The Chronicles of Aunt Minervy Ann

by Joel Chandler Harris

“Now, ef anybody want pinin’ done dey’ll hafter go ter somebody else ’sides ol’ Minervy Ann Perdue. When you see me pinin’, suh, you may know my tongue done cut out an’ my han’s pairlized. Ef Mary Ellen had ’a’ been my chile dey’d ’a’ been murder done, suh. I’d ’a’ cotch ol’ Fed Tatum by what little hair he had an’ I’d ’a’ ruint ’im; an’ ez ’twuz, I come mighty nigh havin’ a fight wid ’im. An’ ef I had—ef I had——”

Aunt Minervy Ann was on her feet. Her right arm was raised high in the air, and her eyes blazed with passion. It was not a glimpse of temper she gave us, but a fleeting portrayal of mother-love at white heat. She had been carried away by her memory, and had carried us away with her; but she caught herself, as it were, in the act, laughed, and sat down again by the sofa, caressing it with both arms. Presently she resumed her narrative, addressing herself this time to the lady of the house. It was a stroke of rare tact that had its effect.

“Wellum, Mary Ellen wa’n’t my chile, an’ ol’ Fed Tatum sont ’er off up dar ’mongst de Northrons; an’ ’bout de time de two sides ’gun der battlin’ he sol’ some lan’ an’ sont her ’nuff money ter las’ ’er twel she got all de larnin’ she want. Den de war come, an’ nobody ain’t hear no mo’ ’bout Mary Ellen. Dey fit an’ dey fout, an’ dey fout an’ dey fit, an’ den, bimeby, dey quit, an’ fer long days nobody didn’t know whedder ter walk backerds er go forruds.

“Ol’ Fed Tatum wuz one er dem kinder folks, ma’am, what you been seein’ an’ knowin’ so long dat you kinder git de idee dey er gwine ter stay des like dey is; but one day ol’ Fed Tatum fetch’d a grunt an’ went ter bed, an’ de nex’ day he fetch’d a groan an’ died. He sho did. An’ den when dey come ter look into what he had, dey foun’ dat he ain’t got nothin’ he kin call his own but a little cabin in one een’ er town, an’ dis went ter Mary Ellen’s mammy.

“I tell you now, ma’am, dat ’oman tried me. She wuz long an’ lank an’ slabsided, an’ she went ’bout wid ’er mouf shet, an’ ’er cloze lookin’ like somebody had flung um at ’er. I like ter hear folks talk, myself, an’ ef dey can’t do nothin’ else I like ter see um show dey temper. But dat ’oman, she des walk ’roun’ an’ not open her mouf fum mornin’ twel night, less’n you ax ’er sump’n. I tried ter git her ter talk ’bout Mary Ellen, but she ain’t know no mo’ ’bout Mary Ellen dan a rabbit.

“I dunner but what we’d ’a’ got in a fuss, ma’am, kaze dat ’oman sho did try me, but ’long ’bout dat time Marse Bolivar’s gal tuck sick, an’ ’twa’n’t long ’fo’ she died. ’Twuz a mighty pity, too, kaze dat chile would ’a’ made a fine ’oman—none better. ’Long todes de las’ she got ter gwine on ’bout Mary Ellen. Look like she could see Mary Ellen in de fever-dreams, an’ she’d laugh an’ go on des like she useter when she wuz a little bit er gal.

“Wellum, when dat chile died Marse Bolivar come mighty nigh losin’ ’is min’. He ain’t make no fuss ’bout it, but he des fell back on hisse’f an’ walk de flo’ night atter night, an’ moan an’ groan when he think nobody ain’t lis’nin’. An’ den, atter so long a time, here come a letter fum Mary Ellen, an’ dat broke ’im all up. I tell you right now, ma’am, Marse Bolivar had a hard fight wid trouble. I don’t keer what folks may say; dey may tell you he’s a hard man, ready ter fight an’ quick ter kill. He’s all dat, an’ maybe mo’; but I know what I know.

“Wellum, de days went an’ de days come. Bimeby I hear some er de niggers say dat Mary Ellen done come back. I laid off ter go an’ see de chile; but one day I wuz gwine ’long de street an’ I met a white lady. She say, ‘Ain’t dat Aunt Minervy Ann?’ I ’low, ‘Yessum, dis is de remnants.’ Wid dat, ma’am, she grab me ’roun’ de neck an’ hug me, an’ bu’st out a-cryin’, an’ ’twa’n’t nobody in de worl’ but Mary Ellen.

“Purty! I never has foun’ out, ma’am, how any human can be ez purty ez Mary Ellen. Her skin wuz white ez milk an’ her eyes shine like stars. I’d ’a’ never know’d her in de worl’. But dar she wuz, cryin’ one minnit an’ laughin’ de nex’. An’ she wuz in trouble too. She had a telegraph in her han’ tellin’ ’er dat one er her ol’ schoolmates gwine on ter Flurridy wuz gwine ter stop over one train des ter see Mary Ellen. Hit seem like dat up dar whar she been stayin’ at she ain’t never tell nobody but what she wuz white, an’ de human wa’n’t born dat could tell de diffunce. So dar ’twuz. Here wuz de Northron lady comin’ fer ter see Mary Ellen, an’ what wuz Mary Ellen gwine ter do?—whar wuz she gwine ter take de Northron lady? Dar wuz de ramshackle cabin, an’ dar wuz my kitchen. You may think ’twuz funny, ma’am——”