Miss Mink's Soldier and Other Stories by Alice Hegan Rice

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Silently they passed out of the ward, down the stairway, through the
long vaultlike corridor to the superintendent's room. Once there he
flung back his rusty coat and ripped the last bill but one from its
hiding place.

"That thar is fer my gal," he said defiantly to the superintendent.
"She'll git one the fust day of every month. Give her the larnin' she's
so hell-bent on, stuff her plumb full on it. An' ef you let ennything
happen to her"--his brows lowered threateningly--"I'll come back an'
blow yer whole blame' horspittle into eternity!"

"Pop!" Sally pleaded, "Pop!"

But his emotions were at high tide and he did not heed her. Pushing her
roughly aside, he strode back to the entrance hall, and was about to
pick up his carpet sack when his gaze was suddenly arrested by the great
marble figure that bends its thorn-crowned head in pity over the unhappy
and the pain-racked mortals that pass beneath its outstretched hands.

"You ain't goin' to leave me like this, Pop?" begged Sally. "Ef you take
it so hard, I'll go back, an' I'll go willin'. Jus' say the word, Pop,
an' I'll go!"

The old mountaineer's one hand closed on the girl's bony arm in a tight
clasp, his shoulders heaved, and his massive features worked, but his
gaze never left the calm, pitying face of the Saviour overhead. He had
followed his child without a tremor into the Valley of the Shadow of
Death, but at the entrance of this new life, where he must let her go
alone, his courage failed and his spirit faltered. His dominant will,
hitherto the only law he knew, was in mortal combat with a new and
unknown force that for the first time had entered his life.

For several minutes he stood thus, his conflicting passions swaying him,
as opposing gales shake a giant forest tree. Then he resolutely loosened
his grip on the girl's arm and taking up his burden, without a word or a
backward glance, set his face toward the hills, leaving an awkward,
wistful girl watching him with her tears only half obscuring the vision
that was already dawning for her.

HOODOOED

Gordon Lee Surrender Jones lay upon what he confidently claimed to be
his death-bed. Now and again he glanced furtively at the cabin door and
listened. Being assured that nobody was coming, he cautiously extricated
a large black foot from the bedclothes, and, holding it near the candle,
laboriously tied a red string about one of his toes. He was a powerful
negro, with a close-cropped bullet-head, a massive bulldog jaw, and a
pair of incongruously gentle and credulous eyes.

According to his own diagnosis, he was suffering from "asmy, bronketers,
pneumony, grip, diabeters, and old age." The last affliction was hardly
possible, as Gordon Lee was probably born during the last days of the
Civil War, though he might have been eighty, for all he knew to the
contrary. In addition to his acknowledged ailments, there was one he
cherished in secret. It was by far the most mysterious and deadly of the
lot, a malady to be pondered on in the dark watches of the night, to be
treated with weird rites and ceremonies, and to be cured only by some
specialist versed in the deepest lore of witchcraft; for Gordon Lee knew
beyond the faintest shadow of a doubt that a hoodoo had been laid upon
him.

Of course, like most of his race, he had had experiences in this line
before; but this was different. In fact, it was no less a calamity than
a cricket in his leg. Just how the cricket got into his leg was a matter
too deep for human speculation; but the fact that it was there, and that
it hopped with ease from knee to ankle, and made excruciating excursions
into his five toes, was as patent as the toes themselves.

What complicated the situation for Gordon Lee was that he could not
discuss this painful topic with his wife. Amanda Jones had embarked on
the higher education, and had long ago thrown overboard her old
superstitions. She was not only Queen Mother of the Sisters of the
Order of the Star, and an officer in various church societies, but she
was also a cook in the house of Mrs. James Bertram, President of the
State Federation of Women's Clubs. The crumbs of wisdom that fell from
the lips of the great Mrs. Bertram were carefully preserved by Amanda,
and warmed over, with sundry garnishings of her own, for the various
colored clubs to which she belonged.

