Place Called Estherville (7 page)

“I thought you just wanted to chunk some rocks at Ganus to scare him. I didn’t know anybody wanted to hurt him. I don’t see why you want to. He never did anything to you. I’ll tell on you, too, if you hurt him. You just wait and see if I don’t. I’ll go straight home and tell everybody.”

“Like hell you will, cry-baby,” Pete said, grabbing him. “You’re not going home and tell on me. I’ll choke the life out of you—if you don’t take that back.” He gripped Robbie’s thin neck with both hands and shook him. “Say it, Robbie! Say it! You’d better take it back! I’ll choke the life out of you till you can’t breathe! Say it, Robbie! You’d better say it!”

“I want to go home,” Robbie muttered faintly, crying again.

Vern pulled Robbie away from Pete. “Go pick on somebody your own size, Pete,” he said.

Hank opened his knife.

“Hank, let’s just beat up Ganus a little and let him go,” Vern said uneasily when he saw the knife. “It’s getting late. Somebody in one of these houses might hear us and come out to see what’s going on. Mr. Benoit might come back. I don’t want to be caught cutting up anybody with a knife. My dad would take the hide off me.”

“I want to go home,” Robbie cried in a louder voice, holding tightly to Vern.

“Christ Almighty!” Hank said in disgust. “Why didn’t all you scaredy-cats stay home with your mamas? I didn’t know there was so many scaredy-cats in town.” Biting his lower lip between his teeth, he drew back his hand and slashed at Ganus with the knife. The blade cut a deep gash across Ganus’ shoulder. “That’ll show you how scared I am of anybody,” he told them boastfully.

Ganus, uttering no sound, moved as far away from Hank as he could. He put his hand on his shoulder and squeezed the flesh together.

“You went and made him bleed again, Hank Newgood!” Robbie cried out. Tears were running down his cheeks. “Why’d you do that? He didn’t do anything to you—he never did do anything to hurt you! Why’d you have to go and hurt him like that, Hank?” He ran up the alley. “I’m going home!” he sobbed.

“Hank, Robbie Gunsby’s going to tell on all of us,” Vern said accusingly. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Let the cry-baby tell,” Hank said indifferently. “What do I care? Cutting up a nigger’s nothing. I saw my old man hit a nigger once so hard with a scantling it knocked one of his eyes out.”

Both Vern and Pete began backing away from him.

Presently Vern went to the fence where Ganus was standing. “Ganus,” he said in a low voice, “you won’t tell on us, will you? I didn’t mean all the things I said. Honest to God, I didn’t, Ganus!”

Before Ganus could say anything, Hank grabbed Vern and flung him away. Then he shoved Ganus to the middle of the alley.

“Get going, nigger, and keep your mouth shut if you know what’s good for you.” He walked up to Ganus and shoved him again. “I can make it plenty rough on you, if you talk. You know that, don’t you?”

Without waiting to go back for his pants, Ganus started walking rapidly toward Poinsettia Street. He was almost there when a heavy rock crashed against the wooden fence beside him, and he began running. He did not look back again after that, but ran as fast as he could toward home.

I
T WAS THE END OF
M
AY
and nothing had been done during the past five weeks about paying Kathyanne her wages. After leaving the Swaynes, Kathyanne had gone to work for Madgie Pugh, doing the cooking, cleaning, washing, and other daily household tasks, and each time she had spoken about it, Madgie had become excited and upset and said she was too busy to discuss the matter. That had been going on week after week since the last Saturday in April and she did not understand why Madgie kept on refusing to do anything about it.

The Pughs lived about half a mile from the center of town in a square, six-room, red brick house, on a sandy ridge, at the north end of Palmetto Street where several new homes had been built in recent years. The ridge, which previously had been wasteland, with a sparse growth of yellow broomsedge and scraggly blackjack, had been given the name of Sedgefield by a real estate development company, and had become a fashionable neighborhood for those who could afford the upkeep of year-around gardens and bermuda lawns in summer and rye lawns in winter. Carter Pugh, who was ruddy-faced and genial, was general manager of the largest ginning company in the county, and both he and Madgie had been born in Estherville and had lived there all their lives. They had married hurriedly, before a church wedding could be planned, in an attempt to put an end to scandalous talk when somebody in town, whose brother was a hotel clerk, found out that they had spent the night together in Augusta. They were now in their early forties and had two children, Jimmy and Frances, in high school.

