“Joy’s a stylish gal, Big Sue. Even if e is puny.” Zeda was plainly siding against Leah.
“Joy ought to look stylish, much money as I spent on em. When e went back to school dis fall, Joy’s trunk looked fine as a white lady’s trunk. Not a outin’ gown in em! Not a outin’ petticoat! Even to de shimmys, Joy had ev’yt’ing made out o’ pink and blue and yellow crêpe. Joy is a fine seamster, if I do say it myse’f. Joy’s clothes is fine as any store-bought clothes.”
“Wha’s Joy gwine do when e finish college?” Leah asked presently.
Big Sue was uncertain. Joy was working to get a depluma. When she got that she could be anything she liked. Joy was sickly last summer because she had so much learning stirring around in her head. Leah laughed—innocently. There was no need to worry, as long as a girl was sickly from things stirring in her head.
“Wha you mean by dat, Leah?” Big Sue stopped short and her narrowed eyes gazed fixedly at Leah who went on picking.
“I ain’ say nothin’ to vex you, Big Sue! You’s too touchous! Joy ain’ gold neither silver.”
“You keep Joy’s name out you’ mouth, Leah!” Big Sue snapped the words out in a stinging tone that cut through the heat.
Zeda stood still and gave a wide-mouthed yawn and a lazy laugh. “Do hush you’ wranglin’. When it’s hot like dis, I can’ stan’ to hear nobody tryin’ to start a brawl. You womens ain’ chillen! Joy’s a nice gal. Fo’ Gawd’s sake, le’ em ’lone!”
She looked up at the sun hanging low in a whitish glow, then down at the short shadows and the heat wilted leaves. Not a bird chirped. Not a locust or grasshopper spoke.
“I bet Joy’ll marry some o’ dem fine professors or either preachers,” Bina drawled.