Missie

THE day was almost gone. Rose was cooking supper when a shadow darkened the doorway. She looked around quickly. Who was there? Killdee always came in with heavy steps that could be heard.

A strange little figure stood on the top step. A girl who was small and dirty and ragged. A broken, rusty dishpan filled with fat light-wood splinters was balanced on her head. Thin, trembling, black hands steadied it as the child looked up into Rose’s face with a diffident smile and said softly:

“Dese is some fat chip I fetch fo’ you.”

Rose looked at the rich pine chips piled high on the pan. Then she searched the child’s narrow face. Her keen eyes noted the pointed chin, the curve of the purplish, dark-red lips, the delicate, bluish bloom on the black cheeks. A stranger. Who?

“Who is you, gal?” she asked abruptly. “Whe’ you come f’om?”

Rose knew everybody in this part of the world and she had never seen or heard of this child before.

“I name Missie,” the child answered. “My mammy an’ all o’ we come f’om ober de ribber fo’ pick cotton. None ain’ mek to we home.”

“Whe’ you git dem chip?” Rose asked after a moment’s thought.

“I cut dem off a stump back o’ we house,” was the prompt reply.

“Whe’ you house dey?” Rose asked again.

The child turned and pointed across the field to a dark line of woods that showed a jagged edge under the sunset sky.

“We house is yonder,” she said simply.

“Great Gawd,” Rose said, “I know em. Da ol’, broke-down house. Da’s a bad-luck house, gal. Too much a people dead een em. I wouldn’ trust fo’ stay dey. I too faid o’ hants.”

Missie’s big eyes glistened in the firelight as she heard, but she did not answer.

“Put de chip down by de fireplace,” Rose bade her. “I glad to git em. Wha’ you want fo’ em?”

Missie dropped her eyes and said shyly.

“Please, ma’am, gi’ me a lil piece o’ bread.”

Rose scanned the thin face, the slight body. Was the child hungry? She went to the safe and looked in a pan there. She broke off a piece of corn pone left from dinner and handed it to Missie, who took it eagerly and started out of the door.

“Wait,” Rose said. “You ain’ got no manners? You ain’ gwine say ’Tank you’?”

Missie bowed and pulled a foot back to make a curtsey and said solemnly:

“Tank you, ma’am.”

“Da’s right,” Rose laughed. “You kin cutsey good fo-true. But look how you drap crumbs on de clean flo’.”

Missie gave a quick look around the room and spied a field-straw broom in the corner. She laid her bread carefully on the table and, getting the broom, swept all the crumbs into the fire with a few deft strokes.

“Why, you is a smart lil gal,” Rose approved. “You kin sweep nice. When you gits hongry again, fetch me some mo splinters an’ I’ll gi’ you bread.”

Missie took up her bread and made another curtsey.

“Good ebenin’, ma’am,” she said respectfully.

Rose laughed again and responded:

“Good ebenin’.” But as an afterthought she called to the child:

“Come back heah a minute. Wha’ you las’ name, gal?”

Missie reflected seriously and answered:

“I dunno, ma’am. Ma ain’ nebber tell me.”

“I don’ reckon you got none,” Rose pronounced severely.

Missie seemed not to understand, for she gave a puzzled look at Rose, then went away down the path.

In the fading light Rose saw that a thin, yellow cur dog walked beside her and that Missie fed him bits of her bread.

When Killdee came in from the field and saw the fat splinters and heard how Missie swept up crumbs off the floor and curtseyed when she said good-by, the thought flashed into his mind that Missie would be the very person to come and stay with Rose and help her take care of Jim.

“Let’s git em,” he said.

“You reckon ’e mammy would gi’ em ’way?” Rose considered.

“Sho ’e will. Anyway, I kin go ax em.”

The next day at noon when Killdee and Mike came home for dinner, Missie and the yellow cur dog were walking behind them. Both waited outside by the stable door until Mike was fed, then they walked slowly behind Killdee into the house.

“I got em,” Killdee announced brightly. “I got you a lil gal.”

Rose’s eyes were on the dog. Killdee saw she disapproved.

A string of fresh egg-shells hung on a nail by the chimney dangled in the draught. Rose had put them there this morning. Strung like that and hung beside the fire, egg-shells would make her hens lay.

Missie looked from them to Rose, then at the dog.

“Son don’ suck egg. No’m,” she defended.

“Don’ tell me no lie, gal,” Rose warned.

“No’m, Son ain’ suck a egg een e life. We raise em,” Missie affirmed.

“Wha ’e name?” Rose asked sternly.

“We call em ’Son,’ ma’am.”

