Classic Southern Literature

“Mrs. Yardley’s Quilting”
“Thar’s one durn’d nasty muddy job, an’ I is jis’ glad enuf tu take a ho’n ur two, on the straingth ove hit.”
“What have you been doing, Sut?”
“Helpin tu salt ale Missis Yardley down.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Fixin her fur rotten cumfurtably, kiverin her up wif sile, tu keep the buzzards from cheatin the wurms.”
“Oh, you have been helping to bury a woman.”
“That’s hit, by golly! Now why the devil can’t I ‘splain myself like yu? I ladles out my words at randum, like a calf kickin at yaller- jackids; yu jis’ rolls em out tu the pint, like a feller a-layin bricks- every one fits. How is it that bricks fits so clost anyhow? Rocks won’t ni du hit.”
“Becaze they’se all ove a size,” ventured a man with a wen over his eye.
“The devil yu say, hon’ey-head! haint reapin-mersheens ove a size? I’d like tu see two ove em fit clost. Yu wait until yu sprouts tuther ho’n, afore yu venters tu ‘splain mix’d questions. George, did yu know ole Missis Yardley?”
“No.”
“Well, she wer a curious ‘oman in her way, an’ she wore shiney specks. Now jis’ listen: Whenever yu see a ole ‘oman ahine a par ove shiney specks, yu keep yer eye skinn’d; they am dang’rus in the extreme. Thar is jis’ no knowin’ what they ken du. I hed one a-stradil ove me onst, fur kissin her gal. She went fur my har, an’ she went fur my skin, until I tho’t she ment tu kill me, an’ ward a-dun hit, ef my hollerin hadent fetch ole Dave Jordan, a bacheler, tu my aid. He, like a durn’d fool, cotch her by the laig, an’ drug her back’ards ofen me. She jis’ kivered him, an’ I run, by golly! The nex time I seed him he wer bald headed, an’ his face looked like he’d been a-fitin wildcats.
“Ole Missis Yardley wer a great noticer ove littil things, that nobody else ever seed. She’d say right in the middil ove sumbody’s serious talk: ‘Law sakes! thar goes that yeller slut ove a- hen, a-flingin straws over her shoulder; she’s arter settin now, an’ haint laid but seven aigs. I’ll disapint her, see ef I don’t; I’ll put a punkin in her ne’s, an’ a feather in her nose. An’ bless my soul! jis’ look at that cow wif the wilted ho’n, a-flingin up dirt an’ a-smellin the place whar hit cum frum, wif the rale ginuine still-wurim twis’ in her tail, too; what upon the face ove the yeath kin she be arter now, the ole fool? watch her, Sally. An’ sakes alive jis’ look at that ole sow; she’s a-gwine in a fas’ trot, wif her empty bag a-floppin agin her sides. Thar, she hes stop’t, an’s a-listenin! massy on us! what a long yearnis grunt she gin; hit cum frum way back ove her kidneys. Thar she goes agin; she’s arter no good, sich kerryin on means no good.’
“An’ so she wud gabble, no odds who wer a-listenin. She looked like she mout been made at fust ‘bout four foot long, an’ the common thickness ove wimen when they’s at tharsefs, an’ then had her har tied tu a stump, a par ove steers hitched to her heels, an’ then straiched out a-mos’ two foot more-mos’ ove the straichin cumin outen her laigs an’ naik. Her stockins, a-hangin on the clothes-line tu dry, looked like a par ove sabre scabbards, an’ her naik looked like a dry beef shank smoked, an’ mout been ni ontu es tough. I never felt hit mysef, I didn’t, I jis’ jedges by looks. Her darter Sal wer bilt at fust ‘bout the laingth ove her mam, but wer never straiched eny by a par ove steers an’ she wer fat enuf tu kill; she wer taller lyin down than she wer a-standin up. Hit wer her who gin me the ‘hump shoulder.’ Jis’ look at me; haint I’se got a tech ove the dromedary back thar bad? haint I humpy? Well, a-stoopin tu kiss that squatty lard-stan ove a gal is what don hit tu me. She wer the fairest-lookin gal I ever seed. She alters wore thick woolin stockins ‘bout six inches too long fur her laig; they rolled down over her garters, lookin like a par ove life- preservers up thar. I tell yu she wer a tarin gal anyhow. Luved kissin, wrastlin, an’ biled cabbige, an’ hated tite clothes, hot weather, an suckit-riders. B’leved strong in married folk’s ways, cradles, an’ the remishun ove sins, an’ didn’t b’leve in corsets, fleas, peaners, nur the fashun plates.”
