WHITE DRESSES

TIME: The evening before Christmas, 1900.

SCENE: The scene is laid in a negro cabin, the home of Candace and Mary Mclean, in eastern North Carolina.

In the right corner of the room is a rough bed covered with a ragged counterpane. In the centre at the rear is an old bureau with a cracked mirror, to the left of it a door opening to the outside. In the left wall is a window with red curtains. A large chest stands near the front on this side, and above it hang the family clothes, several ragged dresses, an old bonnet, and a cape. At the right, toward the front, is a fireplace, in which a small fire is burning. Above and at the sides of the fireplace hang several pots and pans, neatly arranged. Above these is a mantel, covered with a lambrequin of dingy red crape paper. On the mantel are bottles and a clock. A picture of "Daniel in the Lion's Den" hangs above the mantel. The walls are covered with newspapers, to which are pinned several illustrations clipped from popular magazines. A rough table is in the centre of the room. A lamp without a chimney is on it. Several chairs are about the room. A rocking-chair with a rag pillow in it stands near the fire. There is an air of cleanliness and poverty about the whole room.

The rising of the curtain discloses the empty room. The fire is burning dimly. Aunt Candace enters at the rear, carrying several sticks of firewood under one arm. She walks with a stick, and is bent with rheumatism. She is dressed in a slat bonnet, which hides her face in its shadow, brogan shoes, a man's ragged coat, a checkered apron, a dark-colored dress. She mumbles to herself and shakes her head as she comes in. With great difficulty she puts the wood on the fire, and then takes the poker and examines some potatoes that are cooking in the ashes. She takes out her snuff-box and puts snuff in her lip. As she does this her bonnet is pushed back, and in the firelight her features are discernible—sunken eyes, high cheek-bones, and big, flat nose. Upon her forehead she wears a pair of steel-rimmed spectacles.

She sits down in a rocking-chair, now and then putting her hand to her head, and groaning as if in pain. She turns and looks expectantly toward the door. After a moment she hobbles to the chest on the right and takes out an old red crocheted fascinator. Shivering she wraps it around her neck and stands looking down in the chest. She lifts out a little black box and starts to unfasten it, when the door suddenly opens and Mary McLean comes in. Aunt Candace puts the box hastily back into the chest, and hurries to the fire.

Mary Mclean has a "turn" of collards in one arm and a paper bundle in the other. She lays the collards on the floor near the window and puts her shawl on the bed. She is a quadroon girl about eighteen years old, with an oval face and a mass of fine dark hair, neatly done up. There is something in her bearing that suggests a sort of refinement. Her dress is pitifully shabby, her shoes ragged. But even this cannot hide the lines of an almost perfect figure. For a negro she is pretty. As she comes up to the fire her pinched lips and the tired expression on her face are plainly visible. Only her eyes betray any signs of excitement.

Aunt Candace. Honey, I's been a-waitin' foh you de las' two hours. My haid's been bad off. Chile, whah you been? Miss Mawgin must a had a pow'ful washin' up at de big house.

[Mary opens her hand and shows her a five-dollar bill.

AUNT CANDACE. De Lawd help my life, chile!

MARY. An' look here what Mr. Henry sent you, too. [She undoes the bundle, revealing several cooked sweet potatoes, sausages, spareribs, and some boiled ham.] He said as 'twas Christmas time he sent you this with the collards there.

[She points toward the collards at the window. Aunt Candace pays little attention to the food as Mary places it in her lap, but continues to look straight into Mary's face. The girl starts to give her the money, but she pushes her away.

AUNT CANDACE. [Excitedly.] Whah'd you git dat, honey? Whah'd you git it? Mr. Henry ain't never been dat kind befo'. Dey ain't no past Christmas times he was so free wid 'is money. He ain't de kind o' man foh dat. An' he a-havin' 'is washin' done on Christmas Eve. [Her look is direct and troubled.] Chile, Mr. Hugh didn't give you dat money, did he?

MARY. [Still looking in the fire.] Aunty, I ain't said Mr. Henry sent you this money. Yes'm, Mr. Hugh sent it to you. I done some washin' for him. I washed his socks and some shirts—pure silk they was. [She smiles at the remembrance.] An' he give me the money an' tole me to give it to you—said he wished he could give you somethin' more.

