Big Sue kept talking to April, who stood strong as an oak, his eyes riveted on her face. She looked uneasily at the door when he took her hand. As she drew it away he laughed, then spat far outside and left her.
Pulling up her skirt, Big Sue got a handkerchief out of her underneath pocket, and untying the knot in its corner, added the piece of paper money to what it already held. She gave Breeze two pennies. “Go buy you a cake, son,” she bade him. Then she halted him with, “Wait, gi’ me back dem pennies. Here’s a nickel. Git t’ree. I want one o’ dem cakes myself.”
Forgetting his fear in his eagerness for the sweet-cake, Breeze ran into the store next door. Every man and woman who had come to do serious purchasing carried a crocus sack into which the things were crammed: groceries, cloth, shoes, were all crowded in on one another. Those who bought kerosene had it in quart glass bottles tied with strings around the necks.
Breeze had never seen so many red sweaters in his life. They were in all shapes and sizes and conditions. Some quite new. Some patched and faded. Some with rolled collars. Some with frayed elbows. They were worn with blue overalls and khaki breeches, white aprons and full skirts and short skimpy dresses. Old and young wore them jauntily, as a sort of badge of Saturday’s joy.
The doorway was hidden as the happy people pressed in and out of the store. The sidewalk, thick flaked with bits of white oyster shell, became trashy with empty peanut hulls, and scraps of tissue-paper torn from candy kisses.
Everybody looked happy and light-hearted. Breeze envied them their easy friendly ways, their gaiety. As he stood apart, looking on, listening to them, he felt more homesick than ever. Even the sweet-cake, that dropped rich crumbs on the floor with every bite he took, couldn’t make him forget that he was a stranger here.
The postmaster called out Big Sue’s name, and there was a dead silence, then much laughter. “Who? Big Sue Goodwine? My Gawd! Who dat wrote she a letter?” Breeze was sent in a hurry to call her to come get it. There was much chaffing. “It’s de sheriff, Big Sue. Dat’s who.” And, “You got so much beaux you can’ member who is home an’ who’s gone off.”
When Big Sue stumbled in half out of breath, they called out to her, “Hurry up an’ read em. Le’ we hear de news!”
But Big Sue sucked her teeth and said, “I don’ tell ev’ybody my business. Not me!” She took the letter and put it deep down in her apron pocket where not a soul could even see it.
The mail was all given out at last, and the buying was done. The threads of color unraveled as the negroes left the stores and walked away down the road, some young couples hand in hand. Big Sue was among the last to start buying, for she had spent the time talking with her friends. She waited until the store was almost empty, then she chose a pair of pants and two shirts for Breeze, holding the garments up to his body to get the right size. She gave him the package to hold, saying, “Walk roun’ an’ look at de store. I want to git my letter read.”