Scarlet Sister Mary (1928, Bobbs-Merrill Company)/Chapter 20
Maum Hannah was coming out of her door and, after closing it behind her, she hobbled painfully down the steps. Her clean white apron was starched stiff and her wide-brimmed, black sailor hat, which she wore only to church or on important occasions, was perched uncertainly on top of the fresh white bandanna that bound her head.
"Auntie is a faithful Christian in dis world. E sho is. We ought not to fret em if we can help it. Neither me, neither you."
"Ma is done too old to be all de time gwine round a-catchin chillen for people. E ought to let somebody else do em now." Ben sniffled and wiped his eyes and nose on his ragged coat sleeve.
Mary laughed. "Nobody ain' gwine have none now. Auntie is gwine to school to-day."
"School? Fo Gawd's sake, shut you mout', May-e. You talk too much crazy talk to be a grown 'oman. You know Ma ain' gwine to no school." Ben's short patience had given out, for he thought Mary was joking.
"I'm tellin you de Gawd's truth," Mary declared seriously. "Auntie is gwine to school. E ain' told you?" Mary could not help grinning in spite of the black frown on Ben's face. "You ain' heard about a new law de white folks is made?"
Ben had not heard, and Mary tried to explain to him that the new law said people must no longer birth children like they used to. The white folks had a new way to do it now, and Maum Hannah and all the plantation midwives had to go to the midwife class at Heaven's Gate Church for ten Monday mornings while a lady from up-north tried to make them understand all about the new style. "Great Gawd, ain' it de funniest ting you ever did hear?" Mary laughed so that the thick piece of wood she sat on suddenly slipped.
"Do Jedus," she cried out in alarm, "don' le me fall an' broke my leg to-day. I got some birthin to do my own sef before long."
Budda Ben did not turn his head. He sat glum and down-hearted and silent while she chattered on trying to cheer him up. White people are curious things. They pass laws no matter how fool the laws are, and put people in jail if those laws are not kept. People had come into the world over the same old road ever since Eve birthed Cain and Abel, and now, everybody had to learn how to birth children a new way. It was enough to upset the whole world.
White people try to be too smart. If they keep on messing in God's business and trying to change things from the way He meant them to be, the first thing they knew. He would get cross and make Judgment Day wipe the whole world clean of them. It would be too late then for them to cry and holler and be sorry. They ought to be careful with their laws and projects. The old way to birth children has its drawbacks, but it is plenty good enough. They had better leave it alone.
"How you b'lieve chillen'll get into de world dis new way, Budda?" she asked presently.
Ben didn't know. He didn't care. All the children in the world could die and go to Hell so far as he was concerned. These damned children of Andrew were the cause of all his troubles, the cause of his getting turned out of the church yesterday. They teased him, tormented him, made their dogs nip at his heels, the dirty, low-down, pot-bellied Budda Ben spluttered with such fury Mary laid her hand on his arm. "Hush, Budda. Don' cuss now. Auntie'll hear you, and it hurts her awful bad when you have sin. Look at em. Poor old soul, hoppin along. I don' see how e can walk all de way to Heaven's Gate Church wid dat cripple knee painin em so."
"What you chillen duh talk 'bout?" Maum Hannah called cheerfully to them. "I hear-ed Mary's mout' a-runnin all de way down de street, and I said to mysef, dat gal sho must be a-feelin good dis mornin."
"I been tryin to cheer Budda Ben up some, but I can' do em so save my life. You better take em wid you to de school at Heaven's Gate an' train em to be a midwife. Ben would make such a fine one. E would scare de women so bad dey eouldn' crack dey teeth, to holler."
Before Ben could retort Maum Hannah held up her stick and shook it at Mary. "Shut you mout', gal. Dat ain' no decent talk for you to talk. You make me feel pure shame o you."
Mary's boisterous laughter faded. "I was just a-playin, Auntie. I wouldn' hurt Budda's feelins, not for gold. E knows I'm just a-plaguin him."
"I know, honey, but you must have respect for midwifin too. Dat is Jedus' business. You ain' to make sport of it. I b'lieve you'd crack a joke 'bout death, Si May-e. You ain' sensible. You better quit you wicked ways. You joke about birthin when you got to face em yousef, soon as dis same moon changes."
Mary became serious. "I'm sorry, Auntie, I ain' gwine joke 'bout em no more. I was just a-talkin fool tryin to make Budda laugh. E was lookin so awful doleful."
Maum Hannah shook her head sadly. "Budda ought to look doleful. E don' need to laugh. E needs to pray an' ask God to give em long patience, den e wouldn' be so quick to get vexed an' cuss. Short patience'll make anybody have sin. But, gal, if I was wicked as you an' as sho fo Hell as you is, I wouldn' stop prayin day or night. Not me."
