The Comings of Cousin Ann

by Emma Speed Sampson

Uncle Billy put down the two bulging telescopes he had picked up and looking piteously at Mrs. Bucknor said, “What you say, Miss Milly? I reckon I done misumberstood. You mus’ ’scuse ol’ Billy, Miss Milly.”

“Miss Milly done said I’ll show you the way,” said Aunt Em’ly, picking up a great hat box and a Gladstone bag. “I’ll he’p you carry up some er these here bags an’ baggage.”

The gaunt old woman stalked ahead, while Billy followed, but far from meekly. His beard with its many wrapped plaits wagged ominously and he could hardly wait to get beyond earshot of the white folks before he gave voice to his indignation.

“What’s all this a puttin’ my Miss Ann off in a lil’ ol’ hall bedroom? You-alls is gone kinder crazy. The bes’ ain’t good enough fer my Miss Ann. How she gonter make out in no little squz up room what ain’t mo’n a dressin’-room? Miss Ann air always been a havin’ the gues’ chamber an’ I’m a gonter ’stablish her thar now. Miss Milly done got mixed up, Sis Em’ly,” and the old man changed his indignant tone to a wheedling one. “Sholy yo’ Miss Milly 35 wa’ jes’ a foolin’ an’ seein’ as th’ain’t nobody in the gues’ chamber we’ll jes’ put my Miss Ann thar.”

The door of the guest chamber was open and the determined old darkey pushed by Aunt Em’ly and entered the room prepared by Mildred and Nan for their friends.

“See, they mus’ a’ got a message she wa’ on the way, kase they done put flowers in her room an’ all,” and old Billy kneeled to loosen the straps of the telescopes.

“Git up from yonder, nigger!” exclaimed Aunt Em’ly. “The young ladies air done swep and garnished this here room for they own comp’ny. Th’ain’t nothin’ the matter with that there hall room. It air plenty good enough fer mos’ folks. I reckon yo’ Miss Ann ain’t a whit better’n my Miss Mildred and my Miss Nan—ain’t so good in fac’, kase they’s got the same blood she air an’ mo’ of it. They’s a older fambly than she is kase they’s come along two or three generations further than what she is. They’s Peytons an’ Bucknors an’ Prestons an’ Throckmortons an’ Butlers an’—an’ every other Kentucky fambly they’s a mind ter be.”

Uncle Billy staggered to his feet and looked at Aunt Em’ly with amazement and indignation. He tried to speak but words failed him. She 36 towered above him. There was something sinister and threatening about her—at least so the old man fancied. Aunt Em’ly was in reality merely standing up for the rights of her own especial white folks, but to the dazed old man she seemed like a symbolic figure of famine and disaster, lean and gaunt, pointing a long, bony finger at him. He followed her to the hall bedroom and deposited his burdens and then staggered down the stairs for the rest of Miss Ann’s belongings.

Poor Uncle Billy! His troubles were almost more than he could bear. Not that he personally minded getting up before dawn and flitting from Mrs. Betty Throckmorton’s home before any member of the household was stirring. His Miss Ann had so willed it and far be it from him to object to her commands. Even going without breakfast was no hardship, if it so pleased his beloved mistress. The meal he had declared to Mrs. Bucknor they had eaten at a hotel on the way was purely imaginary. Crackers and cheese from a country store they had passed on their journey and a spray of black-heart cherries he had pulled from a tree by the wayside was all he and his mistress had eaten since the evening before at supper.

That supper! Would he ever forget it? From 37 the back porch steps he had heard the insults flung at Miss Ann by her hostess. Of course everybody who was anybody, or who had ever belonged to anybody, knew that Mrs. Elizabeth Throckmorton, known as Cousin Betty, was not really a member of the family but had merely married into it. According to Uncle Billy’s geography she was not even an American, let alone a Kentuckian, since she had come from some foreign parts vaguely spoken of as New England. He and Miss Ann never had liked to visit there, but stopped on rare occasions when they felt that being an outsider her feelings might be hurt when she heard they had been in her neighborhood, had passed by her farm without paying their respects in the shape of a short visit.