HIS NEED OF MIS’ SIMONS
BY
LUCY PRATT
ILLUSTRATIONS BY FREDERIC DORR STEELE
“Jes look, Miss No’th! Looker w’at’s comin’ down de road!”
Miss North turned her head inquiringly, and Ezekiel continued to comment enthusiastically.
“It’s ole Arch’bal’ Smiff,” he declared, with lively appreciation, though in the near distance Archibald failed to look as aged as Ezekiel might have led one to expect. “Yas’m, ’tis; dat’s ole Arch’bal’ Smiff. Now, w’at dey-all doin’ ’im dat-a-way fer? Look, Miss No’th! Dey’s jes a-chasin’ ’im down de road!”
Miss North stopped a moment and glanced back at the rapidly approaching Archibald.
“They are probably just chasing him for fun, aren’t they?” she began reassuringly.
“’Tain’ no fun ter git w’ite men chasin’ after yer dat-a-way,” objected Ezekiel.
There were excited shouts from the passing, jostling runners, and Archibald turned and cast a momentary exalted, half-dramatic smile on Miss North.
“They are just in fun, you see. Come, Ezekiel, I want you to go on with me, and bring back some books that I order; will you?”
“Yas’m—yas’m, I’ll go on wid yer, Miss No’th; but look like ole w’ite men’s gwine ketch ’im, too, doan’t it?”
“Catch him? No. Why should they want to catch him?”
“Cert’nly make me think ’bout de time dey-all come a-chasin’ af’ Jonah w’en I’se ter Mis’ Simons’. An’ I reckon, ef ’tain’ been fer Mis’ Simons, dey’d ’a’ ketch ’im, too. But Mis’ Simons she jes ’ntirely dis’range dey plans.”
“How did she do that?” questioned Miss North, suddenly interested.
“W’y, she jes done it,” explained Ezekiel, explicitly.
“I see; but—how? Did Jonah get into some—some trouble?”
“Ya’as, ma’am! An’ he jes did!” assured Ezekiel dramatically; “but Mis’ Simons she jes completely dis’range de whul plan. W’y, yer see, it wuz dat ve’y day de Cap’n went off ter de ho’se fair, an’ lef’ ’er all ’lone wid jes me an’ Sarah an’ Marg’ret an’—an’—well, he would ’a’ lef’ ’er wid Jonah, too, but, yer see, Mis’ Simons she foun’ she’s ’blige sen’ Jonah on a r’al ’mportant erran’. ’Twuz ’long ’bout free o’clock in 433 de evenin’, an’ I wuz in de gyarden a-waterin’ de yaller lily-baid, an’ Jonah he wuz a-hoein’ on de li’l’ paff where cut ’roun’ siden de baid, w’en Mis’ Simons step up an’ say, ‘Jonah,’ she say, ‘I want yer ter stop a-hoein’ an’ do a erran’ fer me,’ she say.
“‘Yas’m,’ Jonah answer ’er. Yer see, Jonah think a awful heap o’ Mis’ Simons, an’ allays seem ter wanter do jes like she ax ’im ter. Co’se, ef he ain’t wanter, w’y, I s’pose he’d ’a’ did it jes same anyway, but he jes natchelly is wanter. So, ‘Yas’m,’ he say, an’ Mis’ Simons ’mence tellin’ ’im all ’bout it. She look up in de sky ez she’s talkin’, too, at de sun, where’s shinin’ righ’ down stret inter de yaller lilies, an’ she say: ‘Co’se yer’ll be back ’fo’ dark, Jonah; doan’ be no longer’n yer’s ’blige ter, ’cuz we wants yer back ’fo’ dark.’
“An’ Jonah smile at ’er an’ say he’ll go ’long right smart, an’ Mis’ Simons smile back at ’im an’ say, well, not ter kill ’isself ’bout it; an’ den Jonah he lef’ us dere siden de lily-baid, an’ de sun a-shinin’ down jes same.