“What caused the death of Mrs. Yardley, Sut?”
‘‘Nuffin, only her heart stop’t beatin ‘bout losin a nine dimunt quilt. True, she got a skeer’d hoss tu run over her, but she’d a-got over that ef a quilt hadn’t been mix’d up in the catastrophy. Yu see quilts wer warn ove her speshul gifts; she run strong on the bed-kiver ques- tion. Irish chain, star ove Texas, sun-flower, nine dimunt, saw teeth, checker board, an’ shell quilts; blue, an’ white, an’ yeller an’ black coverlids, an’ callickercumfurts reigned triumphan’ ‘bout her hous’.
They wer packed in drawers, layin in shelfs full, wer hong four dubbil on lines in the lof, packed in chists, piled on cheers, an’ wer every- whar, even ontu the beds, an’ wer changed every bed-makin. She told everybody she cud git tu listen tu hit that she ment tu give every durn’d one ove them tu Sal when she got married. Oh, lordy! what es fat a gal es Sal Yardley cud ever du wif half ove em, an’ sleepin wif a husbun at that, is more nor I ever cud see through. Jis’ think ove her under twenty layer ove quilts in July, an’ yu in thar too. Gewhilli- kins! George, look how I is sweatin’ now, an’ this is December. I’d ‘bout es lief be shet up in a steam biler wif a three hundred pound bag ove lard, es tu make a bisiness ove sleepin wif that gal-’twould kill a glass-blower.
“Well, tu cum tu the serious part ove this conversashun, that is how the old quilt-mersheen an’ coverlid-loom cum tu stop operashuns on this yeath. She hed narrated hit thru the neighborhood that nex Saterday she’d gin a quiltin-three quilts an’ one cumfurt tu tie. ‘Goblers, fiddils, gals, an’ whisky,’ wer the words she sent tu the men-folk, an’ more tetchin ur wakenin words never drap’t ofen an ‘oman’s tongue. She sed tu the gals, ‘Sweet toddy, huggin, dancin, an’ huggers in ‘bundunce.’ Them words struck the gals rite in the pit ove the stumick, an’ spread a ticklin sensashun bof ways, until they scratched thar heads wif one han, an’ thar heels wif tuther.
“Everybody, he an’ she, what wer baptized b’levers in the righteous- nes ove quiltins wer thar, an’ hit jis’ so happen’d that everybody in them parts, frum fifteen summers tu fifty winters, were unannamus b’levers. Strange, wern’t hit? Hit wer the bigges’ quiltin ever Missis Yardley hilt, an’ she hed hilt hundreds; everybody wer thar, ‘scept the constibil an’ suckit-rider, two dam easily-spared pussons; the numbers ni ontu even too; jis’ a few more boys nur gals; that made hit more exhitin, fur hit gin the gals a chance tu kick an’ squeal a littil, wifout runnin eny risk ove not gittin kissed at all, an’ hit gin reasonabil groans fur a few scrimmages amung the he’s. Now es kissin an’ fitin am the pepper an’ salt ove all soshul getherins, so hit were more espishully wif this ove ours. Es I swung my eyes over the crowd, George, I thought quiltins, managed in a morril an’ sensibil way, truly am good things-good fur free drinkin, good fur free eatin, good fur free huggin, good fur free dancin, good fur free fitin, an’ goodest ove all fur poperlatin a country fas’.
“Thar am a fur-seein wisdum in quiltins, ef they hes proper trim- mins: ‘vittils, fiddils, an’ sperrits in ‘bundunce.’ One holesum quiltin am wuf three old pray’r meetins on the poperlashun pint, purtickerly ef hits hilt in the dark ove the moon, an’ runs intu the night a few hours, an’ April ur May am the time chosen. The moon don’t suit quiltins whar everybody is well acquainted an’ already fur along in courtin. She dus help pow’ful tu begin a courtin match under, but when hit draws ni ontu a head, nobody wants a moon but the ole mammys.
“The mornin cum, still, soft, sunshiney; cocks crowin, hens singin, birds chirpin, tuckeys gobblin-jis’ the day tu sun quilts, kick, kiss, squeal, an’ make love.
“All the plow-lines an’ clothes-lines wer straiched tu every post an’ tree. Quilts purvailed. Darn my gizzard ef two acres round that ar house warn’t jis’ one solid quilt, all out a-sunnin, an’ tu be seed. They dazzled the eyes, skeered the hosses, gin wimen the heart-burn, an’ perdominated.