Gordon Lee had succeeded in adorning only three toes when he heard a
quick step on the gravel outside and, hastily getting his foot under
cover, he settled back on the pillow, closed his eyes, and began
laboriously inhaling with a wheeze and exhaling with a groan.

The candle sputtered as the door was flung open, and a small, energetic
mulatto woman, twenty years Gordon Lee's junior, bustled into the room.

"Good lan'! but it's hot in heah!" she exclaimed, flinging up a window.
"I got a good mind to _nail_ this heah window down f'om the top."

"I done open' de door fer a spell dis mawnin'," said Gordon Lee,
sullenly, pulling the bedclothes tighter about his neck. "Lettin' in all
dis heah night air meks my eyes sore."

The bedclothes, having thus been drawn up from the bottom of the bed,
left the patient's feet exposed, and Amanda immediately spied the
string-encircled toes.

"Gordon Lee Surrender Jones," she exclaimed indignantly, "has that there
meddlin' ol' Aunt Kizzy been here again?"

Gordon Lee's eyes blinked, and his thick, sullen under lip dropped half
an inch lower.

"Ef you think," continued Amanda, furiously, "that I'm a-goin' to keep
on a-workin' my fingers to the bone, lak I been doin' for the past year,
a-payin' doctors' bills, an' buyin' medicines fer you, while you lay up
in this here bed listenin' to the fool talk of a passel of igneramuses,
you's certainly mistaken. Hit's bad enough to have you steddyin' up new
ailments ever' day, without folks a-puttin' 'em in yer head. Whut them
strings tied on yer toes fer?"

Gordon Lee's wheezing had ceased under his severe mental strain, and now
he lay blinking at the ceiling, utterly unable to give a satisfactory
answer.

"Aunt Kizzy jes happen' 'long," he muttered presently. "Ain't no harm in
a' ol' frien' passin' de time ob day."

"Whut them _strings_ tied on yer toes fer?" repeated Amanda with fearful
insistence.

Gordon Lee, pushed to the extreme, and knowing by experience that he was
as powerless in the hands of his diminutive wife as an elephant in those
of his keeper, weakly capitulated.

"Aunt Kizzy 'low'--I ain't sayin' she's right; I's jes tellin' you what
she _'low'_--Aunt Kizzy 'low' dat, 'cordin' to de symtems, she
say',--an' I ain't sayin' I b'lieve her,--but she say' hit looks to her
lak I's sufferin' f'om a hoodoo."

"A hoodoo!" Amanda's scorn was unbounded. "Ef it don't beat my time how
some of you niggers hang on to them ol' notions. 'Tain't nothin' 't all
but ignorant superstition. Ain't I tol' you that a hunderd times?"

"Yes, you done tol' me," said Gordon Lee, putting up a feeble defense.
"You all time quoilin' an' runnin' down conjurin' an' bad-luck signs
an' all de _nigger_ superstitions; but you's quick 'nough to tek up all
dese heah _white_ superstitions."

"How you mean?" demanded Amanda.

Gordon Lee, flattered at having any remark of his noticed, proceeded to
elaborate.

"I mean all dis heah talk 'bout hits bein' bad luck to sleep wid de
windows shet, an' bout flies carrying disease, an' 'bout worms gittin'
in de milk ef you leave it settin' roun' unkivered."

"Not worms," corrected Amanda; "_germs_. That ain't no superstition;
that's a scientific fac'. They is so little you don't see 'em; but
they's there all right. Mis' Bertram says they's ever'where--in the
water, in the air, crawlin' up the very walls."

Gordon Lee looked fearfully at the ceiling, as if he expected an
immediate attack from that direction.

"I ain't sayin' dey ain't, Amanda. Come to think of hit, seems lak I
'member 'em scrunchin' 'g'inst my teeth when I eats. I ain't sayin'
nothin' 't all 'bout white folks superstitions,--I 'spec' dey's true,
ebery one ob 'em,--but hit look' lak you oughtn't to shet yer min'
ag'inst de colored signs dat done come down f'om yer maw an' yer paw,
an' yer gran'maw an' gran'paw fer back as Adam. I 'spec' Adam hisself
was conjured. Lak as not de sarpint done tricked him into regalin'
hisself wid dat apple. But I s'pose you'd lay hit on de germs whut was
disportin' deyselves on de apple. But dey ain't no use in 'sputin' dat
p'int, 'ca'se de fac' remains dat de apple's done et."