“‘’Zekiel,’ Mis’ Simons ’mence after w’ile, an’ ’er voice soun’ kine o’ slow an’ dreamin’ like. ‘’Zekiel, does yer s’pose yer’ll ever git ter be ’s good a man ’s Jonah?’
“‘Wha’m?’ I say, kine o’ s’prise w’en she ax me right out ez plain’s dat. ‘Yas’m, I s’pose I is, Mis’ Simons,’ I say.
“She look at me r’al quick an’ laf, same way I seen ’er do ser many times befo’.
“‘I doubt it,’ she say, still a-smilin’; ‘I doubt it, ’Zekiel.’
“Well, co’se I ain’ know jes ’zackly w’at she mean talkin’ dat-a-way, but look ’mos’ like she think I ain’t ser good’s Jonah is, an’, anyway, I ain’t r’ally like way she spoke, so, ‘Yas’m,’ I say, ‘I reckon I kin be jes ez good’s Jonah!’ I say, an’—an’ I didn’ ’mence ter cry, nudder, but—but I ’mence hoein’ on de li’l’ paff, an’ waterin’ de yaller lilies, twell Mis’ Simons pat me light ’n’ sof’ on de haid—kine o’ laffin’, too.
“‘W’y, yes, co’se, ’Zekiel,’ she say, ‘co’se yer’s gwine be ez good’s Jonah! An’ I jes reckon yer’ll be ’blige tek ’is place now twell he gits back, too! W’y—w’y, I couldn’ git ’long ’thout yer noways, could I, ’Zekiel?’ She ben’ down while she’s talkin’ an’ pick a yaller lily f’um de baid. ‘Jes see it ketch de sun!’ she say. ‘Doan’t it look like gole a-shinin’! Doan’t yer reckon I better tek a whul bunch ter Mis’ Myers, ’Zekiel?’ she say. ‘She’s sick, yer know—po’ Mis’ Myers!’
“‘Yas’m,’ I answer ’er, an’ ’mence pickin’ de bunch fer ’er.
“‘I COULDN’ GIT ’LONG ’THOUT YER NOWAYS, COULD I?’ SHE SAY”
“‘An’ you’ll tek cyare o’ de place w’ile I’se gone, won’t yer, ’Zekiel? I kin trus’ yer jes 434 same’s I kin Jonah, cyan’t I? Ya’as, co’se. I ain’ gwine be gone ve’y long, nudder,’ she say; ‘jes long ’nough ter give Mis’ Myers de flowers, an’ talk a li’l’, or p’r’aps read a li’l’—’ an’ same time she’s tellin’ me ’bout it she ’mence walkin’ off down de paff.
“Praesen’ly she turn ’roun’ ag’in, an’ I kin see ’er tekkin’ one o’ de lilies f’um de bunch an’ puttin’ it in ’er dress. Den she put ’er hand up to ’er haid quick, like she’s thought o’ sump’n’ she oughter ’membered ’fo’.
“‘’Zekiel!’ she say. An’ I run up to ’er fas’ ’s I could.
“‘’Zekiel, tell Jonah I—I forgot!’ she whisper to me, an’ she look r’al w’ite an’ strange. ‘Tell ’im—no—’ an’ she seem ter change ’er mine, ‘no, I ain’ gwine, after all. I’ll wait yere twell he comes.’
“Co’se I ain’ know w’at ’tis Mis’ Simons ’membered ’bout ser quick, an’ I ain’t r’ally wanter ax ’er, nudder; so I jes stood dere a-lookin’ after ’er w’ile she walk off ter de li’l’ arbor in de gyarden an’ se’ down on de seat. She look kine o’ lonesome, too, a-settin’ dere all ’lone, an’ I start gwine after ’er ter ax ’er w’at’s de matter. But time I gotten dere I didn’ r’ally like ter trouble ’er, so I jes stood dere quiet by de do’, a-lookin’ in.