[She hands the money to Aunt Candace, who takes it quickly.

AUNT CANDACE. Help my soul an' body! De boy said dat! Bless 'is soul! He ain't fo'got 'is ol' aunty, even if he ain't been to see 'er since he come back from school way out yander. De Lawd bless 'im! Allus was a good boy, an' he ain't changed since he growed up nuther. When I useter nuss 'im he'd never whimper, no suh. Bring me de tin box, honey. An' don't notice what I's been sayin'. I spects I's too perticler 'bout you. I dunno.

[Mary goes to the bureau and gets a tin box. She puts the money in it, returns it, and lights the lamp. Aunt Candace takes off her bonnet and hangs it behind her on the rocking-chair. Then she begins to eat greedily, now and then licking the grease off her fingers. Suddenly she utters a low scream, putting her hands to her head and rocking to and fro. She grasps her stick and begins beating about her as if striking at something, crying out in a loud voice.

AUNT CANDACE. Ah-hah, I'll git you! I'll git you!

[Mary goes to her and pats her on the cheek.

MARY. It's your poor head, ain't it, aunty? You rest easy, I'll take care of you. [She continues to rub her cheek and forehead until the spell passes.] Set still till I git in a turn of light-wood. It's goin' to be a terrible cold night an' looks like snow.

[After a moment Aunt Candace quiets down and begins eating again. Mary goes out and brings in an armful of wood which she throws into the box. She takes a bottle and spoon from the mantel, and starts to pour out some medicine.

AUNT CANDACE. I's better now, honey. Put it back up. I ain't gwine take none now. D'ain't no use ... d'ain't no use in dat. I ain't long foh dis world, ain't long. I's done my las' washin' an' choppin' an' weighed up my las' cotton. Medicine ain't no mo' good.

MARY. You're allus talkin' like that, aunty. You're goin' to live to be a hundred. An' this medicine——

AUNT CANDACE. I ain't gwine take it, I say. No, suh, ain't gwine be long. I's done deef. I's ol' an' hipshot now. No, suh, I don't want no medicine. [Childishly.] I's got a taste o' dese heah spareribs an' sausages, an' I ain't gwine take no medicine. [Mary puts the bottle and spoon back on the mantel and sits down. Aunt Candace stops eating and looks at Mary's dreaming face.] Honey, what makes you look like dat? [Excitedly.] Mr. Henry ain't said ... he ain't said no mo' 'bout us havin' to leave, has he?

MARY. [Looking up confusedly.] No'm, he ... no'm, he said ... he said to-day that he'd 'bout decided to let us stay right on as long as we please.

AUNT CANDACE. Huh, what's dat?

MARY. He said it might be so we could stay right on as long as we please.

AUNT CANDACE. [Joyously.] Thank de Lawd! Thank de Lawd! I knowed he's gwine do it. I knowed. But I's been pow'ful feared, chile, he's gwine run us off. An' he ain't never liked Mr. Hugh's takin' up foh us. But now I c'n rest in peace. Thank de Lawd, I's gwine rest my bones rat whah I loves to stay till dey calls foh me up yander. [Stopping.] Has you et?

MARY. Yes'm, I et up at Mr. Henry's. Mr. Hugh ... [hesitating] he said 'twas a shame for me to come off without eatin' nothin' an' so I et.

[Aunt Candace becomes absorbed in her eating. Mary goes to the chest, opens it, and takes out a faded cloak and puts it on. Then she goes to the bureau, takes out a piece of white ribbon, and ties it on her hair. For a moment she looks at her reflection in the mirror. She goes to the chest and stands looking down in it. She makes a movement to close it. The lid falls with a bang. Aunt Candace turns quickly around.

AUNT CANDACE. What you want, gal? You ain't botherin' de li'l box, is you?

MARY. [Coming back to the fire.] Botherin' that box! Lord, no, I don't worry about it no more ... I'm just dressin' up a little.

AUNT CANDACE. Ah-hah, but you better not be messin' 'round de chist too much. You quit puttin' you' clothes in dere. I done tol' you. What you dressin' up foh? Is Jim comin' round to-night?

