But the storekeeper was in earnest, and he said, “If I were you, whether Silas ever comes home or not, I’d leave April alone. Leah will get you if you don’t. You’ve forgotten her gums are blue, haven’t you? She’ll bite you some day, and what will happen then? You’ll die, and those white folks will have to hunt another cook when they come to Blue Brook to shoot ducks. Better be careful. Blue gums are worse than a rattlesnake bite. Leah’s not going to stand outside that restaurant and see you eating bread and fish with her husband inside, without doing something about it. I heard her say so a while ago.”
Big Sue tossed her head. “Humph! I ain’ scared o’ Leah. Fat as e is, I could squeeze em to deat’ in one hand.” She opened and clenched her powerful fists. Years of kneading dough had given strength to her thick wrists and round fingers, for all the soft cushion of flesh that covered them.
It was late and Big Sue and Breeze took a short-cut by a path that ran through the woods, then by a smooth planted field where new oats sprouted green tips and covered the earth. They looked tender against the dark even green of the trees. The evening light was thin and misty. Shadows and colors and forms all melted into a cool pale dusk.
Big Sue warned, “Watch out for snakes, son. I can’ smell good. A fresh cold is got my nose kinder stop up. A cold ever did hinder my smellin’. I must go stand round de stables a while to-morrow. Dat’ll broke up a cold quicker’n anyt’ing else.”
X
THE BARNYARD
Early Sunday morning Uncle Isaac came to ask Big Sue for an old worn-out sieve. Uncle Bill was having a bad time. Hags rode all the horses at the barnyard every night God sent. Every morning the manes and tails were so tangled up it took Uncle Bill hours to get them greased and smoothed out again.
Red sunsets promised a killing frost and the white folks would be likely to come any time after that. Bill had the horses’ coats all rubbed down like satin, every fetlock trimmed, the bridles and saddles in good order, but the hags were deviling him to death. Big Sue said she had already given Uncle Bill a string of red pepper pods and a straw broom too, to hang up on the stable door. If they didn’t stop the hags, what good could a sieve do?
Uncle explained to her how hags are fools about counting things. They won’t go inside a door until they count the boards on the door-facing, and the nails, then they’d count all the pepper pods and the straws in the broom, and have time enough left before day to ride the horses, and plait their manes and tails. But a sieve would stop them, for by the time all the holes in the sieve were counted, those hags would be weary and ready to go home and rest.
Big Sue gave him the sieve and he invited Breeze to walk with him to the barnyard where Uncle Bill had a nice little milking goat to give him. Breeze could break it to ride and drive, and the milk would be good to make him grow.
Breeze was delighted. All his life he had wanted a goat. But Big Sue shook her head. A milking goat wouldn’t do for Breeze. If he drank goat milk he’d be ruined for life. He hated soap and water already, and goat’s milk would make him worse. He’d never wash at all if he drank it. Breeze begged her to change her mind. If she’d let him have a goat he’d wash every night God sent. But she was firm. She had seen too many boys grow up into filthy men just from drinking goat’s milk when they were young. She wanted Breeze to be clean and nice so he could play with young Cap’n when he came home to spend the winters.