “You’re a liar! and a meddlesome black fool! and I’ve got a good mind to smash your ugly face in,” William shouted. “Mister Gordon jes' tole me yuh done borried money from him an' said Ma sent you to get it, an' ah know he wouldn't lie on nobody,” Jim retorted. “Yes, you know it's the truth 'cause Mister Gor- don said so, and he's a white man and can't lie,” William sneered. “No! It ain't dat, ah jes' knows yuh, an' what a liar yuh is 1” Jim's remark raised William's fury to a murderous pitch. Picking up a long stick that lay near by, he raised it threateningly. “Shut up, you black fool, before I knock your head off.” “You ain't gonna let your wooden God an' 9 10 AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD corn-stalk Jesus fool you into hittin' me,” Jim taunted; his voice, though quieter than William's, carried a convincing quality of determination that William knew meant more than mere words. Sara Lou ran as swiftly as her two hundred pounds would permit towards the barn from where the angry voices of her sons seemed to be coming. The early July morning had dawned hot and op- pressive, and Byron, a small farming village in Central Georgia, stirred itself sleepily. Dew lay like carpet upon the green grass that covered the surrounding woods. Overhead numerous brightly colored birds flitted from tree to tree chirping loudly, unheard by Sara Lou as she called: “Yuh Will-y-um ! Yuh J-i-m! Will-y-um! Stop dat fussin' dis moment l” William dropped the stick he held quickly, and turned to greet his mother, his face still flushed with a dull angry red that showed to the roots of his dark brown wavy hair. “Yuh boys aught'er be shame uh yo'selfs, blood brothers an al’lers fussin' an' fightin', jes' cause yo' pa done died an ain't nobody but me to try an' keep yuh straight,” Sara Lou scolded, as she stood between the two boys, looking directly at Jim. Jim started to speak, but changed his mind and walked slowly away. What was the use, he thought. He could gain nothing by trying to tell his mother of William's latest deception. No matter what he said, his mother would take William's side. He was slow of speech, while William had answers ready before questions were asked, and their mother hung on every word he uttered. He was her God. Next to her religion, she worshipped him. To her AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD 11 his words were always soft and honey-coated, while to Jim, William used a patronizing tone which made the younger boy's blood boil. But their mother could not detect the underlying sneer in his smooth words and she usually blamed Jim for the frequent quarrels between the boys. Sara Lou watched Jim as he walked away in the direction of the Gordon plantation. A little pucker in her usually smooth fair brow showed plainly the anxiety of her thoughts. In the depths of her large black eyes lurked the troubled expres- sion which for the four years of her widowhood had dimmed the bright cheerfulness of former years, when her husband, John, had been the staid prop on which she leaned and watched her boys grow to young manhood. A sigh escaped her lips, as Jim's figure receded in the distance. How like his father he was, she thought—the same slow steady tread, his father's height and color, the same quick flare of temper, and equally quick forgiveness. Her mind drifted back over the years to the day, twenty years before, when she first met John Carter. He had come to Byron, to pick cotton, and had lin- gered on after the cotton picking season had passed. Owen Gordon, the richest white farmer in Byron, had hired him as a steady farm hand, but that had not been the main reason for his sojourn in Byron. He had seen Sara Lou, then a tall, fair young woman of twenty; her large black eyes had looked beyond him the evening he first saw her standing in her little cabin door on the outskirts of the Gordon place, but something sweet and soulful in their 12 AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD depths had made him want to talk to her and know her better. He had asked about Sara Lou, that night, as he sat out in front of the little log cabin where he boarded with Lucy Salisbury, the village midwife and root doctor. (Aunt Salisbury, as she was lov- ingly called by the villagers,) gave her snuff brush, a tiny oak twig, a swish as she pushed it with her tongue from one side of her bony cheek to the other, and spat out a long string of brown snuff before she answered. Then, turning her feeble, squinty eyes heavenward, her jet black face seemed to take on a purplish hue as she exclaimed: “Lawd uh mercy man, yuh ain't gone an' took no notice uh dat strumpet is yuh?” and without giv- ing John time to answer she continued. “Dat gal jes' naturally ain't no good, cain't ever be no good, none uh her folks fore her was no good, dey was jes' a bad lot an’ dat's all dere is to it.” “Whut yuh mean, a bad lot?” John questioned, mildly enjoying the distressed look on Aunt Salis- bury's bony black face, almost invisible in the dim moonlight except for the white string with which her hair, short and thin, had been wrapped so tight, that her homely face looked strained and witchlike. “Jes' dat, son, yuh see ah done knowed dem all, from her great grandma down to her, an' all uh dem 'cept Sara Lou's ma, done had half white bas- tard chillun.” “How did Sara Lou's Ma escape?" John asked laughing heartily. “Well, to start wid, her great grandma, Hester, b'longed to de Saunders family back 'fore surren- der. She was a pretty yeller gal jes' like Sara Lou AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD 13 is, an' de fust thing you knows she had a baby for old mister Frank Saunders, old missy Saunders gits suspicious 'bout it bein’ his chile an' makes him sell Hester. Owen Gordon's father, Charles Gordon, bought her and put her to keepin' house for um. Well, Charles Gordon had a half brother who was jes' de limit when it comed to women, white or black. Wid him it didn't make no difference. It was jes' any woman who he could lay down wid, so he took right out after Hester's daughter, Ida, soon as she was knee high to a duck, an' when she was fourteen she had a baby for that man and they named her Charlotte. About a year after dat Ida's Ma Hester died, an' old man Charles Gordon went to live in Macon an' Ida stayed at de Gordon house to work for his son Owen Gordon, who had jes' got married. Well, Owen and his half uncle had a big fuss, an' the Uncle skinned out an' went some where up North, dat was de last heard uh him. Ida took charge uh de Gordon house and raised Charlotte right dare on de lot.” Aunt Salisbury interrupted her recital with a loud chuckle as reminiscences of Ida passed through her mind. “Lawd, son, dat Ida was a caution. Twan't long 'fore she was sure runnin’ dat Gordon home, an’ when Owen Gordon's sons was born, first Lawrence an' den some years later Franklyn, Ida jes' took dem in charge and raised dem so dey wouldn't mind nobody on earth but her. She was a strong-willed woman as ever I seed, Ida was. Well, her gal Charlotte grew up right pretty an' 'bout de time she was seventeen, Owen Gordon had given us a little piece uh land an' de logs and some uh de men 14 AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD had built a church, our Calvary that we still wor- ships in, an' de next year durin' cotton pickin' time a young preacher named Sam Smith come here to pick cotton an' decided he'd jes' stay on an' preach in de church an’ farm. Well, den de fun started,” Aunt Salisbury laughed, as she produced a box of railroad snuff from the pocket of her apron, and putting the stick she had been chewing into the box she moved it back and forth as she nodded her head on her bony neck with a gluttonous sound of sup- pressed mirth. “Lawd, son, when Ida found out dat de new preacher, Sam Smith, had his eyes on Charlotte, she didn't let no grass grow under her feet. She started plotting right den how she was gonna marry Charlotte to dat black man so as to try an' live down dem half white bastards hur ma and hur done had, an' den she figured dat would be a good way to git back at us Byron colored folks dat had all'ers called dem de Gordon Niggers. Heh, heh, heh,” she chuckled. “Ida had dat preacher sneakin' up to de Gordon place every night to dere cabin back uh de Gordon kitchen, where she'd feed him chicken an' all de good things she could sneak out to him, an' den she ranged it for him and Charlotte to run off to Macon an' git hitched.” “What happened after they got married?” John asked as Aunt Salisbury paused in her story to rub her snuff brush over her few charred teeth and spit out her long brown string of snuff. “Well, when the folks found out what had hap- pened, dey got powerful mad and planned dat dey would stay away from de church, de next Sunday, 16 AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD . knees vigorously and hobbled towards the cabin OOr. “Well, de gal is jes' human, an' ah sur' ain't blamin' her so much,” John said as he knocked the ashes from his pipe and walked slowly towards the gate and called back “Ah’m sure gonna try an' git dat gal tuh marry me, eff’en she'll have me.” And John Carter kept his word. It was several weeks later when he got his first opportunity to talk with Sara Lou, he had walked around her cabin and found her sitting in the back door, her baby William held tightly in her arms, tears falling freely upon the face of the sleeping child. It was a cool Autumn afternoon and when Sara Lou looked up to find him smiling at her, the serious expression in his eyes had brought a quick smile to her lips as she asked. “Whut yuh want, Mister?” “Nothing special, sister, ah was jes' passin' an' ah thought I'd jes' stop an' git acquainted,” John answered, his smile broading to a grin. “Well den, you better be on yo' way, cause dey ain't nothin' yuh nor nobody else kin do fuh me,” Sara Lou answered, wearily passing her hand over her straight black hair that hung to her waist. “Ah ain't so sure 'bout dat, dere's lots ah kin do. In de fust place, dis garden is all runned down, ah kin fix dat,” John assured her, glancing over the little ragged garden that grew near the cabin. Sara Lou had argued and tried to send him away, but he could not be gotten rid of, and thus their friendship had started, but to all of John's en- treaties that she marry him, she turned a deaf ear. “No, John, ah'se got my baby William, an yuh AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD 17 ain't gonna take him an' me an' ask no questions, an' ah ain't gonna answer none,” she would always answer to his pleading. “Listen heah, Sara Lou, ah swear ah won't never ask yuh nothing 'bout William an ah'll treat him lak my very own long as ah lives if yuh'll marry me,” John promised from time to time. But it was a year later before Sara Lou consented to become his wife, after the news had reached Byron of Franklyn Gordon's death in an automobile accident in New York. Owen Gordon had spoken quietly that morning when she came to bring his laundry. “I’m leaving this morning for New York, Sara Lou. Mister Franklyn has been killed in an acci- dent,” he said simply. And Sara Lou, not daring to answer, had nodded her head and abruptly left the house. She had heard from time to time about Franklyn's escapades in New York. Owen Gordon had never mentioned him to her but news somehow travelled in the small village, and Franklyn's wild drinking and gambling had drifted back to Byron. A week later, Sara Lou became the wife of John Carter; and until the day of his death he had kept his word, never to ask questions about William. He had treated the child as his own son, even spoiling him to some extent, for which Sara Lou rebuked him with: “Now, John, yuh'se spoilin’ dat boy, an’ dat ain't right, 'cause he got hard 'nuff disposition now to fight down.” “Don’t yuh worry 'bout William, Sara, he's uh 18 AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD smart chile, an’ nuthin' ain't gonna spoil de young 'un”, John would excuse. A year after they were married, Jim was born, as black as his father, but a good-looking little chap. But even the birth of a son of his own did not change John towards William. Until the day of his death he had never shown any difference in his treatment of the boys, and William had loved and honored him with all his heart. If he had ever had any doubt that John Carter was his father, because of the neighbor's children's hints and jibes, he never showed it and for sixteen years life ran a smooth course for the Carters. John was a beloved Deacon in the little Calvary Baptist church, and Sara Lou's kindness to the villagers soon won their love and respect. Her ever-willingness to aid them in their trouble, answer the call of sickness and distress among them, had made her a favorite, and they lovingly called her “Aunt Sara.” She turned a deaf ear to the taunts the neighbor- ing children threw at William, and when he came to her sobbing that they had called him a half white nigguh, consoled him with: “Sticks an' stones kin break yo' bones but names ain't never goin' to hurt yuh, son.” Even as a small child he showed tendencies of a willful tempestuous nature, but she enthroned him in a place in her heart that no other human being could ever reach, excusing her partiality with the thought that he would need all the love and tender care she could give him to help him overcome his faults. And thus life had run along, smoothly and hap- pily for Sara until her husband's death. But, for AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD 19 the last few years the frequent quarrels between William and his brother had distressed her more than she cared to admit. Jim loved William with all his heart, but he could not overlook the streak of deception that he saw, more plainly than anyone else, under William's smooth exterior. His fear for his mother's hap- piness was greater than anything else in his life. He knew that she worshipped William and did not want her to be disappointed in him. On William's part, there was a deep dislike for Jim that had always been latent in him from early childhood. The realization irked him that Jim was legitimate and had a real father. He would be tortured with jealousy whenever John Carter cast a kindly glance at little Jim. And he would take any little remark directed at himself as bitter criticism. These flaring feelings had persisted with the years, but after John's death, he had stopped trying to conceal them, but allowed them to burst out in frequent quarrels and disagreements with his half brother. Sara Lou had watched the growing dissension with fear and foreboding. Her eyes filled with tears, as she laid her hand tenderly upon William's shoulder, and asked: “What's the matter, son? What makes you and Jim can't get along? Don't yuh love one another?” “Oh, it ain't me, Ma. Jim is always fussin' 'bout me stayin' in Macon—going to High School.” William answered, placing his arm affectionately around her waist. “Thar yuh go—makin' love to yer ole mammy, as usual”, she chuckled, her face showing the pleas- 20 AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD ure she always felt when near her handsome elder SOn. William, a head taller than his mother, was straight and slender; his features, like hers, were finely molded; his hair dark brown and curly, match- ing well his smooth fair skin. With a pleased little sigh she clung to him, loving the way he petted and fussed over her. “Ah been wantin' yuh an' Jim to come an' git yo' breakfuss. It's nigh on to five uh clock an' yuh gotta git to Macon to yo' business,” she said, push- ing him before her towards the house. “Ain’t much doin' in my pressing shop right now, Ma. Folks wearin' overalls lots an' they don't need no pressin' shop for 'em,” William remarked. “What was that Jim was sayin' 'bout Mr. Gor- don?” Sara Lou asked. A note of concern crept into her voice. “Oh, nothin', Ma,” William answered hastily. “Only he and Mr. Gordon both think I should be here workin' on the farm instead of tryin' to get a better education.” “That's all right, son. Some day me an' Jim goin' to be mighty proud of you when you'se carryin' the Gospel.” William was silent for a moment. Then, looking toward the Gordon plantation he observed: “Mr. Gordon's sure left lots of work for Jim while he's in Europe!” “An' Jim'll git it all done. Dat sho' is a smart boy!” “But he'll be gone a long time, Ma. There ain't no need 'er Jim tryin' ter do it all in a day when AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD 21 there's so much right here on our place that needs bein’ done,” William complained. “Now Willyum, yuh jes' leave Jim do things his own way. Dass how come Mr. Gordon laks dat boy lak he does. White folks laks things don' right 'er way an' not put off ontell de las' minute.” “Well, can't we have our breakfast right 'er way, Ma?” William asked with a laugh. “We sho' kin!” Sara Lou smiled and a few mo- ments later they were seated at the table, before them a steaming breakfast of fat side, hot corn bread, molasses and coffee. Sara Lou bowed her head as William prayed—a routine never neglected in their home. “I’m goin' to ride to Macon this morning with Reverend Johnson. He's going in to see the doctor,” William was saying. “Ah’m glad he is caise he ain't been feelin' so well lately,” his mother replied, full of concern about her ailing pastor. “He’s a good un for yuh to pattern atter, Will- yum, when yuh starts preachin’,” she added, look- ing at him proudly. Her desire to make a preacher of William was the greatest thing in her life, and although William wasn't so keen about becoming a preacher, he made her think he was, and after all it would afford him a chance to lead a life of ease and he hated work. “He’s all right, 'nough, ma, but he ain't educated and when I starts preaching, I'm goin' to be well prepared,” he answered. “But he's chuck full 'er religion, and dat's whut counts wid de Lawd, William.” 22 AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD “And the Lawd ain't 'gainst us preparing our- self to carry His word either, Ma.” “Ah knows dat, William. Dat's why ah let yuh go to Macon to high school, but jes' de same, don't yuh git all puffed up wid pride caise pride goes 'fore a fall, de Lawd says.” William's face flushed over his mother's rebuke, as he lowered it over his plate, but when he raised his head again, he was smiling. They had finished breakfast when Jim entered the kitchen. Placing a basket of fresh vegetables on the table, he seated himself to eat his belated breakfast. Sara Lou smiled fondly as, passing, she patted his shoulder, and hurried away to her many morning tasks. Jim, a reticent boy of medium height, stocky and as his mother put it, “the spittin' image of his father', claimed only one resemblance to his mother and brother—his eyes which were large and black. Un- like William who was a brilliant scholar, he had learned little in school; his brain just did not seem to grasp even the simplest rudiments. The farm had been his teacher. He loved it, un- derstood cattle, could doctor them when sick and bred them better than the oldest farmers around Byron. Since his father's death he had become the head of the house as far as earning the living was concerned. Sara Lou's home like the other Negro cabins, had at first consisted of two rooms in which they lived, cooked their meals and slept. Her husband, John Carter, had however, enlarged it with two rooms built under the eaves known as a jump, adding a front and back porch downstairs and a little shed- AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD 23 like kitchen. It was by far the best of the Negro homes for miles around. “See the garden's doing nicely, Jim,” William ventured, as Jim settled himself at the table. “Could do bettuh, if Ah had some help.” “You spend too much time working over at Mr. Gordon's. Maybe that's why you can't get more done here.” “Not half as much time as yuh spend sittin' 'round in dat school or foolin' 'round in Macon loafin' and pretendin' yuh wanna learn something so as yuh kin preach,” Jim retorted hotly. “You don't know what you're talkin' 'bout. Jes’ 'cause you're ignorant ain't no reason for me to be. I'm tryin' to be better myself.” “Yuh ain't never goin' to better yo'self! It jes' ain't in yuh. Ah done heard 'bout yo' carryin' on in Macon,” Jim threw over his shoulder, as he rose and walked away. “Don’t you talk to me like that, you black ape. I've got a good mind to smash your face in, any- how,” William cried, catching up with him and shaking his fist under his nose. Sara Lou, coming in to clear away the breakfast things, saw the situation. “Now whut y'all fussin' 'bout?” she asked push- ing them apart. Jim turned and walked away. Sara Lou watched him, a sigh escaping her lips as she said to William : “Dat boy sho's got uh temper!” “Yes, he's always fussin' wid me 'bout attending school. You should speak to him about it, Ma, once and for all.” 24 AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD “Ah sure will, son. He ought to be sham'er his- self an' yuh studyin' to git ready to carry de gospel but dat comes uh him not havin' religion an' dere by de needed grace to carry on.” “I wish Reverend Johnson would come on by. I wanna get going,” William said, anxiously looking in the direction of the minister's home. “It is funny he ain't sho'ed up yet. Yuh bettuh run over dere an' see whut's hol'in' 'im, Willyum,” his mother advised. William hurried away, anxious to visit the par- sonage anyway, as it afforded him a chance to see the minister's sixteen year old daughter, Ruth, whom he and Jim had both loved since they were small tots. His mother watched him walk jauntily away, hat- less, the sun now high in the skies beaming brightly down on his curly brown hair. A sigh trembled upon her lips, as she wondered what the future held in store for her two boys so different in body and mind. AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD 25 CHAPTER II The Reverend Peter Johnson's little log cabin built near the Calvary Baptist Church was little more than a mile from the Carter home. Reverend Johnson and his daughter, Ruth, whose mother had died in child birth, eked out their meager living working in the cotton fields and in their own little garden and with the few dollars the members of his church grudgingly gave him from time to time. Ruth was a pretty dark brown skin girl. Her short black curly hair framed a small oval face, the chief attractiveness of which lay in her large black eyes set wide apart, sparkling roguishly beneath long silky lashes. This morning an anxious look was in their depths, as she faced William, who greeted her with: “Hello, Ruth, you look brighter 'en the sun.” “Go 'lon' wid you, William. You'se all'ers making pretty speeches,” she smiled, alluring dim- ples playing hide and seek in her cheeks. William's heart beat rapidly, as he looked into her eyes. An almost overwhelming desire to take her in his arms sent his blood coursing wildly through his body. “Ah was jes' about to come to yo' house to tell you dat pa is too sick for drivin' to Macon dis morn- ing, an’ our ole horse Bess to top it off, done tooken sick las' night,” she was saying. 26 AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD “I’m sorry to hear that, Ruth, but I'm glad I gotta see you agin 'fore leavin'.” “You jes' seed me las' night in church, William,” Ruth laughed. “Yes, but I ain't had no chance to talk to you wid Jim moonin' 'round lookin' at you like a dying calf.” “An' how does uh dyin' calf look, William P” Ruth asked sweetly. “Just like Jim does when he looks at you.” They both laughed heartily and Ruth, anxious to change the subject, remarked. “When yo' school goin' to open, William P” “In October, an' I'm gonna try and make two terms in one this year, if I can”, William replied, a trace of pride in his voice. “You sho' is smart and allers was. Ah ain't never seed a body dat kin learn fast as you kin no- how.” William's voice was low and tender when he re- plied: “I want my success to be yours, Ruth. Prom- ise me you'll marry me when I finish school.” He pleaded, trying to look into her eyes which she had lowered to her feet, restlessly digging little holes in the soft earth. Visions rose before her of a bare- foot boy and girl driving home a cow. The boy, William's brother, Jim;-in his slow passionless voice had said, as he lifted her to the broad back of the cow. “Ah loves you, Ruth. Les' you an' me git mar- ried.” “Ah loves you too, Jim, but us ain't old'er 'nough,” she had answered, hanging her head. “But we could git engaged,” Jim had urged and AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD 29 “Ah hope he gits 'ligion dat'll last 'im longer den de last he got, Ma,” Jim laughed. “Go 'lon' boy, youse all'ers pokin' fun atter some- body's 'ligion. You bettuh git some yo'seff,” Sara Lou chided. “Don’t worry 'bout me kaise when Ah gits it, ah'm gonne keep it sho'nough.” “Dat's zackly whut Luke done said, but last Sad'day night dat low corn liquor he drinked done tole 'im to beat Sally nigh 'bout to death an' he promised if she wouldn't jail 'im he git some mo' an' Ah goin'ter help de pore debil keep his hocks outter de jail house.” Sara Lou moved toward the gate, as Jim rolled on the porch with laughter. “Umph, dat boy sho is uh causon,” she grumbled, walking down the road, the crunching grass be- neath her feet making even rhythm in her ears. On each side of the road tall leafy trees threw fitful shadows across her path. Occasionally, a wagon passed her, the driver call- ing a greeting or offering her a lift for Sara Lou was the most loved person in the little settlement. Hurrying on, her voice floated back in snatches of her favorite song. “Ah’m gonna lay down mah burdun, Down by de ribber side Down by de ribber side Ah’ gonna lay down mah burdun Down by de ribber side Ah ain't gonna study war no mo'.” A thin column of smoke curled up from the one room cabin that was Sally Brown's home. 30 AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD “Huh !” Sara Lou grunted, as she looked over the sordid wreck the place had become, “Lawd, ain't it jes' terrible how triflin' some folks kin be.” Sally, a tall, black woman of twenty-five, stand- ing in the door, greeted her happily. “An' Sara, Ah sho' was scared yuh wuzn't comin'.” “Well, Ah's heah. Whar's dat no 'count Luke? Ah thou't last 'vival when he confess 'ligion we wasn't gonna have no mo' trouble wid dat scamp.” “He’s sleepin'. Come on in 1” Sally whispered, leading the way into the cabin, where Luke lay fully clothed upon a wooden bunk built to the wall. “Now look'uh heah, Luke Brown, you wake up an' do it rite now,” Sara Lou demanded. “Awrite An' Sara,” Luke muttered sitting on the side of the bed rubbing his eyes with his tightly balled fists. “Come on an' git yo' vittels, Luke 1” Sally called from the hearth where a pot of peas was cooking over a small bed of glowing coals. “He don't need no vittels, Sally,” Sara Lou said impatiently, catching him by the shoulder. “Whut he need is de grace uh God, an' he don't need no full stomach to git it on. Git down on yo' knees, Luke, an' pray !” Luke knelt sheepishly, and Sara Lou started her prayer. “O Lawd, come intuh dis house an' call Luke Brown by his natrul name. Make 'im know dat you is God, An' 'side you dere is no odder, Dat he gottuh die, AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD 31 An' dat he got an ebber dyin' soul to save, Paralyze his throat agin' dat poison liquor dat's killin' his soul an' drivin' 'im from yo' presence. Lawd, Ah knows dat you kin unlock doors dat's locked, An' Ah want'uh ask you dis mornin' heah me Lawd, To unlock de door uh Luke Brown's heart An' walk in an' take yo' riteful place. Wake 'im up dis mornin' Lawd to de sense uh his duty. Ah know you is a prayer answerin' God, An' Ah want you to bend down yo' ear, An' hear my prayer for dis heah sinful man.” Sara Lou prayed on and on while Luke fidgeted from knee to knee, at times sitting back on his heels. Five minutes passed. Sara Lou's voice rose higher and higher, as she called down every kind of calamity on Luke's head, if he refused to change. Sally from her corner amen’d and moaned. Luke peeped slyly from one to the other and groaned aloud. Sara Lou's voice rose louder, be- lieving the groan came from a contrite heart. Rais- ing one knee slowly, Luke gave a loud shout and springing to his feet, darted out of the door, Sally turned just in time to see him disappear. “Look uh Luke, An' Sara,” she shouted. Spring- ing to her feet she started in hot pursuit of the flee- ing man. Across the field Luke raced with Sally close be- hind him and Sara Lou waddling after them as fast as her feet would carry her two hundred pounds. But he had a good start and soon vanished from 32 AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD view. Sally, realizing her defeat, waited for Sara Lou, who soon reached her side. “You think he got 'ligion, Sally?” Sara Lou asked breathlessly. “Ah don' know An' Sara, but Ah sho’ does thank yuh for comin' an' trying to save de po’ debbil.” “Well, anyhow, we got ole Satan on de run. Praise de Lawd for dat!” Sara Lou rejoiced. “How's all yo' folks, An' Sara?” Sally asked, as Sara Lou turned to go. “Jes' fine, Sally. Willyum done gone back to Macon dis mornin’. He's doin' fust strate in his pressin' business dar, an' learnin' lakuh house afire in school.” “Ah sho' glad to heah dat, we'se all crazy 'bout dat boy.” “Yeah, he de top uh de pot an' some day he gonna make his ole Ma mighty proud uh 'im, Sara Lou smiled. “Ah heah dat de Rev. ain't so spry, An' Sara.” “No, he ain't so good. Ah’m goin' tuh stop by dar on my way home. De sisters uh de Chu'ch aid gonna meet at my house dis atternoon so Ah gottuh hurry. So long, Sally!” “So long An' Sara !” Sally called, as Sara Lou walked hurriedly away and was soon out of sight, hurrying back home to the many duties that awaited her. AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD 33 CHAPTER III The day began to show signs of intense heat. Swarms of flies made buzzing sounds overhead. The midday sun beamed mercilessly down upon the hard, dusty, red clay road. The door of Reverend Johnson's cabin was propped open with a pine wood knot. In the clay fireplace a low fire glowed, over which Aunt Salis- bury bent, stirring a pot of boiling roots which sent out a sickly bitter aroma. Reverend Johnson, a little dried up brown skin man, propped up in a large armchair near by, watched her wearily, pain distorting his wrinkled face. For over forty years Aunt Salisbury had doc- tored the village ills and as she expressed it, “catched dere babies for dem.” Her anger rose in hot heat against anyone who dared call Doctor Clark, the white physician, who lived down in the village. “Yuh all jes' don't b'lieve in me kaise Ah'se yo' own color,” she would complain when anyone sug- gested his aid was needed on a case. Sara Lou's entrance brought a bright smile to the minister's face. She'd always been his best friend even in the days when the church had been arrayed against him, and had prevented his little family from going hungry many times. Aunt Salisbury grunted a greeting from the hearth and turned again to stir her pot. 34 AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD “Mah Rev. you sho' do look pert for a sic' man,” Sara Lou beamed encouragingly. “Yeah, but he was 'neih dead an' Ah'se had a hard time pullin' 'im through. Ef dat dere Doc Clark had’uh come 'roun' heah wid his no 'count pills, he'd uh been gone for sho’,” Aunt Salisbury complained. “Aw he ain't so bad off, An' Salisbury,” Sara Lou smiled. “But whar's Ruth?” she added, look- ing around the neat, sparsely furnished room that served as bedroom and kitchen for the minister. “Ah sent her to de village for lin'ament. Mine done bein’ run out,” Reverend Johnson explained. “Lawd! Ah could uh sent Jim for it, Rev. Dere ain't no use uh de chile walkin' all dem miles wid a strong boy lak Jim nearby,” Sara Lou said, bustling around, looking into the cupboard to see what was on hand for dinner. Seeing that they were well provided with food, she expressed her willingness to be called upon any time she was needed, and de- parted for home, grumbling to herself that the sick minister needed a doctor. She would send Jim to summons Doctor Clark, she decided, as she walked around the back of her house, where Jim was busily engaged drawing water from their deep well, to fill the large wooden tubs which were used to do the family wash every Tuesday morning. “Lawd boy! You sho' don't forgit nothin', does you?” she chuckled. “Nothin’ dat concern you, Ma.” “As soon as you'se through, run down for Doctuh Clark to come see 'bout de Rev. He rite sick dis AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD 35 mornin' an' Ah ain't gonna let 'im sit dere an' die 'thout me doin’ what Ah kin for 'im.” “Awrite ma, ah'se on de las' tub now,” Jim re- plied speeding up his work. Jim's information when he returned some time later, that the doctor had gone to Macon and his wife did not know when he would return greatly dis- turbed his mother when they seated themselves for dinner at noon. “Lawd! Ah'se sho’ sorry to heah dat!” she com- mented, as she dished up a large plate of collard greens and fat side for Jim. “Willyum sho' would 'joyed dese greens an' corn bread if he wuz heah”, she finished regretfully. “An' he would uh found fault wid dem bein’ too greasy for 'im to digest,” Jim replied before he thought. “How come you allus findin' fault uh yo' brud- der?” Sara Lou asked regarding him with a frown. “Aw, Ah ain't findin' fault uh 'im, Ma, ah'se jes' tellin' de truth”, Jim smoothed, bowing his head as a signal for his mother to bless the food. Sara Lou prayed a lengthy prayer instead, in which she asked God to give her boys understanding hearts toward each other. Jim knew it was a re- buke for what he had said, and ate his meal hur- riedly. Pushing his plate back, he rose, stretched his arms above his head, and gave his body a vigorous shake. “Ah jes' can't eat no mo', Ma. Ah ain't got much appetite nohow,” he explained. “Lawdy boy! You done ate two plates full. Yo' 36 AUNT SARA’S WOODEN GOD appetite bound to go when you gits yo' belly full.” Sara Lou laughed looking up at him affectionately. Jim reached over and patted her shoulder and turning abruptly, left the room. Sara Lou's eyes filled with tears. She had never showered affection upon him. His touch had somehow had the feeling of a starved animal begging to be noticed. “Dat boy is as steady as an ole mule,” she mused, brushing away a tear. “Jes' lak his pa, po John, I know he ain't happy in heaven wid nothin' to do but flyin' 'roun’.” An hour later the living room that was usually kept closed, was almost filled with the members of the Church Aid, wives of hard working farmers. The meeting every Monday afternoon was a great event in their monotonous lives. Ella Jones, a tall, skinny brown-skin spinster, who, when she walked, made you think of many bones loosely put together, was secretary of the club. Sally Ann Peck, a portly woman with a rather pleasant round face, a shade darker than Ella, seated herself in the far corner of the room. She was a newcomer in Byron, having lived most of her forty years in Macon. Coming to Byron dur- ing cotton picking season to work, she had decided to stay. She and Martha Green, a thin, little black woman lived together in a little one room cabin over by the branch. They both were grass widows, their husbands having left them several years previous. From the first day of their acquaintance the two women had never agreed on any subject. There had been constant fights between them for five AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD 37 years, but to the amazement of the settlement they continued to live together. Sadie Smith, Mary Ella Lawson, and a few others made up the membership of the club over which Sara Lou presided as president and treasurer. The women had been working hard for five years, try- ing to raise enough money to fix the parsonage but money was scarce and hard to get, and after five years of hard struggle, there was little more than fifty dollars in the treasury. Today they would decide on some way in which twenty dollars more could be added. After a lengthy prayer by Martha Green, Ella Jones adjusted her glasses, and holding her book at arms' length before her, started reading the minutes of the last meeting. “De meetin' ob de Church Aid met las' Monday atternoon at An' Sara Lou Carter's house, she bein’ de pres'dent and trea-sure. Two dollahs an' ten cents was turned ober to de trea-sure An' Sara, leabin’ ten cent mo' to be turned ober by sis'ter Martha Green.” Ella lowered her book and looked at Martha Green over the top of her horn rimmed glasses meaningly and continued: “Fifty dollahs was den paid to brodder Slack Henderson for work he gwine to do on de parson- age, leabin' two dollahs an' thirty-five cents in de trea-sure. Dat's all sis'ters,” Ella Jones said, drop- ping back into her chair. “Dat's good, Sis Ella. All in favor notifie by sayin' Ah!” Sara Lou said taking over the meeting. “Now while ah'se on my feets,” she continued, 38 AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD “Ah want to ast whut you'all 'cided to do to git dat twenty dollahs balance fuh Slack.” “Ah move we gib uh barn party”, Sally Ann sug- gested. “We ain't gonna do nothin' uh de kind l De las' un we gib de young folks danced an’ dat's agin de church rules,” Martha Green objected vigorously. “Shucks, dem whut danced ain't 'long to the church nohow. Dat's de trouble wid you folks. You jes' too narrow. When Ah lived in Macon de church was allus givin' parties an' de young folks allus dance an' Ah ain't seed no harm it done 'em,” Sally Ann came back sharply. “How 'bout givin' uh donkey party?” Sadie Smith asked timidly. “Aw we kaint, kaise somebody done stole de don- key an' Ben Johnson whut allus draws de donkey, done gone off an' don't nobody know when he's comin' back,” Martha Green informed. Jim's entrance at this moment interrupted the meeting. He had just come from the parsonage, where he had found Reverend Johnson prone on the floor of his cabin; having fallen there while try- ing to get into bed. Before he finished speaking, the women were on their way to see about their stricken pastor, their hearts filled with fear that they might be too late. Eager, loving hands undressed and laid him be- tween cool, clean sheets. They then rushed around getting in each other's way in their anxiety to help. But Reverend Johnson lay still with open, unseeing eyes, his mouth twisted to one side, unable to utter a word. A deep guttural sound came from his AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD 39 throat, as a tiny froth moistened the corners of his mouth. Ruth, coming in a few moments later, hovered close to his bedside, as Sara Lou bathed his head with cold water and tried to force a few drops be- tween his lips. Some of the women rubbed his hands with hot salt and did all of the many things they had heard would help in a case that plainly showed paralysis. All afternoon neighbors came in steady streams. Women busied themselves brewing coffee and lay- ing out the food they had brought over for the watchers at his bedside. The Church Aid members sat huddled in a corner of the room softly singing spirituals and offering prayer for their sick pastor. Slowly the afternoon faded into twilight. The long hot summer night with many sounds from the dense woodland that surrounded the little settle- ment closed in around them. Owls hooted in the trees near by. Crickets filled the air with their screechy song. Near the cabin a dog howled dis- mally, sending a shiver over the waiting household. Night passed and the first faint streak of early dawn sent many of the farmers and their wives home to do their chores. There was no change in the sick man's condition except that he seemed weaker. A cold sweat had accumulated upon his forehead, which the neighbors observed with a sad shake of their heads. Sara Lou sent a message to William by a farmer driving into Macon asking him to come home at Once. Another hot miserable day came to add to their misery. To Sara Lou's distress nothing had been 40 AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD heard from Doctor Clark, who had not returned from his visit to Macon. The sun again hid itself behind the Western horizon. Stark dark midnight encompassed them. Sara Lou patted up the sick man's pillow and straightened the bed covers in an effort to make him more comfortable and passed quietly into the next room for a cup of coffee. Finishing her drink, she again seated herself at the head of the bed, noticing that the covers she had straightened before leaving the room, were again thrown aside. She leaned down to pull them into place, and drew back with a Scream. “Lawd sakes, folks! De Rev. is gonel He done slipped away from us jes' as quiet,” she cried, tears streaming down her face. Ruth fell sobbing across his body. Women added their cries to the din and soon the cabin was a sway- ing mass of screaming people, lamenting the pass- ing of their pastor and friend. 