The Mandie Collection (62 page)

They had come to a fence along the road, and the old woman stopped the rig. “Well, heah we be,” she said, starting to get down to open the gate.

“Let me, Aunt Phoebe,” Mandie cried.

Excitedly, she jumped down and swung the gate open. The rig went through and stopped to wait for her. Carefully closing the gate again, she ran to get back into the rig.

“You sho' know how to do dat, Missy,” the old woman said.

“Of course, I do. Remember, I was raised on a farm,” replied Mandie.

As Aunt Phoebe drove the rig up a winding dirt road, Mandie looked around at the rows and rows of crops growing in the fields and at the large outbuildings along the way. “This must be a huge farm,” she said.

“Sho is,” the old woman muttered. She pulled the rig up in front of a stable. “De house be up dat away.” She pointed up the hill at a clump of trees.

Stepping down into the yard, Aunt Phoebe started to lead the girls up the hill.

“Is that where Aunt Pansy lives?” Mandie asked.

“Yes, Mandie.” Celia answered. “I met her when I was here the other day.”

“She lib up deah, an' so do Cal's brothuh, Rufus,” Aunt Phoebe said.

A tall, young black boy came out of the stables and took the reins of the horse.

Aunt Phoebe turned around. “You git dem vittles loaded. We be leavin' right aftuh suppuh. You hears me, Jimson?”

“Yessum, Miz Phoebe,” the boy said. He turned to stare curiously at the girls as they walked up the hill.

Mandie hurried ahead as she spied the house. “A log cabin!” she cried, running up the hill.

The big old log cabin seemed to sit in the middle of a colorful flower garden edged with green shrubbery and gigantic trees.

A huge old Negro woman stood on the porch watching the three approach.

When Mandie saw her, she ran up the steps. “Aunt Pansy, I'm Mandie—Amanda, they call me at school,” she introduced herself, holding out her small hand.

The big woman smiled a toothless smile and put her big arm around Mandie's shoulders.

“I knows who you be. I knows yo' ma,” Aunt Pansy told her. Turning to Celia, she added, “I knows this missy's ma, too.”

“Hello, Aunt Pansy,” Celia greeted her. “I'm glad I got to come back to visit again.”

“I sees you didn't bring dat snubby gal wid you dis time,” the old woman said.

The girls smiled at each other, knowing Aunt Pansy meant April. “Phoebe, bring dese chillen inside,” Aunt Pansy instructed. She turned to open the screen door.

Inside, Mandie looked around the parlor. The room couldn't possibly hold another piece of furniture. The walls were covered with pictures of people. There was a comfortable, homey look about the room.

“Y'all jes' sits down now. I gotta tell Soony we got mo' comp'ny fo' dinnuh,” she said, leaving the room.

Aunt Phoebe plopped down in a nearby rocking chair. “We'se gonna hafta be leavin' soon's we eats,” she informed the girls.

Mandie and Celia sat down on the edge of a small settee.

“In that case,” Mandie told Celia, “we're going to have to talk to Aunt Pansy during supper.”

Celia nodded.

Overhearing the remark, Aunt Phoebe said, “Missies, dis ain't no highfalutin' place like yo' school. We talks all we wants whilst we eats.”

“And you won't tell Miss Hope we talked during the meal?” Mandie asked.

“ 'Cose not,” Aunt Phoebe said. “Y'all be in
my
charge right now. I decides what's propuh. And I says ain't nothin' wrong wid talkin' at de table.” She looked up as Aunt Pansy came back through the doorway.

“De vittles is ready,” Aunt Pansy announced to her visitors. “Let's go eat.” She turned to lead the way into the kitchen.

The room was a combination sitting room and kitchen. A huge fireplace stood at one end, while a shiny, black iron cookstove beamed heat from the far side. In the middle stood a long wooden table covered with a red checked tablecloth and set with plain white dishes. A young Negro girl was taking the food from the pans on the stove.

“Dis heah be Soony,” Aunt Pansy told Mandie. “She be my granddaughter. Willie, my son whut lives heah and whut's gone to town right now, is her pa,” she explained.

The girls smiled at the young girl who stared curiously at them.

“I'm glad to meet you, Soony,” Mandie said, walking over to the stove. “Here, let me help you, Soony,” she offered, taking the bowl from the girl and bringing it to the table.

The two old Negro women watched in surprise.

“Thank you, but I kin do it all,” Soony said, filling another bowl from a pot on the stove.

“I know you can, but I'd like to help.” Mandie stood there waiting for the bowl to be filled. “Makes me feel like I'm back home in my father's log cabin. We had a big room that looked a lot like this one. And I used to have to help with cooking the food, washing the dishes, and milking the cows.”