[She wraps up the remainder of her supper and puts it in the chimney corner.

MARY. [Not noticing the question.] Aunty, don't I look a little bit like a white person?

AUNT CANDACE. [Taking out her snuff-box.] Huh, what's dat?

MARY. I don't look like a common nigger, do I?

AUNT CANDACE. Lawd bless you, chile, you's purty, you is. You's jes' as purty as any white folks. You's lak yo' mammy what's dead an' gone. Yessuh, you's her very spit an' image, 'ceptin' you's whiter. [Lowering her voice.] Yes, suh, 'ceptin' you's whiter. [They both look in the fire.] 'Bout time foh Jim to be comin', ain't it?

MARY. Yes'm, he'll be comin', I reckon. They ain't no gittin' away from him an' his guitar.

AUNT CANDACE. What you got agin Jim? Dey ain't no better nigger'n Jim. He's gwine treat you white, an' it's time you's gittin' married. I's done nussin' my fust chile at yo' age, my li'l Tom 'twas. Useter sing to 'im. [Pausing.] Useter sing to 'im de sweetest kin' o' chunes, jes' lak you, honey, jes' lak you. He's done daid an' gone do'. All my babies is. De Marster he call an' tuck 'em. An' 'druther'n let 'em labor an' sweat below, he gi'n 'em a harp an' crown up dere. Tuck my ol' man from 'is toil an' trouble, too, an' I's left heah alone now. Ain't gwine be long do', ain't gwine be long. [Her voice trails off into silence. All is quiet save for the ticking of the clock. Aunt Candace brushes her hand across her face, as if breaking the spell of her revery.] Yessuh, I wants you to git married, honey. I told you, an' told you. We's lived long enough by ourselves. I's lak to nuss yo' li'l uns an' sing to 'em fo' I go. Mind me o' de ol' times.

MARY. [Lost in abstraction, apparently has not been listening.] Aunty, you ought to see him now. He's better to me than he ever was. He's as kind as he can be. An' he wears the finest clothes! [She stares in the fire.

AUNT CANDACE. Dat he do. Dey ain't no 'sputin' of it. I allus said he's de best-lookin' nigger in de country. An' dey ain't nobody kinder'n Jim. No, suh.

MARY. An' to-day he said 'twas a pity I had to work an' wash like a slave for a livin'. He don' treat me like I was a nigger. He acts like I'm white folks. Aunty, you reckon ...

AUNT CANDACE. [Gazing at her with a troubled look of astonishment.] I knows it, honey, I knows it. Course dey ain't no better nigger'n Jim an' I wants you to marry Jim. He's awaitin' an' ...

MARY. [Vehemently.] I ain't talkin' 'bout Jim. What's Jim? He ain't nothin'.

AUNT CANDACE. [Guessing at the truth, half rises from her seat.] What you mean? Huh! What you talkin' 'bout?

MARY. [Wearily sitting down.] Nothin', aunty, jes' talkin'.

AUNT CANDACE. Jes' talkin'? Chile ... chile ...

MARY. Aunty, did you ever wish you was white?

AUNT CANDACE. [Troubled.] Laws a mercy! Huh! White! Wish I's white? Lawdy, no! What I want to be white foh? I's born a nigger, an' I's gwine die a nigger. I ain't one to tear up de work o' de Lawd. He made me an' I ain't gwine try to change it. What's in yo' haid, chile? [Sadly.] Po' thing, don't do dat. Yo' po' mammy useter talk lak dat ... one reason she ain't livin' to-day. An' I ain't done prayin' foh 'er nuther. Chile, you git such notions ra't out'n yo' haid. [She shakes her head, groaning.] Oh, Lawdy! Lawdy! [Then, screaming, she puts her hands to her head. She grasps her stick and begins striking about her, shrieking.] Dey's after me! Dey's after me! [She continues beating around her.] Open de do'! Open de do'!

[Mary puts her arms around her and tries to soothe her, but she breaks away from her, fighting with her stick. Then Mary runs and opens the door, and Aunt Candace drives the imaginary devils out.

MARY. They're gone now, they're gone.