42 AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD “You ain't 'exactly blind yo'self, Martha. Any- how you jes' jealous kaise he don't pay you no mind.” “No Ah ain't. Ah jes' ain't forgot dat he's got uh wife. Effen she is done gone off an’ lef’’im.” “Yeah, you jes' 'members dat kaise he don't notice you.” “Ah ain't nothin' uh de kind. You'se jes' uh fresh 'oman, Sally Ann Peck. H'it ain't no wonder yo' husband done gone an' lef' you.” “Lis'en to dat!” Sally laughed loudly. “Whar's yo'un gone to and why, when he lef' you six years ago? Folks sho does say some curious things 'bout why he packed hisself off.” “Aw shet up, loud moufl” Martha grumbled, un- able to find words strong enough to silence the laughing Sally Ann. Much to Martha's relief, Sara Lou put an end to their argument when she entered the cabin to see how they were getting on. Both women went about their tasks and were soon chattering together again pleasantly. - Out in the little Calvary Churchyard men were busy digging a new grave in which the Reverend Peter Johnson would be laid to rest Thursday after- noon. Night found everybody from miles around gathered to keep the wake. Ruth, worn out with crying, lay quiet upon a cot in the corner of the room. William, who had arrived from Macon during the afternoon, helped his mother get the people seated. At his word the singing was started and through the long summer night their songs, low and mournful, wafted out upon the air. AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD 43 The day of the funeral dawned bright and clear. Long strings of wagons wended their way to the Church. Ministers from the adjacent counties took their places on the rostrum. William had been chosen to read the scripture and sit with the min- isters on the rostrum, looking down upon the crowded church with solemn eyes in which gleamed the pride he felt in his position. Jim, looking up at him seated there, could not help feeling proud of his intelligence and importance. The sun had begun hiding itself in the west be- hind mountains of soft pink clouds when Reverend Johnson was finally laid to rest in the Calvary Churchyard, and Ruth became a member of the Carter household. William, placing his hand tenderly upon her shoulder, as she stood later that evening ready to accompany Sara Lou and Jim to the parsonage to get her things, said consolingly: “Now, don't worry yourself sick, Ruth. You can't do your father any good by worryin'. He was prepared to go. You'll just have to give him up, and try and meet him in Heaven some day.” “Ah know, Willyum. Ah want to be brave an' should oughter be to show An' Sara Ah 'preciate her givin' me uh home. But rite now Ah jes' can't help missin' Pa,” Ruth replied, her eyes misty with tears. “You must feel it's just as much yo' home as it is ours, Ruth, an' we're glad to have you heah,” Sara Lou told her kindly. William watched them walk down the wide road, Ruth between his mother and Jim, her slight form swaying in perfect rhythm as she walked. A 44 AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD mixture of jealousy and fear filled his heart— jealousy of Ruth's and Jim's proximity and fear that Jim, whom he knew had heard about his gam- bling and other misdemeanors in Macon, would some day tell his mother, gripped his heart. There were times when religious fervor held and swayed him under its spell. But his was a change- able nature, cold, hard and calculating, ready to move heaven and earth to have his way. He loved money; pitting his wit against the other fellow's to gain something for nothing thrilled him, and made him a slave to gambling. Of late his luck had been bad. He had lost in continually trying to win back his losses, and had lost money his mother and Jim gave him from time to time to buy things for the farm. These thoughts haunted him as he sat alone on the steps of the front porch where he had seated himself when the trio left him. Sally Ann Peck and Martha Green spoke to him from the front gate. “We ain't aimin’ to 'tain you brudder Willyum, if you goin' out, only we'uns 'thout dat y'all would kinder enjoy dese hot rolls and preserves for sup- per. An' brudder Willyum, we wants to tell you how grand you wuz at de Reverend's funeral,” Sally Ann continued, beaming with one of her brightest smiles on William. When he answered he was once more the suave young deacon they all loved. “Come on in, sisters, the folks will be back soon," he called, leading the way into the house. Sally Ann and Martha followed eagerly. “Ah 'clare things sho is happenin' roun' heah. One time dar wuzn't uh thing goin' on. But now de AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD 45 Rev. done tooken sick an' died almost de same day. Minds me uh de sayin' you'se heah today an' gone tomorrow,” Sally Ann said with a resigned air. “Ain’t it de truth?” Martha echoed. “Yeah, Martha, jes' de odder day you wuz sayin' you wished somethin' would happen an' you sho' done got yo' wish. An' Salisbury done tole you 'bout wishin' up things,” Sally said, turning to Martha scornfully. “’Nother thing. You wished up dat storm las' month sayin’ dat it wus so dry. You wished it would rain so de ground wuz soaked through an’ it rained steady one whole week.” William laughed heartily as the two women glared at each other, and Martha, not wanting to be rebuked before William, retorted angrily. “Aw, shucks, An' Salisbury's allus beatin' up hur gums an' cookin' roots. Kain't nobody wish up nothin' nohow, kin dey brodder William?” Martha asked turning to William. “’Course they cain’t,” William smiled. “When you goin' back to Macon?” Martha asked, anxious to change the subject. “I haven't decided yet. I might go tomorrow but Ruth is so upset, I feel like staying and trying to cheer her up in some way,” William answered. “Dat's you, brudder Willyum, allus tryin' to help odder folks,” Sally Ann commented. “Ah wish lot uh other folks wuz lak dat,” Martha said, casting a meaning glance in Sally's direction. “Dar you go, Martha Green,” Sally spoke up hotly. “Castin' yo sly remarks. You kain't speck us to be lak brodder Willyum, he lives close to de 46 AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD Lawd kaise he gonna carry de Gospel. You ain't bent down from carryin' too much 'ligion nohow.” Martha started to give Sally a sharp reply, but William cut in. “Now sister, you mustn't quarrel an' you shouldn't judge for fear you be judged by the same judgment the Bible teaches us.” Sara Lou and Ruth's voices, as they came up on the porch, cut short the discussion. William stepped forward quickly, to help them with their bundles. “Lawd Ah'se tired I" his mother gasped, sinking into the nearest chair. “We came ober to bring you some vittels,” Sally informed. “Ah sho thanks you sis-ters. Me an' Ruth is purtty much hungry Ah 'speck.” “Ah ain't hungry,” Ruth said listlessly. “But you must eat an’ keep up yo' strength, chile. Dar ain't no need uh you gittin' all sick and skinny,” Sara Lou said kindly. “Yeah, jes' brace up an’ be cheerful, Ruth. De Rev. is done gone an' you kain't live by de dead. You'se young an' got uh long time 'fore you, so enjoy yo' life while you'se able,” Sally Ann added cheerfully. “Dar you go, Sally Ann Peck,” Martha snorted. “Dat ain't no way to talk to Ruth kaise she got to moan 'bout her Pa's death. You jes' cry much as you want to, Ruth. Don't you try to be careless lak dis 'oman heah whut ain't got no heart a-tall.” “Let's talk 'bout somethin' else, sisters,” Aunt Sara begged. “Ruth's awrite an' ain't got no cause to moan 'round. She's in good hands an' 'course she gonna git cheerful.” AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD 47 Sally Ann and Martha soon bid the family good- bye and hurried home to the many duties that awaited them. Sara Lou refused Ruth's offer to help get supper. “No, chile, you jes' sit down an' rest,” she said kindly. “I tell you what we'll do, Ruth. Come on out and let's take a walk,” William offered, taking her hand in his. They walked through the sweetly scented woods that surrounded the farm. At their heels, Jim's old dog Towser ran barking loudly. William tried to cheer her with vivid descriptions of his last school term, and his plans for the future, but Ruth was silent and unresponsive, the deepen- ing shadows of dusk gathered around them, and Ruth complained of a headache, so they returned to the Carter home in silence, each busy with their own thoughts. When they entered the yard, Jim was seated on the front porch and greeted them with a happy smile. William's heart filled with jealousy as he saw the happy light in Ruth's eyes and the animation he could not arouse became evident when she seated herself beside Jim. Excusing himself early, he went to his room de- termined to leave the next morning for Macon, where he hoped work in his pressing shop, and lively nights in the Broad Street haunts he frequented, would obliterate the unhappiness he suffered seeing Ruth smiling and happy with his brother Jim. 48 AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD CHAPTER V The early morning sun cast fitful shadows through the half-opened window upon the floor of the little back room behind William Carter's pressing shop on Broad Street in Macon. The room was close and filled with a musty odor, mingled with a smell of stale beer, bad liquor and decaying food. The floor of rough dirty boards was strewn with bottles and bits of a torn deck of cards. In the center of the room stood a rickety table covered with a mixture of bottles and bits of bread and drying sparerib bones. Swarms of flies made their invasion known, as they buzzed from place to place and rested for brief spells on the face of Slippery, William's helper, who stirred occasion- ally to brush them away, and settle himself in a more comfortable position on the cot pushed close to the wall on which was thrown a dirty quilt. His face, a brick colored yellow, covered with dirt and freckles, was thin and wrinkled, not so much from age as from sickness and exposure, for Slippery was still in his early thirties—a thin, stooped, me- dium-sized man, whose past life was little known to the crowd around Broad Street, where he had re- cently drifted, from where, no one, not even William, knew. Turning with a groan, his feet slowly struck the floor, as he sat up on the side of the cot and stretched his arms above his head. For a moment he sat look- ing around the room, his hands pressed tightly to AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD 49 his aching head, then slowly he dragged himself over to the back door of the shop which opened into an alley running the length of the block behind the dingy front negro business places. Hanging on a nail just outside the door was a rusty basin which served as bath tub and dish-pan for the place. Slippery took it down gingerly, filled it with water and started washing his face with his hands, scoop- ing up the water and letting it run down over his face and neck. Someone passed down the alley and helloed. He answered gruffly without turning to see who the speaker was. Loud knocks came from the front of the place. Someone was banging to get in. Slippery slouched into the room wiping his face on the first thing that his hands came in contact with, which happened to be an old shirt, and with an oath, started hurriedly towards the front door. “Hey, Slippery, whut you tryin' to do, sleep all day?” The query came through the door. “Who de hell's business is it, if Ah do?” Slippery answered, as he opened the door and faced Cotton Eye, who stood grinning with a pair of pants hang- ing on his arm. “Well, lil' ole business man, is dat any way to greet uh customer whut comes all de way pass dozens uh cleanin' shops to bring yuh work?” said Cotton Eye grinning broadly. “Whut you want done to dese pants?” Slippery asked, taking the pants and throwing them on a chair piled high with crumpled suits. “Want 'em scrubbed, man, an' pressed. Dat's whut Ah wants.” 50 AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD “You would want dat today when my head is achin' an’ Ah feels nigh ready to die.” “But you'se in business, ain't you? An' how you gonna pay de rent ef we'all don't fetch you work?” “Oh awrite, Cotton Eye. Sho I'se glad to have yo' work but dat don't make me not feel sick, does it?” “Sick or well, Ah wants dem pants tonight. Daddy Jenks is openin' up his place back uh de pool parlor wid dancin' an' he's got some purtty gals whut'll be 'round an' one uh dem gals is uh hum- dinger. Ah done seed hur. She's from Chicago. Whew, some gal, Ah says.” “From Chicago?” Slippery asked, turning quickly to face Cotton Eye. “Dat's whut Ah said. But whut's dat to you? You ain't neb'ber said you come from dere.” “An' Ah ain't said yit. Ah jes' wanted to make sho whut place you mentioned.” “Ha, ha, ha! You sho is a slick 'un, Slippery but Ah almost got yuh den, didn't Ah 2" “Whut you mean almost got me kaise Ah didn't quite git whut yuh said?” “Well, we'll let it go at dat. Say when is William de Parson comin' back?” “You bettuh not let him heah you call him dat. Dat's one sho thing.” “Huh ! Ah ain't scared uh 'im even if you is. Ah'se done knowed him since we wuz babies dere in Byron an' Ah'll call him anything Ah wants to. Who is he, anyhow? Everybody in Byron knows dat he ain't born rite.” “Whut you mean, ain't born rite, Cotton Eye P” “Why, Ole man John Carter wuzn't his Pappy. He's uh white man's chile—jes' uh plain bastard.” AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD 51 “Whut diff'rence does dat make? How does you know dat you ain't one nor me nor eve'ybody. For whut we knows. We all know who our fathers wuz 'spose to be but can we prove dat dey wuz 2 You ain't shouh nobody but yo' Ma an' even if uh pusson is born, what didn't habe uh lawful pappy, does it hurt 'em any? An’ if dey wuz lawful, did hit help 'em any? My Pappy wuz 'spose to be lawful an' uh preacher, an' whut am I? Nothin'. It's up to us all whut we make uh ourselves not who our Ma or Pa was.” “Awrite, Friday, youse rite to take up fo yo' Rob- inson Crusoe. He sho is been uh friend to you but Ah ain't neber been crazy 'bout no half white nigger. Dey's tuh biggity an' thinks dey is better den us blacks, an’ Ah jes' don't lak 'em.” “Dat de trouble now. We ain't satisfied fo de white folks to fin' fault wid us, we'se jes' got to fight one 'nothur jes' kaise we all ain't de same color. Whose fault is it, anyhow? Kain't nobody make demselves, don' you know that? An' to white folks, whether you is black or yellow or brown, you is jes' uh darky, so shut yo' trap up 'bout color.” “Awrite, us ain't gwine fight. How'd yuh make out in de game las' nite?” “Rotten. Loss every penny Ah had to dat ole pusley Sugar Kid.” “Whew I Dat boy sho is lucky.” “Oh! Ah don't b'lieve it's jes' plain luck. Ah b'lieve he's crooked but none uh us can ketch him, dat's all.” “It sho is funny he don't never start winnin' 'til atter he's had de deck in his hands. Den if he picks 52 AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD uh queen, it's right on de bottom. Do yuh think he nails de cards dat quick?” “Well, yuh knows dat's why Ah went on home. He cleaned me right quick.” “Yeh but if Ah eber finds him nappin', he's a gonner fo sho.” “Dat's it. How you gwine ketch him nappin’?” Cotton Eye asked dubiously. “Ah'll ketch him, don't yuh worry an' when Ah does, dere'll be plenty uh trouble stirrin’,” Slippery answered menacingly glancing towards the desk in the corner of the shop, where despite William's ad- vice to the contrary, he kept his revolver loaded and pushed carelessly under some papers in the drawer. “Well, Ah got to hurry on, Slippery. Ah'se workin' today,” Cotton Eye remembered, moving slowly towards the door. Ah jes' had to have some money kaise dat new gal's ober at Daddy Jenks an’ she's some queen, b'lieve me,” he sighed. “Hur name's Ethel Myers but see heah Slippery, I ain't figurin' on no opposition in dem quarters.” “Don’t worry. Ah ain't interested,” Slippery assured him. “Well, Ah'll be pushin' on. So long. Have dem pants all slicked up by five o'clock,” Cotton Eye called over his shoulder, as he sauntered slowly down the street, both hands in his pockets and whistling a popular blues. Half-way down the block he met William walking rapidly with his small bag swinging at his side. They had known each other from infancy but there had never been any friendship between them. In fact, Ed- ward Knowles, which was Cotton Eye's real name, AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD 53 had been the worst boy in Byron and had spent so much time in jail that Marshall Bailey had asked him to just leave Byron and not come back, as he was an expense to the county. He had been given the nickname Cotton Eye because of his large eyes, which seemed to sit on his forehead and were a glaring white except for their small black pupils. He was extremely tall and slender, almost skinny, his color a shiny black but his broad smile, which showed all of his even white teeth, usually won the hearts of the fair sex and made him many male friends as well. William merely tolerated him as there was noth- ing else to do, but it was a superior tolerance which Cotton Eye felt and resented. His lips parted in a quick smile at sight of William. “Gee, boy, glad to see yuh back. How's Byron?” he asked quickly. “Oh, Byron's fine, Cotton Eye,” William an- swered, as he tried to pass on down the street. “How's my Aunt Sofia an' yo' ma P” Cotton Eye continued almost blocking William's path. “Yo' Aunt Sofia's right poorly, Cotton, but Ma's fine.” “Now dat's too bad 'bout Aunt Sofia. Sho wish Ah could see hur,” Cotton Eye replied earnestly. “Well, I guess in a case like this you could run down to Byron. I don't believe old Marshall Bailey would object to you seein’ the only mother you ever knew when she's sick.” “Yeah, Willyum, Ah mought try it but say, whut's to become uh Ruth now dat hur pappy is dead? Who's she gonna stay wid?” AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD 55 been dead drunk when Ah went to bed,” Slippery answered shortly. “You’d better lay off that bad liquor. It don't do nobody no good,” William warned. “Don’t Ah know it, but whut else yuh gonna do when you'se disgusted an' broke, Bill?” “Had bad luck last night again, eh?” “Yep and how ! In fact, been havin' it ever since you went to Byron. A new guy blowed in town Wednesday nite dat's cleaned eve'ybody but Daddy Jenks an' he jes' won't play him.” “Who's he?” “Oh, some fellow dat calls himself Sugar Kid. Brought plenty dough wid him an' done 'tached ebe'ybody else's to his'en since he's been heah.” “What does he play, Slippery?” “Georgy skin an' whut luck!” Slippery had been sweeping all through his talk with William and started out the front door to sweep the sidewalk that ran in front of the shop when he remembered that he had a letter for William. He leaned the broom against the wall and hurried back into the place, and after searching through the table drawer for a moment, handed William the letter. “Jes' came yistiddy, Bill. Ef yuh hadn't come back today, Ah wuz gonna send it on down to Byron to you.” “No, Slippery,” William spoke up quickly, after he had scanned the postmark. “Don’t ever send my mail down there. Jes' keep it 'til I come back.” William sank into one of the two rickety chairs and frowning, read the letter which was from one of his creditors. A sigh escaped his lips. Slippery 56 AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD coming in from his sweeping, looked at him with deep concern. “Whut's wrong? Anything Ah kin help straight- en out?” he asked. “No,” William answered trying to pull himself together. “There isn't anything that anyone can do.” “Must be very serious, Bill.” “No, Slippery, jes' a man I owe, wants his dough. Have you got any money?” “Not uh lousy cent. Ah got cleaned out for sho las' nite. “That's bad news but I guess I can find some way out.” “We’se got lots uh work hangin' 'round an’ if de folks calls for it, dere'll be a little money on hand,” Slippery informed. It was Friday. Most of the people who patron- ized the shop, got paid on Saturday and the work would have to be ready so they spent the remainder of the day working steadily. Evening brought a good many customers in for their clothes. To most of them it was the only suit they had, and they all would attend Daddy Jenk's blow-out, dressed in their Sunday best. Cotton Eye appeared promptly at five and retrieved his pants which were all scrubbed and pressed and looked nothing like the dirty rag he had brought in earlier in the day. “Lawd, Slippery, ole boy, you sho' did do uh good job on dese pants, but shux dey don't look nothin' lak de coat now. 'Speck Ah better fetch it over an' let yuh knock hit off wid yore hot iron. You wouldn't mine doin' dat, would you?” he asked. AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD 57 “No. For fifteen cents Ah wouldn't mine doin' it at all,” Slippery answered. “You sho is tight, Slippery. Heah Ah brings yuh all my work an' yuh 'fuses to do me uh li'l' favor.” “Cotton Eye, you knows we charge forty cents for a suit. Why do you want to try an' get it done for the twenty-five cents you paid for your pants?” William asked. “Awrite, awrite, we won't argue 'bout it,” Cotton Eye answered disappointedly. “An' anyhow, whut yuh want to weah a coat for P” Eddie Nolan, known to the bunch as Red Shirt, asked from the chair where he had sprawled in his underwear waiting for Slippery to finish press- ing his pants. “Yeah,” Slippery echoed, “you ain't been wearin' no coat. Why de big desire to dress up?" “Shirt sleeves is a write far as dese Macon Janes is concerned.” Cotton Eye explained. “But ain't Ah done tole yuh dat uh queen from Chicago gonna be ober dere an' maybe she ain't use to seein’ de boys in shirt sleeves an’ Ah want to make uh hit wid hur.” The boys all laughed heartily and Cotton Eye grabbing his pants, left in a huff. “Wear uh red silk shirt. Dat'll make uh hit wid hur,” Red Shirt called after him. “Ah'll leab dat for you to do, Red Shirt. Dat's how you got yore name,” Cotton Eye called back. William's pressing business was located across the street from Daddy Jenks' more imposing pleasure emporium, a large building with a pool parlor in the front and a large room in the back used for dancing. Overhead were furnished rooms and a large room AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD 59 His prosperity was an unquestioned fact in the community. He even boasted a brand new Ford sedan and a chauffeur. Kongo, the misshapen mute who drove for him, was more or less his own pro- perty. Daddy had rescued him from the gutter when a lad of ten, whose half-witted brain seemed only to emerge from its stupor where cars or machinery of any kind were concerned, but the mere fact that Kongo drove the car for him and did his every bid- ding made Daddy Jenks quite a personage among his associates. He had visited New York the previous summer and had come back with new ideas for his place, had brought a second-hand piano and hired a trap-drummer. Three girls from a show that had been stranded while playing the colored vaudeville house had ap- pealed to him for aid, and he had taken them in to help entertain his guests. Ethel Myers, one of the girls, had been rather glad to remain in Macon for a while. It was a new field and Ethel, for certain reasons, did not want to go back to New York nor home to Chicago, where she was always getting into trouble. She was a clever dancer and a good-look- ing girl, light-complexioned and medium height, with a mass of short curly hair, framing a face of small fine features. Ethel knew her good points and made the most of them. She could sing as well as dance, and had a dashing personality. The word conscience meant nothing to her. She was out to get what was coming to her. Of the three, Ethel was the star with undisputed rights. Daddy Jenks, a good business man, had struck a good bargain with the girls, who were to receive rooms, board and a percentage from the drinks sold 60 AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD for entertaining and keeping the place lively by dancing for and with the customers. He realized in trying to run his dance hall at a profit to keep the men spending, there had to be girls around—girls that could be depended upon to stay until closing time. The place had been newly painted, and colored lights hung from the wall. In one corner stood the second-hand piano and drums. Little tables lined the sides of the wall with a space left in the center of the room for dancing. A crude counter had been built across one side of the wall. The small ice- box behind it held soft drinks. White mule could be obtained by giving a certain sign. The room, a fairly large one, running the full length of the build- ing, could be entered through a door from an alley that ran behind the place. At nine o'clock the music started, and the place was soon filled with sweating, swaying bodies. 62 AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD good talker an' is educatid awrite, but outsider dat, you ain't nothin' like uh preachin' man aught'er bel” Slippery said, eyeing William closely, his brow slightly wrinkled in an effort to read William's mind. “It's 'cause Ma wants me to be a preacher, I guess, and because in my heart or somewhere, there is a part of me that loves honor and right livin' and helpin' others.” “Ah knowed dat by de way you helped me. Ah was nigh 'bout dead and everybody but you was scared uh me, sayin’ dat Ah had de con. Ah sho was down when you picked me up.” “Well, to be truthful, there was some selfishness in that. I figured if you ever got well, you could help me with the shop.” “Yeah, but de chances was sho slim uh me gettin' well but you tooked me in an' got uh doctor for me and everything. Paid out yo' good money and didn't even know me. Youse awrite, Willyum, ah'll say dat for you an’ Ah ain't never gonna fergit you.” “I try to be, Slippery, but I certainly do make a mess of mistakes for all of that.” “Us all makes mistakes. Ain't nobody perfect.” “Yeah, but I suffer for mine because they worry me. I feel ashamed of some part of me, the part that holds me back when I want to do right and makes me do wrong.” “Lawd, boy, to heah you talk a body would think you'd killed somebody.” “Maybe I have.” “Whut!” Slippery almost jumped from his seat. AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD 63 William laughed long and loudly at Slippery's agitation. “Sit tight, Slippery,” he said between the laugh- ter that shook his shoulders. “I was only joking. 'Course I ain't killed nobody and sure hopes I never will.” “Boy, you sho had me scared ſ” “No, Slippery, it's money that's worryin' me. I needs lots of money right through here. I've got to have it or all my plans are busted. That's all !” “Well, you might git lucky an' win it. Dere's Sugar Kid 'roun' heah dat's got gobs uh dough. Maybe you'll be de one to break 'im.” “Yeah, maybe, with the luck I’ve been playin' in lately, there's a fat chance of me breakin' anybody.” “Well, at least it's worth tryin'.” “No, I guess I'd better let well 'nough alone. I sometimes wonder why some people have all the luck and others never seem to git anywhere,” William mused, continuing. “There's my brother Jim. Everything he touches seems to prosper. He's lucky with our crops even when other folks' cotton fails or the bugs eat it up. He gets good money for every bale he turns out. Then 'sides Mr. Gor- don pays him to take care of his place. Now that he's in Europe, Jim's in full charge. He's gonna sell the peaches and keep the money ’til Mr. Gordon gets back. He never asks any questions—jus’ takes Jim's word for everything. I couldn't get a break like that.” “Gee! Dat sho is some break. It's uh wonder dis Mistuh Gordon wouldn't have uh white man lookin' at’ter his place.” “Not as long as Jim is around. He's known Ma 64 AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD all her life, and my folks as far back as my great grandmother was born right on his place. He thinks uh lot of Ma and likes Jim because he took to farm- ing. He don't like me much—thinks I want too much education and as Jim don't crave none, he's right down his street.” “Does Jim make much money for him? Maybe dat's why he's so crazy 'bout 'im,” Slippery asked, setting his chair which had been tilted against the wall, firmly on the sidewalk, while he rolled a cigarette. “Well, he don't make any too much, 'sides Mister Gordon's rich and don't have to depend on his place any, but he likes to make it pay something. Jim will make over a hundred dollars when he sells his peaches. 'Course he'll have to pay some of it out to get them picked, but not much.” “Lawd! I'd be scared to keep dat much money 'round me, but maybe Jim banks it.” “Well, he should, but he don't. He keeps it over at Mister Gordon's house in his safe.” “Dat sho' is a mighty risky thing to do, seems to me.” “That's jes' what I'm thinkin', Slippery. Jim thinks it's the safest place. Maybe it is. But Mister Gordon's place is right on the main road and lots of no 'count people travel that road.” “Even if dey was to break in an' take de money, nobody would blame Jim, would dey?” “Gordon wouldn't, but old Bailey, the Marshall, and the other white folks might. They ain't got none too much good blood for Jim 'cause Gordon left him instead of a white man in charge of the place,” William replied. AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD 65 Slippery, his chair tipped back against the wall again, watched the stream of women and men pour- ing into Daddy Jenks' place. Now and then a cough shook his slight form from which he quickly recov- ered rather breathlessly. “You’d better put on your coat,” William ad- vised. Rising slowly he entered the shop to return short- ly with his coat and hat on. William looked up, as he stepped out of the door. “Goin' over to Daddy Jenks' to see whut's up an' to get another look at dat Sugar Kid's dough. Kin yuh let me have uh dollar?” he asked. William handed him the dollar and taking his chair, started for the door. “I b'lieve I'll mosey over there too and see the sights. Wait a minute,” he called over his shoulder. A few moments later they walked into the crowded dance hall where the fun was at its height. The center of the room had been cleared of dancers and Ethel Myers had the floor. She was in the middle of a song, a low, moaning blues which she sang, as her body swayed back and forth to the rhythm of the music. Couples sprawled at the tables, others stood in knots around the room. White mule and soda pop flowed freely. Everybody was watching the girl, who, when her song was finished, broke into a wild dance. The crowd applauded loudly when her dance ended. Turning to bow to her appreciative audience, she saw Slippery standing just inside the door. Her eyes dilated as if she had seen a ghost. The piano and drum started up a loud jazz num- ber and Slippery walked quickly to her side. 66 AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD “Want 'er have dis dance?” he said loudly. Then under his breath he spoke closely to her ear. “Don't lose yo' head, Ethel, Ah wanna talk to you.” She quickly recovered herself, as Slippery guided her around the room in a slow drag. “Ain’t dere some place whar we kin talk?” he whispered. Ethel nodded and they danced over towards the door that led into the pool parlor. There they slipped into a dark hall. “What you want to say, Jessie?” Ethel asked, as she slipped free from his arms. “Nothin' much—only dat you don't know me. Git me? An’ if you say you do an' start shootin' off yo' head an' beatin' up yo guns Ahm gonna make Macon too small to hold yuh, dat's all.” “Well, I ain't got no call to go 'round here braggin' 'bout knowin' you. You ain't no prize package to know, nohow.” “Ah jes' wants to warn yuh, kaise 'round heah Ah’m jes' Slippery an' nobody don't know anything but dat—not even whar Ah comed from, and it ain't gonna be none too healthy for you if you put 'em wise,” Slippery warned. “Don’t worry. I'm out to 'tend to my own busi- ness, Jessie, and that's about all I kin do.” “Not Jessie, jes' Slippery. Yuh git me?” “Awrite, say, who's the slick-lookin' guy dat you was standin' next to over dere by the door? I mean de high yellow boy wid de good clothes on," Ethel asked, nodding her head towards the dance hall. “Dat's de man I work for—Willyum Carter.” “You wouldn't mind knockin' me down to him, would you, Slippery?" 