“To’ards sundown the he’s begun tu drop in. Yearnis’ needil-drivin cummenced tu lose groan; threads broke ofen, thimbils got los’, an’ quilts needed anuther roll. Gigglin, winkin, whisperin, smoofin ove har, an’ gals a-ticklin one anuther, wer a-gainin every inch ove groan what the needils los’. Did yu ever notis, George, at all soshul gether- Ins, when the he’s begin tu gather, that the young she’s begin tu tickil one anuther an’ the ole maids swell thar tails, roach up thar backs, an’ sharpen thar nails ontu the bed-posts an’ door jams, an’ spit an’ groan sorter like cats a-courtin? Dus hit mean rale rath, ur is hit a dare tu the he’s, sorter kivered up wif the outside signs ove danger? I honestly b’leve that the young shes’ ticklin means, ‘Cum an’ take this job ofen our hans.’ But that swellin I jis’ don’t onderstan; dus yu? Hit looks skeery, an’ I never fetch one ove em when they am in the swellin way. I may be mistaken’d ‘bout the ticklin bisiness too; hit may be dun like a feller chaws poplar bark when he haint got eny terbacker, a-sorter better nur nun make-shif. I dus know one thing tu a certainty: that is, when the he’s take hold the ticklin quits, an’ ef yu gits one ove the ole maids out tu hersef, then she subsides an’ is the smoofes, sleekes, saft thing yu ever seed, an’ dam ef yu can’t hear her purr, jis’ es plain!
“But then, George, gals an’ ole maids haint the things tu fool time away on. Hits widders, by golly, what am the rale sensibil, steady- goin, never-skeerin, never-kickin, willin, sperrited, smoof pacers. They cum clost up tu the hoss-block, standin still wif thar party silky years playin, an’ the naik-veins a-throbbin, an’ waits fur the word, which ove course yu gives, arter yu finds yer feet well in the stirrup, an’ away they moves like a cradil on cushioned rockers, ur a spring buggy runnin in damp san’. A fetch ove the bridil, an’ they knows yu wants em tu turn, an’ they dus hit es willin es ef the idear wer thar own. I be dod rabbited ef a man can’t ‘propriate happiness by the skinful ef he is in contack wif sumbody’s widder, an’ is smart. Gin me a willin widder, the yeath over: what they don’t know, haint worth larnin. They hes all been tu Jamakey an’ larnt how sugarts made, an’ knows how tu sweeten wif hit; an’ by golly, they is always ready tu use hit. All yu hes tu du is tu find the spoon, an’ then drink cumfort till yer blind. Nex tu good sperrits an’ my laigs, I likes a twenty-five year ole widder, wif roun ankils, an’ bright eyes, honestly an’ squarly lookin intu yarn, an’ sayin es plainly es a partrige sez ‘Bob White,’ ‘Don’t be afraid ove me; I hes been thar; yu know hit ef yu hes eny sense, an’ thar’s no use in eny humbug, old feller—cum ahead!’
“Ef yu onderstans widder nater, they ken save yu a power ove troubil, onsartinty, an’ time, an ef you is interprisin yu gits mons’rous well paid fur hit. The very soun ove thar littil shoe-heels speak full trainin, an’ hes a knowin click as they tap the floor; an’ the rustil ove thar dress sez, ‘I dar yu tu ax me.’
“When yu hes made up yer mind tu court one, jis’ go at hit like hit wer a job ove rail-maulin. Ware yer workin close, use yer com- mon, every-day moshuns an’ words, an’ abuv all, fling away yer cina- mint ile vial an’ burn all yer love songs. No use in tryin tu fool em, fur they sees plum thru yu, a durn’d sight plainer than they dus thru thar veils. No use in a pasted shut; she’s been thar. No use in bor- rowin a cavortin fat hoss; she’s been thar. No use in har-dye; she’s been thar. No use in cloves, tu kill whisky breff; she’s been thar. No use in buyin clost curtains fur yer bed, fur she has been thar. Widders am a speshul means, George, fur ripenin green men, killin off weak ones, an makin ‘ternally happy the soun ones.
“Well, es I sed afore, I flew the track an’ got ontu the widders. The fellers begun tu ride up an’ walk up, sorter slow, like they warn’t in a hurry, the durn’d ‘saitful raskils, hitchin thar critters tu anything they cud find. One red-comb’d, long-spurr’d, dominecker feller, frum town, in a red an’ white grid-iron jackid an’ patent leather gaiters, hitched his hoss, a wild, skeery, wall-eyed devil, inside the yard palins, tu a cherry tree lim’. Thinks I, that hoss hes a skeer intu him big enuf tu run intu town, an’ perhaps beyant hit, ef I kin only fetch hit off; so I sot intu thinkin.