Madgie was president of the Garden Club and was away from home two afternoons a week attending committee meetings. Every Sunday she took Carter and the children to morning church services, and then she and Carter always went to the evening service. Carter flatly refused to go to the Wednesday evening prayer meetings, because he thought that was just too much religion for any man, and Madgie attended alone. Whenever she had an opportunity, she proudly boasted that both her family and Carter’s had been church-supporting Baptists for six generations, and that the two families, during that time, had contributed seven preachers to the Baptist ministry.

“I declare, Kathyanne, I wish you wouldn’t be so everlastingly annoying,” Madgie said that morning when Kathyanne reminded her once more that she had not been paid. Madgie had a habit of throwing up her hands at a time like that, and fluttering them like a bird flapping its wings against a screen. She was high-strung and nervous, and sometimes, especially when somebody provoked her, she had screaming spasms. The close neighbors had become accustomed to her spells and no longer knocked on the door to ask what had happened. Carter usually gave in to her rather than have to endure one of the scenes. She had always had difficulty in keeping a servant, most of them usually leaving after a week or two. “If there’s anything I detest,” she cried at Kathyanne in her shrill voice, “it’s being pestered like this when I have more important things on my mind. A whole delegation of important people from Macon will be in town tomorrow for a tour of azalea gardens, and I must not be distracted like this. If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a dozen times that we’ll discuss it the first chance I can find.” With a flurry of her arms, she got up from the breakfast table, her exasperated expression implying that she considered the matter closed. “Now, please show me the consideration I’m entitled to, Kathyanne. After all, you’re only a servant here. You must remember your place.”

“But Miss Madgie,” Kathyanne said desperately, “I’ve just got to get at least part of my pay now. Our rent hasn’t been paid for the past month, and it’s due every week. Aunt Hazel needs medicine, too. My brother’s not working, and—”

“Well, why isn’t he working?” she interrupted in a piercing high voice. “If there weren’t so many trifling colored people in the world, there wouldn’t be all this annoyance. Make your lazy good-for-nothing brother get out and go to work. The idea of a strong, able-bodied man not earning a living! There’s no excuse for anybody in this country not working. Why must you colored people be forever coming around with pitiful-sounding tales like this? I’ve heard them all my life, and I’m getting sick and tired of it. I have no sympathy whatsoever for such people. Don’t you have any self-respect?”

Kathyanne did not attempt to answer her. She had worked for the Pughs long enough to have learned that questions were rarely meant to be answered, but were, characteristically, Madgie’s way of expressing herself, and that Madgie could become very upset and angry if she presumed to interpret them literally. Madgie had once hurled a wastebasket at her when she attempted to explain why it had not been emptied. The children were nervous and uneasy in their mother’s presence, and often they went off to school in the morning with Madgie’s screams ringing in their ears. Carter always tried to finish his breakfast and get out of the house before Madgie was up.

Madgie had gone as far as the door; but there she stopped, looked around at Kathyanne in a peculiar manner as though having remembered something of importance to her, and then came back to the table and sat down again. She was noticeably calm and subdued. There was no tapping of the knife and fork on the table; there was no nervous twisting of the water glass; her hands lay motionlessly on the white tablecloth. Kathyanne, never having seen her in such a tranquil mood before, hoped that she had had a change of heart and was going to pay her at last. She went to the vacant chair across the table from Madgie and stood there expectantly.

“By the way, Kathyanne,” she said sweetly, speaking for the first time that morning without a trace of irritation or impatience, “there’s something I’ve been intending to ask you about. I’m glad I happened to remember it. It’s been on my mind for a long time now.”

“Yes, Miss Madgie?” she said hopefully.

“You didn’t bring me a reference when you came to work several weeks ago, did you? Why is that?” She smiled confidently. “Didn’t Mrs. Swayne give you a reference?”

Kathyanne felt weak with disappointment. She gripped the back of the chair with both hands. Madgie was smiling with a superior arching of her eyebrows.

“I didn’t ask for one, Miss Madgie.”

“You didn’t?” she remarked with increased interest. “And why not, Kathyanne?”

“I didn’t ask for one at the time, and I just never went back for it.”