68 AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD With Slippery he only had to say he needed the money for something and Slippery would make out on just enough money to buy his food or a few dimes with which to gamble. At times he was lucky, and shared his winnings with William. For thief though he was, he appreciated the kindness William had shown him when he was a stranger and down and Out. Ethel had no actual crime lurking in her past— just general worthlessness. True, she had been picked up several times in Chicago, for street soli- citing but had drawn only minor sentences. Her brother, a prominent Chicago attorney, had become disgusted with her way of living, and paid her to leave town because of the disgrace she had brought her family. She had gone to New York and pro- cured work in an uptown cabaret as an entertainer. Soon tiring of that line of work, she had drifted from the chorus of one small show to another, until she finally left town with a small troupe that had gone on the rocks in Macon. Daddy Jenks' proposition had come as a God- send. At least it offered a place to eat and sleep, and whatever could be picked up on the side, and a certain amount of protection from the law. Knowing her past, Slippery did not like the idea of introducing her to William. To a certain ex- tent William was his hero. He did not drink, and was ambitious to study and better himself. That he loved to gamble, he did not hold against him. Why shouldn't he try his luck? He was a man and if he didn't have a fault, it would not have been natural. Besides, the temptation was too strong for any real man to resist, especially when he needed AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD 71 he kin take uh pair of dice or uh deck uh cards an' send you home barefooted.” “Who dat whut can do so much wid dice an' cards?” A voice asked from the door. A mur- mur went around the room. The speaker was the stranger known as Sugar Kid, who, although he had been in Macon only a few days, had gathered in all of the boys' loose change and had them scared to mention cards or dice in his presence. Nobody knew exactly where he had come from nor what his right name was. Some said that in Jacksonville he called himself Sugar Kid and that was all anyone knew of his identity. He was a large pompous person with smoothed brown skin and large features. His eyes were small and in them lurked a crafty look. His large full lips hung loosely on his mouth. His large flat nose with its wide nostrils seemed to be always scenting some- thing. There was an air of bravado about him and from the day he came to Macon, the crowd around Daddy Jenks' place had taken a dislike to him, which grew as he cleaned the boys one by one of their scanty bank roll. Daddy Jenks was the only man who did not fear him, but to others he was poison. William had not met Sugar Kid, but intuition told him that the speaker was the much-talked-of- gambler. He realized that Slippery's bragging might get him into a mess as he did not want to play with the few dollars he planned to use otherwise. But William loved to gamble and could not bear to be thought beaten in anything. He had promised him- self to lay off games for awhile, but with Sugar Kid standing there glaring at him, his blood became 72 AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD fired with a desire to put him in his proper place at any cost. Then, too, Ethel's remarks had to be lived down. The boys had laughed at him, a thing he could not endure. Her remarks caused them to look at him in a way he did not like. In view of them, she had poked fun at him. He would have to do something to make them forget her insinuations or things would be said that would cause him to have to flatten out a few of them. He would show them that he could meet the man they all feared. Sugar Kid walked slowly over to where William stood in the center of the room. There was an in- dolent smile on his face, as he slowly looked him over and winked to the others standing looking on. “So, youse de guy whut craves to git rid uh some dough P” he asked sneeringly. “Well, I can't say that I exactly craves to git rid of any dough, but I do crave annexing some of yours, an’ kin do it if I try,” William answered nonchal- antly, looking the gambler over. “Atta boy, William I.’” Slippery shouted. “Well, whut yuh say to playin' a li'l' skin?” Sugar Kid asked. “O.K. by me,” William replied. “Well, less go. Ah’ll play any uh de odders whut wants to take me on,” Sugar Kid said loudly, look- ing around the well-filled room. “There's only one thing I want and it's such a li'l' thing I know you won't object,” William said looking straight into the other's eyes. “What's it?” “I want someone else beside you to deal the cards,” he answered slowly. AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD 73 “How come yuh wants dat? Is dere any objection to us dealin' to one 'nothur?” Sugar Kid asked, a trace of annoyance in his voice. “Yes, there is, and if Daddy Jenks will give us a new pack an' a dealer, we'll start l” William an- nounced calmly. “But I don't see any sense in havin' no stationary dealer,” Sugar Kid objected. “Well, I do, and if I don't get one, I don't play,” William replied with finality. A general murmur of approval went around the room, but none of the boys dared express an opinion that would in any way show their disapproval of the swaggering Sugar Kid. Sugar Kid, sensing their feeling and not daring to object, for fear of putting himself in a bad light with the boys, con- sented to William's demand. Daddy Jenks placed a table to one side for the game, and called one of his boys to deal. The music struck up for the dancers to continue but everyone was absorbed in the game that was about to be started. Ethel Myers sided over to William's side and placed her head on his arm. William turned and looked up into her face coldly. “Don’t play him, Carter,” she said softly. “I hear he's plain poison around here.” “Don’t worry 'bout me,” William retorted. “I’ve got his number.” And then announced loudly. “I’m goin' to bet on the queen, Queen Ethel, and when I wins my first five dollars, it goes to buy a present for the Queen.” Everyone laughed and Sugar Kid frowned his dis- pleasure. 76 AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD “Why don't you lay down heah den?” Ethel said, sitting on his knee and running her fingers through his thick curly hair. “No. I think I better go to my own room,” try- ing to get up. “Whar's yo' room?” “Er, 'bout ten blocks from here—with my cousin.” “Why walk ten blocks when you kin stay heah?” kissing him. “Come on, William, don't be so mean. Ah ain't so bad, an’ Ah sho is strong for you hot papal” Ethel coaxed, turning back the bed and pat- ting the pillows into place. William stood up and stretched, and made a step towards the door. Ethel playfully caught him and pushed him until he sat on the side of the bed. Sit- ting beside him, her arms stole up and rested around his neck. Pulling his head to her shoulder, she kissed him passionately again and again. William accepted her caresses with no pretence of returning them, his blood tingling with passion, hot and overpowering. Ethel talked softly as she removed his shoes, and unfastened his shirt and re- moved it. Throwing her arms around him she pushed him back across the bed. Her body soft and warm lay close beside him for a moment. His arms reached out eagerly and drew her to him in a long, warm embrace. AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD 77 CHAPTER VII William's eyes opened lazily, and slowly trav- eled around the unfamiliar room. The cheap mus- lin curtains fanned in and out of the small open win- dows. Slanting shadows of late afternoon shed an ephemeral light across the dingy uncovered floor. His eyes found and rested on the form of a woman aranging a tray on a small table near the center of the room. Yes, it was Ethel. It all came back to him with startling clearness. He sat up quickly on the side of the bed. Ethel, looking up from her preparations of the tray, saw him. “Come on, William, an' eat yo' dinner while it's hot,” she called pleasantly, siding up to him. “I don't want no dinner,” he answered shortly. “Whut's de mattuh, William?” Ethel asked anxiously, noting his frowning countenance. “Oh, nothin'. I jes' don't like being here when there's so much work over at the shop to do.” “You just as well eat now, it's all fixed. Dere ain't much you kin do nohow. It's pretty nigh six uh clock.” William ate sullenly and hurried away with a gruff good-bye. He was thankful for once that the usual crowd that blocked the sidewalk in front of Daddy Jenks' place gossiping and telling jokes, had taken a recess. Slippery looked up from his pressing, as he en- tered the shop. Neither spoke; but Slippery easily guessing where he had spent the day, felt vaguely 78 AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD uneasy. He realized William was in for a world of trouble getting mixed up with Ethel. One by one the gang dropped in for their things that had been left for cleaning, and to loll around and talk about William's triumph over the brag- ging Sugar Kid. “Boy, oh boy, dat's one snake what ain't so pop- ular roun' dese diggin',” Cotton Eye laughed. “Ah sho is glad yuh took 'im for his dough, Willyum !” “Me too,” Red Shirt added. “Ah thought sho some uh us was goin' uh hafta step on his head an' flatten 'im out 'fo 'lon', but Ah guess dis'll kind uh cool him off.” “Yeah, but he'll be rarin' up agin, don't you worry!” Slippery reminded them. The laughter and talk went on about the game of the night before, the boys counting up their small store of change with which they hoped to give Sugar Kid his next battle later that night. Ten o'clock Daddy Jenks' Juke was crowded. Music and dancing was in full sway. Sweaty bodies pressed close together, moved squirmingly to hot jazz tunes, perspiration running down their faces. Women twisting their bodies, working their hips up and down seductively, dragged themselves around the room, every movement an invitation. If ac- ceptance occasioned an absence of a few moments, each couple boldly returned unashamed. A close sour odor hung in the room, sickeningly oppressive. There was a heavy smell of bad corn liquor, stale beer, unwashed bodies and dim lights blotted out by the shadows of the dancers, swaying back and forth through the fetid air. Loud tin- panish music was heard from a broken instrument AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD 79 pushed against the wall on which an overalled in- dividual beat unmercifully, his feet stamping out what his hands failed to bang. Ethel slowly dragged herself around the room in Sugar Kid's arms, her eyes turned expectantly to- wards the door every time it opened to admit a newcomer. Sugar Kid, noticing her agitation, asked sneeringly. “Whar's yo' high yaller boy friend?” “Who you mean, Sugar P” Ethel asked, innocently looking up into his face. “Go on gall You know who Ah means—de high yaller wid de white folks hair dat took my dough. Ah seed 'im comin' out uh yo' room late dis after- noon.” “Now look uh heah, nigguh, don't you go med- dlin' wid my business,” Ethel exploded angrily. “Aw Ah ain't tryin' to queer yuh, kid. Ah laks yuh an' could do heap more fuh yuh den he kin.” “Fat chance you'll git to do anything for dis sweet mamma,” Ethel laughed in his face. “Don’t be too sho, gal. Yuh may be glad to hang on to sweet papa Sugar fo' long.” “Don’t fool yo'seff. You jes' ain't my style an' never will be,” Ethel taunted. “No, baby an' you ain't dat boy's style neither an’ nebber will be. He's high falutin' an' gals lak you is jes' out, far as he's concerned. He thinks he's a wooden God,” Sugar Kid sneered. “Ah’m good as he is. My brother's uh lawyer an' uh big man in Chi,” Ethel informed him with spirit. “An' his sister is whut? Ah'll let you say it.” Ethel jerked away from him angrily. “Yo big 80 AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD black hunk uh nothin’,” she hissed. “Lemme loose dis minute!” “Not on yo' life, sister!” Sugar Kid avowed, taking a firmer grasp on her arm. “Yuh gonna dance an' lak it!” Ethel danced on in silence until Sugar Kid pushed her away in disgust and slouched out of the room. A few moments later when William appeared in the dance hall, she nodded her head at him indifferently, and pulled Cotton Eye, who was standing near her, finished her dance determinedly. “Well, Ah see you'se back to try yo' luck again tonight,” Sugar Kid remarked, walking over to William, who stood looking at the dancers. “Yeah, I'm sticking around,” William answered nonchalantly. “Well, yuh know dat luck is a mighty change- able thing. Take Papa Sugar's advice an' don't try to ride 'em too hard.” “Don’t worry about me—just look out for your- self. I can take care of William.” “Awrite big boy. Whut yuh say we play up- stairs in de clubroom tonight?” Sugar Kid asked, a smile that could have meant anything, wreathing his smug countenance. “O.K. by me,” William answered, moving to- wards the stairs. “Come on, fellows. Let's git de game started. My hands is itchin' an’ dat's de sign uh money.” Sugar Kid called to the fellows scattered around the room. “Not so fast,” Daddy Jenks remarked from be- hind the counter. “Eve’body's gotta drink to my health tonight. I'se jes' become a grandpa. My 82 AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD “Ah’ll say it is 1” the crowd shouted. “Three cheers for dad's daughter and grandson.” + 4 + Sugar Kid finally succeeded in getting his crowd together, and the game was on. Ethel had had no chance to talk to William. She felt hurt. Daddy Jenks' recital had gotten under her skin in a way that she would not have admitted, as in her mind she turned over the incidents in her childhood. The environment and the advantages that had been given her, which she had thrown away to become a nobody. Walking over to the counter she called for a good stiff liquor which she drank hastily, then another and another. Her conscience numbed by the potent moonshine, she was soon dancing and laughing again. Finally, pushing the other dancers from the floor, she danced in a wild, primitive, sensuous manner. Her hips twisting, her body quivering, her mood changed to savagery. The crowd lining up, around the room, looked on, clapping their hands in delight. She pulled her dress higher and higher above her knees, her head thrown back in defiance. Pausing in the midst of her exhibition, she climbed from a chair to the top of the battered old piano; where she opened her lips to sing one of her course blues. But the alcohol and dizzy twirling had gotten the better of her and she dropped heavily into the arms of some of the by-standers. Slippery, who had just come into the room, helped to take her upstairs to bed, where she lay in a drunken stupor. In the clubroom the game went on steadily. The AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD 83 atmosphere was tense. William was dealing, his small stack of money lay on the table before him. Slippery placed his small pile of change on the table, and took a card. The deal went around. Sugar Kid won. Again the cards were spread out. Each player picked his card. Swish—swish—the cards were turned from the pack. First Slippery then William lost and so on around the table. Sugar Kid swept their money in. Slippery, losing the last of his few pennies, stepped aside. “You'se out 'fo you'se in,” Sugar Kid taunted. “Whut's it to you? Ah play my own money, don't Ah P” Slippery asked angrily. “Awrite, Bo. Ah wasn't meanin' no harm. Ah was gonna let yuh have uh blind,” Sugar Kid re- torted. “When Ah wants anyt'ing from you, Ah’ll whistle !” “Yeah. Yuh mought git yo' mouth puckered up an’ my fist mought keep it dat uh way.” “Ah ain't gonna have no arguin' 'round heah. Dis is gonna be uh peaceful game so both uh yuh shut up!” Daddy Jenks reminded them. Hour after hour the game went on, Sugar Kid taunting the boys spitefully, as one by one they dropped out, their money disappearing into his pockets. But he wanted to break William and al- though he was losing at almost every turn, he stuck with him longer than any of the others. “They call dis game Georgy skin, but Ah'se a Florida boy whut kin teach you Georgy punks uh lot uh points,” Sugar Kid grinned. William was down to his last five dollars. Reach- AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD 85 With the last money from the cash register be- fore him, the gang begged him to quit, but Daddy Jenks was fascinated. A power stronger than him- self held him. He played on, sometimes winning on a card only to lose again more than he had won. His last dollar lay upon the queen of diamonds, face up. He lost. “Yuh wanna quit, dad?” Sugar Kid asked, cun- ningly gorging him on. “No, ah ain't nebber seen a meat man on earth whut could clean ole Daddy Jenks,” he answered testily. “Ah’ll write yuh uh check, Sugar Kid. Let's play.” “Ah don't lak checks, daddy!” Sugar Kid an- swered. “But Ah'll tell yuh whut, Ah’ll play yuh for dis clubroom, three chances each. If Ah win, Ah runs it. If Ah lose, Ah pay yuh whutever it's worth. Whut yuh say?” “No. Ah won't do that!” Daddy Jenks answered slowly. “Ah guess Ah'll quit!” “An dey say dat you was de greatest gambler 'round heah—was is de rite word l’” Sugar Kid jeered. “Whut yuh mean, was 2 Ah still is de best gambler 'roun' heah!” “But you sho is slippin', Daddy!” Sugar Kid taunted. “Ah ain't slippin' nothin' uh de kind.” “Well, yuh jes' damn scared den!” “Ah ain't never been scared uh no man an' Ah ain't yit. You put up uh hundred dollars an' if Ah lose, Ah’ll make yuh out uh lease for uh year on de clubroom,” Daddy Jenks replied coolly. 86 AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD “Don’t do it, Daddy!” William begged, laying his hand on Daddy Jenks' shoulder. “Mine yo' business, son. When Ah want advice, ah sees uh lawyerſ” Daddy Jenks flashed back. “All right, Daddy, it's your funeral,” William replied. “Yeah, but Ah ain't buried yit. Whut yuh say, Sugar Kid, let's get started.” Daddy turned to Sugar Kid impatiently. “Sho thing. Let Willyum deal,” Sugar sug- gested. “No, not me!” William spoke up, quickly. “Ah'll deal 'em,” Slippery offered. “An' Ah’ll deal 'em so Sugar Kid can't look through 'em lake he seem to been doin' all night!” Daddy Jenks' card was the last to fall for the first deal. The crowd was jubilant. Again he and Sugar Kid picked their respective cards. Swish- swish-went the cards to the table. Sugar Kid won. The cards were again shuffled, and spread on the table face up. Each picked their card. Tense silence pervaded the room. It was the last deal. The on- lookers scarcely breathed. Slippery held the pack tightly gripped in his hand. Swish-Swish—the card fell to the table. One, another and another. Then Daddy Jenks' card flipped off, as a sigh went around the room. Sugar Kid had won. Daddy Jenks sat as if in a dream. He had lost his clubroom, where he had reigned for many years, and with it went the best part of his profit. His body slumped in his chair, as his head rested on the table. Sugar Kid had slipped quietly from the room. Slippery examined the cards carefully. Yes, they were all right. The seals had been broken be- AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD 87 fore their eyes. Silently they filed out, leaving the old man alone. William was the last to leave. The first faint streak of dawn was coloring the sky, as he made his way through the semi-darkened streets. After a ten minute walk he reached his Cousin Sissy's house and let himself into his room, where he lay for hours, thinking of his muddled life in the city. 88 AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD CHAPTER VIII Sunday was a great day among the simple farmers in Byron. They rose early and hurried to and fro, doing their usual chores before church time when everyone, saint and sinner, were wont to gather for worship. People came from far and near in wagons to which were hitched any kind of animal from horses to oxen. The settlers, who lived a distance from the little meeting-house, hitched their con- veyance to the young saplings that grew in pro- fusion around the church, and remained all day. Some brought their dinner in slat baskets and others, who were more fortunate, ate with neighbors, who lived nearby. Between the services they gossiped and enjoyed the day like a group of children. The day showed promises of being a fair hot one. Jim and Ruth did their chores laughing and playing as they worked. Sara Lou standing on the steps of the back porch threw out hands full of corn and called the cackling chickens to their feed. In the distance birds sang airily. An air of peace pervaded the farm. The field of snow white cotton stood tall and erect, and as Jim put it, “nodding” to him to get ready for the picking. Putting away the empty pan from which the chickens had been fed, Sara Lou bustled around the kitchen preparing breakfast and putting the finish- ing touches to the dinner, which had been cooked Saturday. She always entertained for dinner a good AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD 89 many of the farmers, who lived too far away to return home until after the last service. A large cured pork ham lay on the table beside a fathen that had been baked for the occasion. Sara Lou viewed with pride a large iced cake and two apple pies, as she tried to count her guests—her hand held before her checking off each one with a finger pulled down to her palm. “Ah guess Ah'se got vittels 'nough 1” she mused. “But dere's allus some dat jes' comes in whethur yuh ask dem uh not. Now lemme see—dere's Hilda an' hur husbun', Ben, an’ dere four chillun, dat make six altuhgether an' dere's ole man Pettiebone an' 'Riher an' de Dausies. Now how many is dat? Lawd, Ah'se done lost track. Anyhow dere's de preacher. Umm, seems lak Ah done count uh hundred to say nothin' 'bout cousin Ella an' Jerimah an' dey six young 'uns. Ah guess Ah better let Ruth put 'em down on paper. Ah sho is sorry William ain't heah. He's allus such uh help when my ole brain ain't wukkin' rite.” She gave the big pan of batter bread an impatient push into the oven, and turned to lift the skillet from a hook behind the stove, smiling to herself, as she cut—a small chicken into four parts. “Ah guess Jim'll purty nigh drop dead at de thought uh me killin' one uh my best pullets for Sunday breakfuss but Ah wanted to have somethin' real nice for Ruth. She's such uh comfort. Wonder whut could 'er keep Willyum in Macon anyhow 2 He done clean forgit dey gonna call uh new preacher today an' 'ull need his advice.” The chicken was soon frying and sputtering in the grease. The odor of bread and boiling coffee 90 AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD filled the kitchen, as Sara Lou moved to and fro stopping to mop the perspiration from her brow on the corner of her apron. Taking down three plates from the shelf, she wiped them carefully and put them on the table, pausing in her work, as a voice called from the front of the house. “Yo hoo, is yuh in, cousin Sara P” “Yeah, Ah'se heah”, she answered loudly. Turning, she gasped in amazement, as her cousin Ella appeared in the doorway. On each side of her clinging to her calico skirt were her two younger children, her husband Jerimah and the four older boys close behind her. “Lawdy, cousin Sara,” Ella exclaimed breath- lessly, “Ah was dat scared we'un wouldn't git heah in time for breakfuss. Our ole hoss done took sick and we done had to leave home dat early we ain't had no time for vittels so we hurried on heah to eat wid yuh'all. Ah tole Jerimah it would be awrite wid you.” “Course it's awrite, Ella,” Sara Lou answered not over enthusiastic at the prospect of having six more to feed, who would also be on hand for dinner, and it would be just like Ella to stop by for a late lunch after the evening services. Jim and Ruth brought the two pails of fresh warm milk to the kitchen, and washed up for break- fast. Sara Lou grumbled inaudibly as she added six more plates to the table. Jim laughed softly at his mother's chagrin, and cast uneasy eyes toward the yard, where Ella's boys were playing. “Yuh better keep yo' eyes on 'em, Ma,” he warned. “De las' time dey was over heah, dey pulled up nigh all uh my new plants, an' if dey pull 92 AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD breathe when his two hundred and fifty pound wife was with him. “Huh, Ah jes' wish Jerimah would tech my chillun,” Ella remarked, giving him a look that seemed to wither him up like a flower beneath a scorching sun. He opened his mouth to speak, but closed it meekly. Jim looked at Ruth and they turned their heads to hide the laughter that showed in their faces. “You allus talkin' 'bout my chillun, cousin Sara, but you ain't done sich uh good job uh bringin' up wid Willyum,” Ella said, and the next moment realized she had tread on dangerous ground. “Whut you mean, Ella, talkin' 'bout my Willyum. lak dat?” Sara Lou asked sharply. “Oh, nuthin', cousin Sara, but . . Jim's hostile look cut her off. She changed quick- ly to: “Folks says dat he sho is spendin' lot uh time in Macon dese days, not even comin' home most uh de time on Sundays.” “Well, Ah'se satisfied an' it ain't nobody else's business. Dey allus did pick on my Willyum jes' kaise he's got mo' sense dan de rest uh dese ignorant nigguhs 'roun' heah,” Sara Lou replied with spirit. “Dat's zact’ly whut Ah tells 'em,” Ella said, look- ing at Jim sheepishly. “Jim, we better hurry an' do de dishes for An' Sara,” Ruth said, rising, looking down at the side of her dress which one of the boys seated near her had smeared with molasses. “No, you ain't gonna wash no dishes, Ruth !” Sara Lou spoke up. “You an' Jim git ready for church. Ah can wash dese dishes in no time an } % AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD 93 Ah'se ready 'cept for puttin' on my clean apron so yuh'all run on upstairs an’ don't be late.” Ruth looked reluctantly at the table filled with dirty dishes and smeared with molasses and crumbs, as Ella gathered her brood and herded them to the back porch to wash them up for the meeting. Jerimah, eager to get out of his wife's opulent presence, slipped out into the yard to smoke his long stemmed clay pipe. Jim went quietly upstairs, his thoughts of Wil- liam, wondering just what Ella had intended saying. He had no doubt that she too had heard some of the talk that drifted into Byron of William's life in Macon. He wondered how long these stories could be kept from their mother whose adoration and faith in William was pitiful. At any rate, if he could prevent it, nothing would ever reach her ears that would tend to lessen that faith, he resolved, hurriedly changing to his Sunday suit. He and Ruth would be walking to church alone today. William was usually along, making him look home- lier than ever by comparison. Ruth in Sara Lou's room across the hall, could hear him moving around. Quietly she slipped across the hall, and tapped lightly on the door of his room. “Come in,” Jim called after a moment's silence. “Whut you hidin’?” she asked, as he turned from the dresser, where he had shoved something into the half-open drawer. “'Tain't nothin’,” Jim answered bashfully. “Ah’m gonna look an’ see,” Ruth laughed, as she pulled the drawer open. “Why, Jim, whut you 94 AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD doin' wid dis mail order book?” she questioned, spreading it open on the side of the bed. “Lookin' atter uh purtty marryin' dress,” Jim answered, turning the pages. Ruth looked in rapturous silence at the bridal array pictured there. “Ah was jes' thinkin' how purtty yuh'd look in dis 'un,” Jim said, pointing to the sheer white dress with sweeping train. “Why Jim, you know we could never git uh dress lak dat. It'ud cost lotta money but it sho is swell,” Ruth sighed. “It's twenty-five dollars an’ dat is uh heap uh money. Does yuh lak it, Ruth P” he asked, putting his hand caressingly on her shoulder. “’Course Ah do, Jim. Ah ain't never had uh silk dress nohow.” “Well, we'll jes' wait an' see. Maybe some day yuh'll wear it,” Jim promised, taking her hand in his tenderly. Sara Lou's voice called from downstairs, inter- rupted their dream. Ruth and Jim kissed, and ran downstairs to join her. “Yuh'all sho does tak uh time to dress,” she grumbled, as they walked briskly to the little log church nearby. A low murmur went around the assembled wor- shippers as they entered the building. William had not entered with them and they were eager to find out why. Reverend Thomas, a small, dried up man with a shiny bald spot, whom as Sara Lou remembered, had always conducted the services whenever the church was without a preacher, stood behind the AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD 95 rostrum, adjusting his horn rimmed glasses, which had a habit of sliding far down on his small flat noSe. “Well, sistuhs and brudders,” he wheezed through his nose. “It’s become my duty to take de place uh our dear departed pastor dis morning.” The congregation peeped at each other sheepishly. They all knew that Reverend Thomas would preach at least two hours, if some of the deacons seated on the rostrum did not stop him or he had to stop from sheer exhaustion. “Ah'se gonna take my text in Revelations in de words uh John— “An dese are dem, who done washed dere gar- ments in de blood uh de lamb,'” he announced, looking over his sliding spectacles. The congregation settled themselves more com- fortably. They knew when Reverend Thomas chose Revelations, they were in for an all-day session. Sister Spencer, a little old dried-up, brown woman, who, ever since Sara Lou and some of the older settlers could remember, had held the place of honor as the best moaner in the amen corner, settled herself more comfortably, pushed her snuff brush to a secure corner of her mouth, and started her plaintive moaning, “Preachee, Brudder Thomas, preachee!” and kept it up except for the few mo- ments she dozed. Reverend Thomas preached on. Brave souls amened and every now and then shouted a loud “Hallelujah!” “Help 'im Lawd!” Jim slept faithfully through the long sermon, re- fusing to awake even to Ruth's nudging. Even Sara 96 AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD Lou snatched a few nods occasionally. Somebody started a hymn. The congregation joined in sleep- ily. Gradually they shook off their drowsiness and gained in volume in their singing until Reverend Thomas, no longer able to talk loud enough to be heard above their blatant voices, sank into his seat, wearily mopping his brow with his large red cotton handkerchief. The congregation now fully awake, sang lustily, swaying to the rhythm of the song. “In de morning when de Lawd says hurry . . .” until one of the deacons, Jaffus Simms, raised his hand, bringing their song to an end. “Brudders an’ Sisters,” he began, and after clear- ing his throat several times continued. “Us done hearn uh powfull sermon dis mornin', an' 'fo Ah raise de collection, I wan' to ask yuh'all is anybody heah present got uh preacher in mind dat we kin call to pastor dis church now dat we'se widout uh leader uh dis flock? 'Course Brudder Thomas heah is uh ordain preacher, but we done asked him, as we'se allers done, in de pass when we was widout uh shepard an' he done refused.” “An' Ah rises to say, brudder Simms, dat de reason is dat Ah ain't so strong as Ah uster be, an' Ah couldn't stan' de strain.” Thomas interrupted, rising from his seat, panting from his exertions. “Thank yuh, Brother Thomas,” Simms acknowl- edged, and continued: “I don't zackley see how we'se gonna git any whar wid brudder William Carter not heah, him bein’ de junior deacon uh dis church as well as de clerk. Is dere anythin' wrong wid 'im, sister Carter?” turning to Sara Lou. Sara Lou hastened to reply. “Lawd no, brudder Simms, I guess he done stayed in Macon 'count 'er AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD 97 'portant business but he'll be heah bright an' early next Sunday.” “Well, Ah moves eff'en ah kin git uh second, dat we wait ontell next Sunday when we'ull have brud- der Willyum wid us,” Simms put to the congrega- tion. After the members gave assent to their wil- lingness to wait, the matter was put aside and the services closed with the benediction. Ruth and Jim, taking advantage of Sara Lou's being besieged on every side with questions about William's absence, walked home alone. “You know Ruth,” Jim said thoughtfully, after they had walked a distance in silence, “Ah wish we could git married right uh way.” “Jim, you sho is for hurryin' up some things an’ slow 'bout other things,” Ruth laughed. “Ah wants you, Ruth. Somethin' insider me is jes' cryin' for yuh honey.” “An' Ah done tole you it's bad luck to marry while you're wearin' black for yo' folks!” “Ah don't b'lieve in dem signs. Ah wants to be sho uh you, an' 'sides Ah been havin' uh spell uh mighty bad dreams lately.” “Dat's b'lievin' in signs, Jim,” Ruth reminded him. They both laughed at his contradictory moods and hurried home to start putting dinner on the table before Sara Lou's many hungry guests arrived. Everyone Sara Lou expected for dinner came and almost as many more. They had to be fed in sec- tions, the grown-ups first and a second table for the children. After dinner, the men strolled around the farm smoking their pipes, while Sara Lou and the women sat on the front porch stirring their neatly chewed brushes, deep in their boxes of rail- 98 AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD road snuff, everybody enjoying themselves and re- laxing for the big meeting to be held that night when the much-talked-of “Swamp Angel” would preach one of his stirring sermons at their own Cal- vary. Excitedly they talked of the many things they had heard about his fiery sermons, how he could be heard for as far as a mile away, and the many souls he gained for the Lord, how at the climax of his preaching, he placed the Bible upon his shoulder and walked the aisles of the Church, the building trem- bling under his three hundred pound tread. Thus the afternoon passed and the evening found them again in the little church, where for more than three hours the Swamp Angel preached his sermon of fire and brimstone and lived up to all the things that had been told about his mighty power to rock the very depths of a sinner's soul. Jim, his mother and Ruth walked home after the meeting in silence, each busy with their own thoughts, and Sara Lou hurried straight upstairs to bed. Dis- appointment over William's not coming home or sending a message to say why, filled her heart but she would not for the world have let anyone, not even Jim, know it. “Come on, Ruth, less you an' me eat some vit- tels,” Jim, who was always hungry, suggested when he and the girl were alone. “Ah don't want nothin' to eat but Ah'll come an' keep yo' company,” Ruth consented. Jim pushed her playfully into a chair at the table, and placed a glass of milk and a slice of cake before her, taking his place beside her a moment later with a plate filled and overflowing with food. “Ah had dis vittels hid in de stove. Ah was AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD 99 scared dem starved out old stickin' plasters was gointer eat up everything today,” he laughed. “No wonder you dream all kinds uh dreams,” Ruth smiled. “Jes' look whut you goin' to bed on.” “Dis ain't nothin' but uh bite. You ought'uh see whut Ah does eat som'times.” “Well, don't complain 'bout bad dreams den, Jim.” “Gee, boy, you sho can hug!” Ruth com- plained a few moments later when Jim, having fin- ished his meal, caught her in his arms. “Ah loves you so much, Ruth, dat it makes me scared sometimes,” Jim whispered, kissing her be- fore he let her go. “An' Ah loves you more den so much,” Ruth re- turned, playfully pinching his round cheeks, and running lightly upstairs where she lay awake think- ing for a long while beside his mother, who was sleeping soundly. After a day of excitement and bustle, everything was still. Outside firebugs flitted to and fro, making the only light to be seen for miles. Another Sunday had come and gone in the peace- ful village. Everybody had put on their Sunday best and served God in their own simple way. Monday would find them again in their grimy rags —busy, hard working farmers intent on their daily tasks. 