Chapter 14
A VERY DARK INCUBATOR
The next morning Rebecca hurried through her dressing. She had scrubbed her head when she took her evening bath, having a vague idea that much watering might make her hair grow, as she had heard Spot complain that rainy weather made the weeds flourish. But, alas! morning revealed only a close-cropped black scalp, with here and there a tiny curl where the aunts' shears had missed a stray lock.
Smiling rather solemnly, Rebecca ran down to breakfast in a hurry. Never again would she be late! She stopped a minute to pet Doctor, who was standing with his head in the front door. He received her caresses with some embarrassment, but submitted with a bored air. She slipped into her place just as Aunt Evelyn asked the blessing.
All through breakfast Rebecca endeavored to catch Spottswood's eye. He did not look up from his plate or deign to speak a word to her. The aunts were still angry at the horrid word their brother had flung at them the day before and haughtily refused to address a remark to him. Major Taylor had breakfasted early and gone to the factory, so breakfast was a silent feast.
As soon as possible Rebecca made her way sadly to Aunt Pearly Gates' cabin. Nothing had turned out as she had planned. She had only succeeded in angering the aunts and her uncle had slipped back into silence more dense than before. Doctor's love appeared not to have survived the night. Her hair, in which she had taken a secret pride, had been cut off.
Aunt Pearly Gates listened to Rebecca's troubles with deep sympathy. "Well, honey baby, things ain't so bad as you think. Yo' hair'll be growin' so fas' you cyarn't keep up with it an' befo' you know it you'll have another crap. Now you can fix it yo'se'f. You don't look so bad with short bar lak some 'cause you is got a pretty haid. Bless me if'n I don't think it looks kinder lak Lil' Marse Tom's haid. Ain't none er them noticed that?"
"None of them ever notice anything about me but Grandfather and he is so busy with the factory just now I haven't seen him. He doesn't know what has happened to me yet."
"Well, I'll be boun', he'll have his joke on you, but he won't let nobody else pick on you."
"What I mind most is Doctor and Uncle Spot—just when I thought I had them liking me a little."
"Lawd love you, honey chil', that ain't nothin' ter be a worryin' yo' po' haid about. Doctor air a peculiar animule, jes' lak some men folks. He air gonter be runnin' arfter you, come night time, jes' so you don't 'pear too anxious lak. You jes' go by him with yo' nose up in the air an' he'll be breakin' his neck ter ketch up with you."
"But Uncle Spot!"
"He don't worry me none. I been layin' up here seein' too many springs a-comin' ter be botherin' my haid about po' Marse Spot. He done showed he got a sof spot an' the winter in he heart air a-breakin' up. He mought freeze up off 'n on agin, but the spring sunshine air sho' ter thaw him out agin. Marse Spot's redemption air as sho' as springtime."
Aunt Pearly Gates stopped knitting for a moment and looked keenly at the girl. "I got a s'prise fer you, honey chil'," she said, with a mysterious smile.
"Oh, that's nice!" answered Rebecca, politely. It would take a wonderful surprise indeed to lighten the gloom that enveloped her soul.
"’Tain't no common s'prise, an' it's been a-keepin' me busy all night. Fact is, I 'low I is got 'bout fifteen s'prises fer you."
"Fifteen! Why Aunt Pearly Gates, what can it be?"
"Well, I done hatched out in the night. Fo'teen of 'em air done come th'ough an' I hear a lil' soun' under the kivers that done give me a feelin' that the las' an' the fifteenth air been a bawn."
The old woman put her hand carefully under the quilt and drew forth a little black chicken. A bit of shell was stuck to its head, giving it a comical resemblance to a clown in a white cap. She raised the corner of an old woolen skirt, covering a box on a chair beside her bed and immediately a deafening peeping began.
"Oh, please let me hold it," begged Rebecca, clapping her hands in delight. "I never saw anything so cute in my life. I didn't even know you were er—er—setting, Aunt Pearly Gates."
The old woman smiled, delighted that her surprise had dispelled the sadness depicted on the child's face.
"Let the lil' chick'n git kinder useter livin' fust, honey baby, befo' you take ter fondlin' it; then you kin hol' it all you want jes' so's you don't squeeze it none. I 'lowed you didn' know nothin' 'bout my havin' gone ter settin'. I kep' mighty quiet 'bout it, 'cause I is kinder tender in my feelin's when I's a-settin'. I don't want nobody ter be a arskin' me how many eggs I's got in the baid an' then kinder a-holdin' it over me when I don't have good luck 'bout the number er chick'ns I hatches out. I ain't a gonter take the blame er any no-'count rooster."
