“Dat li’l’ chile is my business. Joy had em fo’ Sherry, a li’l’ boy-chile, too. You go on home an’ tell Joy to hurry up an’ git well. ’Tain’ no use to hold hard feelin’s ’gainst em. No! Joy’s had you a gran’son.”
When he did not stir, she blazed out: “You’ neck is stiff, enty! So’s my own! An’ I hope a misery’ll gnaw you’ heart in two. I hope you’ll die of thirst an’ hunger. I hope ev’y lawful yard-chile you had by Leah’ll perish. I hope you’ feet’ll rot——”
“You shut you’ mouth, Zeda. If you cuss me again I’ll choke you’ tongue down you’ throat.” April got up and fled from her bitter words.
XVIII
JOY AND APRIL
For days after Joy’s child was born, Big Sue kept to her cabin. Joy had disgraced her, made her ashamed to show her face in company. She’d never forgive Joy as long as she lived. Never. Joy saw Leah drop dead in her face, yet she went straight on and married Leah’s husband. A shame! Joy would sup sorrow yet. She might bewitch April and make a plumb fool out of him, but she’d pay for bringing disgrace on her mother who had worked her knuckles to the bone to keep Joy in school!
If Joy had behaved herself, she might have married anybody instead of a man old as her daddy, and conjured to boot. That death-sheet had put a spell on April. Sure as preaching. He’d never be the same man again. He’d have run Joy out of his house if he had been in his right mind.
She talked so fast and loud one morning she didn’t see Uncle Bill until he was at the door-step. “How come you tiptoes around so easy dis mornin’!” she asked tartly.
“Gawd knows how I’m a-walkin’, I’m so fretted.”
“Wha’ dat ail you now?”
“Joy sent me to tell you.”