“Here, take it, an’ git out’n my kitchen. I don’t much mo’n git the breakfus dishes washed befo’ I haster begin gittin’ dinner an’ if I’s gonter have ter be a stoppin’ every five minutes ter fix trays I like ter know when I will git through.”
“Thank you, Sis Em’ly, thank you!” cried old Billy, seizing the coveted tray and making a hasty exit. “Her bark air wus’n her bite,” he chuckled, “an’ I do hope Miss Ann ain’t gonter take away her appletite for dinner by eatin’ all this toas’ an’ drinkin’ this whole pot er tea, kase I tell you now ol’ Billy’s stomic air done stuck to his back with emptiness.”
The tea and toast did put heart in the weary travelers. Miss Ann left half the simple feast for Billy, commanding him to go sit in the corner of the room and devour his share.
“Now I’m gonter rub down my hosses an’ wash the ca’ige, and if you’s got any little odd jobs fer me ter do I’ll mosey back this way arter dinner. Praise Gawd, the Buck Hill folks has dinner in the middle of the day, an’ plenty of it. These here pick-up, mid-day canned salmon lunches air bad enough for the white folks but by the time they gits ter the niggers th’ain’t nothin’ lef but the can. I 63 hear tell the young ladies air ’spectin’ of comp’ny so I reckon you’ll be a needin’ yo’ sprigged muslin ter take the shine out’n all the gatherin’. I’m a gonter press it fer you, even if a hot iron air arskin’ a big favor with some er these free niggers.”
“Oh, Billy, you needn’t bother to press my gown. It makes very little difference what I wear. I don’t believe I can appear this evening.”
“Miss Ann, air you sick? Ain’t yo’ tea picked you up none?”
“No, Billy, I’m not sick. I’m just so miserable. I’m beginning to see that we are no longer wanted—even here at Buck Hill.” The old woman’s voice quavered piteously. “They used to want us—everywhere. At least, if they didn’t they pretended they did. I don’t know when it started—this drawing back—this feeling we are a burden. When did it begin, Billy?”
“’Tain’t never begun. You’s jes’ so blue-blooded you is sensitive like, Miss Ann. You is wanted mo’n ever. You-all’s kin is proud ter own you. You air still the beauty of the fambly, Miss Ann. I knows, kase I done seed every shemale mimber of the race er Peytons an’ Bucknors an’ all. Th’ain’t never a one 64 what kin hol’ a can’le ter you. Don’t you go ter throwin’ off on my Miss Ann or you’ll be havin’ ol’ Billy ter fight. I ain’t seed nothin’ in this county ter put long side er you, less’n it wa’ that pretty red-headed gal what went whizzin’ by us up yonder on the pike in a blue ortermobubble. I ain’t knowin’ who she air but one thing that made her so pretty wa’ that I member the time when you wa’ jes’ like her. She turned her head aroun’ ter look at us an’ she give me sech a start I pretty nigh fell off’n my box.
“I ain’t meanin’ no disrespec’ ter Marse Bob an’ Miss Milly’s daughters, but they ain’t nothin’ by the side er that there young gal what dusted us this mornin’. The bes’-lookin’ one er their daughters is Mr. Jeff. He air sho growed ter a likely young man. He air certainly kind an’ politeful too. Didn’t he say pintedly he wa’ glad ter see you? Didn’t he ketch a holt an’ help me tote ev’y las’ one er these here trunks up here? When the young marster air so hospitle I don’t see whe’fo’ you gits notions in yo’ haid.”
“Perhaps you are right, Billy,” and Miss Ann again held up her head. She must not let herself slump. The will that had carried her through all the long years of visiting must 65 carry her still. She had demanded and hence received homage and respect from her kinsmen for two generations and she must continue to do it. It would be fatal at this point to show weakness or truculence. She had been and intended to be always the honored guest at the various homes that she visited. The unfortunate occurrence at Cousin Betty Throckmorton’s was to be ignored—forgotten. Billy was right; she must dress with care. The matter of the hall bedroom must be treated lightly and accepted as a compliment. It wasn’t as though she had been put out of the guest chamber. She knew in her heart that in times that were past any youthful visitors expected at Buck Hill must have made way for her, but she did not acknowledge it to herself or to Billy.