“Some folks might better ’a’ stayed to hum for the past ten years than be runnin’ wild over the country like mad,” she observed.
Virginia reached behind the stove and drew Milly Ann from her bed.
“Father”—Jinnie enjoyed using the word and spoke it lingeringly—“says he wishes he’d stayed here now. You know, my Uncle Jordan, Matty––” She hesitated to confide in the negro woman what her father had told her. So she contented herself with:
“He’s coming here soon.”
Matty rolled her eyes toward the girl.
“I’se sorry for that, honey bunch.” Then, without explaining her words, asked: “Want me to finish about Jonathan Woggles’ grandpa dyin’?”
But Virginia’s mind was traveling in another channel.
“Where’s Bellaire, Matty?” she demanded.
“Off south,” replied the woman, “right bearin’ south.”