“One aind ove.a long clothes-line, wif nine dimunt quilts ontu hit, wer tied tu the same cherry tree that the hoss wer. I tuck my knife and socked hit thru every quilt, ‘bout the middil, an’ jis’ below the rope, an’ tied them thar wif bark, so they cudent slip. Then I went tu the back aind, an’ untied hit frum the pos’, knottin in a hoe- handil, by the middil, tu keep the quilts frum slippin off ef my bark strings failed, an’ laid hit on the groan. Then I went tu the tuther aind: thar wer ‘bout ten foot tu spar, a-lyin on the groan arter tyin tu the tree. I tuck hit atwix Wall-eye’s hine laigs, an’ tied hit as’ tu bof stirrups, an’ then cut the cherry tree lim’ betwix his bridil an’ the tree, almos’ off. Now, mine yu thar wer two ur three uther ropes full ove quilts atween me an’ the hous’, so I wer party well hid frum thar. I jis’ tore off a palin frum the fence, an’ tuck hit in bof hans, an’ arter raisin hit ‘way up yonder, I fetch hit down, es hard es I cud, flatsided to’ards the groan, an’ hit acksidentally happen’d tu hit Wall-eye, ‘bout nine inches ahead ove the root ove his tail. Hit landed so hard that hit made my hans tingle, an’ then busted intu splinters. The first thing I did, wer tu feel ove mysef, on the same spot whar hit hed hit the hoss. I cudent help duin hit tu save my life, an’ I swar I felt sum ove Wall-eye’s sensashun, jis’ es plain. The fust thing he did, wer tu tare down the lim’ wif a twenty foot jump, his head to’ards the hous. Thinks I, now yu hev dun hit, yu durn’d wall-eyed fool! tarin down that lim’ wer the beginin ove all the troubil, an’ the hoss did hit hissef; my conshuns felt clar es a mountin spring, an’ I wer in a frame ove mine tu observe things es they happen’d, an’ they soon begun tu happen party clost arter one anuther rite then, an’ thar, an’ tharabouts, clean ontu town, thru hit, an’ still wer a-happenin, in the woods beyant thar ni ontu eleven mile frum ole man Yardley’s gate, an’ four beyant town.
“The fust line ove quilts he tried tu jump, but broke hit down; the nex one he ran under; the rope cotch ontu the ho’n ove the saddil, broke at bof ainds, an’ went along wif the hoss, the cherry tree lim’ an’ the fust line ove quilts, what I hed proverdensally tied fas’ tu the rope. That’s what I calls foresight, George. Right furnint the frunt door he cum in contack wif ole Missis Yardley hersef, an’ anuther ole ‘oman; they wer a-holdin a nine dimunt quilt spread out, a-’zaminin hit an’ a-praisin hits perfeckshuns. The durn’d onmanerly, wall-eyed fool run plum over Missis Yardley frum ahine, stompt one hine foot through the quilt takin hit along, a-kickin until he made hits corners snap like a whip. The gals screamed, the men hollered wo! an’ the ole ‘oman wer toted intu the hous’ limber es a wet string, an’ every word she sed wer, ‘Oh, my preshus nine dimunt quilt!’
“Wall-eye busted thru the palins, an’ Dominicker sed ‘im, made a mortal rush fur his bitts, wer too late fur them, but in good time fur the strings ove flyin quilts, got tangled amung em, an’ the gridiron jackid patren wer los’ tu my sight amung star an’ Irish chain quilts; he went frum that quiltin at the rate ove thuty miles tu the hour. Nuffin lef on the lot ove the hole consarn, but a nine biler hat, a par ove gloves, an’ the jack ove hearts.
“What a onmanerly, suddin way ove leavin places sum folks hev got, anyhow.
“Thinks I, well, that fool hoss, tarin down that cherry tree lim’, hes dun sum good, enyhow; hit hes put the ole ‘oman outen the way fur the balance ove the quiltin, an’ tuck Dominicker outen the way an’ outen danger, fur that gridiron jackid wud a-bred a scab on his nose afore midnite; hit wer merrily boun tu du hit.
“Two months arterwards, I tracked the route that hoss tuck in his kalamatus skeer, by quilt rags, tufts ove cotton, bunches ove har, (human an’ hoss), an’ scraps ove a gridiron jackid stickin ontu the bushes, an’ plum at the aind ove hit, whar all signs gin out, I foun a piece ove watch chain an’ a hosses head. The places what know’d Dominicker, know’d ‘im no more.