102 AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD Monday when William awoke, it was raining— a steady down-pour. The dampness that seethed through the partly paneless window had awakened him. He searched around for a few old rags to shut it out, and crept back into bed. It was one o'clock when Sissy returned from gathering up her numerous bundles of washings. William had fallen into a heavy sleep. Hurriedly she made a fire in the kitchen stove, and warmed up the remainder of the Sunday dinner, adding a batch of butter milk biscuits and setting the table for two. “Git up, boy, an’ less eat. Lawd Ah ain't never seed a body dat sleeped de whole day through 'thout' dey was sick,” she chided. William rose, stretching sleepily and soon joined her in the kitchen. “You bettuh drink some 'uh dis Sassfrass tea. It'll bring yuh out,” Sissy suggested. William reached for the tin cup Sissy always kept on the back of the stove and poured a cup of the hot tea. “Willyum, how come you didn't go home Sat- tiday night?” she asked, setting the plate of hot biscuits on the table. “I didn't feel well and I know it would've wor- ried Ma,” William replied, busily helping his plate. “Dat's you, Willyum, never wantin' to worry no- body wid yo' troubles,” Sissy agreed, looking at him fondly and adding: “Ah sho wish som'times dat Ah had uh thought uh somebody 'sides myself, 'fo Ah ups an' runs off lak Ah did, but no, Ah jes' hated tyin' myself down wid lots uh promises to one man an’ kaise Ah was sot on doin' my own choosin' an' 104 AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD week you been telling me the same lie—you'd pay in a few days and I'm fed up with you,” Stevens re- torted angrily, shaking his finger under William's nose. “Whew ſ” Slippery grunted, looking after the merchant when he walked away. “Dat white man sho is mad.” “Yeah, and I sure am in a tight place. Where'm I gonna get thirty-five dollars?” William groaned. “Man, is you askin' me? Yo' goose sho is cooked kaise dat other white man whut you owes ten dol- lars done been heah an' said de self-same mourn- ful words dis mornin',” Slippery informed. “Instead of paying off those debts Saturday morn- ing when I had the money, I had to hold it and lose it back Saturday night. I had just as well pack up and start traveling if Jim ever finds this out.” “Maybe you could borrow de money from Daddy Jenks,” Slippery suggested. “Not a chance, Slippery. I owes him now, and now that he's lost his club room to Sugar Kid, he'll be tighter than Nick's hat band.” “You think Sugar Kid 'ud loan it to you?” Slip- pery asked hopefully. “No, he don't like me. Maybe I could borrow it from Ethel,” William mused, his face lighting with hope. “Don’t make me laugh, William. Dat broad got pulled in dis morning for fightin'. 'Course Daddy Jenks got her out but whut li'l' money she did have, she done turned it over to him for payin' her fine.” “Well, that's that and to tell the truth I don't wanna get under no obligation to her nohow.” “Dat's one time you is so right. Ontell you is AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD 105 perfect, dat gal's pizin. Whutever yuh do, stear clear uh dat drunken hussy. She'll git you in uh mess uh trouble,” Slippery advised. “Ah guess Ah’ll take a chance and ask Sugar Kid. He can't say nothing worse than no,” William ven- tured, ignoring his warning. “Ah b'lieve he'll let yuh have it jes' for biggity. He's got gobs uh money an' loves notuhriety. He'll jes' love to brag 'bout havin' to help you out. Ah'll go over dere an' git 'im.” Suiting his words to action, Slippery was gone, returning in a few mo- ments followed by the swaggering Sugar Kid, who guessed that the cause of William's sudden desire to see him was to ask a favor. He was none too popular with the gang but William was, and it would be a good thing to have him under obligation to him so that he could use him to win the confidence of the boys to continue gambling in the club room he had won from Daddy Jenks. Yes, he would do what- ever William wanted of him, provided it was not too large a sum, he decided, but he would be sure to get evidence of the favor in black and white. Then if William attempted to show off, he could put him in his place. “Yuh craves to see me, Carter?” he asked, step- ping into the shop, rolling the big black cigar he was smoking from side to side between his beefy lips. “Yes, Sugar Kid,” William answered, backed up by a wink from Slippery, who walked through to the back of the shop. “Sit down,” William offered, and continued pleas- antly. “I want to ask you to lend me some money for a few days.” 106 AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD “How much money?” “'Bout thirty-five dollars.” “Whut's yuh got dat's worth dat much 'cause Ah gotta have some kin'er security for my money, yuh know,” Sugar Kid said, shrewdly pulling out a roll of bills. “I’ll give you my word that I’ll pay you in thirty days,” William smiled. “No suh’reel Ah ain't dat dumb, Carter. Ah gotta have black an' white dat don't fool nobody, for my hard cash an' you gotta write it out dat effen you don't pay me in thirty days, ah kin take over dis shop,” Sugar Kid replied, his eyes running estimatingly over the small stock of pressing equip- ment in the place. “All right, Sugar Kid. I’ll give you a note prom- ising to pay in thirty days or turn the shop over to you,” William consented. Sugar Kid made himself comfortable, puffing his cigar in hard quick puffs, as William hunted in the drawer of the table for pen and paper, and in a few moments passed the note over for Sugar Kid to read. He studied it carefully, spelling out the words slowly and passed it back to William. “Now sign it, William, good an' clear in big let- ters,” he directed. William signed the note, as he laughingly re- torted, “You’re a good business man, Sugar. I'll grant you that.” “Tries to be, Carter,” Sugar Kid admitted, count- ing out the bills and placing the note carefully in his wallet. “Ah don't want yuh to think dat Ah don't trust you neithur jes' kaise Ah ask for dis note. Ah jes' AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD 107 laks to be on de safe side but Ah’m glad jes' de same to do you uh favor.” “And I sure thanks you,” William acknowledged, almost having to grit his teeth to hold back the words he would have liked to say to the big brag- gard. “Dat's de way to feel, Carter. Ah wants all uh you boys to feel dat when you plays wid me, every- thin' is on de up an' up. Now dat Ah’m de boss over dere at de club room, Ah'se yo' friend an' Ah wants you to help me make de boys know dat kaise Ah b'lieve you for one done been thinkin' diffunt,” Sugar Kid hinted. “Forget it, Sugar Kid ' That girl's remarks up- set me Friday night. You're all right with me.” “Dat's how Ah loves to heah you talk kaise Ah wouldn't ever thought uh lendin' nobody but you dat much dough. Ah laks yuh an' dis is gwine tuh be strickly private 'twix us.” “Mighty nice of you, Sugar Kid,” William acknowledged. Slippery stepped into the room as soon as Sugar Kid cleared the door, a broad grin wreathing his homely red face, struggling to control his laughter until Sugar Kid was out of hearing. He puffed an imaginary cigar and imitated the lolling gambler. “Gee, dat nigguh gives me uh laff, he'll keep it uh secret. Ha, ha! He kin hardly wait to git cross de street to spread de news but Ah’m gonna fix 'im. Ah’m gonna git dat paper off'en him 'fo he kin say scat an' den let him try an' collect his ole measly thirty-five dollars,” he avowed. “You better say you reckon,” William laughed, hurrying out of the shop to pay Stevens the money 108 AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD which would at least save him in that direction, and wondering what would be the next mishap to befall him. Neither he nor Slippery dreamed how much trouble that small slip of paper would cause them both. AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD 109 CHAPTER X John Stevens was surprised when a short time later, William appeared at the store and paid over the thirty-five dollars and said in his usual blunt way. “I hated to have to be so severe with you, Wil- liam, about my money, but business is business, and right now it's as bad as it can be, and I need money to carry on. You people are easy going. You jes' live today with no thought of tomorrow, and have to be shaken up to get anything out 'er you.” “That's all right, Mr. Stevens. I'm glad to get it off my mind. I ain't making much money now in my shop, that's why I haven't paid it before,” Wil- liam replied. “You know I can't see why you don't stay home and help your Ma and Jim with the farming, William P” “I’m attending school here. That's why, Mr. Stevens.” “Didn't you go to school in Byron? Yo' Pa, John Carter, ain't never went to high school, and he was as good 'er farmer as there was anywhar. You young darkies make me sick, hanging round go- ing to high school, and when youse come out all finished, all you'll do is loaf.” “I’m going to college when I finishes and I’m not going to loaf when I'm all through, neither,” Wil- liam answered shortly, hardly able to hide his anger. But before he left the store, he and Stevens were laughing and talking pleasantly, and he had accepted 110 AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD an offer from the merchant to ride to Byron with him Saturday. The rest of the week he loafed around his shop while Slippery did the little work that had been brought in. The days were hot, bringing thunder storms that did not help the suf- ferers in any way except to make the streets sloppier and the air more stifling, and bring in their wake swarms of mosquitoes that made the long close nights a torture. The streets were filled with strangers, their dirty, sweaty overalls sticking to their bodies, as they loitered around Broad street, filling up on white mule, playing pool and Georgia skin or dancing in Daddy Jenks' back room to rancorous tinpanny music. Sure-Foot-Jack, a six foot policeman, who had been so nick-named because of the fact his foot never failed to connect with the part of the anatomy at which it was aimed, was kept on the alert hunt- ing out vagrants. William felt sick of the whole thing. Even Slip- pery's coughing and spitting around the shop, wher- ever it suited him, got on his nerves, and Sugar Kid whose greatest fear was the Law, had taken to sit- ting around the shop almost all day, much to his displeasure. So he spent most of his time in Ethel's room laying half clad on the rusty iron bed, pushed close to the window, while Ethel, happy to have him around, brought his meals up to him from one of the many dingy little restaurants. Saturday came at last and William rode home in Stevens' car late in the afternoon. His mother and Ruth were seated on the front porch when he stepped out of the car. AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD 111 “Lawd heah's my boy,” Sara Lou exclaimed hap- pily, running to the gate as fast as her rheumatic legs could carry her. “Yea, the prodigal is here,” William remarked. “You ain't no prodigal, son. Kaise yuh ain't done nothin' wrong,” his mother laughed. “You jes' comin' home to yo’ ole Ma whut loves yuh. “Howde Mr. Stevens. Ah clean forgot my man- ners, bein’so glad to see dis heah boy.” “Jes' fine, Aunt Sara. Thought while I was coming out, I'd jes' as well give William a lift.” “An' Ah'se sho thankin' you for it, Mr. Stevens. 'Member me to de misses, when you gits home. Lawd don't look lak Ah helped to nurse her, time done pass so fast.” “No, it don't, Aunt Sara, not with all the six young uns she's got hanging round her skirt tail now. How's your cotton comin' on P” John Stevens asked, looking towards the field in the distance. “Jes' fine. Jim says dis gointer be de best crop we's had ſ” “Wal, I'll be moving on Aunt Sara. You ain't heard nothing from Gordon, is you?” he asked, as he turned the car in the direction of his place two miles further. “No suh, not uh word since way lass month. Guess he'll be gone a spell.” Sara Lou called, to which William added his thanks for the ride. “Mighty fine uh Mr. Stevens bringin' yuh home, Willyum,” Sara Lou said, looking after the fast disappearing car. “Sure was, Ma,” William replied, seating himself on the edge of the porch at Ruth's feet. “Come on in an' git yo' supper, son, we done 112 AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD eat but Ah put yuh uns whar it ud keep hot,” Sara Lou said, playfully pulling William to his feet. “Ah'se gotta 'sprize for yuh,” she said later as she set a generous portion of ginger bread before him. “I’ve got a mind to eat it first,” William threat- ened. “Dar yuh go jes' lak when yuh was uh little boy, wantin' to eat yo' dessert fust. Mind out or Ah’ll take it way from yuh,” his mother teased reaching for the plate. “Ah’ll be good Ma, 'clare to goodness I will. See, cross my heart and Ah’ll give you a big kiss to boot,” William teased, as he caught the hand that held the plate and drawing her to him, smacked a kiss on her cheek. “Lawd boy, you'se de beatinest for makin' a body do whut you wants done,” his mother laughed. As he ate, his gaze rested on Jim and Ruth, whom he could see through the window, their heads close together, tying a vine that had broken and lay across the path. He could not help a pang of hot jealous anger that gripped his heart. He had been a fool to think that Ruth did not care more for Jim than she did for him. There was a look in her eyes, as she looked up into his face that told plainly that she did. He felt ashamed of the murderous thoughts the knowledge brought him and wondered could he give up the hope of winning her. One thing he was sure of, he had never liked Jim and at that moment he hated him, and would like to have swept him from his path, no matter how. He was slowly finishing his meal, absorbed by his AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD 113 jealous thoughts when his mother sat at the table opposite him. “You think yuh gointer finish school dis year, William?” she was asking. With a start he brought his thoughts back to the present, answering, “I’m sure of it, Ma. It won't be hard for me to make two terms when I get started.” “Dat's fine, son, an’ Ah’m goin'ter lay by a little money from de cotton dis year for when yuh starts in de preachin' school. Ah jes' knows you goin'ter be de finest preacher dere ever was, Willyum. Ah'se wearin' out my knees prayin' for dat one thing an’ Ah gointer keep rite on prayin', an’ Ah knows dat God gonna answer my prayers.” “Thank you Ma. I'm going to do my best.” “Dat's all we kin do, our best all de time an' not git too proud an' puffed up kaise God don't want us to be too proud.” “I know Ma but sometimes I don't feel like I really know what I wants and I tries so hard to make myself satisfied with what blessing I have but, oh, I don't know, Ma, it just seems like a lots of different devils fighting inside of me, making me want to do wrong and makin' me not able to do what I really wants to do. Ah! Don't mind me, Ma. I'm kind'er talking crazy now, ain't I?” Sara Lou, tears filling her eyes, reached over and patted her favorite on the shoulder. “My pore boy,” she murmured. “Ah knows jes' whut yuh means. Dere's lots uh things William dat Ah'se allers prayin' you'll escape. Maybe Ah should tell 'yuh 'bout' 'em, but Ah ain't got de courage.” Tears of remembrance filled Sara Lou's eyes as 114 AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD her mind traveled back over a past that was filled with things she would have loved to forget. Wil- liam caught and squeezed her hand, and rising quick- ly, walked around the table and placed his arm around her shoulder. “Don't Ma,” he whispered huskily. “Don’t mind me, Willyum. Ah’m gittin' ole an' Ah guess sometimes Ah does git crazy ideas. Ah'll jes' set dese things 'way an we'll go an' sit on de porch an' sing some hymns. Dat'll cheer us up. Dere ain't nothin' lak singin' God's praises to cheer a body up,” she whispered, closer to William than she had ever been, even in the days she had cuddled his brown curly head on her breast and tried to figure out what the future would hold for her illegitimate child, who would always walk in the middle of the road, not being able to get a firm footing on either side. “Yes I guess when you sings you ain't got no time to think about the things that worries you,” Wil- liam said thoughtfully, but there was no enthusiasm in his voice and his mother looked at him inquiringly. “Whut's troublin' yuh, Willyum?” she asked, placing her hand on his shoulder tenderly. “'Tain't nothin' much, Ma. Nothing that you can help,” looking beyond her searching eyes. “But maybe Ah kin help. Tell me son.” “Well for one thing, Ah needs some money. The shop ain't been doing so well lately and I owe a debt I've got to pay right'er way. If you could let me have the money, I'll pay it back as soon as I start making money.” “’Course Ah'll let you have de money. Ah ain't been botherin' wid lookin' atter things 'round heah AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD 115 uh late. Ah'se jes' left it all to Jim an' Ah don't know dat he's got any money left atter de Spring seed buyin' but Ah knows we'll have some jes' soon as we sells dis cotton crop.” “But I needs it the first of next month, Ma.” “Den Ah'll find out whut Jim's got. Ah could allers go to Mr. Gordon when he was heah.” “There ain't much chance of me getting it then if you expects to get it from Jim,” William replied hopelessly. “Ah don't know why you two boys is allers 'gainst one 'nother. It's jes' plum pass understandin', Will- yum. Sometime Ah wonder ef'fen yuh loves one 'nother uh tall lak brudders aught to.” “It ain't my fault, Ma. Jim is just so set against me stayin' in Macon and tryin' to get an education. Jes' because he don't care for school, he can't see why anyone else should, and thinks I’m throwing away lots of money when the fact is I don't have none to throw away.” “Don’t blame him too much, son. He jes' lak his Pa was, hard-workin' an' no frills but he got uh good heart an' you is jes' lak Ah was 'fore you was born, cravin' atter learnin' and wantin' to be some- body. Yuh two is far uh part as de east an' west but Ah sho wish you'ud try an' git long together,” Sara Lou sighed. “I do try, Ma, but Jim is stubborn and don't seem to even like me,” William complained. Sara Lou shook her head slowly and led the way to the front porch, where Jim and Ruth were seated on the steps. Jim turned and looked at his mother and William as they came out of the house. He could see from his mother's troubled expression that 116 AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD something was wrong and wondered what William could have been saying that disturbed her. He had not seen William since he came home an hour earlier and although he was glad to have him home, he never made a fuss over his visits and now calmly helloed in his slow, undemonstrative way. Ruth sat in a low rocker at Sara Lou's side, and William seated himself on the step she had just va- cated beside Jim. The early twilight brought a breath of coolness after a day that had been hot and sultry. The heavy odor of honeysuckles that clung to the porch was sweet with fragrance. Sara Lou, rocking back and forth, started singing one of her favorite spirituals. Ruth's soft soprano mingled with the deeper melody of the two boys as song after song floated upon the 21 r. William's thoughts drifted in comparison to the noisy music of Daddy Jenks' dance hall with its sor- did crowd shouting discordant blues. The quiet peace of his home engulfed him with a mood of spiritual longing. He hated Macon fiercely for all of the corruption it had brought into his life during that brief spell of emotion. He wondered how he had been able to stand it so long. New resolutions formed in his heart. His mother's plaintive singing smote his heart. “Go find my sheep,” her voice crooned soft and effectively, bringing hot tears to his eyes. He felt relieved when she rose and announced it was time to go in and have their usual evening prayer. Lighting the kerosene lamp that stood on the little marble topped table in the parlor, Sara Lou AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD 117 opened the bible to the twenty-third psalm, and passed it to William to read. “William, you lead us in prayer dis evening. You ain't home much an’ Ah laks to hear yo' voice in prayer. It kin'er gives me mo' stren'th to carry on,” she said when he lay the book on the table at the end of the reading. William knelt obediently. He knew what his re- ligion meant to his mother and although he did not feel like praying, after he started, he poured out his soul to God, tears of repentance flowing down his face. Sara Lou rose from her knees feeling better than she had during the two weeks he had not come home. “Come on, Ruth chile, less us go on upstairs, an' leave dese boys to dey seffs. Maybe dey want'uh talk wid one 'nother widout us womens hangin' 'round,” Sara Lou remarked, playfully pushing Ruth up the narrow stairway before her. William and Jim talked for a while about the cot- ton and the Gordon peaches that Jim was busy pick- ing with Luke Brown and Slack Henderson assisting him. “What are they bringing, Jim?” William asked interested. “Twenty-five cents uh bushel an' it looks lak Ah'm goin' to have 'bout five hundred bushels,” Jim re- plied proudly. “We ain't gonna have no peaches this year to amount to anything I notice,” William remarked. “No Ah jes' set dem trees out lass year an' Ah didn't 'speck much ud dem dis soon but next year dey gonna be loaded.” “How 'bout the watermelons and canteloupes?" 118 AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD William asked, turning the leaves of a book that lay on the table. “Not so bad but dere ain't gointer be no money but de cotton money dis year an' when we gits uh few things dat we needs to fix up de place, dat'll be all gone. Ah’m doin’ all Ah kin dis year so as next year we'll uh have some spare money. Ma's so set on you goin' to Atlanta to dat preachin' school,” Jim said, trying hard to keep out of his voice the trace of impatience he felt towards his brother's ambition. William did not answer. He knew that school was a sore spot with Jim, and he did not want to start an argument, not just now when he needed a favor anyway. “I’m sleepy. Guess I'll go to bed so that I can get a little rest. Got to be in church all day to- morrow,” he said instead. “You laks bein’ in church all day, William but Ah jes' hates to sit dere an' heah dem ole sisters uh moanin' an’ de preacher gittin' all het up an’ spittin' 'round. Ah don't mind de singin' and prayin' but dey keeps at it too long to suit me,” Jim complained. “Why Jim, anybody to hear you wouldn't think you was brought up in a Christian home an' by a mother like Ma.” “You mean dey'd be sprized to see dat Ah kin tell de truth. Most uh dese folks 'roun' heah would say de same thing effen dey wasn't scared uh whut de others 'ud say effen dey heard 'em, but Ah ain’t. Ah'ud heap ruther be home hoein’ cotton or somethin'. Ah b'lieves in God same as everybody else does, but Ah knows dat most uh dat loud AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD 119 preachin' is jes' uh bluff to cover up de fact dey don't know nothin' 'tall 'bout de bible an' it makes me sick.” “But don't you ever let Ma hear you talk like that. It would make her sick in bed,” William cau- tioned, adding: “And I don't like to hear you talk like that myself cause some day I intends to be a preacher.” “An' when you gits to be uh preacher, effen yuh ever does, you gointer be plenty learnt an' yuh ain't gointer preach long for fear de folks'll forgit to put plenty in de collection plate,” Jim laughed. William felt a wave of anger rising within him but he hid it with a smile, as he said. “Never mind, Jim, jes' wait till you get religion. Then we'll see how you feel about it. I bet you'll want 'er be sittin' in church all day.” “Ah'll be jes' lak Ah is now, plain an' strait. Re- ligion or nuthin' ain't gointer change me, an' effen dey ever makes me uh deacon, de fust thing Ah'se gointer do is vote dat ole brudder Thomas don't never be lowed to preach agin long as he lives,” Jim declared. “What has poor brother Thomas done now that you're ready to shut him up forever and break his poor old asthmatic heart?” William asked, laugh- ing heartily at Jim's serious mien. “He ain't done nothin' but git up lass Sunday an' preach for two solid hours.” “How did they ever stop him?” “Some uh de folks jes' got to singin' an' he couldn't talk louder den dey could sing so he jes' shut up. Boy it sho was funny.” William could not help joining in the laugh Jim 120 AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD was enjoying. He could imagine he saw Brother Thomas gasping for breath and preaching on and On. “But William dat ain't nothin' to de one dey calls de Swamp Angel dat preached lass Sunday night,” Jim went on and William listened again to a lengthy description of that preacher. - “Honest Jim, it's a sin to make fun of God's mes- sengers like you do,” he said at the end of his re- cital. “Ah ain't makin' fun uh dem. Ah b'lieves in dem when dey preach good sound gospel but jes' jumpin' 'roun' makin' lots uh noise don't mean nothin'.” “Well anyhow, we'd better be getting to bed,” William said, leading the way. Jim closed the front door and followed. They undressed in silence. It had been rather pleasant to laugh and talk together without ending in an argument, Jim's thoughts ran. He loved his handsome wayward brother and did not even sur- mise that deep down in William's heart, he disliked him and always had. He had played his cards well and managed to keep cool for a point and long after Jim had fallen asleep, William lay planning how he would try and get a loan out of Jim by playing up to him pleasantly. 124 AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD most of the evening and to Ruth's relief, William walked almost the distance home before he said the things she had been praying he would not say. “Some day when my dreams come true, Ruth,” he began, “I wants you to be my wife. Will you promise?” It was all she could do to keep from telling him that she and Jim were engaged but they had planned to keep it a secret, and she would not tell even Wil- liam although it would perhaps keep him from forcing his attentions on her. Instead she answered simply. “Ah can't say whut Ah’ll do dat far off, William.” “It don't have to be far off. We can marry now an' while I’m away in Atlanta, you can jes' go on livin' with Ma,” William persisted. “But Ah don't love you dat uh way, William. Ah jes' feels toward you lakuh sister.” “Do you feel the same towards Jim P” William asked, determined to have his answer or know whether Jim was the cause of her evasiveness. “Let's don't talk uh 'bout it,” Ruth evaded, as some of the church members caught up with them. Martha Green and Sally Afin Peck dropped back beside them to talk about the new preacher. “Ah b'lieves we all gointer like de new Preacher,” Sally was saying. “He don't preach all night lak some uh dem does an' whut he says is de gospel truth.” “Yeah, dat jes' suits you, Sally,” Martha broke in. “You don't lak to sit church 'long nohow. As for my part, Ah don't know as Ah’m gonna lak him uh tall. He puts on too much airs.” And the battle was on as usual. Ruth thought of AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD 125 what her father had had to contend with, how these same people had fought him when he first came to their church and wondered why it should always be so with every new preacher. William ended the discussion by letting them know he was going to back the new preacher in every way, and Martha, not wanting to oppose any one Brud- der William was for, fell to finding many good points in the sermon and decided after all, the new Reverend Hooper was all right. Sally Ann laughed heartily at her sudden change of heart and they were again off on one of their usual arguments. “Ruth, think over what I asked you,” William said when they were again alone after bidding the two women good-bye. She did not answer, but quickening her steps, passed into the house and ran lightly up to her room. × xk k Monday morning Jim realized his fears had been well-founded although the storm had done no serious harm to the cotton except to beat some of it down a bit, which could be fixed by filling in the rows with the dirt that had been washed away. But other damage had been done. The cotton house-roof had been partly blown away and the posts that held the long rails that made the fence around the field were in many places down and needed immediate repair- In 91. william rose early and helped Jim and Ruth with their work, deciding to stay a few days and help with the repairs, which surprised and pleased Jim. 126 AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD “Ah'll be mighty glad to have yuh helpin' me, William,” he said warmly. And Sara Lou, always alert to the best in her be- loved son, remarked happily. “Dat'll be jes' fine, Willyum. Ah sho will be happy to have both my boys 'roun' workin' together an' me an' Ruth cookin' hot dinners for yo' hun- gry mouths. Lawd, it'll mind me uh times when yore pa was livin' an' you an' Jim was helpin' him wid de farmin’.” “An' Ah’ll help too. Dere's lots Ah kin do,” Ruth added. “Lawd chile, you can't do nothin' to suit dem two men 'side cook an' wait on 'em,” Sara Lou laughed. “We'll see 'bout that, Ruth. You may be useful in keeping me an' Jim from fightin' before the week is over,” William remarked. “Now don't you two go an' git in no fight kaise ef'fen you does, Ah'll jes' switch yuh both,” their mother warned. They all laughed heartily at the mental picture of her switching them and started the day merrily, working first on the cotton house roof. Sara Lou hummed happily as she worked around the house, a contented smile wreathing her round face. “Come heah, Ruth an' take dis bucket uh grub an' some milk over to Julie for de new baby she got," she called when the dishes had been washed and dried. “Ah'se ready An' Sara,” Ruth answered, taking the pails. “You hurry back, Ruth. Ah clean forgot Julie. Her breast done dried up an' dere ain't a blessed thing for dat pore little mite to nurse on. Dat hus- AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD 127 ban' uh hearn is too lazy for anything. Jes' sittin' 'roun' waitin' for cotton pickin' stead 'er gittin' out pickin' up uh nickle or two. Pore Julie is smart uh nouff when she ain't got uh new baby to keep 'er in bed.” “An' dat ain't often she ain’t,” Ruth said, as she hurried away. William and Jim worked steadily all morning and returned to their job after the noon day dinner. That night they sat out on the porch after supper to get a breath of fresh air and Sara Lou laughed and talked and led in hymns until time to retire. Several times during the next day William tried to get up courage to ask Jim to let him have some money. He felt sure there was none on hand to be had but Jim stood well with everybody around Byron, and could borrow money any time he needed it. Besides he knew he had received some money for the peaches he had already delivered to Mr. Carmicheil, who ran the general store and shipped crates of fruit to northern markets. The money was Owen Gordon's but Jim could lend him some of it if he cared to, and as Gordon would not be home until after the cotton was picked and sold, it cer- tainly could be replaced. Every now and then William glanced at Jim working a short distance away. They were work- ing in the Gordon orchard stripping the peach trees of their last remaining luscious fruit. Late that afternoon, William unaccustomed to working so steadily, complained of being tired. “Go on up to de house an' rest uh spell,” Jim advised. “An' close de windows an' lock up while you'se dere,” he called, as William walked away. 128 AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD After closing the windows that had been opened to air the house out and locking the door, William stretched himself out on the back porch to rest and in a few moments was drifting drowsily into a light sleep. Ruth's voice calling Jim from the back gate awakened him. “Come on in Ruth. Jim's in the orchard,” he called to her, sitting up. “It's really you Ah wants. Ah got uh letter for you, William,” she smiled, handing him the letter. William glanced quickly at the envelope. It was from Macon and looked like Slippery's writing. What on earth could have made him write, he won- dered. Certainly nothing that would make him happy, he decided before tearing the seal. Ruth was looking toward the peach orchard, where the outlines of Jim's figure could be seen moving to and fro among the shadows of the trees. “Ah’m gointer run over dere an' scare Jim,” she laughed starting towards the orchard. William read the letter carefully and tore it into small bits, kicking them under the sand with his toes. The letter was worse than he had expected. Creditors hounding the shop and Sugar Kid hang- ing around bragging to the boys that in a few weeks he would be running the shop. His heart filled with anger towards Jim. How easy it would be for him to help him out. He realized he had made quite a few mistakes but if Jim would only let him have enough money to square himself he would not be a fool again, he promised himself. He could see Jim and Ruth talking under the trees. Jim was handing her a large yellow peach from one of the crates. She was smiling her thanks AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD 129 prettily. Fierce hatred filled his heart. He re- sented everything about the homely, ignorant, cool- headed Jim, who although his inferior in looks and learning, possessed the power to make him feel small with his calm, clear vision and busy useful life. Ruth waved a cheery goodbye as she passed through the yard, and he waved back to her listless- ly, and sat for a few moments trying to calm the emotions that filled his heart. When he walked over to where Jim was busy sorting peaches, he was coolly smiling. “Did yuh rest any?” Jim asked. “Yes, a little but I just received a letter that made me feel more tired than I was before.” “Bad news?” “Yes, it sure was bad news and I want to ask you to do me a favor.” “Whut is de favor, William?” “I wants you to loan me some money.” “How much an' whut for, William P” Jim asked, looking for the first time at William. “Well as much as I dislike asking a favor, Jim, I'm behind in the rent of my shop an' last month I , borrowed some money to pay it when it was due and now I've gotta pay the money I borrowed back an' the rent again too. I ain't been makin' nothin' and I gave a fellow a note on the place, and I know it'ud worry Ma if I lose the shop.” “How much money does yuh need?” “Fifty dollars would square everything and I’d pay you back as soon as I make some money.” “Ah haven't got fifty dollars, Willyum an' besides Ah knows dat you'se lyin'. You borrowed money to pay Mr. Stevens wid atter me givin' yuh de AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD 131 all 'bout yuh gamblin' in Macon an' everything Ah knows 'bout yo' doin’,” Jim threatened. “And if you do, I'll smash your ugly black face in, you stingy good-for-nothing fool,” William hissed, and, completely losing control of himself in face of what he realized was failure to get his aim, he struck Jim full on the mouth, taking him by sur- prise, but not for long. Jim's fist shot out catching him on the point of the chin, and William reeled, almost falling to the ground. The fight was on. Back and forth blows rained. They fought like mad beasts until a hard blow from Jim, the stronger of the two, sent Wil- liam to the ground. Jim stood over him for a moment undecided whether to pull him to his feet and knock him down again or to walk away and leave him where he had fallen, but as William lay still, realization dawned upon him that he was not faking but unconscious. Quicky drawing water from the well nearby, he bathed his face and lifting him to his shoulder, carried him to the Gordon porch, where he worked over him until he regained consciousness and was able to stand. Jim felt sick and ashamed of what had happened and tried to tell William how sorry he was but William gave him no answer, as he carefully brushed the sand from his clothes, and walked out of the gate, his head high, hate and anger raging in his heart. All the pent- up feelings he had had against Jim for years filled his heart. He would make him pay for beating him that afternoon. There were several ways. He knew them all. He had taken over the farm which was as much his and his mother's and ran it, spend- 132 AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD ing the money as he saw fit. He would put an end to that, he vowed. Jim sat where William had left him. His head bowed in his hands. It was the first real fight they had had since they had grown to manhood and al- though William had struck him first, he blamed him- self for losing his temper to the extent he had. It had been so pleasant the last two days working and talking together. It was a relief to them both when Ruth told them on reaching home that their mother had gone over to Sally Brown's cabin, as Sally was sick and alone. “She sayd for yuh to bring me over dere soon as supper's over, Jim,” she said. And as soon as the dishes were washed and put away, Jim and Ruth went over to Sally's, leaving William sulking at home. Sara Lou looked up as they entered, a wave of disappointment passing over her face. “Whar's Willyum ?” she asked anxiously. “You didn't say for him to come so he stayed to home,” Ruth answered, sensing something had hap- pened between the brothers. “No. Ah ain't sayd but Ah thou't him hearin' dis pore chile was so low sick, he'ud want to pray wid her.” “He's jes' tired, Ma. You know Willyum ain't use'ter workin' hard all day lak we'uns,” Jim ex- cused. The long, hot night passed slowly. Jim sat with his mother while Ruth dozed in a chair nearby. Neighbors dropped in from time to time, and Sara Lou cared for the sick woman and prayed for her recovery but deep in her heart, she was worried. AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD 133 Something had gone wrong at home. She felt it, but said nothing. Martha Green and Sally Ann Peck came during the early dawn and relieved the others, and Sara Lou, Ruth and Jim hurried home, but William had gone, leaving a note for his mother that he would be home early Saturday afternoon. 