Finding Peace

THE big farm bell rang loud. Clear. The noon hour was over. A little figure lying prone on the ditch bank in the warm spring sunshine rose slowly and looked around. It was a little black girl. Missie.

Her big, soft eyes had a rapt expression as they wandered over the wide cotton fields stretched far out in front of her. Heat waves shimmered over them, making the dark earth bright and blue as the sky, the blue sky that held heaven and God and the angels.

The child’s faded, checked homespun dress was stained purple with blackberries. So were her fingers and lips.

As if still in a dream, she took up the tin pail that was near her on the ground. It was filled to the brim with ripe, black fruit. With careful-stepping, slim, bare feet, she picked her way through the thorny, briery vines to the path that led to the cabin barely in sight yonder at the far edge of the woods. Maum Hannah’s house. She’d go by there and talk to her a little while before she took the berries to the store to sell.

She walked slowly until she could plainly see an old woman sitting there in the doorway bent over her sewing. Then she hurried forward and, when she got near, called out eagerly:

“Auntie! Auntie! I b’lieb I done fine peace! Kin you heah me? I b’lieb I is! I seen a house all wash-white. Yes’m.”

The words came distinct to the old woman’s ears. She looked up from the clean, ragged garment she was patching. Tenderness shone in her bright old eyes as she watched Missie coming toward her. They were keen old eyes, although their black lids were withered and hung in tiny, wrinkled folds about them.

“Auntie! Auntie!” the little girl called again, but the old woman answered with a caution:

“Mine, gal, mine! You gwine spill dem blackbe’y fus’ t’ing you know. Walk slow, an’ wait tell you git nigher to me fo’ talk!”

Missie came carefully up the path and up the steps and put the pail on the floor by the pile of clothes to be mended. She came close and leaned on Maum Hannah’s shoulder affectionately.

Maum Hannah searched her face curiously and sympathy showed in her warm, gentle voice as she said:

“Tell Auntie now, Honey. Whe’ you been? Wha’ all you been see? Tell me ’bout em. Whe’ you been when you fine peace?”

The little girl felt Maum Hannah’s arm around her. It gave her a feeling of security, of safety, of courage. Maum Hannah’s voice was saying again:

“Tell Auntie, gal.” Her tone was full of kindliness.

“Auntie——” Missie began, then hesitated. How could she tell it in words?”

From the cabin’s narrow doorway the blue hills far over the river yonder showed plain. They had never seemed so bright to her before. They were almost the color of the shiny clouds that they touched in the sky to-day. Something about them held her eyes until Auntie’s arm pressed her closer and Auntie’s patient voice roused her.

“Wha’ you duh dream ’bout, chile? Wha’ you duh see?”

Missie took a deep breath and the little berry-stained dress tightened across her chest. Maum Hannah’s wise old eyes noticed that coming maturity had already begun to develop slight, curving breasts there. Yes, they showed plain with each quick breath that Missie took. Missie’s little heart seemed very full of something.

Tears came into the wise old eyes, for it came to Maum Hannah for the first time that Missie was becoming a woman. A woman. Maum Hannah’s mind could hardly accept it, yet it was so. Little Missie would soon be a woman, with all the troubles, the sorrows, of womanhood.

Lately, Missie had been seeking peace. Peace. And Maum Hannah knew that womanhood would bring her no peace. None. Missie was already turning to religion. To God. Asking for peace. Tears wet the old eyes, but she could tell Missie nothing. Missie couldn’t understand. Nobody could tell her. Nobody.

Old age might bring her peace. It might. But that was far off for Missie. And old age—— But Missie had started talking. She must listen.

“Auntie,” the low voice was husky, “dis mawnin’ at I git my bucket full up wid blackbe’y, I leddown fo’ rest’—I sta’t den fo’ pray.”

“How much day dis is you been prayin’ and seekin’?” Maum Hannah interrupted.

Missie reflected and answered thoughtfully:

“Dis mus’ be de gwine on een de two week, Auntie.”

“I reckon e is,” Maum Hannah agreed.

Missie went on:

“I leddown right on de ditch bank een de blackbe’y patch. Dut been pile up high underneat’ my haid same lake pillow. I shet my eye—I pray—an’ Auntie—it seem like I was gwine todes sunrise-side—’cross de fiel’. It seem like I was walkin’ deep down een de furrow. Den de furrow, e gone tu’n to hill! De hill been steep. It labor me fo’ climb up em——”

The round, black eyes took on a dreamy look, and the little body leaned heavier on Maum Hannah’s shoulder. But the old woman sat silent. Serious.

“It seem lak a house, same like we-own, been by de side o’ de pat’. A black ’oman come out an’ stan’ een de do’. ’E call me. ’E say: ’Stop heah an’ res’ awhile,’ but I tell em: ’No.’ It seem like I gone on a-climbin’ up de hill. I gone an’ gone——”

The low voice faltered. The soft eyelids drooped drowsily.

“Den I see—a white house—an’ a man. ’E was a-stanin’ een de do’. ’E hab face lak—I dunno who ’e hab face lak——”

Maum Hannah stirred a little. Her shoulder was tired. But she said nothing, and Missie went on, each word dropping slowly:

“De man, ’e say: ’Stop an’ res’.’ I stop. I res’. De noon bell—it wake me.”

That was all. A silence. Maum Hannah stirred again. She must ask Missie some questions. But first—she must think. A man?

“Honey,” she began, “Honey, de man been ol’, enty? Wid long whisker an’ t’ing? ’E hab somep’n nudder lak sheet wrop roun’ em too, enty?”

