ABRUM, CA’LINE AND ASPHALT
(W. N. Harben: The Round Table.)
Upon the church, the negro denizens of Crippletown focused their opinions. They were about equally divided between the Methodist and Baptist denominations, and no matter how much sociability existed among the men as they went to work together, or among the women as they chatted or sang over their wash-tubs, when Sunday came with its suggestive clangor of church bells, friendliness drew itself into its shell of finery, and only protruded its head to cast depreciative glances at members of any church save its own.
Squads of people bound for the Baptist church, passed squads of people bound for the Methodist church without exchanging even nods of greeting. Extreme reserve and solemnity characterized the general religious bearing.
It is Sunday evening in the cottage of Abraham Wilson, a most devout Methodist of the blackest physical type. He had talked Methodism to his young wife until her brain and tongue were in a tangle. He made it the theme of his evening and morning discourses, and threw in foot-notes at all possible opportunities. He, as well as his neighbors, were curious to know which denomination Caroline would finally join, especially as it had been whispered for some time that she was “on the fence” owing to the fact that her parents had been Baptists and her husband a Methodist.
Few doubted that Abraham’s powers of argument would in time bring her wavering mind to his views. But it seemed that Caroline’s besetting sin, vanity, and love of display, linked with the persuasive powers of the Baptist minister, who called on her often through the day while Abraham was away, were to bulwark the latter’s earnest endeavors.
She had ever looked with charmed eyes on the baptismal ceremonies, which usually took place in a neighboring creek, and her heart had suffered frequent pangs at thinking that she was hindered from being the cynosure of the thousands that sung and shouted on the shore as the dripping candidates were led from the stream. From childhood up she had looked forward to immersion with as much anticipation as she had to marriage. Regardless of this she had married a Methodist, because she had loved him.
“Abrum,” said she, after listening to him in silence for an hour, “Abrum, I know you think you is right, en ev’ybody kin hat der own way er thinkin’ ’bout chu’ches, but ez fur me, I know I’s hat my min’ set on ’mersion in runnin’ water ev’y since I know my min’. I’s been puttin’ it off frum summer ter summer, en now you gwine to disagree wid me.”
Abraham’s surprise rendered him almost speechless. He had felt intuitively that Caroline did not agree with him for a long time, but had nursed the belief that his arguments would wear away her objections ere she gave them voice.