[She closes the door and leads her back to her seat. Aunt Candace sits down, mumbling and groaning. The spell passes and the wild look dies from her face.

AUNT CANDACE. [Looking up.] I's had another spell, ain't I, honey?

MARY. Yes'm, but you're all right now.

[She pours out some medicine and gives it to her.

AUNT CANDACE. Some dese days I's gwine be carried off by 'em, chile; I's ol' an' po'ly, ol' an' po'ly now. Dem debbils gwine git me yit.

[She mumbles.

MARY. No, they ain't, aunty. I ain't goin' to let 'em.

[There is a knock at the door, and stamping of feet.

AUNT CANDACE. What's dat?

MARY. Nothin'. Somebody at the door. [The low strumming of guitar is heard.] That's Jim. Come in!

[Jim Matthews enters. He is a young negro about twenty-two years old, and as black as his African ancestors. He carries a guitar slung over his shoulders, wears an old derby hat, tan shirt with a dark tie, well-worn blue suit, the coat of which comes to his knees, and tan shoes, slashed along the sides to make room for his feet. As he comes in he pulls off his hat and smiles genially, showing his white teeth. With better clothes he might call himself a spo't.

JIM. Good even', ladies.

[He lays his derby an the bed.

AUNT CANDACE. [Turning around in her chair.] What does he say?

MARY. He says good evenin'.

AUNT CANDACE. Ah-hah! Good even', Jim. Take a seat. I's sho glad you come. Mary's been talkin' 'bout you. [He smiles complacently.] We's sho glad you come.

[He takes a seat between Aunt Candace and Mary.

JIM. Yes'm. An' I's sho glad to be wid you all. I's allus glad to be wid de ladies.

AUNT CANDACE. What's he say?

JIM. [Louder.] I's glad to be wid you all.

AUNT CANDACE. Ah-hah! [Jim pulls out a large checkered handkerchief from his breast-pocket, wipes his forehead, and then flips the dust from his shoes. He folds it carefully and puts it back in his pocket.] Any news, Jim?

JIM. No'm, none 'tall. Any wid you?

AUNT CANDACE. Hah? No, nothin' 'tall, 'ceptin' Mr. Henry done said ... said ...

[Here she groans sharply and puts her hand to her head.

JIM. What's that she's sayin'? [As Aunt Candace continues groaning.] Still havin' them spells, is she, Miss Mary?

MARY. Yes, she has 'em about every night.

[Making a movement as if to go to Aunt Candace. She stops and stares in the fire.

AUNT CANDACE. Ne' min' me. I's all right now. An' you chillun go on wid yo' cou'tin'. I's gwine peel my 'taters.

[Raking the potatoes from the ashes, she begins peeling them. Then she takes a piece of sausage from the package in the corner. Jim smiles sheepishly and strums his guitar once or twice. He moves his chair nearer to Mary. She moves mechanically from him, still gazing in the fire.

JIM. Er ... Miss Mary, you's lookin' 'ceedin' snatchin' wid dat white ribbon an' new cloak. I's glad to see you thought I's comin' 'round. Yes'm, I tells all de gals you got 'em beat a mile. [He stops. Mary pays no attention to him.] From here slam to France an' back, I ain't seed no gals lak you. Yes'm, dat's what I tells 'em all, an' I oughta know, kaze I's an ol' road nigger. I's seen de world, I has. But I's tired of 'tall, an' I wants to settle down ... an' ... you knows me.... [He stops and fidgets in his chair, strums his guitar, feels of his necktie, takes out his handkerchief and wipes his forehead.] Miss Mary, I's ...

MARY. Jim, I done tol' you, you needn't come messin' 'round here. I ain't lovin' you. I ain't goin' to marry—nobody, never!

JIM. [Taken aback.] Now, Miss Mary ... er ... honey. I knows jas' how you feels. It's kaze I been a rounder, but you'll hadder forgive me. An' I's gwine 'form, I is. I's quit all dem tother gals, near 'bout broke dey hearts, but I hadder do it. Dey's only one foh me, you know. To-day I's talkin' to dat young feller, Hugh Mawgin, an' ...

