Folks from Dixie

by Paul Laurence Dunbar

A FAMILY FEUD

I wish I could tell you the story as I heard it from the lips of the old black woman as she sat bobbing her turbaned head to and fro with the motion of her creaky little rocking-chair, and droning the tale forth in the mellow voice of her race. So much of the charm of the story was in that voice, which even the cares of age had not hardened.

OLD AUNT DOSHY.

It was a sunny afternoon in late November, one of those days that come like a backward glance from a reluctantly departing summer. I had taken advantage of the warmth and brightness to go up and sit with old Aunt Doshy on the little porch that fronted her cottage. The old woman had been a trusted house-servant in one of the wealthiest of the old Kentucky families, and a visit to her never failed to elicit some reminiscence of the interesting past. Aunt Doshy was inordinately proud of her family, as she designated the Venables, and was never weary of detailing accounts of their grandeur and generosity. What if some of the harshness of reality was softened by the distance through which she looked back upon them; what if the glamour of memory did put a halo round the heads of some people who were never meant to be canonised? It was all plain fact to Aunt Doshy, and it was good to hear her talk. That day she began:—

“I reckon I hain’t never tol’ you ’bout ole Mas’ an’ young Mas’ fallin’ out, has I? Hit’s all over now, an’ things is done change so dat I reckon eben ef ole Mas’ was libin’, he wouldn’t keer ef I tol’, an’ I knows young Mas’ Tho’nton wouldn’t. Dey ain’t nuffin’ to hide ’bout it nohow, ’ca’se all quality families has de same kin’ o’ ’spectable fusses.

“Hit all happened ’long o’ dem Jamiesons whut libed jinin’ places to our people, an’ whut ole Mas’ ain’t spoke to fu’ nigh onto thutty years. Long while ago, when Mas’ Tom Jamieson an’ Mas’ Jack Venable was bofe young mans, dey had a qua’l ’bout de young lady dey bofe was a-cou’tin’, an’ by-an’-by dey had a du’l an’ Mas’ Jamieson shot Mas’ Jack in de shouldah, but Mas’ Jack ma’ied de lady, so dey was eben. Mas’ Jamieson ma’ied too, an’ after so many years dey was bofe wid’ers, but dey ain’t fu’give one another yit. When Mas’ Tho’nton was big enough to run erroun’, ole Mas’ used to try to ’press on him dat a Venable mus’n’ never put his foot on de Jamieson lan’; an’ many a tongue-lashin’ an’ sometimes wuss de han’s on our place got fu’ mixin’ wif de Jamieson servants. But, la! young Mas’ Tho’nton was wuss’n de niggers. Evah time he got a chance he was out an’ gone, over lots an’ fiel’s an’ into de Jamieson ya’d a-playin’ wif little Miss Nellie, whut was Mas’ Tom’s little gal. I never did see two chillun so ’tached to one another. Dey used to wander erroun’, han’ in han’, lak brother an’ sister, an’ dey’d cry lak dey little hea’ts ’u’d brek ef either one of dey pappys seed ’em an’ pa’ted ’em.

“I ’member once when de young Mastah was erbout eight year ole, he was a-settin’ at de table one mo’nin’ eatin’ wif his pappy, when all of er sudden he pause an’ say, jes’ ez solerm-lak, ‘When I gits big, I gwine to ma’y Nellie.’ His pappy jump lak he was shot, an’ tu’n right pale, den he say kin’ o’ slow an’ gaspy-lak, ‘Don’t evah let me hyeah you say sich a thing ergin, Tho’nton Venable. Why, boy, I’d raver let evah drap o’ blood outen you, dan to see a Venable cross his blood wif a Jamieson.’

“I was jes’ a-bringin’ in de cakes whut Mastah was pow’ful fon’ of, an’ I could see bofe dey faces. But, la! honey, dat chile didn’t look a bit skeered. He jes’ sot dah lookin’ in his pappy’s face,—he was de spittin’ image of him, all ’cept his eyes, dey was his mother’s,—den he say, ‘Why, Nellie’s nice,’ an’ went on eatin’ a aig. His pappy laid his napkin down an’ got up an’ went erway f’om de table. Mas’ Tho’nton say, ‘Why, father didn’t eat his cakes.’ ‘I reckon yo’ pa ain’t well,’ says I, fu’ I knowed de chile was innercent.

“Well, after dat day, ole Mas’ tuk extry pains to keep de chillun apa’t—but ’twa’n’t no use. ’Tain’t never no use in a case lak dat. Dey jes’ would be together, an’ ez de boy got older, it seemed to grieve his pappy mighty. I reckon he didn’t lak to jes’ fu’bid him seein’ Miss Nellie, fu’ he know how haidstrong Mas’ Tho’nton was, anyhow. So things kep’ on dis way, an’ de boy got handsomer evah day. My, but his pappy did set a lot o’ sto’ by him. Dey wasn’t nuffin’ dat boy eben wished fu’ dat his pappy didn’t gin him. Seemed lak he fa’ly wusshipped him. He’d jes’ watch him ez he went erroun’ de house lak he was a baby yit. So hit mus’ ’a’ been putty ha’d wif Mas’ Jack when hit come time to sen’ Mas’ Tho’nton off to college. But he never showed it. He seed him off wif a cheerful face, an’ nobidy would ’a’ ever guessed dat it hu’t him; but dat afternoon he shet hisse’f up an’ hit was th’ee days befo’ anybody ’cept me seed him, an’ nobidy ’cept me knowed how his vittels come back not teched. But after de fus’ letter come, he got better. I hyeahd him a-laffin’ to hisse’f ez he read it, an’ dat day he et his dinner.