Scarlet Sister Mary (1928, Bobbs-Merrill Company)/Chapter 5
Night had fallen; trees, houses, roads, fields were all melted into one darkness with a clear starlit sky far above them. The house where sinners went for pleasure was flooded with blood-red light from the great fire in the front yard. The place seethed with life, for crowds of people were weaving back and forth from the yard where great pots full of victuals were cooking, to the room where the dance was going on. Some of them were singing, some clapping their hands as they marked time to the tune which one lone fiddle squeaked out gaily to the booming beat of the big bass drum. The dance room was packed full, the door jammed with onlookers. "Hop light, ladies, take a drink o' wine," came a high shrill chant from many treble voices, so loud that the dim kerosene lamplight flickered.
"Hop light, ladies, whilst de stars duh shine," answered the men's deeper notes. July sang too as he pushed his way into the room, but Mary was a member of the church and she stayed silent. The drumsticks clattered, the fiddle squeaked, Cinder's eyes glittered bright.
Every corner was packed tight and the walls were lined with onlookers, but a place was quickly made for the bride and groom. Cinder came up and murmured something to July who smiled brightly at her, then said to Mary, "I'll be right back, honey, as soon as I lead off dis set wid Cinder. You wait here till I come."
Mary was surprised, but she tried to smile as July settled his hat more firmly on his head, stepped out into the middle of the floor and stamped so sharply that the board under him shook with the blow; then, clicking his heels together, he seized Cinder in his arms and whirled her round and round. The dancers joined them, but Mary looked away out of the window. Outside in the yard where the great fire gave plenty of light the people were laughing, talking, running on with much gay banter as they bought Cinder's rice and hog meat, her store-bought white bread soaked in brown liver-hash, the sweetened water, and hot toddy made of molasses and white corn liquor. They were celebrating Mary's wedding by buying Cinder's food. Cinder would get rich to-night with so many hungry guests.
Instead of leading the dance off and then stepping right back to stand beside Mary, July danced on. He must have forgotten what he was doing for he wheeled and glided back and forth; Cinder's skirts whirled swiftly about his feet as he whisked her on through the figure, swaying, swinging, turning, now and then pausing to beat the floor with a heel. Once, he spun her so fast, Cinder stopped and cried out, she was pure dizzy, but she clung to July, and her small eyes were sparkling as she glanced sidewise at Mary. Cinder was shameless to keep July dancing when his lawful wife had to stand by the wall.
Cinder cared nothing for what anybody thought of her. She was showing Mary she could make July pleasure himself even on his wedding-night. Mary ached to stop her, to tell her what she thought, but shyness kept her silent. The fiddle sang out with all its might and main, the drum beat faster and louder, the racket became so deafening with the dancing and singing that Mary gave up trying to hear the things that were shouted at her. She felt left out and lonely, almost sorry she was a church-member. If she were a sinner Cinder would not be July's partner.
Her knees trembled, her lips twitched, her heart thumped. That same Cinder was a devil. She had always wanted July, and she had not given up hope of him yet. She was ugly and black and skinny, but she knew how to snatch men away from their women as brazenly as foxes snatch hens from their mates in the fig trees. July was so taken up with showing off some of the new steps he had learned away from home, he could not see how Cinder's eyes shone with wickedness, or how sharp her white teeth showed between her thin black lips. With every heart-beat, Mary's anger and jealousy grew. July's promises were not cold on his lips and yet there he was, cavorting about with that wicked, man-stealing Cinder, and holding her tight in his arms before everybody's eyes.
Mary tried to fix her gaze on his so he would see her and stop, but no, he was bending down a little to hear something Cinder was whispering to him. On he went, his fine new hat cocked jauntily on one side, forgetting everything but the measure of the music and the steps which Cinder followed so closely.
It was too much. Mary could stand it no longer. Following the wall, she pushed through the crowd and went out through the door into the night. Her heart was full of gall, although the people gathered thick around her, joking her, praising her looks, offering to treat her to food or drink, making her many fine wishes. She could hardly smile, or give back civil answers, or laugh over their sly predictions about her.