MARY. Hugh what! What you sayin', Jim Matthews! Mr. Hugh, you mean.

JIM. [Hurriedly.] Yes'm, I said "Mr. Hugh." Didn't you hear me, Miss Mary?

MARY. What'd you say to him?

JIM. I told 'im I's callin' 'round here 'casionally, an' he said ... he ...

MARY. [Looking straight at Jim.] He said what?

JIM. He axed me if I's a-courtin', an' I told 'im I mought ... er ... be ...

MARY. Go on; tell me. Did he say I ought to marry you?

JIM. [Eagerly.] Yes'm.... [Mary gasps.] No'm, not ezzactly.... He said as how it was a pity you had nobody to take care o' you, an' had to work so hard lak a slave every day. An' he said you's most too purty an' good to do it. An' I tuck from 'is talk dat he meant he thought you's good enough foh me, an' wanted me to take care o' you, so's you wouldn't hadder work.

MARY. Oh!... Yes, I reckon so.

[She is silent.

JIM. He's a eddicated boy, an' he knows. Dey teaches 'im how to know everything out yander at dat college place. He sees my worf', he does. Co'se I ain't braggin', but de gals all do say ... oh, you know what dey says.

MARY. [Jumping up from her chair.] Jim Matthews, you think I'd marry a ... oh, I'd ...

AUNT CANDACE. [Turning around.] What's you sayin', gal?

MARY. [Sittin' down.] Oh, aunty! I ... I ... was just askin' Jim to play a piece. [To Jim in a lower voice.] For the Lord's sake play somethin'....

[She hides her face in her apron.

AUNT CANDACE. Ah-hah.... Play us a piece on yo' box, Jim.

[Jim, at a loss as to the meaning of Mary's tears, but feeling that they are somehow a further proof of his power with the ladies, smiles knowingly, tunes his guitar, and begins strumming a chord. After playing a few bars, he starts singing in a clear voice, with "Ohs" and "Ahs" thrown in.

Jim. Oh, whah you gwine, my lover? Gwine on down de road. Oh, whah you gwine, my lover? Gwine on down de road. (Bass) Gwine ... on ... gwine on down de road. She th'owed her arms aroun' me An' cast me silver an' gold. Said, "Whah you gwine, my lover?" Gwine on down de road. (Bass) Oh, Lawd! ... Oh, Lawd! Gwine ... on ... down ... de ... road.

[Mary still leans forward, with her face in her hands. Jim stops playing and speaks softly.

JIM. Miss Mary, I's sho' sorry I made you cry. Honey, I don't want you to cry 'bout me lak dat ...

[She remains silent. He smiles in self-gratulation, but utters a mournful sigh for her benefit. Pulling his guitar further up on his lap, he takes out his pocket-knife, fits it between his fingers in imitation of the Hawaiians, clears his throat and strikes another chord.

AUNT CANDACE. [Noticing the silence, looks at Mary.] What's de trouble wid you, gal? What's de trouble, chile? Oh, Lawdy me! [Passing her hand across her forehead.

MARY. [Raising her head.] Nothin', nothin'. I'm tickled at Jim. [To Jim.] Go on, play her piece about the hearse. Play it!

Jim. [Strums his guitar, tunes it, and begins.] Hearse done carried somebody to de graveyard. Lawd, I know my time ain't long. Hearse done carried somebody to de graveyard. Lawd, I know my time ain't long. [He sings louder, syncopating with his feet.] Preacher keeps a-preachin' an' people keep a-dyin'. Lawd, I know my time ain't long.

[Aunt Candace begins swaying rhythmically with the music, clapping her hands, and now and then exclaiming.

AUNT CANDACE. Jesus! Lawdy, my Lawd!

[She and Jim begin to sing alternately, she the first verse and Jim the refrain. While this is going on Mary, unobserved, goes to the window, pulls open the curtain and looks out, stretching her clenched hands above her head. She turns to the mirror, smooths back her heavy hair, shakes her head, snatches off the ribbon and throws it on the floor. Then she pulls off her cloak and lays it on the bed. She picks up the ribbon and puts it in the bureau. Meanwhile the music has continued.

Hammer keep ringin' on somebody's coffin.

