The Chronicles of Aunt Minervy Ann

by Joel Chandler Harris

“I stood up in de flo’, I did, an’ ax ’er, ‘Which Mr. Towers?’ She say, ‘Mr. Jesse Towers.’ I ’low, ‘He done dead.’ She say, ‘No, he ain’t; ef he wuz he done come ter life; dey done got a telegraph fum ’im, I tell you.’ ‘Is dat de reason you gwine ’way?’ I des holla’d it at ’er. She draw’d a long breff an’ say, ‘Yes, dat’s de reason.’

“I tell you right now, ma’m, I didn’t know ef I wuz stannin’ on my head er floatin’ in de a’r. I wuz plum outdone. But dar she sot des es cool ez a curcumber wid de dew on it. I went out de do’, I did, an’ walk ’roun’ de house once ter de right an’ twice ter de lef’ bekaze de ol’ folks use ter tell me dat ef you wuz bewitched, dat ’ud take de spell away. I ain’t tellin’ you no lie, ma’m—fer de longes’ kinder minnit I didn’t no mo’ b’lieve dat Miss Sadie wuz settin’ dar in my house tellin’ me dat kinder rigamarole, dan I b’lieve I’m flyin’ right now. Dat bein’ de case, I bleeze ter fall back on bewitchments, an’ so I walk ’roun’ de house. But when I went back in, dar she wuz, settin’ in a cheer an’ lookin’ up at de rafters.

“Wellum, I went in an’ drapt down in a cheer an’ lookt at ’er. Bimeby, I say, ‘Miss Sadie, does you mean ter set dar an’ tell me youer gwine ’way ’kaze yo’ husban’ comin’ home?’ She flung her arms behime ’er head, she did, an’ say, ‘I ain’t none er his wife; I des been playin’ off!’ De way she look an’ de way she say it wuz ’nuff fer me. I wuz pairlized; yessum, I wuz dumfounder’d. Ef anybody had des but totch me wid de tip er der finger, I’d ’a’ fell off’n dat cheer an’ never stirred atter I hit de flo’. Ever’thing ’bout de house lookt quare. Miss Vallie had a lookin’-glass one time wid de pictur’ uv a church at de bottom. When de glass got broke, she gimme de pictur’, an’ I sot it up on de mantel-shelf. I never know’d ’fo’ dat night dat de steeple er der church wuz crooked. But dar ’twuz. Mo’ dan dat I cotch myse’f feelin’ er my fingers fer ter see ef ’twuz me an’ ef I wuz dar.

“Talk ’bout dreams! dey wa’n’t no dream could beat dat, I don’t keer how twisted it mought be. An’ den, ma’m, she sot back dar an’ tol’ me de whole tale ’bout how she come ter be dar. I’ll never tell it like she did; dey ain’t nobody in de wide worl’ kin do dat. But it seem like she an’ Marse Jesse wuz stayin’ in de same neighborhoods, er stayin’ at de same place, he a-fiddlin’ an’ she a-knockin’ on de peanner er de harp, I fergit which. Anyhow, dey seed a heap er one an’er. Bofe un um had come dar fum way off yan’, an’ ain’t got nobody but deyse’f fer ter ’pen’ on, an’ dat kinder flung um togedder. I ’speck dey must er swapt talk ’bout love an’ marryin’—you know yo’se’f, ma’m, dat dat’s de way young folks is. Howsomever dat may be, Marse Jesse, des ter tease ’er, sot down one day an’ writ a long letter ter his wife. Tooby sho’ he ain’t got no wife, but he des make out he got one, an’ dat letter he lef’ layin’ ’roun’ whar Miss Sadie kin see it. ’Twa’n’t in no envelyup, ner nothin’, an’ you know mighty well, ma’m, dat when a ’oman, young er ol’, see dat kinder letter layin’ ’roun’ she’d die ef she don’t read it. Fum de way Miss Sadie talk, dat letter must ’a’ stirred up a coolness ’twix’ um, kaze de mornin’ when he wuz gwine on dat ’scursion, Marse Jesse pass by de place whar she wuz settin’ at an’ flung de letter in her lap an’ say, ‘What’s in dar wuz fer you.’