“You gi’ de dawg to me, Missie. I eber did want a coon dawg. I bet e is a good one,” Killdee intervened. “An’ I’ll kill em ef e suck one o’ Rose eggs.”

Missie looked up quickly, but the expression on Killdee’s face reassured her. Rose saw something like a message pass between Killdee and Missie and she retorted:

“Ef ’e suck eggs you won’ hab a chance to kill em. I’ll tend to em my own se’f,” she threatened. Her tone was sharp.

Killdee drew a chair forward and sat down.

“Come heah, gal,” he said. “Lemme look at you good. I ain’ had time tell now.”

Rose stood with arms akimbo and watched Missie come forward. The small bare head with its sunburned wool was bowed humbly. The slim, black fingers plucked nervously at the soiled, ragged dress. One ashy toe of a slender foot dug at a line of a crack in the floor.

“Look een my eye, gal. Don’t be faid. Tell me you name,” Killdee coaxed with an amused smile on his face.

“Come heah, close to me, gal,” he repeated.

“Don’ plague em, Killdee,” Rose chided him.

“I ain’ plaguin’ em,” Killdee declared. “I des axin’ em ’e name. I haffer know ’e name, enty?”

Missie lifted her eyes timidly. They met Killdee’s and her curved lashes flickered and dropped. Killdee saw that the dark-red lips quivered and a dimple came and went in the pointed chin. The child was shy as a wild bird. The little breast was heaving with a sudden sob and a bright tear fell with a tiny pat on Rose’s clean floor. Missie quickly put up an arm to wipe away the others that were following it.

Killdee was distressed. He hadn’t meant to frighten her. No.

“Don’ cry, lil gal. Don’ cry. I wasn’ makin’ fun o’ you. No. Come heah close to me. I like lil gals like you.”

He put out a big hand and pity made his deep voice very gentle.

“Come heah, lil gal. Come close to me. I had a lil gal one time.”

Missie raised her eyes again and, though there were tears on her long lashes, her lips parted and Killdee saw teeth white as rice grains showing between them.

“Da’s right,” he encouraged. “Da’s right. Try fo’ laugh, gal. Don’t cry. I can’ stan’ fo’ see a gal-chillen cry. Come stan’ close to me and tell me yo’ name.”

Missie came closer, but when Killdee put an arm around her and drew her up to him, her heart beat fast with fear. He was so big. So strong. So different from anybody she had ever seen in her life before.

Yet mingled with the fear was a thrill of something like joy. She sensed that in the strength of this man she would find safety. Protection. And she sensed in the sharp tone of Rose’s voice something that made her afraid and unhappy.

Yes, Killdee was her friend. It was good to lean right against him so. To feel his arm around her. And she leaned with simple trust and wiped her eyes and cheeks dry with her sleeve.

Rose was shocked. The girl was filthy. More than likely, full of lice. Killdee was a thoughtless man. He didn’t know how to look after himself.

“You le’ da gal git close you, Killdee?” she cried out. “Wait tell I scour ’em an’ put clean clo’es on em. Gawd! I wouldn’ le’ em touch me no-how.”

Killdee laughed and drew his arm away, saying:

“You reckon e’s lousy?”

“Sho ’e is,” Rose affirmed. She pointed to the shelf.

“Look on de shelf, gal. Git dem two buckets an’ go to de spring fo’ water. I gwine hotten a potful and scrub you hide good.”

As Missie started for the buckets, Killdee shook his head.

“No, Rose. One bucket is plenty fo’ a lil gal to fetch up da steep hill. You ain’ fo’ strain a gal-chillen. Missie ain’ had no dinner. E don’ know de way to de spring. You fo-git. Missie ain’ nuttin’ but a baby.”

“Baby!” Rose scoffed. “Baby nuttin’! E might lil an’ dry, but shucks! e’s plenty ol’ fo’ go to de spring an’ fetch two buckets o’ water.”

“Gi’ em some dinner fus’, Rose. When I finish my own, I’ll git you de water.”

Rose said no more. She fixed a pan of food for Killdee, then one for Missie and one for herself, and they all sat down to eat. There was a strange silence. Somehow the little girl’s presence made a difference already.

When Killdee finished eating, he wiped his mouth on his sleeve and got up.

“I’ll git you all de water you want now. Ef Jim ain’ wake when I come back, I gwine wake him. I haffer play wid em a lil befo’ I go back to de fiel’.”

“No, you ain’ gwine wake em nuttin’,” Rose declared, looking over at the bed, and a tender smile softened her heavy mouth.

“Yes I is,” Killdee returned playfully. “You got a gal to nuss em fo’ you now. I wan’ see how Jim like dis gal anyhow.”