"I ain't astin' you to dispute nothin'," cried Amanda, by this time in a
high state of indignation. "I'm a-talkin' scientific fac's, an' you're
talkin' nigger foolishness. The ignorance jes nachully oozes outen the
pores o' your skin."

Gordon Lee, thus arraigned, lay with contracted brows and protruding
lips, nursing his wrongs, while Amanda disappeared into the adjoining
room, there to vent her wrath on the pots and pans about the stove.

Despite the fact that it was after eight o'clock and she had been on her
feet all day, she set about preparing the evening meal for her husband
with all the care she had bestowed on the white folks' supper.

Soon the little cabin was filled with the savory odor of bacon, and when
the corn battercakes began to sizzle promisingly, and she flipped them
over dexterously with a fork, Gordon Lee forgot his ill humor, and
through the door watched the performance with growing eagerness.

"Git yerself propped up," Amanda called when the cakes were encircled
with crisp, brown edges. "I'll git the bread-board to put acrost yer
knees. You be eatin' this soup while I dishes up the bacon an' onions.
How'd you like to have a little jam along with yer apple-dumplin'?"

Gordon Lee, sitting up in bed with this liberal repast spread on the
bread-board across his knees, and his large, bare feet, with their pink
adornments, rising like ebony tombstones at the foot of the bed, forgot
his grievance.

"Jam!" he repeated. "Well, dat dere Sally Ann Slocum's dumplin's may
need jam, er Maria Johnsing's, but dis heah dumplin' is complete in
hitself. Ef dey ever was a pusson dat could assemble a' apple-dumplin'
so's you swoller hit 'most afore hit gits to yer mouf, dat pusson is
you."

Harmony being thus restored, and the patient having emptied all the
dishes before him, Amanda proceeded to clear up. Her small, energetic
figure moved briskly from one room to the other, and as she worked she
sang in a low, chanting tone:

"You got a shoe,
I got a shoe,
All God's children got shoes.
When I git to heaben, gwine try on my shoes,
Gwine walk all over God's heaben, heaben, heaben.
Ever'body's talkin' 'bout heaben ain't gwine to heaben--
Heaben, heaben, gwine walk all over God's heaben."

But the truce, thus declared, was only temporary. During the long days
that Amanda was away at her work, Gordon Lee had nothing to do but lie
on his back and think of his ailments. For twenty years he had worked in
an iron foundry, where his muscles were as active as his brain was
passive. Now that the case was reversed, the result was disastrous.
From an attack of rheumatism a year ago he had developed an amazing
number of complaints, all of which finally fell under the head of the
dread hoodoo.

Aunt Kizzy, the object of Amanda's special scorn, he held in great
reverence. She had been a familiar figure in his mother's chimney-corner
when he was a boy, and to doubt her knowledge of charms and conjuring
was to him nothing short of heresy. She knew the value of every herb and
simple that grew in Hurricane Hollow. She was an adept in getting people
into the world and getting them out of it. She was constantly consulted
about weaning calves, and planting crops according to the stage of the
moon. And for everything in the heavens above and the earth beneath and
the waters under the earth she "had a sign."

Since Gordon Lee's illness, she had fallen into the habit of dropping in
to sit with him at such hours as Amanda would not be there. She would
crouch over the fire, elbows on knees and pipe in mouth, and regale him
with hair-raising tales of "hants" and "sperrits" and the part she had
played in exorcising them.

"Dis heah case ob yourn," she said one day, "ain't no ordinary case. I
done worked on lizards in de laigs, but I nebber had no 'casion to treat
a _cricket_ in de laig. Looks lak de cricket is a more persistent animal
dan de lizard. 'Sides, ez I signify afore, dis heah case ob yourn ain't
no ordinary case."