“‘Well, ’Zekiel,’ she ’mence praesen’ly, ‘did yer want sump’n’?’
“‘No’m,’ I say, kine o’ wishin’ I ain’t come, ‘no’m, but I’se studyin’ a li’l’ ’bout yer, Mis’ Simons—an’ wonderin’ did sump’n’—frighten yer?’
“She smile den, an’ hel’ out ’er han’.
“‘No, no, my chile,’ she say, lookin’ mo’ like she useter ’gin, ‘’tain’ nuthin’ frighten me; I’se jes thinkin’ ’bout sump’n’—I oughter ’membered ’fo’. ’Twuz ve’y thoughtless o’ me—ter fergit!’ she say low like to ’erself. Den, ‘’Zekiel,’ she ’mence ag’in, ‘’ow long does yer reckon it’s gwine tek Jonah ter git back?’
“‘I dunno’m, Mis’ Simons,’ I say, ‘but I reckon he’ll be back right soon now, too.’
“‘Couldn’ tek ’im mo’n a hour, could it?’ she ask, jes ez ef I knowed all ’bout it.
“‘No’m,’ I say, ‘couldn’ tek ’im mo’n a hour.’
“‘SHE KEEP ON A-READIN’, AN’ I KEEP ON A-WUKKIN’ ON DE PAFF’”
“She look up r’al bright at me den, an’ praesen’ly look down at de flowers in ’er han’.
“‘I reckon you’ll be ’blige tek ’em ter Mis’ Myers, won’t yer, ’Zekiel?’ she ’mence. But she stop quick ’gin, lookin’ same way she did ’fo’, w’en she put ’er han’ up to ’er haid.
“‘No!’ she say, ‘doan’t yer go outen de yard ter-day, ’Zekiel! Yer won’t go ’way ter-day, will yer, ’Zekiel?’
“‘W’y, no’m,’ I say, wonderin’ w’at she mean; ‘no’m, I ain’ gwine ’way ’n’ leave yer, Mis’ Simons.’
“She smile ag’in, an’ lay down de flowers, an’ den she tuk up a book where’s layin’ on de seat.
“‘Dat’s a good li’l’ boy,’ she say; ‘now go ’n’ hoe de weeds outen de gyarden paff, same way Jonah’s doin’ ’fo’ he went.’
“So I went back ter de paff by de lilies, an’ start in ter wuk right smart. But, co’se, eve’y li’l’ w’ile I ’range ter git jes enough time ter look at Mis’ Simons, too, a-settin’ in de arbor wid ’er book; an’ praesen’ly ’mence ter look like she’s ’mos’ forgotten where she’s at, she’s a-readin’ ser hard. Mus’ ’a’ been mo’n a hour sence Jonah went ’way, too, but she keep on a-readin’, an’ I keep on a-wukkin’ on de paff, jes 435 wukkin’ ’long same’s befo’, twell bime-by I’se jes ’blige se’ down an’ res’ a li’l’ myself. But Mis’ Simons she ain’t look up ’tall. An’ after I ’mence ter feel kine o’ rested an’ mo’ like wuk, w’y, co’se I got up an’ start in hoein’ ag’in, an’ dere’s Mis’ Simons still a-settin’ dere readin’ jes same’s befo’! De sun’s gittin’ kine o’ low, too, an’ look like she gwine git cotch in de dark ef she ain’ cyarful, so I drap my hoe in de grass an’ step ’long up ter de li’l arbor an’ se’ down on de step. Mis’ Simons kine o’ start-like w’en she seen me, an’ put down ’er book an’ raise ’er han’s up slow ’n’ sleepy-like to ’er eyes.
“‘Wat time is it, ’Zekiel?’ she say.
“De clock wuz strikin’ six, time I drap my hoe down in de grass, so I tole ’er ’bout it.