JIM. Lawd, I know my time ain't long.

[They repeat these lines.

AUNT CANDACE. Gwine roll 'em up lak leaves in de judgment.

JIM. Lawd, I know my time ain't long.

[After these lines have been repeated, Jim, noticing Mary's absence from his side, stops and looks around. Aunt Candace keeps on singing a verse or two. She stops and looks around, seas Mary standing in an attitude of despair. Jim speaks.

JIM. Miss Mary!

AUNT CANDACE. What is it, honey?

[There is a stamping of feet outside. Mary raises her head with an expectant look an her face. She runs to the door and opens it. Her expression changes to one of disappointment and fear as Henry Morgan enters. He is a man of powerful build, about fifty years old, rough and overbearing. A week's growth of grizzled beard darkens his face. He wears a felt hat, long black overcoat, ripped at the pockets and buttoned up to his chin, big laced boots, and yarn mittens. In his hand he carries a package, which he throws contemptuously on the bed. He keeps his hat on. Mary closes the door and stands with her back to it, clasping the latch-string. Aunt Candace and Jim offer their seats. Jim's look is one of servile respect, that of Aunt Candace one of troubled expectancy.

MORGAN. [In a booming voice.] Dad burn you, Jim. Still a-courtin', eh? Set down, Candace. I ain't goin't to stay long.

AUNT CANDACE. [Querulously.] What's he say?

MARY. [Coming to the centre of the room.] He says for you to set down. He ain't goin' to stay long.

AUNT CANDACE. [Sitting down.] Ah-hah ... Oh, Lawdy! Lawdy!

MORGAN. [Coming closer to Aunt Candace.] How you gettin' 'long now, Candace?

AUNT CANDACE. Po'ly, po'ly, Mr. Mawgin. Ain't got much longer down here, ain't much longer.

MORGAN. [Laughing.] Aw come on, Candace, cut out your foolin'. You ain't half as bad off as you make out. [Jim moves his chair to the corner and sits down.] I understand you. If you'd git up from there an' go to work you'd be well in a week.

AUNT CANDACE. Oh, Lawd, Mr. Mawgin, I sho' is po'ly! I hopes you'll never have to suffer lak me.

[Mumbling, she shakes her head, rocks to and fro without taking her feet from the floor, punctuating her movements by tapping with her stick. Morgan sees Mary looking at the package.

MORGAN. That's for Mary. I was comin' down this way an' caught up with John. He said he was comin' here to bring it. An' so I took an' brought it, though he acted sort of queer about it, like he didn't want me even to save him a long walk. Wonder what that nigger can be givin' you. [Mary starts toward the bed.] No, you ain't goin' to see it now, gal. We got a little business to 'tend to first. Did you tell Candace what I said?

MARY. Mr. Morgan, how could I?... I couldn't do it, not to-night.

MORGAN. Uh-huh ... I knowed it. Knowed I'd better come down here an' make sure of it. Durn me, you been cryin', ain't you? [His voice softens.] What's the trouble, gal?

MARY. Nothin', nothin'. I ... I been tickled at Jim.

JIM. Tickled at Jim?

AUNT CANDACE. What does he say?

MORGAN. [Turning to her.] Keep quiet, can't you, Candace; I got a little business with Mary. [Aunt Candace becomes silent and begins watching the package. She half starts from her chair, then settles back, staring hard at the bundle. Morgan speaks to Mary.] You ain't been cryin' about what I told you this evenin', have you?

MARY. No, sir. I was tickled at Jim. It wan't nothin', honest it wan't.

MORGAN. Well, go on lyin' if you want to.

MARY. Mr. Morgan, I was jes' ...

MORGAN. No matter. [Brusquely.] Well, what you goin' to do about what I said? [He looks at her squarely. Jim watches them both with open mouth. Aunt Candace keeps staring at the bundle on the bed, and now and then glancing around to see if any one is watching her. She is oblivious of the conversation. Mary stands with bowed head.] Well, what about it? I've done told you you got to get out at the first o' the year if you ain't a mind to marry Jim. [Jim straightens up.] At least you've got to marry somebody that can come here and work. I told you to tell Candace to look out for it. Why didn't you tell her like I said?