"Why--why ain't it?" Gordon Lee stammered apprehensively.

Aunt Kizzy lifted a bony black hand, and shook her turbaned head
ominously.

"Dey's two kinds ob hoodoos," she said, "de libin' an' de daid. De daid
ones is de easiest to lift, 'ca'se dey answers to charms; but nobody can
lift a libin' hoodoo 'ceptin' de one dat laid hit on. I been a-steddyin'
an' a-steddyin', an' de signs claim dat dis heah hoodoo ob yourn ain't
no daid hoodoo."

By this time the whites of Gordon Lee's eyes were largely in evidence,
and he raised himself fearfully on his elbow.

"Aunt Kizzy," he whispered hoarsely, "how am I gwine to fin' out who 't
is done conjured me?"

"By de sign ob seben," she answered mysteriously. "I's gwine home an'
work hit out, den I come back an' tell yer. Ef my 'spicions am true, dat
dis heah is a _libin'_ hoodoo, de only power in de earth to tek it off
am ter git er bigger trick an' lay on de top ob hit. I'm gwine home now,
an' I'll be back inside de hour."

That night when Amanda returned home she found Gordon Lee preoccupied
and silent. He ate gingerly of the tempting meal she prepared, and
refused to have his bed straightened before he went to sleep.

"Huccome you put yer pillow on the floor?" she asked.

"I ain't believin' in feathers," he answered sullenly; "dey meks me heah
things."

In vain Amanda tried to cheer him; she recounted the affairs of the day;
she gave him all the gossip of the Order of the Sisters of the Star. He
lay perfectly stolid, his horizontal profile resembling a mountain-range
the highest peak of which was his under lip.

Finally Amanda's patience wore thin.

"Whut's the matter with you, Gordon Lee Surrender Jones?" she demanded.
"Whut you mean by stickin' out yer lip lak a circus camel?"

Now that the opportunity for action had come, he feared to take
advantage of it. Amanda, small as she was, looked firm and determined,
and he knew by experience that he was no match for her.

"'Tain't fer you to be astin' _me_ whut's de matter," he began
significantly. "De glove's on de other han'."

"Whut you 'sinuatin', nigger?" cried Amanda, now thoroughly roused.

"I's tired layin' heah under dis heah spell," complained Gordon Lee. "I
knowed all 'long 'twas a hoodoo, but I neber 'spicioned till to-day who
was 'sponsible fer hit. Aunt Kizzy tried de test, an', 'fore de Lawd,
hit p'inted powerful' near home."

Amanda sank into the one rocking-chair the cabin boasted, and dropped
her hands in her lap. Her anger had given place for the moment to sheer
amazement.

"Well, if this ain't the beatenest thing I ever heard tell of in all my
born days! Do you mean to say that that honery old cross-eyed nigger
Kizzy had the audacity to set up before my fire, in my house, an' tell
my husband I'd laid a spell on him?"

"Dat's whut de signs p'int to," said Gordon Lee, doggedly.

Amanda rose, and it seemed to him that she towered to the ceiling. With
hands on hips and head thrown back, she delivered herself, and her voice
rang with suppressed passion.

"Yas, I laid a spell on yer! I laid a spell on yer when I let you quit
work, an' lay up in bed wid nothin' to do but to circulate yer symtems.
I put a spell on yer when I nuss you an' feed you an' s'port you an'
spile the life plumb outen you. I ain't claimin' 't wasn't rheumatism in
the fust place, but it's a spell now, all right--a spell I did lay on
yer, a spell of laziness pure an' simple!"

After this outburst the relations were decidedly strained in the little
cabin at the far end of Hurricane Hollow. Gordon Lee persistently
refused to eat anything his wife cooked for him, depending upon the
food that Aunt Kizzy or other neighbors brought in.

To Amanda the humiliation of this was acute. She used every strategy to
conciliate him, and at last succeeded by bringing home some pig's feet.
His appetite got the better of his resentment, and he disposed of four
with evident relish.