“‘Six!’ she say, a-jumpin’ off ’er seat. ‘Six er-clock! An’ ain’ Jonah come? Ain’t he come yit, ’Zekiel?’
“‘No’m, he ain’t,’ I say, ‘cuz he ain’t, so w’at else is it I kin say? ‘No’m, he ain’t,’ I say.
“‘An’ he’s been gone long ’nough to’ve gone free times at leas’!’ she whisper un’er ’er bref. ‘Oh, w’at is I done! Jonah, Jonah, w’y doan’t yer come back!’
“‘I reckon he’ll be back right soon now,’ I say, ’cuz cert’nly make me feel bad ter see Mis’ Simons look dat-a-way. ‘Doan’t yer reckon he will?’ I say.
“But she jes shuk ’er haid awful sad ’n’ slow-like.
“‘I’se ’fraid—I’se ’fraid sump’n’s ’appen to ’im, ’Zekiel,’ she answer. ‘I—I sent ’im de ve’y place—where it’s awful trouble—gwine on ter-day! I sent ’im, ’Zekiel, ’thout—’thout ’memberin’ w’at I knowed!’
“Well, I ain’t r’ally know ’ow ter answer ’er dat time, so I jes didn’ make no ’sponse ’tall.
“‘Come,’ she say, ‘we mus’ go in de house, ’Zekiel; it’s gittin’ dark.’
“It seem awful long after we’s in de house, an’ praesen’ly, it’s sech a warm evenin’, Mis’ Simons went out on de po’ch. But she mus’ ’a’ feel kine o’ strange ’n’ lonesome, too, ’cuz praesen’ly she ax Sarah ’n’ Marg’ret won’t dey come out ’n’ set dere fer a li’l’ w’ile.
“‘It’s time fer you ter go ter baid, ain’t it, ’Zekiel?’ she say; an’ I jes start ter tell ’er, ‘No’m, I doan’ reckon ’tis,’ w’en it come de stranges’ noise out dere in de yard. Look like somebody’s runnin’ ser fas’ he cyan’t sca’cely breve, an’ all time comin’ right ’long fru de grass todes de steps.
“‘Mis’ Simons, Mis’ Simons!’ somebody whisper, awful hoarse an’ strange-like. An’ w’at yer s’pose? W’y, it’s jes Jo-nah, a-tearin’ right ’long up de steps!
“‘Lemme go in, Mis’ Simons! Please lemme go in!’ he keep on whisperin’, like he cyan’t sea’cely breve. ‘Dey’s after me, Mis’ Simons! Dey’s gwine git me! An’ yer knows I ain’t done a thing to ’em, Mis’ Simons! Oh, w’at’s dey a-chasin’ me fer? I—I ain’ done a thing!’
“Yas’m, dat’s jes de way he talk, an’ ’mos’ look like he’s gwine fall right down, too, twell Mis’ Simons tuk hole uv ’is arm, kine o’ shekkin’ ’im, like, an’ turn ’roun’ ter de do’.
“‘Go in, Jonah! Quick!’ she say. ‘Cuz dey’s voices an’ folks a-runnin’ an’ holl’in’ right dere in de yard. She seem ter jes push ’im in an’ shet de do’; an’ den she stan’ up, lookin’ ser stret ’n’ w’ite-like, didn’ look r’ally like Mis’ Simons.
“‘’Tain’ gwine nobody else git—fru—dat-do’,’ she say, ser low couldn’ nobody sca’cely hyeah it; an’ den, oh, ’twuz jes awful! Dey all come a-knockin’ up ’ginst de steps, an’ a-holl’in’ an’ a-pushin’, an’ some uv ’em laffin’ an’ some uv ’em cursin’, an’ all uv ’em holl’in’ ’bout de nigger, an’ tellin’ Mis’ Simons ter bring out de nigger!