"Did you have good luck this time?"
"I couldn't er had better! The good Lawd hisse'f couldn't er hatched mo'n fifteen chick'ns outer fifteen aigs. You kin hear fer yo'se'f how lively they is, too. They's already begun to peck a lil' cawn meal dough. Po' lil' things! It do seem kinder hard fer them never ter know they own mother."
"But you are good to them and love them," said Rebecca, peeping under the old skirt and trying to count the fluffy moving balls of feathers.
"Yes, I loves 'em some, but I ain't no sho' 'nough hen an' I ain't able ter take 'em out do's an' larn 'em how ter scratch up worms. When all's told, I ain't nothin' mo'n a incomebaker. I furnishes animule heat same as a hen, an' I tu'ns the aigs every day same as a hen, but I stops short er cluckin' same as a incomebaker."
"Maybe I could learn to cluck and take the dear little things out doors and teach them how to scratch," suggested Rebecca, eagerly.
"Sho' you could!" delightedly. "Brer Johnson don't have no time ter give ter the chick'ns mo'n jes' ter mix up a lil' dough fer them time an' agin. The truf er the matter is, this way I has er goin' ter settin' an' hatchin' is right wearisome ter Brer Johnson. If he wa'n't a saint on yearth he'd a broke up my nes' long befo' this. He makes out it don't make no min' ter him when I gits a notion I'd like a settin' er aigs an' he goes an' fetches 'em fer me as meek as a lamb, but it kinder goes aginst his natur' ter have me so took up with a tu'nin' aigs an' sech when he's a-tryin' ter read the scripture ter me. He gits kinder recumciled when the chick'ns gits 'bout fryin' size. I ain't never been no hand ter hatch no chick'ns in late August er early September 'cause they's kinder mean months ter raise a family, but this time I got ter thinkin' how nice it would be if I could perjuce some fryin' size long 'bout Christmus."
"Oh, but Aunt Pearly Gates, you couldn't ever eat these precious little cute chicks! Why, it would be just like cannibals to do such a thing. They are pretty near your own flesh and blood."
The old negress smiled and shook her head.
"It do seem kinder hard-hearted, but I 'low chick'ns wa' put on this green yearth fer the 'spress puppose er landin' in the fryin' pan. Every chick'n what the good Gawd don't expect sooner er later ter be et as a chick'n he done foreordained ter be et as a aig. The chick'ns ain't got no choice in the matter. They better be glad if it so happens a good cook has the finish of 'em an' they don't lan' on some po' white folks' table, all soaked up in grease the way mos' of 'em has er cookin'.
"But suppose the egg is never eaten and never hatches, Aunt Pearly Gates—just gets to be rotten. What do you think the good Lord is thinkin' about when he lets that happen?"
"Well, honey chil', I wouldn't call myse'f much of a Christian if I blamed the rotten aigs on the Almighty. Rotten aigs air the plain doin's of the debble, the debble 'long with the keerlessness er folks. If the folks hadn't er been keerless the debble couldn't er got in his work, either."
"How many—er—er—families have you raised, Aunt Pearly Gates?"
"I done los' track of them long time ago," chuckled the old woman. "I reckon I done partaken of the nature of a hen in mo' ways than one. I 'low a hen fergits 'bout her las' settin' by the time she gits started on another. I been laid up in the baid nigh onto twenty years. At the fust beginning it seemed ter me lak I couldn't stan' it. I done been a busy, active nigger all my time an' fer it ter fall ter me jes' ter spen' my time a layin' up in the baid wa' so hard I pretty nigh los' my 'ligion. I couldn't see why the good Gawd didn't sen' the 'fliction on some ooman what took it as a treat ter lay up in the baid. The idea er knittin' an' tattin' ain't come ter me at that time, but I jes' lay up an' fretted an' grumbled. I got took bad at Christmus an' come Feb'ua'y I wa' so tired er myself that I nigh went crazy. It wa' a late winter that year—col' weather commencin' on about Feb'ua'y, an' that wa' a sho' sign er late spring. I had always been a great han' at raisin' chick'ns an' I got ter worryin' over how late the hens would be a goin' ter settin' owin' ter the col' weather an then the thought comed ter me that I mought take the place of a hen. I got Si ter bring me in a settin' an' sho' 'nough I wa' jes' as good a hen as you kin fin'. That year me'n Brer Johnson had fryin' size chick'ns ter sell ter the quality long befo' anybody roun' these parts."