MARY. I couldn't do it. It'd kill her to leave here. You know it. She's been good to me all my life. Oh, I can't do it.

[Aunt Candace stealthily slips across the room and picks up the package from the bed, unseen by any one but Jim.

MORGAN. Can't do it? Well, what you want me to do? Lose money on you till the end of time! You ain't earned enough to keep you in clothes for the last three years since Candace got down, an' ...

[A terrible cry rings out. Aunt Candace stands by the bed, holding a white dress up before her. Morgan looks perplexed. Suddenly he starts back in astonishment.

MARY. [Starting forward.] It's for me! [Joyously.] It's mine!

MORGAN. [Catching Mary by the arm.] What—what is it?... Heigh! Don't you move, gal! Wait a minute!

[He pulls her back. Aunt Candace looks at Morgan. Gradually he lowers his head.

AUNT CANDACE. I's a-feared on it. I knowed it ... I knowed it. [She throws the dress back on the bed and hobbles to the fire, groaning.] Oh, Lawdy! Oh, Lawdy! My po' li'l gal! My po' li'l gal!

[She rocks to and fro. Morgan's hand falls from Mary's shoulder, and she runs to the bed.

MARY. He sent it to me! He sent it to me! I knowed he wouldn't forget.

[She hugs the dress to her.

MORGAN. [Turning to her.] Well, and what nigger's sending you presents now? [With suspicion fully aroused.] Who give you that, Mary!

MARY. He did!

MORGAN. [Sternly.] Who?

MARY. [Impetuously.] It was him! An' I don't care if you do know it!

MORGAN. Who? You don't mean ...

MARY. I do too—an' ...

MORGAN. God a'mighty, my ... it can't be so.

[Mary goes to the window and holds the dress in front of her.

MARY. It is, too. Mr. Hugh sent it to me. [Morgan groans.] He told me to-day he's sorry for me. I knowed he'd remember me; I knowed it. An', after all, I ain't been workin' the whole year for nothin'. He's got a heart if nobody else ain't.

MORGAN. What in the devil! I wonder ... Lord!

[Aunt Candace still looks in the fire. For a moment Morgan stands lost in abstraction, then he speaks fiercely.

MORGAN. Mary, put them damned things up. Put 'em up, I say. [He goes toward her. She shrinks back; holding the dress to her. He snatches it from her and throws it on the bed, then he pushes her out in the middle of the floor. She wipes the tears from her eyes with her apron.] You listen here, gal. We're goin' to settle it right here and now, once and for all. You're goin' to marry Jim?

MARY. Mr. Morgan ... oh ... I can't marry him. I can't! I won't! Let me stay. Don't drive her out; she'll die. I'll work, I'll hoe an' wash, day an' night. I'll do anything, I'll ...

MORGAN. [Fiercely.] You've tole me that a thousand times, an' you've got to say one or the other right now. Right now! Do you hear! Marry Jim, I tell you, and it'll be all right. He's smart and he'll take care of you ...

MARY. I can't do it, I tell you. I can't! I'd rather die. Look at me. Ain't I almost white? Look at him. He's black and I hate him. I can't marry no nigger. Oh, don't make me do it.

MORGAN. White! What's that got to do with your marryin'? Ain't you a ...? You don't think you can marry a white man, do you? I tell you you've got to decide to-night. I've been after you now for two years and, gal, you've got to do it!

MARY. Don't make me do it! I hate him. I ain't black. Oh, Lord!...

MORGAN. [Desperately.] Candace!

MARY. [Clutching at his arm.] Don't tell her. I ain't goin' to see her drove out in the cold from her home. Don't tell her.

[Aunt Candace still looks in the fire. Jim sits lost in amazement, idly strumming his guitar.

MORGAN. Well?

MARY. [Looking wildly around, as if seeking help.] Oh!...

MORGAN. [Wiping his face.] Gal, I don't want to be too hard on you. But use common sense. I've been good to you. They ain't another man in the county that would have kept you for the last three years, an' losin' money on you every year. I'm done of it, gal, I'm done. Marry Jim.