134 AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD CHAPTER XII During the next few days William sulked around the shop planning in his mind some way of hurting Jim severely for his imagined wrongs. His two years in Macon had changed his entire outlook on life and brought out all of the worst there was in his twisted make-up. At first he had enjoyed spend- ing most of the Summer on his mother's farm, not that he helped any with the work if he could get around it, and contrived most of the time to get around it, leaving it entirely to Jim, while he lay under some tall leafy tree on the smooth green grass and read or dozed in the welcome coolness of its shade. But each year he found excuses to stay more and more in town, where the lights and laughter suited him better, and the convention of the staid farmers could not reach him. Even if the hot mid-summer days with sudden drenching thunder storms did de- press and madden him, as he sat around his little windowless shop playing cards with the boys, there was always Daddy Jenks' place, where there was music, cold soda pop, cards and dice and an occa- sional game of pool to liven things up. During July and August, the city was filled with riff-raff that drifted in to prey upon the farmers, who drove in daily from nearby farms to sell their products. With their small proceeds they would make straight for some place of amusement, and AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD 135 fill up on bad moonshine while their hard-earned money disappeared over the gambling tables. Sugar Kid profited nightly by their losses and strutted around days, his bead-like eyes shining, as his hands jingled the silver that lined his pockets, very much pleased with himself, but frightened at the interest the law was taking in his and other gambling places. A general cleaning up was in progress and his place might be raided at any time but he made up his mind to get his while the getting was good. Every time William entered the club room, he patted his pocket affectionately, and felt an exultant joy in the fact that in another week the thirty-five dollars William owed him would be due. He would either have to pay it or pass over his little shop. But William, apparently not aware of his presence, was coolly aloof and indifferent. Sugar Kid's arrogant attitude nor Ethel's amorous advances interested him in the least. In fact, Ethel made him sick and he frankly told her so, and pro- ceeded to ignore her entirely. Ethel, more in love with him than ever, tried every known trick imaginable to win him back but in vain. Sugar Kid watched the little drama with a keen feeling of satisfaction. He liked Ethel for him- self and told her so and she laughed in his face, but he felt that sooner or later she would realize that William would have no more to do with her and turn to him. “See yo' high yaller is givin' yuh de gate, gal,” he taunted, as they danced around Daddy's back room. 136 AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD “Whut's dat to you, ole fat head,” Ethel snapped back. “It ain't nuthin' to me but it jes' goes to prove whut Ah done tole yuh. He thinks he's too good for de sun to shine on. 'Roun' heah puttin' on airs, goin' to school, jes' kaise his mammy's got little cotton growin' an’ is fool 'nough to let him lay 'roun' wid his lazy seſſ.” “Huh. De pot's callin' de kettle black,” Ethel laughed. “You ain't done uh day's work in yo' life, Sugar Kid.” “But Ah ain't puttin' on no airs an’ makin' out how great Ah am when all de time Ah’m jes' uh gambler.” “Dat's kaise you ain't got no education. As for gamblin', Ah don't see no harm in William playin' cards effen he wants to. He don't smoke nor drink.” “But he hangs out wid you an’ dat's bad 'nough,” Sugar Kid sneered. “It sho is kaise he ou'ter stop it an' give you uh chance,” Ethel came back. “Aw well, Ah ain't doin' no worryin'. He done borrowed money from me an' ef'fen he don't pay me back, Ah’m goin' uh take dat shop uh his or collect my money from dat dotin' mauh his'n,” Sugar Kid said, walking away. Sugar Kid's remark about William owing him money worried Ethel. She knew that William would not want his mother to know about his having to borrow money or losing his shop. A little later she decided to go over to the shop and offer to help William pay off the debt. It would be a good excuse AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD 137 to have a talk with him and if she did him a favor, it would also win him back to her. The front door of the shop was open and she walked in and started through to the back room, where she could hear William and Slippery talking. She stopped for a moment at the door. She could not catch their softly spoken conversation. William was talking rapidly and Slippery was saying little but agreeing to what William was saying. A chair creaked across the floor as one of them stood up and not wanting them to find her trying to eaves- drop, she slipped out of the front door and across the street again. “Say gal, why don't yuh git wise to yoseff an' stay on dis side uh de street,” Sugar Kid grinned, as she reached the other side. “Shut up an' mind yo’ own black business,” she retorted with spirit. “Come on in an' have a drink on me,” Sugar Kid invited, and seating themselves at a table with a pint of corn before them, they were soon laughing and talking, the best of friends. Later when William went to his room out at Sissy's. Slippery dropped into Daddy's to play a game of pool. Ethel's pent-up anger for William, inflamed by bad liquor, flared up at the sight of the little sickly red man. “Come on over heah, William's lakey, an' have a drink wid decent folks,” she called. Slippery ignored her remark but sat down at the table gulping down a big drink as a bracer. As the liquor began to take effect Sugar Kid became very taikative and bragged about having lent.William thirty-five dollars, pulling out the note William had 138 AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD given him to prove it. Waving it in Ethel's and Slippery's faces, they were compelled to read and reread it to please him. Fumbling he pushed it back into his pocket and continued pouring drink after drink down his throat. The night wore on. Slip- pery left them and Sugar Kid staggered upstairs to his room. The next day when he looked for the note it was gone. Vaguely he remembered taking it out of his pocket the night before to show it to Ethel and Slippery. Slippery had stolen it, no doubt to pro- tect William, he decided, and would give himself away, and then he would be justified in beating him up for picking his pocket. But that night fresh disaster came to the gambler. His place filled with players was raided. Few es- caped but most of them were taken to jail and re- leased the next morning with light fines. He, himself, did not fare so well and was held without bail for running a gambling house. “Dey liable to keep dat nigguh in jail all Sum- mer,” Slippery remarked, when William returned to Macon and they talked of the luck that had made them two of the few that had not been caught in the police net. “That sure will be a break for me,” William declared. “An' Ah b'lieves yuh gointer git dat break kaise dat ole judge don't care much for 'im kaise he don't b'long in Macon and de way he done looked at dat darky was lak he'ud jes' soon keep 'im in jail for- ever.” “I know Daddy Jenks is glad. Now he'll have his clubroom back agin.” AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD 139 “You know, William since Ah comes to think 'bout it, Ah b'lieves Daddy done put de white folks on dat nigguh anyhow kaise dey tells me dat Daddy was upstairs in de club room an' as soon as he went downstairs, de white folks rushed in,” Slippery said with conviction. He had meant to tell William that he had stolen his note from Sugar Kid the night be- fore but decided, as William had outlined a plan by which they both could profit, he would not men- tion the note, as William might get cold feet and abandon their plan so William, with no knowledge of Sugar Kid's being helpless to harm him, rejoiced that at least the day of reckoning was delayed. Things were once more normal over at Daddy Jenks', who again took over the club room and ran it full sway. Ethel, peeved over William's indifference, went on a wild spree, keeping the dance hall lively with her songs and squirming dances, but gradually the old passion she had awakened in William flared into life again and he was once more spending his nights in her room. Two weeks had passed since he and Jim's fight. William had not been home. He dreaded facing Jim, and stayed away. Saturday came again. Wil- liam rose early and helped Slippery finish what work there was on hand, determined he would go home, Jim or no Jim and he would take Slippery with him, as he had done several times during their acquaint- ance. Saturday night he and Slippery rode to Byron with a farmer, who was returning home. His mother welcomed Slippery, and tried in every way to make him feel at home but Jim, who had 140 AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD never liked him, could not entirely hide his resent- ment and Ruth kept out of his way as politely as possible. Sunday was by no means a pleasant day for any- one and William, who felt the hostility, appealed to his mother. “Ma, I'd think you'd teach Jim to be at least civil to folks,” he began. “Lawd, son, whut Jim gone an' done now?” she asked in alarm. “Well, I invited Slippery out here so he could attend church seeing he won't in Macon an' Jim acts like he's afraid he'll steal the doors off the house.” “Ah thought Jim was treatin' 'im real nice, seein’ dat he don't lak him,” his mother replied. William said no more but when the time came for them to go to evening services, the strain of watching and praying all day that Jim in his out- spoken way would say nothing that would start an argument, proved too great for her and instead of going to church, she went to bed with a severe head- ache. All day Monday after William and Slippery had gone, she bustled around in a state of excitement and by evening she was worn out and again ill. “It sho is uh shame how Willyum does things to upset Ma, bringing dat no count Slippery out heah,” Jim complained. “Ah don't b'lieve he means to upset her. He's jes' tryin' to be kind to Slippery seein' he's uh stranger an' sick,” Ruth defended. “Ah guess he got you fooled lak everybody else, AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD 141 Ruth, but as for me, Ah don't b'lieve dere's no good in him,” Jim replied. “Why Jim, Ah’m 'sprized at you, speakin' lak dat 'bout yo' own brother,” Ruth exclaimed, looking at Jim, who stood calmly regarding his feet. “Ah can't help it, Ruth, and brother or no brother, yuh gointer find out Willyum is uh bad lot, someday.” “When we gointer start pickin' cotton?” Ruth asked, anxious to change the subject which she realized was embarrassing to Jim. “Nex' week, Ah got lots dis year an' Ah gotta start early kaise Ah ain't able to hire nobody but Luke to help. Ma's so determined to let William have some money to put side for his schoolin' in Atlanta.” “Ah’m gointer help you Jim, an’ Ah kin pick uh lot an' you don't need to pay me nothin’,” Ruth said, putting her arms around Jim's neck and laying her cheek against his. “Ah sho'll need yo' help, Ruth, but Ah hate to have you pickin' cotton in de hot sun.” “Shame on you, Jim. Ah’m useter pickin'. Ah done picked for pay since Ah was eight years ole. How is it gointer hurt me?” “Awrite, we ain't gointer augue 'bout it honey.” “Is William comin' heah to pick any, Jim P” “Lawd no, he jes' goin'ter sit an' wait ontell us gits it ginned an' sold an' den hold out his purtty yaller hands for his share.” Ruth laughed heartily. “Jim,” she said, “Ah know whut's de matter wid you. Youse jes' jealous uh William kaise he so light-skinned and you ain't.” 142 AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD “No, Ah ain't but he's so biggity an' stuck up. Ma's fair as he is an' look how sweet she is.” Ruth gave him a poke between the ribs, and ran away to do some unfinished work in the house. Jim turned to his garden that needed his care and worked until dark with it. Work and routine meant every- thing to him. Friday he received the balance of the money for the peaches. He felt proud and happy knowing he had done better than even Owen Gordon had ex- pected. His mother was surprised when he gave her the twenty dollars he had taken out for his labor but Ruth refused his offer to buy her a dress. Later that evening Sara Lou trudged down to the village general store and bought it for her anyway. “An' Sara, you'all shouldn't uh done dat. Ah'se 'nough expense as it is to y'all,” Ruth pleaded. “Chile, you does 'nough work 'roun' heah to pay for uh little ole calico frock,” Sara Lou assured her. The week passed happily. Even with the many duties that filled each day, Jim and Ruth found time several afternoons when the sun disappeared be- yond the western horizon to wander hand in hand over the flat fragrant woodland, saying little, con- tent and ready to burst into childish laughter at the little nothings that amused them. Most of these excursions ended at the old hickory nut tree, where with a few strands of hair they had become engaged. Sitting there, they would plan their future and return home swinging hands and singing songs. Monday proved an ideal day to start picking cotton. Bright with cloudless skies, long before AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD 143 sunrise, Jim was in the field, his long sack slung across his shoulders. The cotton seemed ready to burst from its bowls. Sara Lou busied herself with cooking and household duties but late that afternoon she shouldered her sack and laughingly teased. “Lawdy, you youngsters is slow. Heah Ah done filled my sack in no time.” “Dis my fourth, An' Sara an' Jim not wantin' me to pick,” Ruth smiled proudly. “Well at dis rate we'all 'ull be through 'fo' de rest uh de folks 'roun' heah gits started,” Jim bragged. All around busy people were laughing and work- ing. Bits of song floated upon the air. Wagons of cotton passed down the red clay road on their way to the gin. Happy children picked at their parents' sides. At night men gathered at the gen- eral store to discuss how many sacks they had picked during the day. Everybody was busy and happy. Sara Lou's home was the happiest of them all for this year there would be more money than there had been since John Carter's death. She breathed a prayer of thankfulness for her many blessings, and smiled as she remembered how even Marshall Bailey had complimented her on having two such fine sons. Saturday came round again and Sara Lou having finished her Sunday cooking, stood on the front porch waiting for a glimpse of her darling boy, her face brightened with a smile. But she was doomed to be disappointed. A farmer returning from Macon handed her a letter sent by William explaining he would not be home this week-end as 144 AUNT SARA’S WOODEN GOD his cousin Sissy had been seriously injured and he would have to stay in Macon with her. “Huh, dat's jes' lak Willyum, takin' on every- body's troubles,” she remarked when later she showed the letter to Jim. AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD 145 CHAPTER XIII August passed swiftly. Soft fluffy cotton held the attention of the farmers, who worked from sun- up until darkness gathered, making their task im- possible. Sara Lou's little cotton house was fast being filled but William did not come home, not even for the usual week-end. Jim said nothing, as his mother querulously complained about his absence. To his mind the excuse William gave in the let- ters his mother received from him, of having to stay with Sissy, were just lies. But for once William was telling the truth. He had gone to his room late one night and found Sissy lying on the floor bleeding profusely from several long gashes inflicted by one of her latest men friends, a strapling six- footer. William had hurriedly summoned a doctor and for weeks the wounded woman had hovered be- tween life and death. She had few friends in the dismal little alley she made her home. Most of the women hated her be- cause she kept to herself. The few, who had wormed their way into her home, remembered her sharp tongue and ready fists, and stayed away henceforth. When William appealed to some of the women to come to his assistance in caring for her, they laughed in his face. “Let some uh dem injun folks she done bragged 'bout she comed from look at’ter her,” one fat, jet- black woman taunted, remembering how Sissy had 146 AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD bragged about her long straight hair and copper colored skin having come from Indian ancestry. “Yeah, yuh bettuh ask ole chief squattin' in de corner to sit wid 'er,” another chimed in and Wil- liam turned away disgusted to start what proved a trying four weeks at Sissy's bedside, relieved at times by Ethel, who on hearing the news of his cousin's injury, rushed to his aid. But even the nearness of death did not soften William's heart towards Jim. Instead he had plen- ty of time while sitting idle through the long nights to conjure up the smallest grievances of his child- hood when their father, John Carter, had taken Jim's part against him. He brooded over imag- inary and real wrongs until his heart filled with hate and seemed almost bursting with longing for revenge, but no one, who saw him daily, would have believed beneath his suave smiling personal- ity, a tumult of rage and hate burned fiercely. To Sissy he was perfection. “Lawd, William, Ah jes' kain't figure how come you is so diffunt from the rest uh yo' folks,” she said, as she and William ate breakfast the first morning she was able to be up. “Ma offered to come an' see you, Sissy, but I begged her not to, cause they pickin' cotton an' Jim needs her home,” William said. “Yeah, An' Sara is kind lak you is. Ah kin'er glad she didn't com' to see me in de fix Ah was in.” “Now that you're better, Sissy, I'm gonna ask Ethel to stay with you while I run out home Satur- day.” ºsho William, you go see 'bout An' Sara, but AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD 147 don't bother askin' Ethel. Ah kin take care uh my- seff now.” So William wrote his mother he would be home Saturday and all day Friday he and Slippery worked steadily finishing up the work that had been left in the shop. Late that evening Slippery donned the one good suit he possessed, and slipping his well- oiled, shiny pistol in his pocket, departed for a visit to a nearby village, where as he put it, “De gam- blin' was good.” Saturday afternoon William closed the shop, and took a late afternoon train for Byron. Sara Lou saw him, as he came swinging down the road, smiling brightly. Throwing his bag on the porch, he caught her in his arms and kissed her affectionately, and holding her at arms' length looked at her admiringly. “Go 'lon' boy, whut yuh doin' 'zamin' yo’ ole Ma to see if she done growd uglier?” she asked, chuck- ling happily. “Uglier? Why, you're the prettiest girl in the world to me, Ma,” he answered, hugging her close. “Lawd, William, Ah sho don't see how any gal in de world kin resist you, effen yuh makes love to dem lak yuh does to me.” “I ain't tried it out on any gal yet, Ma. Ah'm practising on you first,” William laughed. “Well, you is purtty nigh purfect,” she smiled, as she hurried in to complete preparations for his supper. William walked out on the back porch just as Ruth came up with an armful of kindling. “Hey William, how'se you feelin' after yo' sick nursin' job all dese weeks?” she greeted. AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD 149 arguments in the midst of which William and his Mother left them at their gate. The day passed uneventfully but pleasantly. When time for the evening service came, Jim com- plaining of being tired, stayed home. “Dere's uh 'Vangelist preacher gonna preach to- night, Jim. Ah sho wanted you to heah 'im kaise it's high time you try gittin' some religion,” his mother remarked, hoping to change his mind. But changing Jim's mind was no small task and to her pleading, he simply answered: “Ah jes' don't feel good an' Ah don't want 'er sit up half de night when Ah'se got so much work to do early in * ... ? ) y de mornin'. And she, William and Ruth departed without him. In Ruth's mind there was a doubt as to Jim's not wanting to attend the service. She was sure he had overheard the conversation between William and herself when she had expressed a de- sire to attend high school, and the knowledge that she was not entirely satisfied had disturbed him. She heartily wished she had not said anything about school. After all she was content as things were. It was just William's presence that brought it to her mind. William's presence always disturbed their quiet peace, she remembered. Jim sat for a while on the front porch thinking of Ruth, William and the future. He had never dreamed that she was not contented to just become a farmer's wife. The bit of conversation he had overheard, disturbed him. She was young. Per- haps after they married, she would rebel against the monotony of the only life she had ever known. William would be preaching, going from place to AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD 151 Thinking of the harm she had once done to the place, he tried to catch her but failed. “Effen she's still 'roun' heah when Ah goes home, Ah'll catch de critter an' take 'er home to de Marshall. Ah bet he's huntin' every whar for dat crazy onery fool dis minute,” he thought, going through the back gate. The house, built several yards back from the low picket fence, looked like some deserted castle, its large, colonial pillars gleaming white against the dark foliage of oleander bushes. Vine covered, its veranda extended the length of two sides of the house. The dining room at the back with its nu- merous long, green blinds added to the ghostly as- pect of the place. Jim walked around the kitchen. Suddenly he stopped and could have declared he saw a dim light moving about in the dining room, but tried to dis- miss the idea as only imagination. “Huh !” he grunted, “De next thing ah'll be b'lievin' in ghosts,” trying to shake off the uneasy feeling that possessed him. There it was again. He was sure this time. Someone was moving around in the room. He could see the light, first on one side, then on the other. For a moment, he stood stark still, watch- ing the window, fascinated. His first feeling of fright soon passed, and gliding up to the porch cau- tiously, he picked up an old lantern, he had left there, lighted it, and moved noiselessly to the back door, slipping the key he always carried into the lock. He turned it slowly. A rasping sound came from within. Someone had gone out through the side window that opened on the veranda. 152 AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD Rushing quickly into the now empty room, hold- ing his lantern high, he dashed for the window, which the intruder had left open. There was no one there. The oleander bushes obstructed his view beyond when he tried to pierce the darkness of the grounds. Giving up the effort as fruitless, he re-entered the room. Something white near the window caught his eye. Stooping he picked it up. Just a small piece of soiled paper, he decided, and started to throw it away. A jumble of figures were written across its creased surface. Nine stood out clearly, followed by the word right. Another number that looked like five. He spelt out the word—left. There was something strangely familiar about the writing. His heart almost stopped beating. It was the combination of the safe in William's hand- writing. He had seen it all his life, and had copied pages of words and figures he had written in an effort to help him learn. Walking over to the safe he noticed for the first time that it was standing wide open. He ran his hand into its depths. The money he had so recently put there, was gonel He remembered William had wanted that money. He had copied that combina- tion and gave it to someone to steal it for him. He could easily guess who—Slippery. Well, they would not get away with it. Brother or no brother, he would have them arrested. He decided—but even as he made the decision, thoughts of his mother filled his mind. William was her idol. She would never survive the blow. It would break her heart, and William was not worth it. Hastily before he had a chance to change his mind, he tore the paper AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD 153 into small bits. He would just have to replace the money and not let her know anything about it. Of course, William would have to answer to him for this night's work. He would not be as easy on him as he had been when they last had an encounter. Suddenly he thought about the small bag of an- tique jewelry that Owen Gordon kept in a secret drawer in the safe. If that was gone, it would be a different story. Reaching again into the safe, he felt for and pressed a small spring. Trembling he pulled out a small shammy bag that contained nearly one hun- dred pieces of old jewelry, heirlooms of several generations. Breathing a sigh of relief, he dropped it into his coat pocket, and stood so absorbed with his thoughts that he did not hear soft footsteps, as someone entered the room. Marshall Bailey and his wife returning home from Macon where they had spent the day, saw their old mare grazing at Owen Gordon's back gate. The marshall got out, intent on trying to coax her home. He noticed the figure of a man emerge through the window, look around, and enter the house again. Cautiously he slipped to the porch and peeped through the blinds. He was amazed to see Jim take something from the safe and slip it into his pocket. Slipping into the room, he faced the startled boy. “Jim, will you tell me whut you's doin' snoopin' 'roun’ Gordon's house this time 'er night?” he asked sternly. “Why, Mr. Bailey, Ah jes' happened to walk over heah an' while Ah was heah, Ah thought Ah'd see dat everything was locked up good, an' den Ah 154 AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD seed uh light in dis room so Ah comed on in, but whoever it was in heah dey had done got out 'er dat window,” Jim replied, indicating the window through which the Marshall had just stepped. An incredulous look in the Marshall's eyes brought to his realization the seriousness of the situation. “Well, go on Whut else happened?” the Mar- shall asked testily. “Nothin', but Ah ain't seed uh livin' soul an’ when Ah looked in de safe, Mr. Gordon's money dat Ah put in dere from de sale uh his peaches was gone.” “How was the safe opened?” “Wid de combination, Mr. Bailey.” “Who knew the combination?” “Nobody but me an’ Mr. Gordon. He done tole me to put his money in dere an' mine too in case Ah had any.” “Are you sho nobody knew it but you two P” “Dead sho. Ma ain't even knowed it.” “So you thought you’d come heah and take the money out tonight and pretend it was stolen, is that it?” “Ah 'clare 'fo de Lawd Ah didn't take de money, Mr. Bailey,” Jim answered, almost sobbing. “Was that all that was in the safe, Jim P” “Yes suh,” Jim answered, forgetting in his agi- tation the bag of jewelry he had slipped into his pocket. - “A likely story,” the Marshall said, his voice hard with disbelief. “But Ah been watching you ever since you came in here from the porch, where you no doubt went to make sure there was no one around.” Walking over to Jim, he ran his hand AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD 155 quickly into his coat pocket and drew out the bag of jewelry. Opening it on the table, he poured out its glittering contents. “Huh, larceny after trust is whut Ah calls it,” he said, sweeping the jewelry back into the bag and catching Jim by the arm, he pushed him through the door before him. 156 AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD CHAPTER XIV Jim's arrest was the biggest shock the little settle- ment had ever had. For months nothing else was talked of. Cotton and even church receded far into the background, as the farmers discussed the sur- prise of it and the outcome of the trial set for early November. Sara Lou engaged one of Macon's best lawyers, John Hayden, a former partner of Owen Gordon's, to defend Jim, who through the lawyer's efforts, had been released on bail the Wednesday following his arrest. There had been a very tearful scene at the Carter home when his mother, William and Ruth had re- turned from Church and found him in Marshall Bailey's custody. The Marshall had been waiting to question them, but there was nothing they could say that would help Jim, and amidst his mother's tears and prayers and Ruth's pitiful sobs, he had been taken away. Ruth had torn aside the secrecy of their engagement and begged to be taken to jail with him. Marshall Bailey had been glad when it was over, and Jim was landed safely in the little leanto jail. But Lawyer Hayden was hopeful. The evidence to his mind was too flimsy to win a conviction. He also felt sure that Jim, although not guilty, knew who had committed the robbery, and was trying to shield the guilty party. But as time passed, he AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD 157 found that getting him to talk would be a harder job than he had anticipated. Jim refused to talk, persisting that he knew noth- ing but the bare facts he had already stated to the marshall. “Is there anyone who visits your home that you have reason to suspect?” the lawyer asked him. “No, suh, not uh soul,” Jim answered positively. “Could anyone except yourself have at any time seen that combination without your knowledge?” “No, suh. Ah kept it hid all de time an' Ah ain't never recollecked it bein’ missin'.” “Did your brother know you had that combina- tion?” the lawyer asked, looking straight into Jim's eyes to see the effect his question would have on him. But if Jim was taken by surprise he did not show it, as he calmly answered. “Yes, Mr. Hayden, William knowed Ah had it, but he ain't never seed it.” “Well, Jim, ain't that slick nigger that works 'round his shop in Macon been visiting your home?” “Yes, suh. He done been dere lots uh times, but Ah watched him an' he ain't never been upstairs whar Ah keeped de combination,” Jim answered, without batting an eye. After a moment he con- tinued: “Anyhow, he was in Spring Valley, William tole me, dat Sunday night.” “Yes, I know he has a trip to Spring Valley as an alibi, but I'm investigating its authenticity,” Lawyer Hayden said, rising to indicate the inter- view was over. Jim realized, as he rode back to Macon that he was throwing away the only chance he had of clear- ing himself, and would perhaps have to suffer for a 158 AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD crime he had not even thought of committing, but it was the only way to save his mother from a life- time of suffering. She knew that he was not guilty, but if he told what he knew, William could easily be proven the culprit, and break her adoring heart. His blood boiled to think that even now, William was again in school posing as a martyr to the stu- dents, who sympathized with him for having a brother under suspicion of robbery. Through the remaining days of October, Jim worked doggedly up and down the rows of cotton, cleaning up the last fragments. Ruth worked tear- fully at his side, blaming herself for the tragedy. Had it not been for her remarks to William about school which Jim had overheard, and worried about, he would have been in church with them that night. He had stayed home because he felt angry and hurt. One evening she sobbed out her self accusation to Sara Lou, as she helped with supper. “Don’t you feel dat’uh way chile. Dey would 'er 'cused Jim anyhow, effen he had uh been in church jes' kaise he's de only pusson dat knows dat ole com- bination,” Sara Lou comforted, tears filling her eyes. “Anyhow, dese white folks is mad 'roun' heah kaise Mr. Gordon done left Jim in charge uh his place, but don't you worry, honey, he gointer come out uh it 'thout uh bit uh trouble.” But Ruth did worry, and as days passed into weeks, she became just a shadow of herself. Black circles appeared under her eyes. Her shoulders drooped and she grew years older. And Sara Lou for all her assurance of the outcome of Jim's trial being acquittal, worried herself sick in bed. The once happy home became sad and silent. No more AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD 159 songs floated out upon the still night air. The family retired almost at dusk, to lay and restlessly toss throughout the long night. Neighbors, who loved them, not wanting to see the sorrow that had befallen them, stayed away as much as possible. William, conscience-stricken, did not come home Saturday, making excuses of having to study hard to keep up with his school work; while in Macon he and Slippery spent sparingly the fruits of their crime for fear of detection. As the time for the trial drew near, speculation as to its outcome was rife among the farmers. Sally Ann Peck and Martha Green nearly came to blows because of their difference of opinion. Martha had said as they walked home from church: “Lawd, Ah jes' kain't see how Jim kin be so in- nocent uh dat robbin' when don't nobody else know dat combination but him.” “You shut yo wide mouth up 'oman. Dey ain't nobody found out whut went wid de church money you was keepin'. You is de lass one whut aught'er go layin' blame on folks,” Sally came back hotly. “Is you 'sinuatin’ dat Ah ain't tole de truth when Ah said dat de money was stole out 'uh my house,” Martha asked threateningly, shaking her fist under Sally's nose. “Ah ain't 'sinuatin' 'nothin' but Ah is sayin' dat folks whut lives in glass houses gotta watch out when dey throws stones.” “Yeah, you is somebody to talk. You ain't got no husban' uh yo’ own an' you'se allers sneakin' 'roun' at’ter somebody else's. Folks is talkin' 'bout running you out'er Byron right now,” Martha snorted. 