She had not seen June until she felt a hot hand on her shoulder, and he whispered in her ear, "Come on, Si May-e, dance a set wid me. Le's show de people how you an' me can take all de shine off o July an' Cinder." July's guitar was slung over June's shoulder and he was already taking it off and putting it into the hands of a bystander to be free for dancing with Mary.
She shook her head. "No, June, if I was to dance to-night, de deacons would turn me out o de church next Sunday. Dat would hurt Auntie too awful bad. July'll come for me toreckly. I'll wait."
The fiddle whined out a high sad note and the big drum rolled and growled. Mary hesitated and June plead. "You ain' to stand out here by yousef an' let July dance in yonder an' you a bride." His arm slipped from her shoulder and went clear around her, "Come on, Si May-e. I'm a sinner an' July is one, you may as well be one too."
She could feel her body yielding while the two minds inside her considered what was best to do. One mind said, "No," and the other mind answered, "You are the best dancer here. Show the people that Cinder has no time with you," and before she knew it, she heard her lips saying:
"Get de box, June, and play me a tune. I rather dance by myself out here in de yard."
June's fingers fell light on the strings at first, as he plucked out a low chord, but soon a clear swinging tune rang out above a strange syncopated rhythm. July could have played no better.
Mary listened, then she placed her hands on her hips and with a laugh stepped out into the firelight. At first she bent and swayed without stepping out of her tracks. Her feet felt heavy as if they were loath to shake off her soul's salvation, but as the music went faster, they began moving with it until they hardly touched the ground at all. With her eyes half closed and her blood tingling hot, she whirled and twisted, dancing less for joy than for the wish to triumph over Cinder and to show July that she cared nothing for the slight which had stung her heart down to the quick.
Some of the merrymakers outside had been stepping around and jumping to the steady beat of the drum, cutting pigeon wings or buzzard lopes, or chasing one another out into the black darkness which cut them off completely. Now, they all stood in a circle around Mary.
The fire leaped higher, quick shadows ran over the ground, Mary's breath came faster and faster. The earth seemed to rock, the trees to be unsteady, but never had she danced so well. June's box had gone crazy, its soft wailing had changed into chords that twanged out hot and wild.
The music stopped suddenly, and a dead silence fell. The people looked blurred. Across the fire from her Mary saw July standing by himself with his arms folded and his eyes watching her with a look in them that she had never seen before. Instead of smiling at him, she leaned over and wiped her wet face with her petticoat, then took the cup of sweetened water June offered her and sipped it slowly, one small taste at a time.
Without looking up she knew that all the people were staring at her watching every move she made. Some of them were grinning and rolling their eyes, others were pursing up their lips. All of them were marveling that she had fallen into sin on her wedding-night. July leaned against a tree without turning his head. His black frown sent a shiver, then a pang of fear through Mary's heart, but she made herself laugh and talk gaily as she thanked the people for the praise they gave her.
"Great Gawd, Si May-e, you sho is outdanced evybody dis night!"
"Gal, you pure outdanced yousef, and dat's de Gawd's truth."
"Lawd, child, you is light on you feet as a duck's breast feather."
"Brer Dee is gwine to mark you name off de church book befo daylight, gal."
But Mary answered up cheerfully, "Shucks! If July is gwine to Hell, I may as well go long wid em, enty?" Then the air hummed with laughter and July came forward and took her by the arm and smiled down into her eyes. What a splendid fellow he was. So tall. So well-made. His teeth were as white as a hound's.
Two pans full of rice and pork were handed them, but Mary could not eat. Her heart was too full, the rice stuck in her throat, but July swallowed the victuals down by great spoonfuls, smacking his lips with enjoyment. Everybody talked, nobody listened, pans and cups were emptied and filled over and over again. The great black iron rice pot began a hoarse clanging as its bottom was scraped to get the last white grain. The couple's health and happiness were drunk over and over until July complained that his head was swimming round and round. He was ready to go home. Then the crowd seized Mary and held her fast, but July fought for her bravely until he had her tight in his arms, and gathering her up off her feet, cleared a way through the jam of people and hurried down the street through the darkness. He soon had her home with the door shut and barred behind them.