In all her many decades of visiting, that was the first time Miss Ann had ever suggested to a hostess that she might be troublesome. Judith insisted she was not tired and that Miss Ann was a help and no trouble, but the old lady could but see that there were violet shadows under the girl’s eyes and that the contour of her cheek was not so rounded as it had been in the summer.
That night, when Billy came to her room to see if she needed anything before retiring—an unfailing custom of the old man—Miss Ann was on the point of discussing with him the evident fatigue of their beloved young hostess, but before she could open the subject Billy said:
“Miss Ann, I done got a big favor ter ax you. I ain’t ’lowin’ ter imconvemience you none, but I air gonter go on a little trip. It air goin’ on ter fifty years sence I had a sho’ ’nuf holiday, bein’ as I ain’t never been ter say free ter leave you when we’ve been a visitin’ roun’, kase I been always kinder feard you mought need ol’ Billy whilst you wa’n’t ter say ’zactly at home, but somehows now you seem ter kinder b’long here with Miss Judy an’ 258 her maw an’ my feets air been eatchin’ so much lately th’ain’t nothin’ fer me ter do but follow the signs an’ go on a trip.”
“But, Billy—” began Miss Ann.
“Yassum, I ain’t gonter be gone long. It ain’t gonter be mo’n three or fo’ days, or maybe five or six, but anyhow I’s gonter be back here in three shakes er a dead sheep’s tail. I kin see, as well as you kin, that Miss Judy air kinder tuckered out what with teachin’ an’ servin’ up them suppers to the street cyar men. I’m a thinkin’ that when I goes on my trip I mought fin’ a good cook ter holp Miss Judy out. Her maw am p’intedly ’posed ter nigger gals, but she ain’t called on ter be. Me’n you knows by lookin’ on with one eye that Mrs. Buck air mo’ hindrance than help ter Miss Judy. You ain’t gonter put no bans on my goin’ air you, Miss Ann? Looks like it ain’t ’zactly grabby fer me ter git a holiday onct every fifty years.”
“Well, if—” Miss Ann tried again.
“Yassum, I done filled all the wood boxes in the house an’ on the po’ch. I done split up enough kindlin’ ter las’ a week. I done scrubbed the kitchen an’ cleaned out the cow shed an’ put fresh straw in Cupid and Puck’s stalls. I done pick a tu’key fer Miss Judy an’ blacked 259 the stove. I ain’t lef nothin’ undone, an’ she ain’t gonter have no trouble till ol’ Billy gits back. I done already ax her what she thinks ’bout my goin’ on a trip an’ she say fer me ter git a move on me ’kase I needs it an’ what’s mo’ she done rooted out’n the attic a top coat an’ a pair er boots an’ I’m a gonter go off dressed up as good as a corpse.”
So Billy departed on his trip. When he had been gone four days and no message from him had come, Miss Ann was plainly a little uneasy about the old man.
“You ain’t called on to be worried,” said Mrs. Buck. “That old man can take care of himself all right. I must say I never expected the time to come when I’d confess to missing a darkey, but Uncle Billy is a heap of help around the place. He saves Judy a lot of work—things she never would let me do. I certainly hope nothing has happened to him.”
Nothing had—at least nothing that his mistress or Mrs. Buck could have feared. When Judith went to the kitchen on Sunday morning, the one day she allowed herself to relax, she found the fire crackling in the stove and the kettle filled and ready to boil. Standing by the table, rolling out biscuit, was a small, old mulatto woman, wiry and erect. She was 260 dressed in a stiff, purple calico dress and on her head was a bandanna handkerchief, the ends tied in front and standing up like rabbit ears.