"How many times do you set a year, Aunt Pearly Gates?"
"It jes' depen's! Sometimes I sets about three times an' sometimes I don't git a notion mo'n every six months. One time I got greedy an' set on about thirty aigs. I 'lowed that I wa' bigger'n mos' hens an' I might do double duty, but I wa' punished fer my graspin' ways. I overlaid some of them one night in my sleep an' made sech a mess as never wa' seen an' po' Brer Johnson wa' nigh on ter goin' crazy tryin' ter git things cleaned up. 'Tain't never right to go out of nachel ways. 'Tain't nachel fer a hen ter set on mo'n fifteen or eighteen aigs, an' it ain't nachel fer a ol' bedridden ooman ter try ter outdo a hen at her own business."
Rebecca laughed merrily and the old woman looked pleased. She had been trying to make her laugh.
"The mos'es' trouble I has with this settin' business is gittin' holt er the right aigs. Co'se Si does the best he kin. He ain't no nachel chicken raiser an' he has ter give mo' of his time ter Marse Taylor's mill. Sometimes he has bad luck with his aigs an' has ter go git some off'n the neighbors. Then I fin's sometimes that I been a settin' fer three weeks on aigs that ain't got no mo' virtue in 'em than darnin' gourds. I takes mos' pleasure in Brer Johnson's pussonel aigs. He laughs at me 'bout my bein' so proudified 'bout what I sets on, but I can't help it. They's as much diffunce in aigs as they is in folks. I min' one time I got holt er some aigs from ol' Aunt Peachy's gran'son from yonder acrost the river. I mistrusted 'em from the beginnin', an' sho' 'nough you never seed sech a parlous lot as them lil' chick'ns. In the fust place only 'bout half er them hatched an' then what did come through, come through at all kin's of odd times. I was a deliverin' those lil' chick'ns for two or three days. Some er them never did grow no feathers an' some er them didn't have they full 'lowance er toes. One er them chick'ns what wa' allowed ter grow up inter a hen wa' all time crowin' jes' lak a rooster an' one er the roosters had a rubber neck jes' lak a gobbler, an' a funny fringe er feathers 'roun' the top er his haid. He sho' did 'semble ol 'Aunt Peachy. He had her grabby ways, too. When Si killed him an' tried ter bile him tender I couldn't eat a mouthful of him. I kep' on a thinkin' er Aunt Peachy an' the good Gawd knows, while I don't want ter say nothin' mean 'bout man or beast, if I had ter eat human flesh, I wouldn't be a choosin' to eat a piece of ol' Aunt Peachy."
Rebecca laughed merrily. "I fancy old Aunt Peachy must have come out of one of the eggs the devil and carelessness had a hand in," she suggested.
Aunt Pearly Gates chuckled.
"Ain't it the truf? Now I ought'n ter be a savin' that either. How kin we tell? Aunt Peachy done always had it in fer me'n Si; but then, she helt somethin' aginst all the folks, white an' black, on this side the ribber. I done mistrus'ed Marse Bob's jedgment some when he 'lowed you ter go make frien's with the folks at The Hedges."
"Oh, but Aunt Pearly Gates, what would I do without them? They are my best an' only friends, besides you and all the good colored people over on this side. Mr. Philip Bolling was really responsible for my getting here in good order, and he is the loveliest person I ever saw. His mother is mighty kind and pleasant, and there is something about her that kind of breaks my heart. Betsy is a peach, a nice, sound peach, without a single speck on it and never a worm on the inside, and Jo is—well, Jo is improving. He is about the only boy I ever knew, and I must say he is some fun to play around with. He looks a little like his funny, fat old father, but I am sure he will never be like him. I have taken hold of him in time."
Aunt Pearly Gates laughed at the grown-up manner of her little friend.
"Well, I have, and Betsy says Jo doesn't even mind washing his ears as much as he used to."
This reform amused Rebecca's fond mentor immensely. "Sho', honey, you is jes' like young Marse Tom!"