That was the vision that many claimed to see. Had Missie seen it too? Missie’s lips curved in a smile and she shook her head:

“No, Auntie. No. De man I talk wid, ’e ain’ been stan’ so—no.”

Maum Hannah’s eyes narrowed. She turned and scanned the child’s face. Missie met the look and decided she couldn’t tell more. No, Maum Hannah would think strange if she knew the man was Killdee himself. Killdee!

“Wha’ de man been say, den, Gal? Who ’e been look lak?”

“I fo-git wha’ ’e say, Auntie——”

Missie drew away from Maum Hannah’s shoulder. After all, she must have been mistaken. The house was white, but that may not have been a sign after all. Not a sign her sins were forgiven.

“Mine, gal, mine,” Maum Hannah warned threateningly, “don’ you tell me no lie. You ain’ fo’git a’ready wha’ da man say. No!”

Missie looked straight at her. The spell of the vision she had seen seemed broken. Maum Hannah thought she had not seen the right vision. She had not found peace. Maum Hannah’s face showed it. They had all told her to pray until she saw something white. That would be a sign. She had seen something white—and now Maum Hannah seemed cross about it.

Missie sighed and turned to the pail of berries, saying:

“See how I got de bucket full-up wid blackbe’y, Auntie? Ain’ dese nice one?”

She was sorry she had spoken at all about her dream. The house was white and yet the man looked a lot like Killdee. That was wrong. Killdee was a sinner. Killdee was no sign of peace. No.

“Mebbe you is fine peace, Missie. Mebbe you is. I dunno,” was Maum Hannah’s answer. “You go talk wid Brer Cato. Tell em all you see. Ef de man had-a been ol’, an’ kinder strange fo’ look at, it would ’a’ been mo’ better. But den—maybe Gawd is gi’ you a diff’unt sign. Anyway, de house was white.”

Other words that were in her mind would not come to her lips. She could not say them. Instead she said brightly:

“Take you’ blackbe’y on to de sto’, chile. Hurry. Dey is makin’ wine to-day. Dey needs all de blackbe’y dey kin git. Eby lil bit he’ps em out.

“Tell Killdee you find peace to-day. You ought to be baptize nex’ fo’th Sunday. Tell em des so. ’E might gi’ you a new dress. ’E might. ’E hab a good heart. Killdee’s a mighty good man, eben ef ’e is a sinner. Sho.”

Missie’s eyes were shining happily again. Killdee was good indeed. Better than anybody in the world. She took up her hat from the floor where she had dropped it. It was an old, worn, dusty man’s felt hat. Regular slits had been cut in the brim and through these a strip of turkey-red calico was run with the ends tied in a bow at one side.

Maum Hannah smiled when Missie put the hat on.

“How-come you trim up you’ hat so fine fo’ seek een? You put red on you’ hat when you go fo’ pray! Do, Jedus! A gal is somet’ing else een dis worl’. When de spring o’ de yeah come, dey sho is gwine dress deyse’f up. None o dat ain’ b’longst to seekin’, dough, Missie, or needer to findin’ peace. No. Red bow don’ bring no peace. No, gal. Red bow bring somet’ing else!”

The child’s face was still bright with happiness as she stepped lightly down the steps. She ran down the path that led to the Big House, but Maum Hannah suddenly called her back.

“Come heah des a minute, Missie. I got somet’ing fo’ tell you befo’ you go. Auntie’s a ol’ ’oman fo’ true. But you know ol’ people is wiser’n chillen, enty? Ef you see Brer Cato, you talk wid em. But dey ain’ no need fo’ tell em de man ain’ been a ol’ man. No. Dey ain’ no need fo’ say ef de man been ol’ or ’nyoung. Go long, now. Sell de be’y. Killdee might gi’ you a dress fo’ wear to de baptizin!”

Missie listened and then walked slowly, thoughtfully, down the path. After all, what difference did it make if she found peace or not? Killdee was a sinner. She’d just stay a sinner with him. Sinners seemed better than Christians, anyway, all except Maum Hannah. And Maum Hannah wasn’t a very strict Christian. Maybe she was too old to be one.

Missie took the berries to the cross-roads store and got money for them and took it home to Rose.

“Dis all you git to-day? How come? Seekin’ mus’ be mek you pick be’y mighty slow.”

“I reckon ’e is,” Missie agreed. “I ain’ gwine seek no mo’. I tired prayin’, Aun’ Rose. You better lemme wait. I ain’ gwine dead any time soon. Please lemme wait ’bout prayin’.”

“It ain’ me. It you. Ef you kin stan’ fo be lost, den stop seekin’. You de one gwine bu’n een hell. Not me,” Rose said indifferently.

Killdee had come in and he heard this last.

“Don’ mek de gal seek. Not now, Rose. I miss ’e laughin’ an’ playin’ too much. It don’ seem natchel fo’ Missie to be gwine roun’ wid ’e face so long. A-prayin’. Le’ em res’ off from prayin’ an’ seekin’.”

“’E kin do like ’e wan’ do,” Rose said curtly. Missie grinned gayly and cut a little dance step to show how relieved she was not to have to seek peace any more, but a sharp stinging in the bottom of her foot made her stop with a wry face.

“A splinter,” she said, sitting down on the floor and looking in the sole of her foot to see.

“You see, enty?” Rose exulted. “Gawd mek you stop you’ dancin’ quick. ’E mek splinter stick you.”

But Killdee took out his pocket knife and with its big, sharp blade cut the splinter out as gently as he could.