Soony's eyes widened in astonishment. “But, Missy, you goes to dat fine ladies' school,” she said.

Mandie took the bowl from her and placed it on the table. “But that's all new to me,” Mandie explained. “And I don't really like it. I'd much rather be back home on the farm.”

“Well, I nevuh!” Aunt Pansy exclaimed.

As Soony and Mandie finished putting the food on the table, Aunt Pansy gave them a big smile. “Now y'all jes' find a place and sit down. Phoebe, you sit right heah next to me so's we can talk a bit,” she said.

Mandie and Celia, determined to talk to Aunt Pansy, sat down as near to her as they could get. Soony sat on the other side of the table next to Aunt Phoebe.

Aunt Pansy cleared her throat. “Befo' we says anothuh word, Phoebe, you ask de blessin',” she said.

They all bowed their heads as Aunt Phoebe prayed.

“We all thanks you, deah Lawd, for dis fine food and all de othuh fine things you gives us. Bless us all and make us mo' bettuh people. Fo' dat we thanks you, deah Lawd. Amen.”

“Amen,” Aunt Pansy echoed in a loud voice. She reached for the bowl of green beans near her. “Jes' reach and make yo' selfs to home, Missies. We'se all jes' plain people. We jes' takes what we wants.”

Mandie picked up the bowl of corn on the cob near her plate, and took out an ear, passing the bowl on to Celia.

The girls piled their plates high with corn, fried chicken, mashed potatoes, green beans, cabbage, cornbread, biscuits, and butter churned right there on the farm. There was a pitcher of cold tea nearby and a huge jug of fresh milk from their cows.

“Aunt Phoebe, you fooled us,” Mandie teased. “You said we wouldn't get anything to eat but beans and cornbread, and look at all this food!”

“Now I can't be knowin' whut Soony's goin' to feed us,” Aunt Phoebe said. “But I knows fo' sho' theah goin' to be beans and cornbread. Always is.”

Everyone laughed.

“Yessum,” said Aunt Pansy. “I always has to have mah beans and cornbread. Soony cooked all dis fo' us, an' all de hired hands dey come an' eat latuh, too.”

“Aunt Pansy—” Mandie dared to change the subject. “Uncle Cal said you used to work for Mrs. Scott who owned the house
before Miss Prudence and Miss Hope made it into a school,” she ventured.

“Well, Missy, I sho' did. Aftuh Cal marries Phoebe and Willie done got hitched with Ella, I gives dem de farm and I moves in wid dat Miz Scott. Dat one nice lady, she wuz,” Aunt Pansy said.

“And you stayed with her until she sold the house, didn't you?” Mandie asked.

“Den I stays on to work fo' Miz Prudence and Miz Hope. An' when Cal and Phoebe sells Willie their part of de farm, dey comes to work at de school, and I comes to work fo' de school's farm. Den when Ella dies—dat be Willie's wife—Willie sell his farm, and he come work heah and bring Soony fo' me to raise,” the old lady explained.

“Did you know Mrs. Scott's daughter?” Celia asked.

“Which one? She have two daughtuhs,” Aunt Pansy said. “Fust one, Missy Helen, she don't belong to de Scotts. Dey 'dopted huh 'cause dey don't be gittin' any chillun. And den, soon as dey gits huh, along come dey own daughtuh, whut dey calls Missy 'Mealya. Sho' is good dey had one theirselfs 'cause dat terrible thing whut happened to Missy Helen.”

Mandie and Celia almost dropped their silverware, then leaned forward anxiously.

“What terrible thing, Aunt Pansy?” Mandie asked quickly.

“Lawsy mercy, Missy,” the old woman began. “Missy Helen she be promised to dat Mistuh Taylor whut own de nex' farm. Back in dem days de white folks match up dey gals wid some man whut got money. But Missy Helen she don't cater to dat Mistuh Taylor, and she gits huh a sweetheart whut she say she really luv.” Aunt Pansy took a bite of fried chicken and continued. “But dis sweetheart he be young and got no money. So Miz Scott and Mistuh Scott dey forbids huh 'sociatin' wid dis man. Well, if you tells Missy Helen she cain't do sumpin' she gonna do it or else.”

Mandie and Celia smiled at each other.

“Then what happened?” Mandie asked, breathlessly.

The old woman wiped her mouth on her apron and continued.

“Lawsy mercy, Missy, dat girl jes' got wiped right outa dis world, fast,” the old woman said, her voice breaking with emotion.