MARY. He wouldn't let you do it if he was here. He wouldn't.

MORGAN. Who? Who you talkin' about?

MARY. Mr. Hugh, your boy. He's got feelin's, he has. If he was here ...

MORGAN. [Hoarsely.] I know it. I know it. Don't you see? He's all I got. I can't run the risk of his ... Oh, Mary, I can't tell you. For God's sake, marry Jim. Can't you see? You've got to marry him! Hugh's gone off for a week, an' I'm goin' to settle it before he ever gets back. And when he gets back, you and Candace will be clean out of this country, if you don't marry Jim. They ain't nobody else 'round here will take you in, and keep you like I have.

MARY. Where ... where's he gone?

MORGAN. He's gone to see his gal. The one he's going to marry. And by God, you've got to marry Jim.

MARY. [Half sobbing.] They ain't no use tryin' to change it. I've tried and tried, but they ain't no use. I jus' as well do it. Yes, yes, I'll marry him. I'll marry him. They ain't no way to be white. I got to be a nigger. I'll marry him, yes. I'll marry him, an' work an' hoe an' wash an' raise more children to go through it all like me, maybe other children that'll want to be white an' can't. They ain't nobody can help me. But look at him. [Pointing to Jim.] He's a nigger an' ... yes ... I'm a nigger too.

[She throws her arms out, letting them fall at her side.

MORGAN. [Almost gently.] All right, Mary ... I'll send for the preacher and the license in the morning and have him marry you and Jim right here. You needn't think about leavin' any more. And you and Jim can live here as long as you please. Is that all right, Jim?

JIM. [Uncertainly.] Yes-suh, yes-suh, Mr. Mawgin! An' I thanks you 'specially.

MORGAN. [Going up to Aunt Candace.] Mary and Jim are going to be married to-morrow, Candace. It'll be a lucky day for you. [She makes no answer, but continues her trancelike stare in the fire. Morgan comes to Mary and offers his hand. She fails to see it.] Child, what I've had to do to-night has hurt me a whole lot worse'n you.... Good-night, Mary.

[He stands a moment looking at the floor, then goes out quietly.

JIM. [Coming up to Mary.] Miss Mary, don't look lak dat. I's gwine do better, I's.... [Mary keeps her head muffled in her apron.] Honey, I's sho' gwine make you a good man.

[Mary pays no attention to him. In his embarrassment he strums his guitar, clears his throat, props his foot up on a chair rung, and begins singing in a low voice.]

Jim. Lyin' in the jail house, A-peepin' th'ough de bars....

AUNT CANDACE. [Waking from her reverie.] Bring me de li'l black box, gal. Bring me de box! [Mary drops her apron and stares dully at the floor.] Bring me de box! [Half-screaming.] Bring me de box, I say! [Trembling and groaning, she stands up. Mary goes to the chest and brings her the black box. Aunt Candace drops her stick and clutches it.] I's gwine tell you de secret o' dis li'l box. Yo' mammy told me to tell you if de time ever come, an' it's come. She seed trouble an' our mammy befo' us. [She takes a key, tied by a string around her neck, and unlocks the box, pulling out a wrinkled white dress, yellowed with age, of the style of the last generation. Jim sits down, overcome with astonishment, staring at the old woman with open mouth.] Look heah, chile. I's gwine tell you now. Nineteen yeahs ago come dis Christmas dey's a white man gi'n your mammy dis heah, an' dat white man is kin to you, an' he don't live fur off nuther. Gimme dat dress dere on de bed. [Mary gets it and holds it tightly to her breast. Aunt Candace snatches at it, but Mary clings to it.] Gimme dat dress!

MARY. It's mine!

AUNT CANDACE. Gimme! [She jerks the dress from Mary. Hobbling to the fireplace, she lays both of them carefully on the flames. Jim makes a movement as if to save them, but she waves him back with her stick.] Git back, nigger! Git back! Dis night I's gwine wipe out some o' de traces o' sin. [Mary sits in her chair, sobbing. As the dresses burn Aunt Candace comes to her and lays her hand upon her head.] I knows yo' feelin's, chile. But yo's got to smother 'em in. Yo's got to smother 'em in.

CURTAIN