The Bitterweed Path by Thomas Hal Phillips

Author:Thomas Hal Phillips [Phillips, Thomas Hal]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Fiction, Gay, General
ISBN: 9780807845950
Google: M4Sqa_xizewC
Publisher: UNC Press Books
Published: 1949-03-14T14:00:00+00:00

two

On the night of the Pilgrimage Ball, in the spring, Darrell ate in the kitchen, standing, because he was in a hurry. He stood at the end of the cook-table and fashioned his boiled ham sandwich with salt-rising bread while his grandmother moved about, now and then brushing her finger-tips against her apron. Busy-walking, he thought.

"You look more journey-proud than I do," he said.

"You ought to have coffee tonight, before a party," she said.

"Yancey said Louella would come stay with you while I'm gone tonight, if you want her to."

She pursed her lips. "Why, I don't need Louella." She took a gold-rimmed Haviland china cup, went to the stove, and poured out the coffee for him. He took the cup carefully, hot against his forefinger.

"Thank you."

She watched him drink. "We used to have nine of these cups. By the time the War came there were five left. But bury these? No sir. I filled each one with leaf-mould and set out a flower. They stayed right there in the front window of the old place and the Yankees didn't touch a one." She turned back to the stove, and he thought: I've heard that over and over; it's almost as if she thinks I cannot leave while she talks. "That's something you didn't know about the Yankees: they didn't bother flowers much—woman-like. But moving and such have broken them all down to one now … "

He went to the kitchen window and looked out through the dusk toward the henhouse and garden. It was April and each row of the garden was defined with stalk and leaf. He said, "Grandmother, inch-a-night grass is getting the best of the beets."

"What time are you calling for Miriam ?" she said.

"At seven." He had not really meant to say any more, but suddenly he was saying, "I'm going to get married soon. I'm going to marry Miriam …"

His grandmother lifted her small chin only a little, but very quickly, as if the high stiff collar of her black rep dress were choking. She pulled the shawl tighter about her shoulders, her incisive eyes shone through the dim coal-oil light of the kitchen; and she spoke in the same way he had seen her speak of church or the certainty of the devil's flesh, "Listen to me, Darrell. You've no right to marry anybody till you own a piece of land for yourself. No member of this family has ever married when he couldn't show his wife a clear deed to a few acres …"

"I've got a deed," he said.

"Not a clear deed. Married! You listen to me. You've seen nothing of life, and it takes money. Let me tell you a family takes money."

He laughed. "Why, when Roger got married last fall he said he didn't have …"

"Roger Pitt! Must you follow every track and turn of the path as Roger Pitt?" She snapped her fingers. "Just like that the Pitts could take all we've got."

Then almost without his knowing, the nearly empty cup crashed between his feet, and the handle, like a perfect washer, rolled along the kitchen floor.

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