With the approach of winter, however, other and graver troubles
developed. The rent of the cabin, which had always been promptly paid
out of Gordon Lee's wages, had now to come out of Amanda's limited
earnings. Two years' joint savings had gone to pay the doctor and the
druggist.

Amanda gave up the joys of club life, and began to take in small
washings, which she did at night. Gordon Lee, surrounded by every luxury
save that of approbation, continued to lie on his back in the white bed
and nurse his hallucinations.

"'Mandy," he said one morning as she was going to work, "wished you'd
ast Marse Jim ef he got a' ol' pair of pants he could spare me."

Her face brightened.

"You fixin' to git up, Honey?" she asked hopefully.

"No, I's jes collectin' ob my grave-clothes," said Gordon Lee. "Dere's a
pair ob purple socks in de bottom drawer, an' a b'iled shirt in de
wardrobe. But I been layin' heah steddyin' 'bout dat shirt. Hit's got
Marse Jim's name on de tail of it, an' s'pose I git to heaben, an' St.
Peter he read de name an' look hit up in de jedgment book. He's 'lowable
to come to me an' say, 'Huccome you wearin' dat shirt? Dey ain't but one
James Bartrum writ down in de book, an' he ain't no colored pusson.'
'Co'se I _could_ explain, but I's got 'splainin' 'nough to do when I git
to heaben widout dat."

Amanda paused with her hand on the doorknob.

"Marse Jim'll beat you to heaben; that is, ef he don't beat you to the
bad place first. You git that idea of dyin' outen yer mind, and you'll
git well."

"I can't git well till de hoodoo's lifted. Aunt Kizzy 'lows--"

But the door was slammed before he could finish.

The limit of Amanda's endurance was reached about Christmas-time. One
gloomy Sunday afternoon when she had finished the numerous chores that
had accumulated during the week, she started for the coal-shed to get an
armful of kindling.

Dusk was coming on, and Hurricane Hollow had never seemed more lonesome
and deserted. The corn-shocks leaned toward one another as if they were
afraid of a common enemy. Somewhere down the road a dog howled dismally.

Amanda resolutely pushed open the door of the shed, and felt her way
toward the pile of chips. Suddenly she found her progress blocked by a
strange and colossal object. It was an oblong affair, and it stood on
one end, which was larger than the other. With growing curiosity she
felt its back and sides, and then peered around it to get a front view.
What she saw sent her flying back to the cabin with her mouth open and
her limbs shaking.

"Gordon Lee," she cried, "whose coffin is that settin' in our
coal-shed?"

The candidate for the next world looked very much embarrassed.

"Well, 'Mandy," he began lamely, "I can't say 'zactly ez hit's any
pusson's jes yit. But hit's gwine be mine when de summons comes."

"Where'd you git it at?" demanded his Nemesis.

His eyes shifted guiltily.

"De foundry boss done been heah las' week, an' he gimme some money. I
'lowed I was layin' hit up fer a rainy day."

"An' you mean to tell me," she cried, "that you took that money an'
spent it for a coffin, a white one with shiny handles, an' a satin
bolster that'll done be wore out, an' et up by moths, 'fore you ever git
a chancet to use it?"

"Couldn't you fix hit up in terbaccy er mothballs ag'in' de time I need
hit?" Gordon Lee asked helplessly.

But Amanda was too exasperated this time to argue the matter. Fifty
dollars' worth of coffin in the coal-shed and fifty cents' worth of coal
in the bin constituted a situation that demanded her entire attention.

For six months now Gordon Lee had remained in bed, firm in the belief
that he could not walk on account of the spell that had been laid upon
him. During that time he had come to take a luxurious satisfaction in
the interest his case was exciting in the neighborhood. Being in
excellent physical condition, he could afford the melancholy joy of
playing with the idea of death. He spent hours discussing the details of
his funeral, which had assumed in his mind the proportions of a pageant.

Amanda, on the other hand, overworked and anxious, and compelled to
forego her lodges and societies, became more and more irascible and
depressed. In some subtle way she was aware that the sympathy of the
colored community was solidly with Gordon Lee. Nobody now asked her how
he was. Nobody came to the cabin when she was there, though it was
apparent that visitors were frequent during her absence. Aunt Kizzy had
evidently been busy in the neighborhood.

