April reached out and took his friend’s hand. He put it up to his cheek, but dropped it, for the back log burned in two and broke and a shower of sparks spun threads of fire that reached out and threatened to catch the quilt!
“I’ll stay wid em,” Joy said gently. “I’ll warm up de nice chicken an’ rice you brought an’ feed em wid a spoon.”
When Breeze got home Big Sue asked him lots of questions about April. How his feet looked? Did April seem down-hearted over them? Was Joy with him? How did she take his trouble? Breeze told her all he remembered, and she shook her head. She was sorry for April.
It was past mid-afternoon when Uncle Bill came back, and asked Big Sue to lend him a quart cup and a teaspoon. He wanted to measure some water and medicine for April’s feet. He was going to soak them in water flavored with a medicine the white folks used. She offered to lend him her new tin washtub, but Uncle Bill said Joy had plenty of tubs.
“Dey might not be new an’ clean as my own,” Big Sue insisted. “Joy ever was careless. A new tub is better anyhow.”
Uncle Bill consented, and Breeze went along to carry it. They found Joy sitting by the fire patching, and April holding a pan of food in his lap.
Joy asked them to come in and sit down and talk to April and coax him to eat his dinner. His appetite was slow. She did her best to talk cheerfully.
But April’s face was glum, and his voice lagged wearily as he said, “I don’ wan’ to eat.” With a bony hand he held out the pan, still full of food. “Take em. I got ’nough.”
Joy took it and moved away without speaking. As she walked toward the shelf she almost stumbled into a small boy, who hopped nimbly into the room, laughing and out of breath. She put her hand on his shoulder and shook him, and he got sober. Soon the other children came trooping in, little and big, and all in-between size, one with Joy’s baby in his arms.
“Mind. Keep quiet,” Joy warned. “Pa don’ like no fuss.”