“An’ w’at yer s’pose? Mis’ Simons she jes stan’ dere same’s ever, a-lookin’ down on ’em wid ’er back ter de do’.
“‘IT’S TIME FER YOU TER GO TO BAID, AIN’T IT, ’ZEKIEL?’ SHE SAY”
“‘Bring ’im out!’ dey keep on a-holl’in’. ‘Bring ’im out!’
“An’ ’er face look all w’ite an’ dazzlin’ in de light, an’ ’er voice come low an’ kine o’ shekkin’ like. ‘No,’ she say, ‘I cert’nly is not gwine—bring ’im out,’ she say. Yas’m, dat’s jes de ’sponse she make. An’ den dey all ’mence holl’in’ ag’in ’bout crim’nal ’n’—’n’ murd’rer, an’ sayin’ does she want ’em ter go in af-ter ’im, an’ buntin’ up ’ginst de steps ag’in, an’ jostlin’ an’ pushin’, twell Mis’ Simons kine o’ step forrad a li’l’, still a-lookin’ down at ’em.
“‘Ain’t yer ’shame!’ she say. ‘Oh—ain’t—yer—’shame!’ An’ I ’clare, ez she stood dere, seem like I ain’ nuver seed ’er eyes look ser clare ’n’ burnin’-like, ner ’er face ser dazzlin’ w’ite.
“‘He’s jes ez innercent uv any crime—ez I is,’ she say. ‘I knows it, ’cuz I knows ’im,’ she say; ‘an’—you knows it! Ef yer doan’t—it’s ’cuz yer doan’t cyare ’nough ’bout it—ter—fine—out.’
“It’s one r’al big man where seem ter be kine o’ mekkin’ all de res’ uv ’em do jes like he done, an’ fum de ve’y time Mis’ Simons ’mence ter speak he jes stood dere a-lookin’ at ’er like he cyan’t move ner holler.
“‘Yer—doan’t cyare ’nough ’bout it—ter—fine out!’ she say; ’an’ den dis yere’s de kine o’ thing yer do! Oh, it’s de kine o’ thing we’s ’blige answer fer—eve’y day!’ An’ she stop, kine o’ gaspin’ like, ter ketch ’er bref.
“Well, de ve’y same time she stop, de big man turn ’roun’ awful quick ’n’ look off r’al sudden at de road an’ den he look at de res’ where’s cursin’ ’n’ laffin’——”
“Ezekiel!” interrupted Miss North in a sharp whisper, catching at his arm. Then her hand dropped, and she looked around her.
“Don’t you see, Ezekiel?” she went on naturally. “We are almost there. And—wait, Ezekiel; stay right here; don’t hurry so. Wait, stay close to me! There seems to be—some trouble.”
“It’s Arch’bal’, Miss No’th!” he began, his voice rising excitedly. “Dey’s cotch ’im! I tole yer dey’s gwine cotch ’im, Miss No’th! Look, Miss No’th!”
Just then a big negro broke in on the scene, and suddenly Archibald was at large again, dashing through the noisy crowd in one direction, while the big negro ran in another. In the confusion that followed, Miss North put her hand out for Ezekiel, to find that he was not there, while Ezekiel, looking distractedly for Miss North, found himself pushed on in the crowd of jostling, swearing men.
“Oh, look out!” he gasped; “yer’s pushin’ me! Yer—yer’s steppin’ on me! Oh, turn me loose!”
“Get out o’ yere!” a coarse voice called in his ear, “You’ll get killed, an’ good riddance if you do!”
He felt them closing in over him, while he slipped to the ground—tramping on over him, pushing, tramping on, while, a limp, wounded little heap, he tried to raise his head, and felt it knock back again in the dust.
“Mis’—Mis’ Simons—wouldn’ nuver ’a’ let yer—done me—dat-a-way!” he whispered vaguely. He raised his head again, feeling confusedly for it as he sat up, gazing stupidly around. Then he pulled himself to his feet and limped aimlessly around in a circle.