One night Amanda sat very long over the stove rolling her hair into
little wads about the length and thickness of her finger, then tightly
wrapping each with a stout bit of cord to take out the kink. When Gordon
Lee roused himself now and then to inquire suspiciously what she was
doing, she answered with ominous calm.

"Jes steddyin', that's all."

Her meditations evidently resulted in a plan of action, for the next
night she came home from her work in a most mysterious and unusual mood.
Gordon Lee heard her moving some heavy and cumbersome article across the
kitchen floor, then he saw her surreptitiously put something into a tin
can before she presented herself at the foot of his bed.

"'Mandy," he said, anxious to break the silence, and distrusting that
subdued look of excitement in her eyes, "did you bring me dat possum,
lak you 'lowed you was gwine to?"

Her lips tightened.

"Yes, I got the possum, an' also some apples fer a dumplin'; but before
I lays a stick to the fire I'm goin' to say my say."

Gordon Lee looked at her with consternation. She stood at the foot of
his bed as if it wore a rostrum, and with an air of detached dignity
addressed him as if he had been the whole Order of the Sisters of the
Star.

"I done arrive' at a decision," she declared. "I arrive' at it in the
watches of the night. I'm goin' to cure you 'cordin' to yer lights an'
knowledge. I'm goin' to lif' that spell ef I has to purge my immortal
soul to do it."

"'Mandy," cried Gordon Lee, eagerly, "you mean to say you gwine to
remove the hoodoo?"

"I am," she said solemnly. "I'm goin' to draw out all yer miseries fer
the rest of yer life, _includin' of the cricket in yer leg_."

"'Mandy," he cried again fearfully, "you ain't gwine ter hurt me in no
way, is you?"

"Not effen you do as I tell you. But fust of all you got to take the
pledge of silence. Whatsomever takes place heah in this cabin to-night
ain't never to be revealed till the jedgment-day. Do you swear?"

The big negro, fascinated with the mystery, and deeply impressed with
his wife's manner, laid his hand on the Bible and solemnly took the
oath.

"Now," she continued impressively, "while I go in the kitchen an' git
the supper started, I want you to ease yerse'f outen the bed on to the
floor, an' lay with yer head to the north an' your han's outspread, an'
yer mind on the heabenly kingdom."

"Air you shore hit ain't gwine hurt me?" again he queried.

"Not if you do 'zactly like I say. Besides," she added dryly, "if it
comes to the worst, ain't you ready an' waitin' to go!"

"Yas," agreed Gordon Lee; "but I ain't fixin' to go till I's sent fer."

It took not only time, but courage, for him to follow the prescribed
directions. He had for a long time cherished the belief that any
exertion would prove fatal; but the prospect of having the hoodoo
removed, together with a lively curiosity as to what means Amanda would
employ to remove it, spurred him to persist despite groans, wheezes,
and ejaculations.

Once stretched upon the floor, with his head to the north and his arms
extended, he encountered a new difficulty: his mind refused to dwell
upon the heavenly kingdom. Anxiety as to the treatment he was about to
be subjected to alternated with satisfaction at the savory odors that
floated in from the kitchen. If the ordeal was uncertain, the reward at
least was sure.

After what seemed to him an endless vigil, Amanda appeared in the
doorway. With measured steps and great solemnity of mien, she
approached, holding in her right hand a piece of white chalk.

"De hour has come," she chanted. "With this chalk, an' around this man,
I make the mark of his image." Stooping, she began to trace his outline
on the dull rag-carpet, speaking monotonously as she worked: "Gordon Lee
Surrender Jones, I command all the aches an' the pains, all the miseries
an' fool notions, includin' the cricket in yer leg, to pass outen yer
real body into this heah image on the floor. Keep yer head still,
nigger! I pass 'em through you into yer symbol, an' from thence I draws
'em out to satisfy yer mind now and forever more, amen. Now roll over to
the right an' watch what's about to happen."

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