Missie ate her dinner hungrily. It tasted good, for she had never had many full meals in her life.

After Killdee had gone to the field again, Rose and Missie washed the pots and pans together. Rose showed the child where each thing stayed when it was clean.

“You is fo’ do dis ebey day, Missie,” Rose said simply, and Missie nodded assent.

When all the pots and pans were put away, Rose sat down to rest and smoke her pipe.

“Sweep de flo’, gal. Sweep easy, too. Don’ wake Jim.”

But Jim did wake and when Missie started toward him with an eager, happy smile, Rose stopped her.

“No,” she said, “don’ touch em. You’s full o’ lice. I don’ want Jim to git none on em. No, my Gawd! Wait tell I git you clean. Den you kin mind em all you want.”

When Killdee came home at dark, a queer, comical little figure stood by the hearth helping Rose cook supper. Missie, after Rose had cleaned her.

Every bit of wool had been clipped from her small head. The only garment she wore was one of Killdee’s own shirts. The sleeves were cut off the right length for the thin arms, and the neck-band, lapped over and pinned together, hung awkwardly. The child glanced shamefacedly at him when he threw back his head and roared with laughter.

“Fo’ Gawd’s sake, Rose! Dis gal look like a skinned rabbit.”

Killdee looked at Missie again and held his sides. Rose stood looking and laughing too.

“I had to do em so, Killdee,” Rose explained. “E was pure lousy. ’E dress was sewed on em. I cut off ebyting e had on an’ bu’nt em up. Den I clip ’e haid. Dat ol’ shu’t o’ you’ own been too ol’ fo’ patch any mo’. But de gal is clean. An’ Jim is pure crazy ’bout em. ’E play so much ’e gone sleep by fus’ dark.”

Killdee walked over to the hearth where Missie stood and put a hand on her shoulder. How pitiful that poor little bare head was! He didn’t know just what to say.

“Nemmine, Missie,” he murmured, “You haih’ll soon grow back. I’m gwine to de sto’ nex’ Sat’day an’ I’ll buy you a dress. A purty dress. An’ some o’ dese days I’m gwine buy you some shoes fo’ wear on Sunday, too.”

Missie could not look up. Two bright tears dropped on the clean white sand of the hearth.

Killdee leaned and took her hand and led her with him to a chair.

“Jim is gone to sleep, lil gal. I got to hol’ some kinder chillen een my lap. Lemme hol’ you a minute.”

“No-suh,” Rose objected, “Missie ain’ no baby fo’ you to spile. Go git me a pan out de safe, gal. You too big fo’ set een Killdee lap.”

Missie went to the safe and Killdee sat down in the doorway. He took out his pipe and lit it and smoked in silence.

The day was gone. A slender, young moon guarded the evening star. Crickets chirped a few trial notes together. A cow bell jangled down in the pasture. A whippoorwill called uneath words. The hot breeze that fanned his face blew the smoke from his mouth back into the cabin.

A sudden weariness seemed to sap his strength. A feeling of loneliness darkened his heart. The fields out there, the woods beyond them, all lay quiet. Peaceful. Why could he not be so? Why must he always strive, struggle with something inside his heart? Rose didn’t understand. No.

His pipe was finished. Looking inside, he asked:

“Whe’ is Missie gwine sleep, Rose?”

“I gwine mek em a pallet on de flo’,” Rose answered cheerfully. “I got plenty o’ quilt.”

When Missie was curled up on one folded quilt on the floor and covered over with another, she knew she must not let Rose and Killdee hear her crying. But when she thought of her Mother, of Sis, of all of them at home, her heart felt likely to burst with longing for them.

Could she bear to stay here? When everybody got sound asleep, she’d get up and slip out of the door and go back to her mother. She wouldn’t be afraid of the dark with Son. He’d go with her and keep anything from hurting her.

But her clothes were burned up. Her hair was clipped off. She had nothing on but Killdee’s old shirt. She couldn’t let them see her like that. Not like that.

Sobs wrenched her. She was afraid. Misery made her ache all over.

Killdee leaned over her, patting her gently, saying: “Good night.”

She slipped a hand into his big, warm one and held to it. If he would just stay here by her a little!

“You mus’ dream a good dream to-night, lil gal. Dis is de fus’ night you sleep in dis house. All you dream’ll come true,” he whispered.

Missie looked at him and tried to smile. She would never be afraid of him any more. No. And if he wanted her, she’d stay here and try to be happy with Rose.

“Do, Killdee,” Rose scolded. “Le’ de gal go to sleep.”

Next morning Missie woke early. She tried to recall her dream. What was it? She couldn’t quite remember. But it was something pleasant. It seemed to be something about Killdee.