“Are you sure that’s the reason, Kathyanne?” She picked up a knife and began playing with it. “Are you sure she would have given you one?”

“I suppose, if I’d asked for it.”

Madgie smiled mistrustfully. “But why didn’t you ask for it when you left?”

“It was late and Miss Norma had just come home from Savannah and I didn’t like to bother her about it.” She paused and looked directly at Madgie. “You didn’t ask me for a reference when I came to work for you, Miss Madgie.”

Madgie poured some coffee into her cup. She stirred the coffee thoughtfully while watching Kathyanne. “Well, never mind about that, Kathyanne. I suppose I did let it slip my mind at the time.”

“I’ll be glad to ask Miss Norma for a reference, Miss Madgie, if you want me to.”

“I said, never mind!” she spoke out with an agitated motion of her hands. “I don’t want to be bothered with it now.” The momentary irritation passed. Presently she was looking up again at Kathyanne and smiling ingratiatingly. “Tell me, Kathyanne,” she said, “what kind of meals does Mrs. Swayne serve? Do they have just ordinary plain cooking when there’s no company, or do they generally have expensive cuts of meat and vegetables out of season—just what do they eat?”

Kathyanne knew, by the tone of her voice and by her ingratiating manner, that she was curious about the living standard of the Swaynes and hoped to find out, at last, something she had wanted to know for a long time. Kathyanne wanted to evade the questioning, because she knew any comment she might make, no matter how carefully she worded it, would more than likely furnish the basis for gossip among the women in town for weeks to come. She could see Madgie watching her, with unconcealed anticipation, while she tried to think what she could say. She felt loyal to Norma, because she had never before worked for anyone who treated her so considerately, and she wished she could have stayed to work for her. But she must say something, for she could see the impatient look on Madgie’s face. She was determined that, no matter how insistent Madgie became, she was not going to say anything that might be used against her.

“Miss Norma’s meals are just about like the ones you serve, Miss Madgie,” she replied at last.

Madgie was disappointed, but not discouraged. She had waited for this opportunity ever since Kathyanne came to work for her, and she intended to take full advantage of it.

“Now, Kathyanne,” she said with a condescending smile, “you know you can trust me. I wouldn’t dream of repeating one single word you told me in confidence. Norma Swayne is one of my dearest friends, anyway. I wouldn’t dream of repeating anything that would hurt her feelings. I’m just not that kind. Everybody knows that.”

“Her meals are just about the same as yours, Miss Madgie,” she steadfastly maintained. “They often have fried chicken and rice and cow peas, just like we’ve had lots of times since I came to work for you.”

“Mr. Pugh happens to like fried chicken and rice and cow peas,” she said rather stiffly, with a defensive toss of her head. “I always try to give Mr. Pugh what he likes. I think every wife should.” With a sigh she gazed thoughtfully at the water glass she was twisting with her fingers. Several moments passed before she spoke again. “Well,” she said as though talking to herself alone, “with all the money everybody says she has in her own right, I should think they’d eat much better than that. But, there are wealthy people who just hate to part with a dollar or two for the better things of life. I always did think Norma counted pennies too closely. A little more money spent wisely on her clothes would improve her appearance, too. There are times when she looks downright dowdy.” She drank some of the coffee and pushed the cup aside. “What’s her bed linen like, Kathyanne? Does she have nice percale sheets, or are they just ordinary muslin? Are her blankets all-wool, or are they rayon and cotton?”

Kathyanne said carefully, “I never noticed, Miss Madgie.”

“Then what silver does she use when she doesn’t have company? Is it plated or is it just common tinware? I’ve often wondered about that. Norma’s fastidious in some respects, but in others—”

“Her silverware is just like yours, Miss Madgie.”

Madgie was growing increasingly irritated by Kathyanne’s evasive replies, but she was trying her best to conceal it. “Well,” she said, making one more attempt, “I’ve heard it said that Norma makes her husband wear his shirts two or three days at a time so they won’t have to be laundered so often. And he’s vice president of the bank, too, even if she did pick him up in some grocery store, where he was a common clerk, and put him where he is today. Of course, I don’t know if it’s just talk about her saving money that way on laundry. But it does sound a lot like Norma Swayne. Is it true, Kathyanne?”