“Wellum, wid dat he wuz gone, an’ de fus’ news Miss Sadie know’d de papers wuz full er de names er dem what got drownded in de boat, an’ Marse Jesse head de roll, ’kaze he wuz de mos’ pop’lous music-maker in de whole settlement. Den dar wuz de gal an’ de letter. I wish I could tell dis part like she tol’ me settin’ dar in my house. You’ll never git it straight in yo’ head less’n you’d ’a’ been dar an’ hear de way she tol’ it. Nigger ez I is, I know mighty well dat a white ’oman ain’t got no business parmin’ ’erse’f off ez a man’s wife. But de way she tol’ it tuck all de rough aidges off’n it. She wuz dar in dat big town, wuss’n a wilderness, ez you may say, by ’erse’f, nobody ’penin’ on ’er an’ nobody ter ’pen’ on, tired down an’ plum wo’ out, an’ wid all dem kinder longin’s what you know yo’se’f, ma’am, all wimmen bleeze ter have, ef dey er white er ef dey er black.

“Yit she ain’t never tol’ nobody dat she wuz Marse Jesse’s wife. She des han’ de letter what she’d kep’ ter Miss Fanny, an’ fell down on de flo’ in a dead faint, an’ she say dat ef it hadn’t but ’a’ been fer me, she’d a got out er de bed dat fust night an’ went ’way fum dar; an’ I know dat’s so, too, bekaze she wuz ranklin’ fer ter git up fum dar. But at de time I put all dat down ter de credit er de deleeriums, an’ made ’er stay in bed.

“Wellum, ef I know’d all de books in de worl’ by heart, I couldn’t tell you how I felt atter she done tol’ me dat tale. She sot back dar des ez calm ez a baby. Bimeby she say, ‘I’m glad I tol’ you; I feel better dan I felt in a mighty long time.’ It look like, ma’am, dat a load done been lift fum ’er min’. Now I know’d pine blank dat sump’n gotter be done, ’kaze de train’d be in at midnight, an’ den when Marse Jesse come dey’d be a tarrifyin’ time at Gabe Towers’s. Atter while I up an’ ax ’er, ‘Miss Sadie, did you reely love Marse Jesse?’ She say, ‘Yes, I did’—des so. I ax ’er, ‘Does you love ’im now?’ She say, ‘Yes, I does—an’ I love dem ar people up dar at de house; dat de reason I’m gwine ’way.’ She talk right out; she done come to de p’int whar she ain’t got nothin’ ter hide.

“I say, ‘Well, Miss Sadie, dem folks up at de house, dey loves you.’ She sorter flincht at dis. I ’low, ‘Dey been mighty good ter you. What you done, you done done, an’ dat can’t be holp, but what you ain’t gone an’ done, dat kin be holp; an’ what you oughter do, dat oughtn’t ter be holp.’ I see ’er clinch ’er han’s an’ den I riz fum de cheer.” Suiting the action to the word, Aunt Minervy Ann rose from the step where she had been sitting, and moved toward the lady of the house.

“I riz, I did, an’ tuck my stan’ befo’ ’er. I ’low, ‘You say you love Marse Jesse, an’ you say you love his folks. Well, den ef you got any blood in you, ef you got any heart in yo’ body, ef you got any feelin’ fer anybody in de roun’ worl’ ’cep’n’ yo’ naked se’f, you’ll go up dar ter dat house an’ tell Gabe Towers dat you want ter see ’im, an’ you’ll tell Fanny Towers dat you want ter see her, an’ you’ll stan’ up befo’ um an’ tell um de tale you tol’ ter me, word fer word. Ef you’ll do dat, an’ you hatter come back here, come! come! Bless God! come! an’ me an’ Hamp’ll rake an’ scrape up ’nuff money fer ter kyar you whar you gwine. An’ don’t you be a’skeer’d er Gabe Towers. Me an’ Marse Tumlin ain’t a-skeer’d un ’im. I’m gwine wid you, an’ ef he say one word out de way, you des come ter de do’ an’ call me, an’ ef I don’t preach his funer’l, it’ll be bekaze de Lord’ll strike me dumb!’ An’ she went!”

Aunt Minervy paused. She had wrought the miracle of summoning to life one of the crises through which she had passed with others. It was not the words she used. There was nothing in them to stir the heart or quicken the pulse. Her power lay in the tones of her voice, whereby she was able to recall the passion of a moment that had long spent itself; in the fluent and responsive attitudes; in gesticulation that told far more than her words did. The light from the vestibule lamp shone full upon her and upon the lady whom she unconsciously selected to play the part of the young woman whose story she was telling. The illusion was perfect. We were in Aunt Minervy Ann’s house, Miss Sadie was sitting helpless and hopeless before her—the whole scene was vivid and complete. She paused; her arm, which had been outstretched and rigid for an instant, slowly fell to her side, and—the illusion was gone; but while it lasted, it was as real as any sudden and extraordinary experience can be.