“Well, arter they’d tuck the ole ‘oman up stairs an’ camfired her tu sleep, things begun tu work agin. The widders broke the ice, an’ arter a littil gigilin, goblin, an’ gabblin, the kissin begun. Smack!- ‘Thor, now,’ a widder sed that. Pop!-’Oh, don’t!’ Pfip!-’Oh, yu quit!’ Plosh!-’Go way yu awkerd critter, yu kissed me in the eye!’ anuther widder sed that. Bop! ‘Now yu ar satisfied, I recon, big mouf!’ Vip!-’That haint fair!’ Spat!-’Oh, lordy! May, cum pull Bill away; he’s a-tanglin my har.’ That!-’I jis’ d-a-r-e yu tu du that agin!” a widder sed that, too. Hit sounded all ‘roan that room like poppin co’n in a hot skillet, an’ wer pow’ful sujestif.
“Hit kep on until I be durn’d ef my bristils didn’t begin tu rise, an’ sumthin like a cold buckshot ward run down the marrow in my back-bone ‘bout every ten secons, an’ then run up agin, tolerabil hot. I kep a swallerin wif nuthin tu swaller, an’ my face felt swell’d: an’ yet I wer fear’d tu make a bulge. Thinks I, I’ll ketch one out tu hersef torreckly, an’ then I guess we’ll rastil. Party soon Sal Yardley started fur the smoke ‘ous, so I jis’ gin my head a few short shakes, let down one ove my wings a-trailin, an’ sirkiled roun her wif a side twis’ in my naik, steppin sidewise, an’ a-fetchin up my hinmos’ foot wif a sorter jerkin slide at every step. Sez I, ‘Too coo-took a-too.’ She understood hit, an stopt, sorter spreadin her shoulders. An’ jis’ es I hed pouch’d out my mouf, an’ wer a-reachin forrid wif hit, fur the article hitself, sunthin interfered wif me, hit did. George, wer yu ever ontu yer hans an’ knees, an’ let a hell-tarin big, mad ram, wif a ten-yard run, but yu yearnis’ly, jis’ onst, right squar ontu the pint ove yer back-bone?”
“No, you fool, why do you ask?”
“Kaze I wanted tu know ef yu cud hev a realizin’ noshun ove my shock. Hits scarcely worth while tu try tu make yu onderstan the case by words only, unless yu hev been fetched in that way. Gr-eat golly! the fust thing I felt, I tuck hit tu be a back-ackshun yeath- quake; an’ the fust thing I seed wer my chaw’r terbacker a-fly n’ over Sal’s head like a skeer’d bat. My mouf wer pouch’d out, ready fur the article hitsef, yu know, an’ hit went outen the roun hole like the wad outen a pop-gun-thug! an’ the fust thing I know’d, I wer a flyin over Sal’s head too, an’ a-gainin on the chaw’r terbacker fast. I wer straitened out strait, toes hinemos’, middil finger-nails foremos’, an’ the fust thing I hearn wer, ‘Yu dam Shanghi!’ Great Jerus-a-lam! I lit ontu my all fours jis’ in time tu but the yard gate ofen hits hinges, an’ skeer loose sum more hosses-kep on in a four-footed gallop, clean acrost the lane afore I cud straiten up, an’ yere I catch up wif my chaw’r terbacker, stickin flat agin a fence-rail. I hed got so good a start that I that hit a pity tu spile hit, so I jis’ jump’d the fence an’ tuck thru the orchurd. I tell yu I dusted these yere close, fur I tho’t hit wer arter me.
“Arter runnin a spell, I ventered tu feel roun back thar, fur sum signs ove what hed happened tu me. George, arter two pow’ful hard tugs, I pull’d out the vamp an’ sole ove one ove ole man Yardley’s big brogans, what he hed los’ amung my coat-tails. Dre’ful! dre’ful! Arter I got hit away frum thar, my flesh went fas’ asleep, frum abuv my kidneys tu my knees; about now, fur the fust time, the idear struck me, what hit wer that hed interfar’d wif me, an’ Los’ me the kiss. Hit wer ole Yardley hed kicked me. I walked fur a month like I wer straddlin a thorn hedge. Sich a shock, at sich a time, an’ on sich a place-jis’ think ove hit! hit am tremenjus, haint hit? The place feels num, right now.”
“Well, Sut, how did the quilting come out?”
“How the hell du yu ‘speck me tu know? I warn’t thar eny more.”