160 AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD “Ah sho ain't sneakin' at’ter yo's, Martha, kaise he done left you years ago 'bout dat Jones boy an' you readin’ de Bible down by de branch in de moon- light,” Sally laughed. “Ah gotta good mind to wring yo' neck for dat remark, Sally Ann Peck,” Martha retorted beside herself with rage. “Don’t let yo' wooden God an' cornstalk Jesus fool yuh, 'oman nor yo' good mind, neither, no matter how good it is,” Sally retorted. Martha gritted her teeth and walked away, throw- ing over her shoulder. “Don’t you never speak to me agin long as yuh lives.” And although the two shared the same two room log cabin, Jim's trial was over before they spoke to each other again. Jim, the subject of all their discussions, worked on silently, as the days swiftly passed. There was no malice in his heart for the brother who had wan- tonly placed him in the shadow of the chain gang— only pity for his weakness and for his mother, try- ing so hard to hide her real anguish from him. Bright sunshine, warm and cheering, the morning of the trial, mocked the anguish within the hearts of Sara Lou, Ruth and Jim, as they rode the ten miles to the county seat of Peach County. William, silent and making a fine effort of grieved con- cern, rode beside Jim on the front seat of the wagon while Sara Lou and Ruth sat behind on a board laid across its body. Sara Lou's cousin, Ella, Jerimah and their six children drove in their team behind them and al- most of the entire population of Byron greeted them AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD 161 when they rode up to the one story frame court- house. When the , doors were opened at nine o'clock, the building was soon packed, and the trial started by Lawyer Hayden's insisting that a jury be im- panelled instead of the customary judge presiding and deciding the case. After many objections and discussions, a jury of twelve sturdy farmers was selected, and the case proceeded. William, the first witness called, could tell noth- ing except he and his mother and Ruth were in church the night of the robbery. He knew nothing of the money paid Jim for the peaches and had never seen the combination of the safe. His mother, next called, proved a difficult witness. Her testimony collaborated with William's exactly, but the judge and lawyer had a hard time keeping her to the point, as she insisted on telling how Mr. Gordon trusted Jim and how she had brought him up in the fear of God. “We ain't askin' you aller that, An' Sara. We'all knows that Gordon done gone off and left a par- sel'er you niggers running over his place instead’er a good, honest, white man and this is what has come of him doing it,” Judge Graham, a former resident of Byron and a friend of Owen Gordon's informed her. Sara Lou's sobs became louder and louder, until the Judge dismissed her from the witness stand and asked that she be taken from the court-room. Ruth was next called. She proved the most damaging witness of the trio. The judge deter- mined to establish a reason for the usually trust- 162 AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD worthy Jim turning thief, questioned her relent- lessly. “Didn't Jim always take you to church?” she was asked. “Yes, suh,” the answer came soft and quivering. “Were you two in love with each other?” “Yes, suh. We is.” “Were you engaged to be married?” “Yes, suh, we is.” “Didn't he promise to buy you pretty clothes?” Ruth raised her eyes and looked around the court-room as if seeking someone to aid her, and the Judge had to repeat the question. “We jes' looked in uh catalogue an' was admirin' uh dress,” came hesitatingly. “And he promised to buy it for you, eh?” “Not zackly, suh, he sayd it'ud look mighty nice on me.” - “What else did he say?” “Dat some day Ah might wear it.” “That's just the same as promising it to you, ain't it?” “Yes, suh. Ah mean, no suh,” Ruth sobbed dis- tractedly. “Well at any rate, there was a reason for Jim wanting this money desperately,” her persecutor announced. And Ruth, realizing that her testimony had been unknowingly damaging to Jim, burst into a torrent of uncontrollable weeping. Lawyer Hayden was on his feet, his face red, his eyes blazing. “Judge, your honor,” he shouted. “This is no love affair. This Jim Carter is on trial for robbery not for being in love.” 164 AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD CHAPTER XV On the evening of the next day Sara Lou sat in her bare, clean dining room. Her cane bottom rocker swayed back and forth in even rhythm with her sobs. Her friends, Sally Ann, Martha, Ella, Sally Brown, Reverend Hooper, and a few others sat grim-faced and sympathetic trying to console her. They had just returned from the County seat, where Jim had been convicted and sentenced to five years in the chain-gang. Reverend Hooper rose and bade them kneel while he carried Jim's case to a greater judge than Judge Graham. For almost an hour he prayed, and as they rose from their knees, Martha Green sang softly, helped by the others. “Ah’m leanin' on de Lawd.” “Dat's jes' whut Ah’m doin’,” Sara Lou declared, as the song ended. “He’s uh good one to lean on, An' Sara, but effen yuh could 'ford to git dat Lawyer Hayden to git uh 'nother trial for Jim an' have it in Macon, it might help de leanin’,” Sally Ann remarked earn- estly. “Lan' sakes, Sally Ann, you don't trust de Lawd for nothin’,” Martha chided. “Course Ah trusts him but sometimes he kind 'er slow to act. Lak de time my ole man Joe was 'cused uh stealin' in Macon. Ef'fen Ah hadn't been workin' for dat big lawyer man dat took up Joe's case, he'ud been in de gang till now.” AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD 165 All eyes were turned on Sally Ann in horror but undaunted, she continued. “To tell de truth, Ah should 'er let 'im gone to de gang kaise Ah had to work uh whole year to pay de lawyer an' 'fo Ah was throu' payin' 'im, Joe he ups an' runs off wid uh trifflin' gal dat was stayin' wid us.” “Huh, served yuh right,” Martha grunted, and to avoid further discussion of the matter, Sally Brown started another song. William, who had been walking around to get away from the sight of his mother's suffering, came into the room and hinted that his mother needed rest, and they bade goodnight and hurried away. William assisted his mother up to her room, where Ruth, who had been preparing the evening meal, served her, and for the first time in Sara Lou's busy life she was unable to leave her room for a week. As strength came back to her during the week that followed, her first concern was William. “You must git back to yo' school, son,” she said, as they sat around downstairs for the first time since Jim had been sent away. “I will, Ma, soon as you feels all right again, but I'm in no mood for study,” he replied obedi- ently. “You jes' git in de mood. Dere ain't nuthin' heah to do an' us jes' kain't give up. We jes' gotta trust in de Lawd. He's gointer make every- thing all right an’ bring de guilty to judgment.” “Ah sho wish Ah could b'lieve lak dat, An' Sara,” Ruth remarked sadly. “But things lak dis makes me b'lieve sometime dat de Lawd ain't much bothered 'bout whut comes to us folks.” 166 AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD “Why, Ruth, dat ain't no way for you to talk!” Sara Lou exclaimed in surprise. “It sure ain't no way for a Christian to talk. Maybe if Jim had got religion instead of making fun of preachers and the church, this might not have happened to him,” William said with an air of pious dignity. “Religion ain't got nothin' to do wid it. Ole Judge Graham is uh deacon in his church an’ Ah ain't never seed nobody act any more unfair den he did tryin' Jim,” Ruth exploded angrily. “When is you seen them act fair when there's one uh us on trial?” William asked quietly. “Dey jes' takes it for granted dat we'se guilty 'fo we'se tried, but Ah thank God dey ain't de judge when it comes to gittin' to heaven,” Sara Lou smiled, happy with the prospect of that far off reward. Ruth's reply filled with defiance shocked them both. “Shucks, Ah ain't wantin' to have to wait ontill Ah gits to heaven to have uh little happi- ness,” she said, walking out of the room. Later that evening some of Sara Lou's neigh- bors dropped in to see if there was anything they could do for her, and for a while they all sat around talking, trying to forget the tragedy that had befallen them. “William, Ah want yuh to write Mr. Gordon a letter an' tell him whut done happened,” Sara Lou said when she, William and Ruth were again alone. “All right, Ma. That's a good idea! Do you know his address?” “Ah jes' know dat he done write Jim from a place called London. Ah got de letter heah so AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD 167 send it dere,” handing the letter to William, who wrote the long, rambling letter his mother dic- tated, telling Owen Gordon the details of the rob- bery and begging him not to believe Jim guilty. “I’ll mail it first thing in the morning, Ma,” William promised, sealing the missive. “Awrite son, an’ tomorrow is Tuesday, you go back to school.” “I will, Ma,” William promised, glad to get away from home, where everything reminded him of the crime he had committed. Things had turned out far different from what he had planned. He had had Slippery take the money because he needed it to pay the debts he owed and to spite Jim, whom he knew would have to replace it, but he had not dreamed that the outcome would be as it was. In fact, he blamed Jim for going to Gor- don's house that night when he might have been in church, and wondered why Fate had sent Mar- shall Bailey by just at that time. But now that it had happened, he could not find one spark of pity in his heart for Jim. If it had not been for the suffering the whole thing caused his mother, he would have been happier than he had been in years. “Ah wonder effen Lawyer Hayden could git my boy uh new trial?” his mother's voice brought him back to the present. “Maybe so, Ma, but it'ud cost a lot of money,” he answered without enthusiasm. “Lawd, Ah'd sell de roof from over my head to git Jim out'uh dat prison!” Sara Lou declared. “Let’s wait a while and see what Mr. Gordon says when he writes,” William suggested. 168 AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD “Ah sho' hopes he answers right 'er way,” Ruth breathed hopefully. Sara Lou rose reluctantly and stretched her arms above her head. She had been sleepy and on the verge of going to bed for some time, but the pros- pects of lying awake thinking until far into the night had kept her putting it off. “Ah’m goin'ter carry my ole bones to bed, chil- lun,” she said, moving towards the stairs. “Ah’m goin' too, An' Sara,” Ruth said, rising. William caught her hand and pleaded. “Please don't go, Ruth. I've got a new book I want to tell you about and it's only eight o'clock anyhow.” Ruth reluctantly resumed her seat. She did not want to hurt William's feelings but would rather have been anywhere than alone with him in her present state of mind. “Why didn't you tell me you and Jim was en- gaged?” his first question brought an uneasy flush to her face. “'Cause Jim an' me promised to keep it uh secret an' we wasn't goin'ter marry nohow ontill Ah was out uh mourning.” “Now that Jim's in prison for five years, you ain't aiming to wait for him that long, are you?” “Sho' Ah am I Ah'ud wait twenty years for Jim.” “But you're young and I loves you, Ruth. Would you rather sacrifice five years waiting for him than marry me?” “Please William, don't talk lak dat. It ain't fair to yo' brother when you knows dat Ah done prom- ised him, an’ anyhow Ah ain't goin' to listen to yuh,” Ruth answered, rising. 170 AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD CHAPTER XVI The next morning, William left Byron to return to his studies. He tried to get a chance to speak to Ruth alone before leaving, but she steadfastly avoided him and greatly disappointed, he left to catch his train. He had lost considerable time; but it would mean nothing. Studies had never even been an effort to his alert brain, and before the week was over, he had caught up with his classes, and was again spend- ing his leisure time over at Daddy Jenks' with Ethel. For long hours she would sit beside the bed and watch him as he lay stretched full length upon it, his eyes closed, one arm thrown carelessly above his head, letting her fingers linger for a moment upon his face as they glided on through his soft curly hair. As she waited for him to open his eyes or in some way respond to her caresses, she loved him with all the love of her starved warped soul. William stirred uneasily and pushing her hand aside, sat up on the side of the bed. “Whut's de matter, William, did Ah wake you up?” Ethel asked softly. “No.” “Are you angry wid me, honey?” “No.” “Well den, Ah got something Ah wants to talk to yuh 'bout,” she persisted, sitting on the side of the bed beside him. “Ah been thinkin' long time, Wil- liam, dis ain't no place for you. Why don't you AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD 171 come on up north wid me whar you kin 'mount to somethin' some day. You kain't ever be nothin' heah. You may finish school an' become uh stomp knockin' preacher, but dat ain't no good for you when you could do so much better.” “I’m not leaving Georgia, Ethel, now or no time ! I belong here, and I'm gonna stay here. I guess you think because I hangs out 'round you, I ain't never gonna be no good. Well, I'll show you, I'll stay away!” William retorted sharply and dashed an- grily from the room. Ethel's harsh laughter followed him until he was out of hearing. Once again he swore he would keep away from Daddy Jenks' gang and Ethel. He loved Ruth mad- ly. Her clean, sweet beauty, fascinated him. With her as his wife he would be safe from himself, his weakness and passion; and able to make of him- self the great man his mother wanted him to be. He went straight to his room and was thankful that Sissy was out. For several hours he studied and read, and before getting into bed, knelt and prayed that God would give him strength to do the things he wanted to do. But getting rid of Ethel was no small task. She hung around his shop night and day, sometimes sober, but more often drunk and in an ugly mood. “Yuh think you kin ditch me jes' lak dat?” she said—snapping her finger under William's nose the next afternoon. “Ethel, I've got to study and I've got lots of re- sponsibility and can't be bothered,” William ex- plained. “Aw, yeah? Well, you gonna be worried uh 172 AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD hell'eva lot an' before Ah’m through, Ah won't be de only one botherin' yuh, neither,” she returned, rushing out of the shop. But William continued to stay away and she drank more and more, and tore things up in general. Jim had been in prison two weeks when William got sufficient courage to visit him. He hated the trip. The chain gang held a horror for him that made his visit a torture, but his mother had asked him to go, and he could not refuse. Jim had intended telling him what he had found in the Gordon dining room, the night of the rob- bery, and make him promise by holding the knowl- edge of his criminality over his head, to stop being a hypocrite and live right for their mother's sake, but the presence of the guards prevented him from doing so, and he treated William civil in their presence—not because he wanted to. It was almost time for him to leave when he said casually: “It sure is a shame the way Ruth is worry- ing, Jim.” “Whut's she worryin' 'bout more den usual?” “Well, she's young and realizes five years is a long time to be engaged.” “Did she say dat?” “No, she wouldn't say it for the world, but she thinks it, and she did say something like that to me when I was home last.” “Ah don't want 'er to wait five years for me, William. It jes' wouldn't be fair nohow.” “Well, don't be too hasty, Jim, in tellin' her that you don't. Mr. Gordon may come home, if he gets 174 AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD “Dear Ruth: Dis is jes' to tell yuh dat Ah ain't holdin' yuh to our engagement kaise five years is too long to ask you to wait. Jim.” “Shucks, Ruth, dat boy is crazy! Don't yuh pay dis no' 'tention,” Sara Lou said, drawing Ruth into her arms. “Ah don't know whut maked him write me lak dat, An' Sara,” Ruth sobbed. “He jes' scared he gointer have to stay in dat place five years sho' 'nough an’ dat's worryin' him,” Sara Lou consoled. “When we goes out dere, he goin'ter take dat all back.” “Ah don't know effen Ah’m goin' out dere, An' Sara, not rite uh way nohow. Ah knows Jim well 'nough to know he don't never joke. Ef'fen he say our engagement is broke, he means it, an’ Ah ain't gointer worry him 'bout it, kaise he got 'nough to worry 'bout as it is.” Ruth spent the rest of the afternoon wandering in the woods that surrounded the farm. For a long time she stood looking at her and Jim's hickory nut tree, where their hair had been buried years back. When she returned home she found William, who had come home as usual to spend Sunday, sitting with his mother. He had brought her a new book, and a box of candy for his mother to share with her. His witty jokes soon had them both laughing and in a measure feeling better than earlier in the after- noon when Jim's letter had so cruelly hurt her. William was diplomatic and took sides with Jim, excusing his action with the hopelessness of facing AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD 175 years in the terrible confinement of prison. After Ruth had gone to bed, he and his mother sat for a while talking. “Ah goin'ter bring dat boy to his senses when Ah goes out to dat prison,” she declared. “If I was you, Ma, I'd let them settle it them- selves. You know how stubborn Jim is. He might not like you interfering.” “Dat's rite, son,” Sara Lou agreed. “Ah won't say uh livin' word, less'n he mentions it hisseff.” William went to sleep that night relieved and pleased with the progress he had made in breaking up Jim's engagement. He was now removed as a rival, and with time and the many ways he would use to win Ruth, everything would be in his favor. He had feared more than anything else his mother's asking Jim why he had written that letter, and Jim, in turn, telling her and Ruth what he had said dur- ing his visit. AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD 177 money right now, Ah’m goin'ter scatter you all over de state uh Georgy,” Sugar Kid retorted angrily. “Not so fast !” Slippery spoke up, reaching for his gun that he kept in a drawer nearby, and walk- ing over to the door where Sugar Kid was standing, he continued: “You is one snake, Sugar Kid dat Ah's jes' dyin' to step on an' flatten out, so yuh better git out uh heah an' stay out 'fo' Ah does jes' dat!” Sugar Kid backed out of the door quickly, and walked across the street cursing the two of them roundly under his breath, his mind made up to get even with Slippery, if it was the last thing he ever did. “Ah guess dat's de last uh dat snake, askin' for dat thirty-five bucks,” Slippery laughed. “I don't know about that, Slippery. Sometimes I feels that I aught'er give him that money. It might cause lots of trouble yet,” William replied, thought- fully. “Aw you'se jes' uh tender, William. Ah knows how to handle dese darkies 'roun' heah. Dey don't scare me.” “’Course I'm in my rights. He insisted on me writing a note that I owed him the money and if I pay him without getting it back, he can produce it later and make me pay him again.” “Well, whut yuh worryin' 'bout den? Jes' forgit it !” Slippery advised. “Gee, whut's all de commotion over at Daddy Jenks'?” Slippery exclaimed a moment later, when a loud scream carried him to the door. A large crowd had congregated in front of Daddy's place and several policemen were struggling with someone as they dragged them towards the 178 AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD patrol wagons standing near the sidewalk. Wil- liam and Slippery looking on from their door, tried to make out who the struggling culprit was. Slip- pery no longer able to control his curiosity, crossed the street, returning in a short time with the news of the fracas. Ethel, who had gone on a drunken rampage, had been the unwilling struggling prisoner. Daddy Jenks had tried to keep her quiet and had almost succeeded when Sugar Kid came in and started raving about what he was going to do to William and she had broken loose again, and grabbing Daddy's ice pick, had gone for Sugar Kid. The police had to be called, finally, to keep her from committing murder. “Ef'fen dat gal ain't careful she goin'ter git runned out'uh dis town l She done been in court four Mondays hand running,” Slippery remarked. “She sure can raise Cain, all right. I don't see how she gets away with it,” William said, worried over the outcome of the trial, when mention of him might get him into an unpleasant situation. “Well, she stands in wid de deputy sheriff. Dat's how she gits way wid it. Ef'fen yuh don't know,” Slippery was glad to inform him, hoping it might keep him away from Ethel henceforth. But William ignored the remark and turned the subject to other things. Later that evening, he left the shop to catch a train home remarking laughingly to Slippery, as he went out of the door. “See you Monday. Be careful of Sugar Kid. Don't let him get the drop on you.” “Don’t worry. Ah been wantin' to bump dat AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD 179 bird off long time an eff'en he starts anythin’ dat'll jes' be my chance,” Slippery called cheerfully. Late customers started dropping in to get their clothes and Slippery had his hands too full to think further of Sugar Kid. Cotton Eye, among the last to call, was in a particularly talkative mood, when he flopped down on a box to wait while Slippery put the finishing touches to his one and only suit. “Gee boy,” he said between mouthfuls of peanuts, he crammed into his mouth from his overall pockets. “Dere sho is been some tall doin's 'roun' heah today. Dey tells me dat Ethel done gone to jail an’ dat Sugar Kid is raisin' hell over at Daddy Jenks.” “Whut's he raisin' hell 'bout?” Slippery asked. “Well, for one thing, he swears dat he goin'ter plug you full uh holes de fust time yuh steps foot in Daddy's place, an’ dat's got Daddy all hot an’ both- ered kaise he don't lak nobody startin' nothin' in his joint.” “Daddy needn't be kaise Ah ain't scared uh Sugar Kid. Ah’m goin' in de place any time Ah gits good an' ready. Ain't nothin' to dat bag uh wind no- how.” “All Ah gotta say, Slippery, is jes' watch yo' step !” “Ah kin take care'uh myself. Don't you worry.” “Ah ain't gonna, but Ah jes' hopes Ah be dere when de fun start. Ah wouldn't miss it for nothin’,” Cotton Eye grinned, handing Slippery the money for his suit. It was almost eleven o'clock when Slippery closed the shop for the night and walked slowly over to Daddy Jenks. A tremor of excitement passed over the crowd standing around when he entered the 182 AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD fore anyone could recover sufficiently to stop him, was gone. Pandemonium reigned. Men fought to get out and soon the club room was as clean as if no one had been there. Sugar Kid lay still upon the floor, Rilled by a single bullet from Slippery's gun. x -k sk William, just seventeen miles away from the trag- edy, slept peacefully through the night. He had set up late with his mother, who was almost over- come with the joy of having received a letter from Owen Gordon, who had just reached London, and found her letter awaiting him. “Jes' to think, Willyum, Mr. Gordon goin'ter be home soon, an' he goin'ter git my Jim right out'er dat chain gang,” she had said, her eyes filled with tears of joy. “Don’t get yo' hopes too high, Ma, cause after all, maybe Mr. Gordon won't be able to get Jim out, and maybe he won't want to nohow. After all, he's white, and he might believe like the other white folks, that Jim did steal his money,” William re- plied, avoiding his mother's happy face. “'Deed he ain't goin'ter think dat Jim did no stealin' an' 'nother thin', he ain't lak no other white folks. He's jes' Mr. Gordon lakhisseff an' de smartest lawyer dere ever was an' he laks Jim an' he goin'ter git him out, yuh'll see.” “I hope so,” William assented, bidding his mother good-night. Until after midnight he lay wondering whether Owen Gordon's home-coming would in any way affect his secret of the robbery, which he felt was safe between Slippery and himself. AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD 183 Ruth, who had gone to Ella's to help care for one of her boys, who had been taken suddenly very ill, returned early Sunday morning. The child was worse and Flla wanted Sara Lou to come and see what she could do for him. “Land sakes, why don't dey git uh doctor? Ah ain't no doctor!” Sara Lou grumbled, putting on her clean white Sunday apron to go to Ella. “You chillun jes' go on to church. Dinner's cooked an’ effen Ah don't git back by night, William you bring Ruth over to Ella's at’ter de night services.” “Ah may come over dere 'fo' dat An' Sara,” Ruth replied anxiously, as she did not like being left at home alone with William all day. Sara Lou was on her way happily trudging the distance between her and Ella's home, her thoughts on the end of her trouble being near. Snatches of happy songs burst from her lips every now and then. Between the prayers of thankfulness she mur- mured: “My boy gonna soon be home. I kno it Lawd.” Later William and Ruth, after attending morning services, stopped by to see Deacon Simmons, who had been sick for several weeks and then came home to have their dinner. “Lord, William, it jes' beats me how dese pore igno'ant folks 'roun' heah kin lay sick an' not git de doctor—jes' leavin' An' Salisbury stew up roots for dem an' makin' 'em think dey's conjured,” Ruth remarked, as they cleared the table. “Yes, Ruth, it is a shame. You know sometimes I get so tired of this place, I can hardly stand it. I'd like to go up north some place where things are different and our people gets somewhere. Wouldn't AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD, 185 if it was love that made her feel so sorry for him. She didn't want to promise him anything but when he rose and sat beside her and gently drew her to his lap, she did not resist but lay pensively in his arms. As he covered her face with kisses she felt dizzy and weak and afraid to stand, fearing her limbs would not support her. “Honey, you do love me,” he whispered close to her ear. Trying to release herself, she pleaded feebly. “Oh, Ah don't know, William. Ah want to think. Please let me go!” Gently assisting her to stand, he watched her as she staggered haltingly upstairs to her room, where she fell upon her knees before her bed, trying to close her eyes and shut out the memory of his face but she could not. She could still hear his soft pleading voice whispering in her ears. She did like the way he took her into his arms. His passionate kisses still smarted her lips. A thrill crept delicious- ly over her body, as she remembered the way he held her close. Suddenly her thoughts frightened her. She was just a wicked sinner and out of wickedness could come nothing but sorrow and disgrace. Clasping her hands she prayed for guidance, tears flowing down her cheeks, as she silently rocked herself back and forth in agony and repentance. 186 AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD CHAPTER XVIII William walked back and forth in the room down- stairs, where Ruth had left him. In the grip of alternating hope and despair, his passionate love for Ruth and the desire to have her for his wife so filled his mind, he did not hear the light taps on the back door until they were repeated several times. Mechanically he passed through the short hall, opened the back door and started as if he had seen a ghost, as Slippery ducked quietly by him into the room and sank into the nearest chair. “What on earth are you doing here?” William whispered, looking around the room as if expecting to see someone spring out from behind the furniture. “Keep yo' shirt on, bo, an' Ah'll tell yuh,” Slip- pery answered shortly. “Ah’m in trouble an' wants you to help me git 'way.” “What kind'er trouble—been raided for gam- bling?” “God. Ah wish it was jes' dat. No William, it's serious dis time. Ah killed Sugar Kid.” “My God, Slippery, that's awful!” William ex- claimed paling. “Yuh tellin' me? But Ah’ll git out uh dis. Ah been in tighter places den dis an' got out,” Slippery bragged. “But spose the marshall sees you coming out'er my house? Don't you see what a mess you'll get me in?” William asked, taking a cautious peep from the half-opened door. AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD 187 “Dat's all you ever think of—yo’ own yaller skin. Ain't Ah in uh worse mess an' whose de cause uh it all? You, if yuh ask me—helpin' you out. Dat's what got me in dis spot and yuh know it. Wasn't for you, Sugar Kid wouldn't uh picked on me,” Slip- pery rattled off, for the first time in his life angry with William. “How come you to kill Sugar Kid is all I wants to know and it ain't no need'er you getting mad be- cause I'm worried 'bout the outcome,” William re- plied, frightened at the attitude Slippery had taken. “He picked uh fuss wid me in uh crap game. Ah begged him to keep way but he comed on an' Ah saw uh razor drop from his sleeve. He put de crooked dice in jes' to git uh chance to cut me. Ah didn't want to shoot him. Ah swear Ah didn't but Ah had to. Ah jes' had to. It was his life or mine. You know why he was mad wid me? 