“Where’s I gwine?” he mumbled. “Mis’ Simons! ... Mis’ Simons—wouldn’ nuver ’a’ let yer—done me—dat-a-way!” He stumbled off across the side-walk into the grass, unheeded by a still confused, noisy crowd. In the grass he still stumbled on.
“Mis’ Simons—wouldn’ nuver ’a’ let yer—’a’ let yer—done me—” As he slipped down again into the grass, his eyes closed.
“‘’TAIN’ GWINE NOBODY ELSE GIT—FRU—DAT—DO’,’ SHE SAY”
A crowd of angry, excited men seemed to be still before him—but Mrs. Simons stood with her back to the door, looking down at them with a white face. From a step beside her he seemed to be still looking up at her, while her low, vibrating voice seemed to be still echoing—echoing:
“Oh, aren’t you ashamed of yourselves! Aren’t—you—ashamed!”
With their reckless, brutish faces flickering 437 before him again, he thought he was watching only her—watching—while her low voice went vibrating on—till they turned from her, swearing and laughing! And then she was stretching out her white hand, catching at one of the pillars, while she slipped down—down beside him on the step—and her arms fell around him helplessly.
“You’ll—take—care of me!” she cried faintly, “won’t you—Ezekiel!”
“Yas’m,” came a broken whisper from the grass, “I’ll tek cyare o’ yer, Mis’ Simons!”
But there was another low voice which he did not understand, and his eyes opened wide, looking up vacantly at Miss North.
“Ezekiel! Have you—have you—been hurt? Oh, Ezekiel——”
“Yas’m, I reckon I is, Mis’ Simons, jes a li’l’,” he mumbled, struggling painfully to his feet; “but I’ll—tek cyare o’ yer—I’ll tek cyare o’ yer, Mis’ Simons!”
The next morning he sat in his seat at school, watching Miss North with large, absent eyes.
“You ought not to have come this morning, Ezekiel,” she began gently, as her eyes rested on his thin, wistful little face; “I don’t think you ought to stay.”
“Yas’m, I oughter stay, Miss No’th,” he assured her, with a faint smile. His eyes wandered to the window.
“Did dey ketch ’im?” he questioned suddenly. “Did dey ketch Arch’bal’, Miss No’th?”
“No,” she answered, a sudden hot color rising up in her cheeks. “Archibald’s gone away; they can’t find him. But he—he needn’t have. They found out it was a mistake; he wasn’t the one they wanted.”
“Mis’ Simons oughter ’a’ been yere—ain’t she?” he went on dreamily. “She wouldn’ nuver ’a’ let ’em—done ’im—dat-a-way! Would she, Miss No’th?”
“No!” she answered, her voice startling him out of his dream, while the color deepened painfully in her cheeks. “Remember always, Ezekiel, she wouldn’t have let them! And remember”—her voice softened—“she’s your friend, because—she’s of the best!” Miss North’s eyes wandered dreamily now, and she seemed to have forgotten her audience. “Remember, there are always the others, too—the coarse and the brutal, who are only glad of an excuse—and they can stamp their whole people—very coarsely. But remember, Ezekiel,” her eyes gazed fixedly ahead, “it isn’t the fault of the best ones; it’s the fault of the worst—who always snatch at an excuse—and who will—just as long as they’re allowed.”
Her eyes fell on Ezekiel again, who was looking at her in wide perplexity.
“What is it, Ezekiel?” she smiled. “Oh, yes, I was just saying—about Mrs. Simons—she was always very good to you, wasn’t she, Ezekiel?”
“Yas’m, Mis’ Simons cert’nly wuz good ter me.” Again it was Ezekiel’s eyes that dreamed with languid, velvety moistness.
“Remember—that she’s—one of the best, Ezekiel!”
“Yas’m,” came the gentle response; “couldn’ be nobuddy no better’n—Mis’ Simons!”