This stern talk hurt, for Mary loved Maum Hannah dearly and liked to win her praise.
"You is too hard on me, Auntie. You makes me feel awful down-hearted."
"Honey," Maum Hannah changed to a gentle tone, "I don' aim to talk hard at you, but when I look at you so, I feel dat sorry fo you I could cry."
"Sorry for me, Auntie? How-come so? I'm heavy fo-true, but I'm well. I don' mean to brag, but birthin a baby ain' no trouble to me. It don' even gi me a backache. My chillen has plenty to eat an' wear; Budda cuts wood to keep my fire goin day an' night. Why be sorry fo me?"
"Honey, sinners is all pitiful. As nigh as you is to gwinen down, you ought to be prayin to Gawd to forgive all dat sin you been havin. Ask Him to help you thu you trouble. E would do it. Gawd is a merciful Gawd."
"Gwinen down don' worry me none 't all," Mary boasted. "I can birth a child easy as I can pop my finger. You know dat, Auntie. How-come you tryin to scare me so dis mornin?"
"I ain' tryin to scare you, gal, but nobody, excusin Gawd, knows what's ahead o you. Nobody. An' when a 'oman turns e back on Gawd an' Jedus like you done, who you gwine to pray to when you needs help? Gawd's got de power to turn dat same child upside down right now. Den you would be in trouble, fo-true. An' who'd you pray to? Don' brag too fast, gal."
A shadow passed over Mary's heart as Maum Hannah spoke, but she smiled in spite of it. "I'm gwine to settle down, Auntie, soon as I birth dis same child."
"I hope so, honey. I hope so. But you ought to settle down befo de time comes to birth dat child. You stays too wild an' wicked. If you keep on a-settin such a bad pattern to live by, befo you know it, one o you gals will walk straight in you tracks."
"I'd lick de hide off em too," Mary burst out. "My gals ain' to do like I do, but do like I say. Enty, Budda?"
Her effort to get gay met with a dead silence, Ben frowned, and Maum Hannah's eyes were filled with distress.
"May-e, honey, de way you do pure hurts me to my heart. I ain' got much longer to live in dis world an' I know it, but I couldn' rest easy in Heaven if you an' Ben was to miss an' lose you souls. Hell is a awful place."
When she took up a corner of her apron to wipe the water out of her eyes, Mary got up quickly and went to her and, putting her arms around the old woman's shoulders, began trying to soothe her as she soothed little troubled children.
"Don' fret, Auntie, please don' fret. Me an' Ben ain' gwine to be lost. No. We is gwine to seek an' pray in plenty o time. All-two o we is gwine to set right beside you in Heaven some o these days. You'll see. Ben is gwine to stop sayin so much-a sinful words, an' I'm a-gwine to pray, myself, sometime soon. I ain' gwine to wait so much longer to repent—not so much longer, Auntie"
The sight of Maum Hannah's sorrow made Mary feel sad enough to get down on her knees and start praying right then. She could not bear to see suffering, and Maum Hannah's tears would make her promise anything on earth. It had always been so. She never could argue or disagree with the kind old soul. She always wanted to say whatever was the best-mannered thing. Even when she was a little motherless child running around, living from house to house in the Quarters, petted, spoiled, loved by every one there, Maum Hannah's disapproval cut her to the very quick.
"You is a sweet-talkin sinner, Si May-e, but I know how much you promises mean. Promisin talk don' cook rice."
"I'm gwine to change," Mary spoke earnestly.
"Please, honey, change. Try to's cape Hell if you can."
Mary met the old eyes bravely, and her voice was steady as she declared solemnly, "I'm gwine to change, Auntie. Satan ain' gwine never put his hands on me. Not never." Her words were eager with kindness for she loved Maum Hannah dearly.
"I wouldn' pester you, May-e, if I didn' love you."
"You is right to pester me, an' I tank you fo it. Soon as you learn de new way to birth chillen, you come practise em on me de first one. No matter how bad it is, I'll do anyting you say, Auntie. Anyting in Gawd's world."
"Except leavin off sin. But you wait: Gawd'll whip you an' plague you till you quit, some o dese days. You'll see. Gawd's done let dat hay-press cut off Keepsie's leg. Dat's one plague E sent on you. Unex is gone an' left you; dat's two plagues. You cotton patch ain' made a lock o cotton in Gawd knows when; dat's three plagues."
"You b'lieve Gawd would cut off Keepsie's leg, Auntie."
"Sho E would, if it would save you soul from Hell. Keepsie better go to Heaven wid one leg dan for you to go to Hell with two. You better pray before Gawd plagues you again. De next plaguin might be de worst one ever was." Maum Hannah sighed. She was so crippled she could hardly put one foot before the other one, but she did not complain for she believed God knew what was best for her.