'Twas 'bout dat money you owed him an' Ah had to shoot.” Slip- pery whimpered on and on almost breaking under the strain of fear. “Well, it's done and here's all the money I've got,” William interrupted, handing him a small roll of bills and assisting him to his feet. “Suppose they catch you, Slippery?” he asked when they reached the door. “Effen dey do, put dis down in yo' little red book. Ah won't bring you into it even if dey string me. Ah swear it, William. Heah,” he added, as he stood in the doorway, handing William the note he had stolen from Sugar Kid's pocket. “When did you get this?” William asked, looking hard at the crumbled piece of paper. “Ah took it offen Sugar Kid sometime ago.” 188 AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD “Why didn't you tell me you had it, Slippery?” “Ah didn't want to, not den,” Slippery answered, slipping out the door and sliding around the house towards the back fence. William tore the note into small bits and turned to go back into the parlor but drew back. Ruth was standing in the hall door. “You scared me Ruth. How long have you been there?” he asked. “Soon after Slippery came in,” she answered calmly. “Then you heard?” “Yes every word Slippery and you said. Ah didn't want to eavesdrop yuh'all but Ah jes' couldn't help it, William,” she answered wearily. “Poor fellow, he's in trouble, Ruth.” “Yes, because of something you've done. He's uh murderer an' you'se jes' as bad.” “Why Ruth!” William started. “Keep still, William. You'se jes' uh mean, low hypocrite gittin' people into trouble. Dat's whut you is.” “Ruth, you don't know what you're sayin'.” “Aw yes, Ah do. Ah heard Slippery promise yuh not to tell on yuh, no matter whut happens. He must know something dat you'se scared stiff he'll tell. Ah see through you now William. Dat's why Ah was al’lers scared uh you an’ to think Ah almost made myself b'lieve Ah loved you,” Ruth cried al- most in tears. “But you do love me, Ruth. I'm not as bad as you think,” William pleaded, trying to take her hand. “Don’t yuh touch me, William Carter,” she screamed, shrinking from his touch. AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD 189 “I’m going to touch you,” William said slowly through clenched teeth. “I love you and I'm gonna make you love me and even if you don't, you'll be glad to marry me.” Ruth, frightened by the look she saw in his eyes, backed away, her hands before her face. William pulled her into his arms and pinning her hands behind her back, kissed her lips, her neck, her shoulders, pressing her to him in a close suffocating embrace, his breath coming in short quick gasps, as his hand slid over her throat and down the neck of her dress until they touched her round full breast, the touch of her warm flesh firing the passion of his body until he trembled violently from head to foot. His usual calm was gone. In its place a savage passion swept all else aside. Ruth, weak and exhausted, felt her strength failing her, as she fought to free herself. “William 1 Aunt Sara !” a loud voice called from the gate. William came to his senses with a start. His arms dropped to his side, as he straightened himself and ran his hand over his rumpled hair, trying to collect his scattered wits and finally stumbling to the door. He faced Kenneth Bailey, the marshall. “See you been sleep, William. Sorry to disturb yuh but has you seen dat fellow dat works in that shop in Macon with you, this afternoon?” the mar- shall greeted. “Why no, Mr. Bailey,” William answered slowly, almost afraid to hear the sound of his own voice. “Wal, he done killed 'er nigger in Macon an' I thought maybe seeing he worked for you dere, he AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD 191 “Thank you Ruth,” he stammered brokenly. Ruth turned to enter the house and at the door, turned and faced him leaning heavily against the wall. “Ah didn't lie to save yo' skin. Ah did it because of An' Sara. She loves an' trusts you. It's all she lives for. You're her wooden God an' Ah couldn't even to save my own life hurt her.” “But Ruth, I want to beg you to forgive me,” William pleaded, following her into the room. “Please forgive me. I wasn't myself this afternoon. I wants to be good. I swear I do but sometimes there's something inside'er me, I jes' can't control. I wants to be a Christian and do all the great things Ma expects of me but I don't know why. There's so many different parts of me. I can't understand myself. I swear I wish I was different.” Tears were running down his cheeks as he dropped into a chair and covered his face with his hands. She could not help a feeling of pity that filled her heart. “Ah’m going to church. Ah don't know whar from dere,” she said simply turning away to go up- stairs. “Now, I've lost you forever, Ruth. I can't go on livin' knowin' that. Before God I can't,” William's voice sounded so hopeless and desperate it fright- ened her, as she walked up the stairs. When she returned to the room a moment later, Marshall Bailey was again at the gate talking to William, who sat on the steps of the porch. As she came out, he was saying: “Yas siree. We caught that fellow slick as grease over dar by the school house. My man's AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD 195 Slippery was brought in. He wanted to satisfy himself once more by hearing it from Slippery's lips that he would not be involved. Monday afternoon he visited the jail and offered to get a lawyer for him but Slippery flatly refused to let him and went on trial a few days later un- defended, except for defense given him by the State. He flatly refused to tell anything of his former life, and at the start was handicapped. The State was bitterly arrayed against the stranger who came from God knows where, to commit a crime within its bounds. There were many witnesses to the crime, but none could swear Sugar Kid had a weapon. The razor found near his body went un- identified and could have belonged to any of the two dozen men who were in the room at the time. It did not take long for Slippery to be found guilty of manslaughter and the judge in sentencing him to twenty years in the chain gang, lectured him on how lucky he was not to have drawn a first degree murder sentence. Ethel Myers, who had been arrested for drunken- ness and disorderly conduct, fared better and was let off with a suspended sentence and ordered to leave town at once. - At one stroke William found himself rid of the two people he feared most and made up his mind henceforth to settle down to school and business and live a better life. For the rest of the term he made greater strides in his studies than ever. 198 AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD “Chillun,” she said, “we jes' gotta live closer to de Lawd den we'se been livin'. Ah jes' keeps uh prayin' dat my boy'll git out uh dat prison an' Ah’m sho God goin'ter answer my prayer in his own time.” “Well, An' Sara, wid faith lak youse, God jes' gotta heah yuh,” Sally Ann agreed. “An it'ud pay us all to have mo' faith den we'se got,” Martha Green said, casting a meaning look in Sally's direction. “Dere yuh go, Martha, sweepin’ fo' somebody else's door when de dirt is knee deep 'fo yo’ own,” Sally came back hotly. “Now den sisters, less don't have no cross words,” Sara Lou begged. “You sho is right, An' Sara,” Sadie Smith ap- proved, looking with disgust at the two women, who could never be together long without a battle of words. Ella Brown read the minutes of the last meeting and plans were discussed for the coming big camp meeting to be held at Calvary Church in which Sara Lou was again taking an active part. Long after the meeting was over and the women had gone home to attend to their many duties, Sara Lou sat alone thinking, wondering whether Owen Gordon's home- coming would really mean her boy's release from prison. He had been very good to her in the past years, sharing with her a secret she had never di- vulged to any other living soul. Through all the years of her life he had befriended her but after all, time and his trip might have changed him. At any rate, she made up her mind she would pray and hope and wait, and let the future take care of itself. AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD 199 CHAPTER XX All day Monday in Macon a steady downpour of misty rain had fallen. By afternoon the streets were covered with soft sticky mud. The air was close and murky. William had spent a restless night and felt ner- vous and doubtful of the outcome of his examina- tions that were to begin that day. Contrary to his usual custom, he was bewildered and confused on the very subjects that during the term he had been so sure of. The buzz of voices irritated him and kept his mind wandering from his books. He had tried to study at home but his mother's information about Owen Gordon's return had upset him. School would be closing soon, and if Jim really was par- doned and returned to the farm, all the humiliation he felt he had endured before, would be heaped upon him again. He longed to get away from it all to some place where he could live his life like he pleased and not with his mother's expectant eyes upon him. He didn't want to be a preacher any- way, he decided. Thoughts of Slippery in the same prison with Jim and Ruth's reproachful eyes kept annoying him. The teacher called his name several times before he realized he was again holding up the class, but at last the long April day was over. School was dismissed. He passed out of the room hardly see- ing the smiling faces around him. Their cheery goodbyes were answered with an absent grunt. 202 AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD how he kin put on airs when he gits ready,” Red Shirt commented, as he walked away. “Dat's de trouble. He ain't nuther one thing nor de other an' he's always 'twix' an' between in his mind. Jes' studyin' an' plannin' to 'stonish de world some day wid his learnin' an' sometime wantin' to give it all up an' jes' be nacherel. Dat's how he 'pears to me,” Snake declared with a shake of his bullet-shaped head. Cotton Eye looked up from the hand he was la- boriously trying to make win him a few pennies. He was proud of the fact that he was the only one of the boys that knew William's history and said: “It's dat boy's Ma dat keeps him all upsot wantin' him to be uh preacher an' him not wantin' to be kaise it jes' ain't in 'im but dat's de way wid de whole family. Dey allers wanted to be somethin' dey wasn't. Den at’ter dey all had done borned half white bastards, dey'd marry some preacher man an' put on mo' airs den de law allows. His grandma done it an' den his ma followed suit. Dey's uh mess.” “Who's dis man Gordon whut William's brother Jim is in de gang for robbin’?” Snake asked. “He’s de finest white man whut ever lived. He sho is done lots for An' Sara, William's Ma. "Course de folks says dat his son was William's Pa. Ah don't know nothin' 'bout dat but Ah does know he mighty good to her,” Cotton Eye explained. “Dere's somethin' funny 'bout de whole thing,” Snake remarked. Cotton Eye turned to look up and down at Snake, who was seated behind him before he replied: “You bet yo' life dere is. But don't yuh try to figure it AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD 2O7 use'ter be, dere wouldn't be much danger but she done grieved so inside an' ain't eat right in so long, he 'fraid it's serious. She's restin’ right now. He gived her something to keep her quiet.” But William was gone. He stood looking down on his mother, who in her delirium, tossed and called his name. All through the long night he sat motionless, moving only when some of the neighbors asked him to so that they could attend the sick WOman. Doctor Clarke had returned and found her worse, her fever rising rapidly, and held out scant hope to the distracted man who, as he sat and watched at his mother's bedside, blamed himself for her ill- ness. His lies and sins had brought about her ill- ness and might cause her death. Remorse ate at his heart. He had sent Jim away to prison—Jim, who slaved about the place, saving her steps and worry. A battle raged within him. A silent prayer trembled upon his lips, asking God to spare her life. Repentance filled his soul, as he pleaded with the Lord for a chance to right the wrong he had done. He felt sick and ashamed of the past. If she lived, he would tell her all and on his knees beg forgiveness—he promised himself. Quietly he slipped from the room just after midnight, and wandered into the dark, silent woods beyond the farm. Driven relentlessly on and on by the tumult of black despair that engulfed his wretched soul. Early the next morning Ella's husband, Jerimah and the minister found him on his knees, his body bent double until his head rested upon the damp ground, moaning and praying, as tears streamed 208 AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD down his cheeks. They lifted him to his feet and led him back to the house, up to his room, where he lay all morning. The soft voices of the church aid sisters' songs finally brought soothing sleep to his tortured brain. AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD 209 CHAPTER XXI Six months of long, hard, drab days of toil in sun and rain passed slowly for Jim, shut away from the things he had always loved. May, the most beautiful month of the year, brought little cheer to the boy, who had lived the happy-go-lucky outdoor life of the farm. Watching flowers, birds and green things grow and breathing in the fresh fragrant air of the flat fertile fields had been his very life. Came times when he felt he could not endure another day, the torture of the close smelly prison, the grumbling, grouchy com- panions that surrounded him, but each morning found him in his usual place ready to start another day of work and struggle. Slippery's incarceration had not surprised him. He wondered how he had escaped as long as he had. He had never liked Slippery and had resented his visits to his home, and the thought of having to work day by day beside the man he felt sure was the cause of his imprisonment, maddened him. Not that he altogether blamed Slippery. William had taken him in, sick and penniless, for just the pur- pose he had later used him for. As day after day they worked along the road, a feeling of pity filled his heart for the man, who was dying with consumption. Sometimes he was hardly able to move from place to place, but was driven on by the guards who disliked his stubborn, sullen ways. 210 AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD Jim tried to ease over to him and help in some way to lighten his work but the guard checked him and sent him to the further side of the road. “Hey, you lazy red nigger, get to work and quit stalling,” Jim heard the guard call to Slippery as he moved away. Looking back, he saw Slippery knocked to the ground. “Now Carter, you kin get him 'way from heah,” the guard called. A half hour later, Slippery opened his eyes. Jim was kneeling beside him, bathing his head. He looked up stunned. “How's yuh feelin' now, Slippery?" Jim asked kindly, “Ah’m awrite,” he answered gruffly turning his head away. That night Jim lay awake thinking of the day of horror that had just passed. It made his blood boil to think anyone could so cruelly strike a dying man. He was puzzled as to why Slippery had taken the attitude he had towards him. He seemed friendly with all the other prisoners, but he scarcely spoke to him and tried to avoid him at every turn. He fell asleep thinking of his mother and Ruth and dreamed that Slippery and William with long whips, one on each arm, were chasing him towards a deep ravine filled with long, wriggling snakes. He awoke, weak and perspiring. It was Sunday and many visitors would visit the prison. Almost everyone would have a relative or friend who would call except Slippery. No one dur- ing the few months he had been in prison had come to see him. William had made one joint visit to him and Jim—but that was all. Slippery did not AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD 211 seem to care, and as he often expressed himself, “Ah'se glad dere ain't nobody to come heah moanin' over me. Dey'd make me sick'er den Ah ez.” “But ain't you got no folks uh tall?” someone had asked. “None dat knows whar Ah is or would miss me if Ah was planted,” he answered with no trace of regret in his voice. Jim wondered as he glanced at him, lying on his bunk gasping for breath whether there had ever been anyone who had cared for him. The guard brought his reveries to an end. His visitors had arrived. He rose quickly and followed him to the room where they were waiting. He noted with a sinking heart that his mother was not with Ruth and the preacher, Reverend Hooper. “Ah’m sorry, Jim, but An' Sara ain't comin'. She ain't feelin' so well,” Ruth explained. “William done stayed home wid’er so de Rev. heah comed 'long wid me.” “Howdee Jim,” Reverend Hooper greeted cheer- ily. “Ah’m all right, Rev. It was mighty good 'er you to come out heah wid Ruth but Ah hopes Ma ain't serious,” he continued, turning to Ruth, who avoided his eyes as she answered. “No, she's jes' feelin' kind uh down, but Ah got good news for yuh, Jim. She done hearn from Mr. Gordon an' he'll be home soon an' goin'ter git you out uh heah.” “Dat's good news, sho 'nough. Effen he jes' don't b'lieve Ah stole dat money an' tried to steal his jewelry,” Jim remarked hopelessly. “You knows Mr. Gordon knows you bettah den 212 AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD dat an' he's de smartest lawyer dat ever was. An’ Sara says dat he kin git yuh right out,” Ruth replied earnestly. “Now ain't dat somethin' to be thankful for, Jim?” Reverend Hooper asked. “Yeah, it sho' is, but Ah ain't gointer git too thankful ontell it done happens,” Jim insisted. For the rest of the visit Ruth talked cheerfully about the farm and related the gossip of the settle- ment, careful to make no mention of William. Ella had a new baby girl, and one of the Jones' girls had gotten into trouble, and the man had refused to marry her. They laughed heartily, at the picture she vividly portrayed of the girl's father roaming around with his double barrel shot gun under his arm, looking for the guilty man to make him marry her. Sally Ann had married the Reverend Hanson, who pastored a church in a small village a few miles from Byron and had gone there to live, re- turning every few days to visit Martha Green and have their usual verbal battle. For the first time since his imprisonment Jim laughed and talked unrestrainedly, and enjoyed their visit which came to an end too soon. Ruth was gone before he realized it. He had had no op- portunity to ask her how she and William were get- ting along or if she had wanted to break off their engagement, as William had led him to think. William had always gotten what he wanted in the past, he thought bitterly, and there was no doubt he had succeeded in getting Ruth's consent to marry him. A short time later, as he sat on the side of his AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD 213 bunk thinking of the happy times he and Ruth had enjoyed at home, one of the guards called him to assist in moving Slippery, who had grown worse, to another part of the camp. After they had made him comfortable and Jim turned to go, Slippery stirred and opened his eyes. He asked in a voice scarcely louder than a whisper. “Will you pray for me, Jim?” “Effen Mr. Myers say Ah kin. Ah’ll do my best,” Jim replied, turning to the guard standing nearby. “Go uh head, Jim. Prayers ain't goin'ter hurt him nohow, Ah reckon,” the guard consented. And Jim, frightened and bewildered, knelt be- side the cot, and for the first time in his life, prayed aloud. The guard had walked to the other side of the room, and stood waiting to take Jim back to his side of the prison. As he started to rise, Slip- pery touched his arm and Jim leaned closer to hear what he wanted to say. “Ah’m goin'ter git you out 'uh heah, Jim. Me an' William done dat stealin' an’ Ah’m goin'ter tell 'um so,” he whispered. “For God's sake, don't do it, Slippery. It'ud kill Ma. Promise me yuh won't never tell,” Jim pleaded, glancing fugitively to where the guard stood looking out of the window. Slippery looked up at him unable to understand his wanting to turn down a chance of getting out of prison. Slowly, with great effort, he tried to raise himself. He would call the guard and tell him any- way. He opened his mouth to speak, but a long stream of blood gushed forth. He fell back, weak and exhausted. 214 AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD Jim was hustled quickly back to his place, and through the long night he lay awake, his heart filled with the fear of Slippery's reviving and telling the guard the story of his brother's guilt—the revela- tion of which would bring new sorrow to his mother. >k xk # Sara Lou was again able to come downstairs and watch Luke work in the field, planting and caring for the farm, but for two weeks she had hung be- tween life and death. William, his ambitions and struggles forgotten, had scarcely left her bedside, turning over in his mind plans of the many ways he intended telling her the sins he had committed, which had brought sorrow to their home and beg- ging her forgiveness so that he could start all over with a clear conscience to live a better life. As days went by, he put it off until she was entirely recovered. Sara Lou's thoughts were as usual for his wel- fare. “Lawd, William, yuh ain't goin'ter finish school dis year effen yuh don't git back to Macon,” she moaned. “I ain't worryin' 'bout school, Ma, long as you needs me,” he assured her, patting her shoulder tenderly. Several days later he left for Macon, determined when he next visited home, he would without hesi- tation tell her everything. During the few weeks before commencement, he worked hard, and seldom went near Daddy Jenks' or saw the old gang. Each AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD 215 week, he received a letter from Ethel, but they went unanswered. He was through with all of that I She was out of his life forever, he told himself. But in that particular, he was mistaken, for Ethel's return to Chicago had been met with little enthusiasm from her brother, a lawyer and one of the city's most respected citizens. Ethel had dis- graced him in the past, and he did not try to hide his annoyance at her return to disgrace him again, and told her so in no gentle manner. For a while, the girl was on her guard and tried to do right but years of wild living and her love for liquor soon drew her back to her old South side haunts and be- fore a month had passed, she was in jail again. Her brother paid her fine and demanded that she leave Chicago but Ethel, older and wiser, made her de- mands also that he send her money each week, if he wanted her to stay away from Chicago. In the end, he agreed and Ethel boarded a train for Atlanta deciding that after all, her trip had done some good. William had not written her, but she was determined that being in Atlanta where he would be attending school during the next winter, she would make him renew his friendship with her. On reaching Atlanta, she wrote him again, but receiving no answer from her letter, she became blue and disappointed, and went on one of her pro- longed sprees, laying for days in a drunken stupor. A thought formed in her mind. It would be good to steal into Macon and demand a show down with him, and she boarded a train immediately for Macon. Daddy Jenks, who was again running his place 218 AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD sinking heart that perhaps after all, he had decided to prolong his stay abroad. On occasions when she passed his plantation, the sight of its dilapidated condition made her heart sick. The house had been nailed up, but grass and weeds over-ran the place. “Po' Mr. Gordon,” she would mumble. “He sot so much store by his orchard. Now look at it— weeds an' eve'ythin' jes' chokin' dem trees.” Tears would burn her eyes, as she remembered how her husband, John, and later her son, Jim, had worked so hard to make his the finest orchard around the country. “My Jim would’uh been heah now keepin’ dat place spick an’ span effen some low life skunkin' thief didn't git 'im in prison.” Trudging on, the many kind deeds Owen Gordon had done for her family and herself would fill her mind, and her confidence thus restored in his help- ing Jim to freedom, would make her happy and content to wait. She had wanted to visit Jim, but her illness had left her weak and emaciated. She did not want him to see her that way as she felt sure it would worry and upset him. Ruth's trips to the prison always brought her the news of Jim's cheerfulness, and with that she had to be content. William had accompanied Ruth on her last visit there and had returned home silent and morose. His mother wondered what had happened to worry him, but William had told her nothing. He had long ago made up his mind that his confessing to her the many slips he had made, during his two years in Macon could not do any good, and would only worry her. The information he re- AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD 219 ceived at the prison concerning Slippery's condition frightened him. For days the sick man had laid in a coma, but if at any time he revived, William felt sure he would tell the truth about the robbery and he would be made to suffer for his deed after all. He fervently prayed that Slippery would die before regaining consciousness and trembled every time he saw Marshall Bailey approaching the house. His mother noticed his agitation, but said nothing, trying in every way to dispell whatever there was worrying him with thoughtful kindness, which like coals of fire, burned into his soul. 220 AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD CHAPTER XXII It was a beautiful morning early in June when Owen Gordon stepped from the pullman car to the station platform in Macon. Macon had not changed much during the year he had spent abroad. After all, it was good to be home again. He removed his light felt hat and ran his hand slowly over his fast, thinning gray hair that had once been a luxuriant dark brown. His face round and smooth, showed little signs of his sixty odd years. An anxious porter ran forward to assist him with his bags. Yes, it was the same old darky, who had carried his bags when he went away. With a merry twinkle in his eyes he pressed a dollar bill into his wrinkled black hand. Old Sam nearly dropped the bags when he saw the bill and looking up to see who the liberal white man was, who could afford to give him a whole dollar, he recognized Owen Gordon. “Lawdy mussy, if it ain't Mr. Gordon hisseffl” he exclaimed. “Ah sho is glad to see yuh, boss.” “Glad to see me or the bill, Sam P” “No, suh ! Ah's dat glad to see yuh–ah 'clare Ah is.” “All right, Sam. See how quickly you can get me a taxi then,” Gordon smiled. “Yess suh. Thank yuh, suh. Ah gits one 'fo yuh kin say scat,” Sam replied, gesticulating wildly to a passing taxi. AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD 221 Owen Gordon leaned back meditatively, as he rode to one of the Macon's prominent hotels. There was business he would have to attend to be- fore going out to Byron. The year he had spent in Europe passed pleas- antly through his mind. He had been sick and al- most hopeless during the few days he had spent in New York consulting specialists about the ailment that had worried him for years. They had advised a trip abroad and complete rest, and he had con- tinued his journey. His sojourn in London had lasted only long enough to attend to business, and to leave strict orders with his solicitors that no mail from the United States be forwarded to him. He wanted to be free to wander and rest. He smiled as he thought of the peaceful weeks spent in North- ern France followed by a month in Switzerland— happy weeks near the Alps, and the ideal spot he had finally found in Southern Italy, where the cli- mate and quiet peace had restored his health and peace of mind. He had spent the greater part of the year there, eating plain, wholesome food, dress- ing simply and spending most of his time out-of- doors. His physician had finally pronounced him cured, and he had taken the first boat home, glad to be back in the quiet of his Byron home, where his plans to live peacefully with Sara Lou to take care of his house and Jim Carter to look after his orchard, stretched before him pleasantly. On reaching London, Sara Lou's letter had given him quite a shock. There was no doubt in his mind of Jim's innocence and that he had been made the victim of some smart criminal. He made up his 222 AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD mind that Jim would at least get another chance to prove his innocence, as he would do all he could to have the guilty party brought to justice. At his hotel he unexpectedly ran into Richard Hayden, an old friend and associate. “Gordon, you're the very man I’ve been wanting to see. When did you get in town?” the lawyer asked in greeting. “Just arrived this morning, Hayden.” “I guess you've heard about the little affair out at your place?” “Yes, Sara Lou wrote me. Her boy's in prison.” “That's what I want to talk with you about, Owen. That boy got the rawest deal I’ve ever seen. I de- fended him and Judge Graham convicted him in his mind before a witness was heard. Why, the boy knows no more about that money being stolen than I do. I thought at first he was trying to shield some- body but I found out I was wrong. He's been rail- roaded to the chain gang simply because you left him in charge of your place when some of those Byron crackers thought they should have had the job.” Owen Gordon listened attentively to the lawyer's lcng explanation, his eyes studying the point of his shoes, but his mind drawing a mental picture of the trial that had sent Jim away for five years' hard labor. When he spoke, he had made up his mind as to what would be the best move to make under the circumstances. “Think I'll be calling on Graham day after to- morrow,” he said simply. Richard Hayden told him all the details of the trial adding his belief that the thief could be found 224 AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD place, but I'm gonna find out what you failed to find—who really robbed my safe.” “Go 'er head! Personally, I'm not interested. I ain't no nigger lover an' it don't matter to me what becomes of 'em.” Owen Gordon's eyes flashed angrily, as he turned to the Judge. “Now you listen to me, Graham, your father and I were partners. He died a real Southern gentle- man and out of respect for him, I'll take what you're insinuating, but don't you forget that I am every inch a white man, the same as you are, but unlike you, I want to see everybody get justice. Even if Jim was found in my house with my jewelry in his pocket, the money taken from my safe he had put there, and had he wanted to, he could have kept it. He knew that, and as for that old jewelry, he had had every opportunity to take it for the past four years, had he wanted to. I’ve owned more niggers than anyone else around here, but I’ve never been accused of being unjust to 'em or of loving 'em either.” “I’m sorry, Gordon. Maybe I have been too hasty in my words,” the Judge apologized. Memories of indiscretions of his own youth which had somehow never been discovered, passed through his mind and shamed his declarations of hatred of negroes. They parted good friends and he decided that although he would do nothing to help him get Jim pardoned, he would do nothing to hinder it. A few days later when Gordon again conferred with Hayden he was surprised to find how closely the lawyer had checked up on William's activities right after the robbery. AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD 225 “You don't suspect William, do you Hayden?” he asked looking at him quickly, a startled ex- pression in his eyes. Something in his voice brought back to the law- yer's mind bits of gossip he had heard concerning Gordon's son Franklyn at William's birth. He answered cautiously. “Well no, but a nigger called Slippery that worked around his shop, has since been sent up for murder and I’ve been checking up on his movements. The night of the robbery he could have easily slipped out to Byron from Spring Valley between the time he was seen in a game there, and returned.” “Maybe you're right, but who is he in the mean- time?” “An all around bad character. He visited the Carter home several times, and I’ve got a fellow over at the shop now trying to find out something about his past.” “Who’ve you got there?” “They call him Cotton Eye.” “Yes, I know him. He's a slick thief—will steal anything he can lay hands on, was born and raised in Byron. Have him here tomorrow morning and we'll question him,” Gordon said in parting. Early the next morning a frightened Cotton Eye was ushered into the office where Owen Gordon and Hayden sat. “There ain't nothing against you this time, Cotton Eye. Mr. Hayden and I want some information about this fellow Slippery,” Gordon greeted to put him at ease. “Ah ain't found out nothin' 'bout him 'ceptin’ dat he comed from Chicago an’ dat his fust name is 226 AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD Jessie. A gal named Ethel Myers done tole me dat,” Cotton Eye answered sheepishly. “That's good. I've got a friend in Chicago who's one of the best detectives in the country. I'll get him on the wire and in a few days we'll know all there is to know about this Slippery,” Gordon com- mented. “By the way, Cotton Eye, where is this Ethel Myers you spoke of, now?” Lawyer Hayden asked, turning to Cotton Eye, who was edging towards the door eager to get away, before Owen Gordon re- membered. His last encounter with him had been in court where he was being tried for stealing one of his best hogs. “She puttin' up at Daddy Jenks' when she heah,” he answered hastily. “You can go now, Cotton Eye. Keep your eyes open and if you find out anything else, let Hayden or I know,” Gordon said dismissing him and press- ing a five dollar bill into his hand. He pocketed the bill and backed, grinning, out of the door. Their call to Chicago brought plenty of informa- tion concerning Slippery's checkered past and Law- yer Hayden and Owen Gordon pinned their hope of getting Jim out of prison on Slippery's forced confession, if he really did do the robbery. A few days later with the information in their briefcases, they visited the chain gang for an inter- view with their suspect. But on arrival, to their disappointment, they found they were a day too late. Slippery had died during the night without making a statement of any kind that would in any way help their case. AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD 227 CHAPTER xxIII Although Owen Gordon and Lawyer Hayden tried in every way to get Jim's case before the Board of Pardons during the next few months, it was never brought up, and Jim, always a model prisoner, re- signed himself to serve his alloted time. Sara Lou aged rapidly when the realization that Owen Gordon, the best and smartest man on earth to her mind, was powerless before the merciless men who held Jim's freedom in their hands. William finished school that winter and came home happily displaying his diploma. Sara Lou was happy and to add to her good fortune, Owen Gordon finally got the board to consider Jim's case. She would not allow herself to hope too much for fear of again being disappointed but went about her work with a constant prayer on her lips for Jim's eventual release. The Winter had been made miserable for Ruth. William's constant pleas and protestations of love had worried the tenderhearted girl. Sara Lou had also unwittingly added to her di- lemna as afternoons when they sat sewing, she too had added her plea for William. “Yuh know, Ruth,” she had said one evening, “Ah ain't never said nuthin' to you, 'bout my boys seein’ dey both loves yuh and Ah loves yuh too, but Ah kind uh scared for my William goin' to dat Atlanta. If he'd up an' marry de wrong kind uh woman it 'ud ruin his life kaise he allers is been kind 228 AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD uh restless an' it'ud break my heart. You is de only purson dat kin save him kaise wid you for his wife, he'ud be settled an' happy.” Ruth had made no answer. Sara Lou's tired eyes filled with tears had touched her heart as William's pleas had never done. She loved her and could not bear the thought of the sorrow that would come into her life if William disappointed her. That evening she had slipped away to sit under her hickory nut tree and prayed for strength to do the right thing, but as the weeks wore on, her re- sistance had become weaker until finally to please and comfort his mother, she had promised to marry William before he entered college. And now with the knowledge of Jim, perhaps be- ing pardoned, and at home again; she wondered how she would ever be able to face him now that she was engaged to William. But none of their problems worried William. His first scare of Owen Gordon's finding out he had his safe robbed over, he had become his old confi- dent self, had learned much about farming, even taking over Jim's work in the Gordon Orchard, be- coming very friendly with—Owen Gordon whom he had always thought disliked him. There had been times when his restless nature had cried out against the monotony of the dull drab life of the farm and times when he had longed for the soft, sensual caresses Ethel had lavished so freely. But he had fought hard against his passions and prayed for strength to overcome them, spending most of his time in church. He had become a senior Deacon, and in the pastor's absence, conducted the services. It was a late afternoon in June. Sara Lou wiped 230 AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD husband. Dat was An' Salisbury's mojo” dat you used on him,” Martha laughed. “Ah ain't used no mojo but whut God gine me. It's too bad you don't try usin' some to git Slack Henderson dat's been hangin' 'roun' yuh for de lass six years,” Sally hinted. Aunt Salisbury's overtaking them, ended what would have been a heated argument and the con- versation turned to other things, for they all feared Aunt Salisbury whose charms were supposed to make snakes and lizards crawl about under the skin of her victims often causing their death. Ruth still loved Jim and realized it would be diffi- cult for her to face him. She was unhappy as the days passed, watching Sara Lou working around the house preparing little things for Jim's return. She realized her only escape from the situation she found herself facing would be to run away. Mrs. Carmicheil had asked her to go with the family to Valdosta. She would go. It would only be for a few months, but it would afford her time to think clearly away from the overwhelming influence of William's love-making. But trouble was brewing for William from an- other source. Ethel, who had seen him seldom since his graduation, had not given up hopes of having him again as her lover. She was now living in At- lanta and had managed trips to Macon where he had at times joined her for a few days. It was on one of these