“She died?” Mandie asked.

“You bettuh believe she die. Wudn't nothin' left of the po' thing but some ashes,” the old woman said, wiping a tear from her eye. “Huh tells me all huh troubles. She meets dis othuh man in a servant's cabin down in de trees 'way from de house 'most ev'y night aftuh ev'ybody go to bed. Den one night de whole cabin burn up. Dey found whut wuz lef' of huh inside. No sign of huh sweetheart.”

Celia gasped. “Oh, how horrible!”

“That's so sad, Aunt Pansy,” Mandie said. “Did anybody know what caused the fire?”

“No, nevuh did. But right afta dis happened dis Mistuh Taylor sell his farm and move 'way off out wes'. Ain't noboby evuh seed him since,” the old woman replied.

“Did they think he might have done it?” Mandie asked.

“Dey wuz 'spicious of him 'cause I tells dem afta it happened what Missy Helen say. She say dat Mistuh Taylor done foun' out she wuz meetin' dis sweetheart, and she say he warned huh to stop it 'cause she be promised ta him. But Missy Helen jes' laugh and keep right on seein' dis sweetheart. Po' girl! She was beautiful, all dat dahk curly hair,” the big woman told them.

Mandie's heart beat faster, remembering the girl with dark curly hair whose picture they had found at the cabin site. “Did anyone ever find out who her sweetheart was?” Mandie asked anxiously.

The old woman looked around the table and grunted a time or two. Then looking directly at Mandie, she replied, “Dat still a secret. Ain't nobody but me evuh knowed who he be.”

“How did you find out who he was?” Celia asked.

“I seed him one night waitin' at de cabin when I goes by from visitin' ovuh at a friend's house 'cross de creek,” Aunt Pansy said.

“Y'all bettuh eat up, Missies,” Aunt Phoebe warned the girls. “We'se got to go 'fo' long.”

“Aunt Pansy, please tell us who it was,” Mandie begged. “We won't tell anybody.”

“Now y'all look heah,” Aunt Pansy scolded. “Whut fo' you wants to know all dis? Ain't none of it none of yo' bidniss, Missy. It all happen long 'fo' y'all evuh was heerd tell of.”

“We have a special reason for wanting to know,” Mandie begged. “Please!”

“I ain't nevuh tol' nobody,” the old woman said.

Mandie's blue eyes sparkled. “We'll tell you our secret if you'll tell us yours,” she offered. “We know about something that I'll bet you knew, too.”

“Now whut y'all done be messin' in?” the old woman asked. “I ain't tellin' you 'nuthuh word.”

Soony leaned forward. “Come on, Gramma. Ain't fair to stop in de midst of yo' story like dat. We wants to know it all.”

Aunt Phoebe tapped her foot impatiently. “So do I. Start sumpin', gotta finish,” she said.

The big old woman muttered to herself and continued eating her fried chicken.

“Aunt Pansy, what would you say if we told you we found the love letters that man wrote to Helen?” Mandie asked.

Aunt Pansy dropped her chicken on her plate and looked at her sharply. “Whut love lettuhs dat be?” she asked.

“The love letters from Helen's sweetheart. We found them and read them all, but there's no name on any of them,” Mandie replied. “We also found what's left of the cabin.”

“Lawsy mercy! De past done come alive agin!” the old woman exclaimed. “Well, if dey ain't no name on dem lettuhs, den you don't know dey be from Missy Helen's sweetheart. Wheah you find dese lettuhs?”

“In a trunk in the attic. It was locked and we beat the lock open,” Mandie answered.

“So dat's whut be in dat trunk,” Aunt Phoebe murmured to herself.

Aunt Pansy turned to Phoebe. “Kin I trust dese heah girls?” she asked.

“Sho' kin. Dey awful good at keepin' secrets,” Phoebe replied. “I didn't know 'bout dem lettuhs.”

The old woman cleared her throat, wiped her fingers on her apron, and looked from Mandie to Celia. “Dis sweetheart, he be named Heathwood—”

“Heathwood?” Mandie exclaimed. “That's Miss Hope's and Miss Prudence's name.”

“I knows. He be deah daddy,” Aunt Pansy explained. “Y'see, all dis happened long time ago—long, long time ago, 'fo' Mistuh Heathwood evuh marry deah ma. He wuz young, an' worked on a farm down de road. Afta dis happen he pack up and move intuh town. He go to work fo' de railroad, make big money. Den he marry Miz Hope's ma.”

“Is he still living?” Mandie asked.

“No, chile. He die right aftuh Miz Hope be bawn,” she said.