trips he told her of his approaching marriage and firmly dismissed her from his life, but it was not her idea to let it remain so. She wrote him again and again, begging him to come to Macon, 232 AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD to them, making it hard to realize that Ethel, who stood looking down upon him, was not an unpleasant dream. “Yeah, it's me in de flesh an' not uh ghost,” she said stepping back unsteadily. “What're you doin' here, Ethel?” William asked realizing that she was drunk, and would be hard to handle in that condition. “Ah’m heah cause Ah’m fool 'nough to still love you and wanted to see you,” she answered shortly. “But I asked you never to come to my home,” William said angrily. “Ah know yuh did but ah ain't payin' dat no 'ten- tion,” Ethel laughed harshly. “Now that you're here, what do you want?” “Ah want you to go to Macon wid me.” “And I say I'm not going.” “Well, in dat case, Ah’ll stay rite heah an' meet you' Ma an’ dat country wench, you goin' ter marry an' tell 'em 'bout us an’ lots’uh other things yuh might not want 'em to hear.” “You can't scare me, Ethel, into doing anything I don't want to do. You should know that so get outer here this minute,” William retorted, ad- vancing threateningly towards her. Ethel threw her head back and laughed heartily, and when her laughter died, said coolly: “Ah ain't goin'ter budge uh God damn step less'en you go wid me, William, an' when Ah gits through tellin' yo' folks whut Ah knows 'bout you, dey'll drive you out lakuh dog—you damn gamblin', lying, cheatin', yaller bastard.” Her voice rose higher and higher as anger and AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD 233 whiskey swayed her emotions, frightening William to the extent that he would have done anything— even murder to get her away from his home. He decided there was nothing to do but go with her, if only a short distance from the house, and get rid of her and come back. Placing his hand on her arm, he said calmly: “There's no need'er carryin' on like that, Ethel. I'll go to Macon with you. Wait till I leave a note for Ma.” A few moments later, they were seated in the car speeding towards Macon. William seated in the back of the car, looked on in disgust as Ethel reached under the seat, drew out a pint of corn liquor, placed it to her lips, and took a big drink, leaning back crazily, passing the bottle to Kongo, who drank and grinned up at her. Then leaning low over the wheel, he let the car out to its limit— faster and faster they raced over the smoothed red clay road. The car swerving crazily from side to side, at times the wheels hung dangerously over the edge of the narrow road, threatening to topple over into the deep ditches dug on either sides. Once they miraculously missed colliding with a passing truck, and a few yards further missed by inches running over a low stone wall on a bridge built over a narrow stream. At each narrow escape, Ethel and Kongo laughed with glee, but William, seated in the back of the car With his eyes closed—to shut out the sight of his drunken companions and the nearness of death, breathed a prayer. His life of sin and selfishness Passed in vivid clearness through his mind; as they raced on through the gathering dusk. 234 AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD Once he cried out in desperation, “For God's sake, Ethel, don't let Kongo drive so fast!” And Ethel's voice came back harsh and bitter above the noise of the motor. “Whut de hell difference does it make? I'm bound to go to hell anyhow some day so why keep de devil waitin’?” William remained quiet and bewildered, the rest of the journey—as the car with its three strange occupants shot like a streak through the night. x + xk In the meanwhile, Sara Lou and Ruth had walked in the opposite direction almost to Ella's house, when the older woman stopped and stood for a mo- ment thinking. “Whut is it, An' Sara?” Ruth asked, noting her troubled expression. “Ah don't know, Ruth, but Ah jes' feel lak turnin' 'roun' and goin' back. Jes' uh funny feelin' done run up an' down my spine lak dey say yuh feels when uh rabbit done jumped over yo' grave.” “Oh, tain't nothin' An' Sara. Jes' yo' nerves,” Ruth assured her. “All de same Ah’m goin' back. You jes' keep on to Ella's. Maybe me an' William'll come over dere later on to-night.” And Ruth watched her, as she turned and started back towards her home that she had just left. Then walking slowly she continued in the direction of Ella's home. Sara Lou gathered speed as soon as she was out of sight of Ruth and stumbled along as fast as her AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD 237 At the mention of William's name she appeared promptly in the doorway. “Whut he say, Jim?” she asked, a shade of anxiety in her voice. “Dat he been called away on business, dat's all,” Jim read. “Well, Ah feels better knowin' whar he is,” she said relieved. The table soon resembled a feast. “Dis heah is my Sunday dinner but you kin eat it all an’ Ah'll cook more if yuh wants to,” she laughed, seating herself opposite Jim who ate spar- ingly while she talked on and on about William, Ruth and the new preacher; how the members had begun to fight him and wanted him sent away be- cause he had not been able to get his wife to move to Byron. Everything she could think of she re- lated. “Lawd, Ah jes' bout talk yuh to death, Jim,” she laughed. “Ah enjoys jes' hearin' yo' voice, Ma,” Jim re- plied, a little tremble in his voice. He lowered his head over his plate to keep her from seeing the tears that sprang quickly to his eyes. “Yeah, but you jes' wait ontell de neighbors heahs youse home, den dey goin'ter rush over heah an' 'tween Sally Ann Peck whut done married dat Rev- erend Hansom an' Martha Green an' An' Salisbury an' Ella an’ de rest uh dem, dey goin'ter talk yo' head off.” The evening passed pleasantly. Ruth did not re- turn from Ella's because a storm came up suddenly, and continued furiously until after midnight. Jim and his mother planned the work to be done around 238 AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD the farm, and chatted happily, glad the rain had kept their neighbors away. Jim wanted to be alone with her, his first night home, but much of the hap- piness he had enjoyed was spoiled for him by his mother unknowingly when she said earnestly just before they retired: “Jim, dere's one thing Ah wants to ask yuh to do for me an' dat is try an' have uh little more pa- tience wid yo' brother Willyum. He's been kind'er restless heah uh late, an’ Ah don't want him to up an' leave home lak Ah scared he'll do, if you'all gits to auguin’ lak you did 'fo you went uh way. Will yuh promise me you'll try, Jim?” Jim turned his head aside. Fear and anger burned in his eyes which he would not for the world have had her see. William had sent him to prison. He had suffered two long years and now his mother was asking him to kiss the hand that had betrayed him. It hurt and crushed him, but he murmured his promise. “An' Jim, dere's something else, Ah want to talk to you 'bout. It's Ruth. She done promised to marry William. That goin'ter be de best thing dat could ever happen, kaise William loves her an' she kin make him happy an' contented. 'Course Ah knows you thought dat you loved Ruth when yuh'all was chillun, but you done tole her in dat letter dat you changed yo' mind 'bout marrying her so now dat her an' William goin'ter git married, you ain't go- in'ter do anything to make dem feel bad, is yuh son?” she pleaded, laying her hand affectionately on his arm. Jim shook his head in the negative, not even 240 AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD CHAPTER XXIV When William reached Macon in spite of Ethel's entreaties that he accompany her up to her room, he went straight out to his cousin Sissy's home and to his old room. Sissy, surprised and worried over his unexpected visit and the strange strained ex- pression on his face, tried to find out what had hap- pened to cause his sudden appearance. “Is anythin' happened to Cousin Sara?” she asked, as William threw himself across the rickety iron bed in a corner of the room. “No, Ma's all right,” William answered wearily. “Is Jim done comed home? Ah heard he was to git out dis week.” “He hadn't come home when Ah left, Sissy.” “Well Ah guess Ah’ll be on my way. Ah'se goin' to some kind uh shinding wid my new man. Ah sho hopes he's uh good spender caise ain't nothin' makes me as mad as uh cheap skate hangin' round showin' off.” Sissy looked at William expectantly as she talked, but for once the mention of a new man brought no kidding smile to his lips. Wrapping her snuff box in her handkerchief and shoving it into her pocket, she shook her head doubtfully as she closed the door and stood for a moment thinking. “Dere's somethin' done happened to dat boy,” she decided walking slowly away from the house. Left alone, William lay for several hours looking AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD 241 up into the rotten rafters that held the leaky roof in place, his thoughts a tumult of jumbled memories. His wild ride from Byron to Macon with two drunken companions, his nearness to death and dis- aster, and association with the sordid creature, who would in time complete the wreck he was making of his life, frightened and awakened him. He saw himself as he had never seen himself before, selfish, weak, mercenary—a thief. The thought sickened him. The spoils of his crime had done him no good, but had sent his brother to prison branded for life. A dry choking sob rose in his throat. What had Jim ever done to deserve the sin he had committed against him, he asked himself. Why had he hated him so unjustly. In his heart he could find no answer. He was just rotten, unworthy of pity or the confidence his mother had in him. Slowly he slipped to his knees, sobs shaking his shoulders, a torrent of tears smarting and blinding his eyes as a prayer for forgiveness tumbled from his lips. Throughout the long Spring night he prayed stripping his soul in humble repentance, putting from him all the excuses he had used in life to cover his Sins. It was almost dawn when he arose and stumbled from the house. The sight of the squalor of dirty streets and slovenly kept houses as he stumbled along, reminded him of his own life. Something within him rose in rebellion. Why should he remain shackled to the past? He would get away from it all, and prove the truth of his mother's often re- peated remark. - “Son, yuh done comed from good stock, yuh jes' 242 AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD different from dese folks round heah an' yuh kaint help showin' it.” He would show it—he would get away from everyone he had ever known and work out his own future without even the help of his worshipping mother. The sun rose hot and glaring. He did not feel it as he trudged wearily on. His throat became dry and parched but he did not slacken his pace until he reached the dense woodland beyond the city limits where he sank to the grass under a tall leafy tree. Afternoon faded into twilight, and darkness with it's relieving coolness ushered in the night as plan after plan passed through his troubled brain. It was near midnight when he retraced his steps towards the city, but his mind was made up, and a new peace filled his soul. Early Monday morning he wrote Ruth a long letter expressing his regrets of not being able to see her before she left for Valdosta. One phrase he had written in his letter puzzled her. “It will be a long time before you see me again and when you do, it will not be the William you have always known.” She could find no meaning for his words, it sounded so different from the self-confident boast- ing William she knew. Of one thing she was glad —he had not asked her to answer his letter so she need not worry about hurting him, as she knew she would some day when she told him definitely she could not keep her promise to marry him. On his way to mail Ruth's letter, he met a farmer from Byron who told him of Jim's being home. He was glad and thanked God in his heart for settling 244 AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD work.” he countered, “and furthermore you got a bad cough now dat ought'er be tended to.” “Yes, I am, Daddy, and I wants to. I've just been lazy, that's all,” William replied with con- viction. “But maybe yuh could git something lak store work whlut ain't so hard, Willyum.” “No, Daddy, I don't want no easy job. I wants to sweat, and work so hard, I won't have time to think,” William replied earnestly. Daddy was puzzled. It just did not sound like William. What had come over the boy, he won- dered, trying to find an answer in the strange hard face before him. “Ah don't know 'bout nothing right round heah. Ah'se got uh brother whut works at uh saw mill down in Florida, but dat's hard work an' uh long way from heah,” he ventured after a moment's thought. “I don't care how hard it is, or how far. It's the only thing that'll make a real man of me, Daddy.” “Well Ah can't help sayin' Ah lak yo' spunk. Ah allers thought it was in yuh, boy, an' effen you sho' you means whut youse sayin', Ah’ll give yuh uh letter to my brother an' if you ain't got nough money, Ah’ll stake yuh. De mill's fifteen miles fuhm Jacksonville, jes' uh flag station but you kin git dere awrite. It's called Johnson's. Ah ust'uh go out dere to meet pay days an’ dere's lots uh money in circulation out dere awrite.” “Thanks Daddy, I'll get there all right and I'll send you back your money as soon as I get started,” William replied, a relieved look in his eyes. “There's just one thing more I want to ask you, AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD 247 round heah a nickname. Ah guess de boys'll jes' bout call you yaller,” B.B. laughed. “Dese other boys heah,” he indicated, taking in the group, “is Spider, Full Breaches, Tin Pan, Long John an' dis little fellow heah is Big Boy,” he laughed pointing to two hundred pounds of bronzed bulk. “I’m glad to know you all,” William acknowl- edged cordially, looking around the group. There was not the same open friendship in their eyes that B.B.'s held and William sensed he would have no easy time making these men like him. “Now 'bout work,” B.B. continued, walking towards his shanty, William falling in step beside him. “Ah guess yuh kin git uh job round heah, as we is short uh hands right now. Most uh de boys done gone down in South Florida to work at uh new saw mill down dere in Nocotee caize de wages is bettuh den dey is heah.” “Yeah,” Full Breaches put in. “De wages is bettuh an' de crackers is bigger an' bad’er,” the men laughed and William joined in heartily. “We'll see 'bout yuh gittin' on in de morning an’ yuh kin bunk wid me effen yuh wants to, yaller boy. Ah ain't married so we all kin batch together,” B.B. offered. “Thanks, I'll be glad to,” William replied. Later that evening he met Aunt Silby who cooked for B.B. and the rest of the unmarried men. “Ah see Ah got'uh take care uh dat cough you got,” she commented, as she bustled around getting the supper of collard green fat pork and corn pone on the table. William felt at home with B.B. and the kindly old woman, and spent his first night at the mill hap- 248 AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD pily dreaming of the good he could do among these people, who while they were not educated nor learned in the ways of the outside world, were honest and happy to do their job well. He won- dered whether he could find the same contentment they had found, and tried to feel that he was one of them. It would be hard to curb the old feeling of superiority he had always had but he was deter- mined to try. Wednesday morning B.B. took him to see the “Big Boss” as Lemuel Johnson was called by his negro mill hands. He was a big man standing al- most six feet tall, his ruddy face topped by a mass of red bushy hair and loud voice made him a force- ful figure, but he was known throughout the state for his fair treatment of employees. His keen blue eyes seemed to look right through William, as he remarked: “Well, you don't look like you'll make much of a millhand Carter, but I'm short so I'll give you a try.” It was settled and he was put to work piling lum- ber. It was hard work under blazing sun that burned through his rough work shirt into his tender skin, often there followed drenching rains that soon passed leaving him wet and sticky. But William sang with the other men and tried to forget his misery. “Ah got'uh gal, huh man, Ah loves my gal, huh man, Ah piles dis rail, huh man Throws it high, huh man Cause Ah loves my gal, huh man Till de day Ah die, huh man.” 250 AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD “Say yaller boy, how come you allers tries to get away to yo'seff when Ah comes round? Ah could sure go for you,” she coaxed. “Don’t mind me. I'm just not interested,” Wil- liam replied. “Well, it ain't no sense uh you workin' yo'seff to death in de mill. You jes' don't fit round heah. Ah could be mighty nice to yuh effen yuh'd come to Jacksonville an' let me,” she offered. William smilingly refused, but a few nights later he kept a rendezvous with her in the depths of the dark pine woods. He emerged feeling ashamed and disgusted. Later that night when B.B. came to the shanty from a game he found William stand- ing knee deep in a big wooden tub of hot water scrub- bing himself as if he wanted to tear the skin from his body. “Gee, Yaller, you sho is hankerin' for bein’ clean, washin' dis time uh night,” he laughed. William said nothing. He was sick at heart. After all his promises he had found himself weak and still a prey to the lust that had come near ruin- ing his life before. >k >k >k June passed, and July with its hot long days dragged slowly but came to an end eventually. Dur- ing the Spring and Summer he had written his mother regularly. He had received no letter from Ruth, but his mother had taken pains to mention her in every letter he received. She was still work- ing for the Carmicheils in Valdosta. Of Jim his mother said little but she was careful to tell him AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD 251 how glad Owen Gordon was that he was trying to earn his money for his schooling. He often won- dered why his mother had always been so desirous of his knowing Owen Gordon's interest in his wel- fare and related to him every opinion he offered. As August came in, William felt the long hot days harder to endure. He had saved most of his money each week and had long since sent Daddy Jenks the money he had lent him. He was glad the men around the mill seemed to have learned to like him better and had stopped teasing him as he sat reading while they played cards or dice nearby. The woman who had lured him into the woods had not returned to the mill the following pay day, and when he heard that she had gotten into trouble and was working out a sentence on the prison farm, he could not help feeling relieved, and thanked God fervently he had been saved from another affair such as he had had with Ethel. He became more reticent than ever and spent more time reading the bible. “Say whut yuh say fellows we make Yaller heah de preacher uh dis outfit P” Full Breaches suggested one night, as they played cards. “Dat's uh good idea, den when de old Reverend Coleman don't show up, we kin have church any- how,” B.B. agreed good-naturedly. From then on everybody around the mill called William, “Preacher” and on the Sundays the old minister did not show up, he carried on the Sunday school for the children and read and discussed the scripture later for the mothers and fathers. He would not let them call it preaching, but they con- sidered it better sermons than the Reverend Cole- 252 AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD man had ever preached, and William was happy— his only worry was the dry hacking cough that had held on through the Spring and Summer. September with its long rainy days had almost gone when Lemuel Johnson called William, who was piling lumber in long even stacks under the shed at the back of the mill. “Say you yaller nig . . .” he started when Wil- liam interrupted with: “I heard you the first time, boss,” turning his head to hide the angry flush that mounted to his forehead. “Well, I was gonna say I wants you to run this wench machine here. Mister Casper who's been running it, won't be round any more. I've been noticing you, you ain't any too strong and maybe you can handle this machine better'n you can them logs. Nothing to do but sit and pull handles. B.B. will show you how, course it's a white man's job, but I guess you'll do for a spell,” he finished, walk- ing away. He had seen the flush of anger on Wil- liam's face but somehow he liked him, and what he had heard of his sober habits, made him like him better. The new job was easier and paid fifty cents more a day and William was pleased. He had been work- ing at the mill four months and except for one occa- sion when he had gone to the city to buy new clothes, he had kept his promise to give up gambling. On that trip he had yielded to the temptation of trying his luck in a skin game in one of the places he and B.B. had visited, and after an hour's play, had found himself relieved of almost a month's pay. It had taught him a lesson he thought he had learned back in Macon and strengthened his determination 258 AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD On and on her soft pleading voice would break the stillness of the night. Pain would clutch Jim's heart and he would join in silently with his mother's prayer for William's return. During the Spring William's letters had come regularly and Sara Lou had been happy and proud of his independence in wanting to earn the money for his college course. Planting and helping Jim get the place running smoothly had taken much of her time. Ruth spent the entire summer working in Valdosta and she had all of the housework to do as well as work in the field and over at the Gordon house. There had not been even time for her usual care of the neigh- boring sick or the church aid but they had been happy months. Jim had fallen into his usual steady plodding from before sunrise to late at night. Owen Gordon's orchard and the garden that he insisted on planting, had taken a great deal of his time but he had gotten them all in shape and kept them going nicely. July had passed. The cotton had claimed much of his attention, but he had kept busy trying to for- get the terrible experience through which he had passed during his eighteen months in the chain gang, awaking some mornings afraid that he would find himself chained to his bunk. He had become more reticent than ever—thinking much and speaking only when he was compelled to. August with it's hot blistering days and swarms of flies and mosquitoes brought a new interest to the Settlement. The much-talked-of Swamp Angel was to hold the big mid-summer revival meeting at their own Calvary. Saint and sinner from far and 260 AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD the aisle. Sara Lou ran forward and caught him in her arms but he gently disentangled himself and started telling the congregation how his soul had been saved while in prison. On and on he talked be- tween the tears, walking up and down the aisle in his fervor. Men and women on all sides amened and shouted, as for almost an hour, the usual silent Jim swayed the congregation. Sara Lou's cup of happiness was filled. She shouted all the way home and neighbors rejoiced with her until the little village became fired with their religious zeal. The following Sunday she walked beside him as he was going to the River to be baptized. Some- how her thoughts kept going back to the Sunday when William had walked thus to the river. He had looked so tall and handsome and different from the others. Her heart ached for the sight of him, the touch of his hand, but she consoled herself with the thought of him some day walking at the head of his own converts, maybe a larger crowd than this. Through the months that followed William's let- ters became shorter and less regular but they con- tinued to cheer and encourage her. Then came October when they ceased entirely. She lived on each day with the hope that the next day would bring the letter she longed for. But day after day brought disappointment. Her shoulders began to sag, grief and despair showed in her eyes. Owen Gordon stopping by to leave some orders with Jim, one day, saw the many lines that furrowed her face, the purple shadows around her eyes and with pity guessed the cause. “When you hear from William, find out how AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD 261 much that school you're so set on him attending is going to cost, Sara. I guess I can let you have the money,” he said kindly, as he was leaving. “Dat'll be fine, Mr. Gordon. Ah sho thanks yuh an' Ah’ll be rite glad to tell him,” she replied grate- fully. But no letter came from William. Laggingly she helped with the cotton and trudged to the post office without results. Ruth, who now worked for and lived with Mrs. Carmicheil, who had come back to her home in Byron, visited her often but could not get up suffi- cient courage to talk to her about William, her heart was broken because Jim continued to avoid her. She longed to talk it over with him, and beg him to forgive her for seeming to accept William's love. One day, as she walked out to the hickory nut tree under which the strands of their hair were buried, she saw him hurrying away. She called him and when he did not answer, ran and overtook him. “Listen Jim,” she began anxiously, “Ah been tryin' to git uh chance to talk to you but you jes' keeps out 'uh my way. Why do you do dat?” “Jes' kaise yuh done promised to marry William,” he answered, walking on. “Ah ain't never goin'ter marry William. Ah loves you Jim 'fo' God Ah does,” she pleaded. “Yeah, maybe yuh thinks dat now dat William ain't heah but Ah ain't so sho,” he quickened his steps. “Ah ain't never loved William, Jim,” Ruth al- most sobbed. 262 AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD “How come yuh promised to marry him den?” Jim asked. “Ah ain't never promised to marry him. He jes' talked me into sayin' Ah guess Ah would. Please, Jim, don't think Ah ever loved William kaise Ah ain’t. Dere was times Ah b'lieved Ah hated him but he jes' kept pesterin' me and you had wrote me we wasn't engaged no more.” Jim walked a few paces ahead in silence as Ruth, trying to keep up with him, pleaded. “Less us make up Jim an' marry.” “Not till William comes back and tells me wid his own mouth you an' him is broke up,” Jim answered firmly. And Ruth realized it would do no good to argue with him further. Jim had always been stubborn and set in his ways. With the cotton all picked and ready to be ginned and sold, Jim had more time to himself and spent most of it in a manner Sara Lou had never known him to before. Several times she walked up on him hidden behind the barn, his bible across his knee, studying it laboriously. “Whut's yuh doin' readin' de bible so much uh late, son?” she smiled. “Oh nothin' Ma. Ah jes' lookin' up de sermon de Rev. preached lass Sunday,” closing the book. “You ain't thinkin' on bein’ uh preacher, is yuh, Jim P” she asked seriously. “Maybe Ma. Rite now since dey done made me uh deacon, Ah might be called on to say somethin' some time an' Ah laks to be shouh whut Ah says,” he answered. Sara Lou smiled happily. Jim's conversion had AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD 263 for years been her daily prayer. If William was only home or if he would only write and say he was all right, she would be very happy. But as October drew to a close and November passed slowly, her sorrow became almost desperation. Ruth now sel- dom came to see them. Mrs. Carmicheil was kind and had given her a nice room but there was lots of work which kept her busy. Sara Lou, her tall form becoming more bent each day, found a strange consolation in her daily visits to the post office, although she received no mail. Neighbors gossiped and tried to guess what had hap- pened to William but Sara Lou always on the alert to shield him, would explain: “Ah guess maybe my William done jes' gone to Atlanta and started in dat Atlanta Preaching school tryin' to 'sprise me wid de news when he's all straight an' everythin'.” Walking from her house they would discuss her excuse and shake their heads sadly over the deep silent sorrow that was eating at her vitals. Long nights in December dragged on with just herself and Jim, who was always reading now. Sit- ting alone—waiting—always waiting to hear some- thing from her beloved William. The approaching holiday season held no joy for her but she prayed unceasingly that they would bring her boy home, and lived on her faith. x x x Monday morning, Christmas eve dawned bright and clear with a crispy chill in the air that sent one's blood coursing delightfully through his veins. A 264 AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD holiday spirit filled the otherwise dull village of Byron with excitement. Early shoppers idled around the general store discussing the topics that interested them most. In the tree lined streets children shout- ing with happiness ran beside their parents, who dragged large green Christmas trees from the sur- rounding woods. At the little wooden railroad station the usual loafers lounged around, their jaws protruding with huge wads of tobacco. Long streams of brown spit spattered the tracks, as they diligently whit- tled slender wooden sticks and waited from force of habit, the incoming train. It's three short blasts were soon followed by a grinding stop. A single passenger alighted. No one recognized in the pale, stooped emaciated man, as he walked slowly down the three wooden steps to the street, the straight handsome William Carter they had all known. Early in December Daddy Jenks' brother had re- turned to the saw mill and been told about the stranger who had inquired for him, saying he had brought a letter from his brother. He had written at once to Daddy Jenks, telling him about William having been shot, and although he had recovered from the serious bullet wound, he was still in a Jack- sonville hospital seriously ill with tuberculosis, and no one knew who his people were nor from where he had come. Daddy Jenks had lost no time getting to Jackson- ville, and William had awakened from an after- noon nap one day to find him and Ethel standing at his bedside. He had felt happy and relieved when Daddy explained Ethel's presence with: “Ethel's AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD 265 my wife now, Carter. Ah couldn't git rid uh de pest so Ah ups an’ marries her.” Daddy had scolded him for not letting him know he was sick but William like most tubercular patients, had not considered his condition serious and expected to be able to go home any day soon. It had taken several weeks for him to get sufficient strength to make the trip, but Daddy and Ethel waited and brought him to Macon with them. But he had insisted on making the journey to Byron alone and Daddy had reluctantly let him have his way. During the seventeen miles' ride, he sat motion- less staring unseeingly at the fast moving scenery from the window. The months he had spent at the mill, the weeks he had suffered in the hospital not wanting to let his mother know because of the anguish the knowledge of his illness and accident would cause, the long, restless nights filled with thoughts of Ruth whom he realized he could never possess—passed through his mind in retrospect. Stumbling feebly through the short streets of the village, visions of his home with its green, cool, fer- tile fields stretched inviting arms to him. He would be well and strong here in no time, he told himself over and over. An automobile came swiftly towards him. He raised his head as it came abreast. Owen Gordon at the steering wheel saw him and stopped the car beside him, saying quietly: “Get in, William, I'll take you to Sara.” Jim, mending a broken place in the front porch, lay down his hammer and came quickly to the side of the car when it stopped at the gate. Owen Gor- 266 AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD don assisted him in getting William into the house, leaving as soon as he finished getting a bed ready for him in the parlor downstairs, with an abrupt: “I’ll send Doctor Clarke right out, Jim.” Alone again in his car, his hand hastily brushed a moisture very much like a tear, from the corner of his eyes. Sara Lou, who had been hastily summoned to the bedside of Aunt Salisbury whom old age was re- moving from her world of roots and herbs, had been mercifully spared the anguish of seeing Wil- liam brought home dying with tuberculosis and took it better than anyone imagined she would when she came home and found him there. Even Doctor Clarke, who told her in the kindest possible way that William would hardly live to see the New Year, was surprised that she did not break down entirely. But after her first uncontrollable burst of grief, her real characteristic ability of self control exerted itself as she, seated in her favorite rocker in the dining-room, swayed back and forth, moaning pitifully. “Ah done ask God to send him home to me an' he did. Ah ain't tell him how. Ah jes' sayd please send him home. Ah al’lers loved him with all my heart. Maybe too much kaise God is uh jealous God an' ain't wanted me to worship no other God but him. Maybe dat's why he takin' him from me kaise Ah worshipped him. Oh Lawd, have mercy on my pore boy. Save his soul if yuh kaint save his body, Lawd?” Prayers and tears mingled in a steady stream all day while the minister and church aid members grouped around trying to console the grief-stricken AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD 269 and caused him to break you'alls engagement but I loved you, Ruth, I still loves you. It's been the only real thing in my life. But Jim loves you too and you love him. I know it now and I want him to know it too. You two must marry and be happy, after I'm gone. Promise me you will.” He closed his eyes, exhausted. A coughing spell racked his frame. Jim hastily raised him in his arms and placed a glass of water to his lips. Ruth looked at Jim timidly, as he rose to place the glass on the stand. “Ah'll marry you, Jim if you still wants me,” she whispered. “’Course Ah wants you, Ruth,” he replied look- ing into her eyes, his heart beating suffocatingly. William's eyes were again open. He smiled up at them. A single word fell from his lips. “Brother.”—His eyes closed again. He lay still. Jim looking down on him, wondered why he should love him so much after all the wrongs he had heaped upon him. His heart seemed ready to burst with sorrow because he knew his brother would soon leave them forever. Their mother came softly into the room and kneel- ing beside the bed, buried her face in the covers at his side. Tenderly Jim knelt beside her and assured her that William had not left them but was just resting quietly. Outside the early dawn cast fitful shadows through the leafy boughs of the trees that grew near the house. Jim placed his arm around Ruth's waist, and led her over to the window to watch the sunrise painting the skies a rosy pink beyond the AUNT SARA'S WOODEN GOD 271 “Ah'm gonna lay down my burden, Down by de ribber side Down by de ribber side Down by de ribber side . . .” William's eyes closed slowly. His hand rested upon his mother's bowed head. She gathered him closer into her arms. His smiling lips became still and set, his body stiffened. Ruth and Jim kneeling on the other side of the bed, hid their faces in the COVers. Sara Lou leaned down and kissed his pallid lips and straightened his body upon the narrow bed. Then burying her face on his breast, sobbed wildly. Bravely the women sang on to the end of their Song. “Ah ain't gonna study war no more.” (THE END)