Angelina Weld Grimké

“ Rachel: Ma dear, you frighten me. Save me from what?
Mrs. Loving: Just life, my little chickabiddy!
Rachel: Is life so terrible? I had found it mostly beautiful. How can life be terrible, when the world is full of little children?
[14]
Mrs. Loving (Very sadly) : Oh, Rachel! Rachel!
Rachel: Ma dear, what have I said?
Mrs. Loving (Forcing a smile) : Why, the truth, of course, Rachel. Life is not terrible when there are little children—and you—and Tom—and a roof over our heads—and work—and food—and clothes—and sleep at night. (Pauses) . Rachel, I am not myself today. I’m tired. ”

“ Rachel: Please, Ma dear, please!
Mrs. Loving (Smiling) : Very well, dearie, I won’t say it any more. (A pause) . By the way,—how—does Tom strike you, these days?
Rachel (Avoiding her mother’s eye) : The same old, bantering, cheerful Tom. Why?
Mrs. Loving: I know he’s all that, dearie, but it isn’t possible for him to be really cheerful. (Pauses; goes on wistfully) When you are little, we mothers can kiss away all the trouble, but when you grow up—and go out—into the world—and get hurt—we are helpless. There is nothing we can do.
Rachel: Don’t worry about Tom, Ma dear, he’s game. ”

“ What ridiculous language you do use, Rachel! Well, I’m no prophet, but I see very distinctly what is going to happen. This little brown baby will be living here night and day. You’re not happy unless some child is trailing along in your rear.
Rachel (Mischievously) : Now, Ma dear, whose a hypocrite? What? I suppose you don’t like children! I can tell you one thing, though, it won’t be my fault if he isn’t here night and day. Oh, I wish he were all mine, every bit of him! Ma dear, do you suppose that “she woman” he calls mother would let him come up here until it is time for him to go to bed? ”

“ Where’s Jimmy, Miss Rachel?
Rachel: He went long ago; and chickies, you’ll have to clear out, all of you, now, or you’ll be late. Shoo! Shoo! (She drives them out prettily before her. They laugh merrily. They all go into the vestibule) .
Tom (Slowly) : Does it ever strike you—how pathetic and tragic a thing—a little colored child is?
Strong: Yes.
Tom: Today, we colored men and women, everywhere—are up against it. Every year, we are having a harder time of it. In the South, they make it as impossible as they can for us to get an education. We’re hemmed in on all sides. ”

“ Before you go, Rachel, just give a look at the meat and see if it is cooking all right, will you, dearie?
Rachel (Goes out into the kitchenette and presently returns) : It’s all right, Ma dear.
Mrs. Loving (While Rachel is out of the room, she takes her pocket-book out of the machine-drawer, opens it, takes out money and gives it to Rachel upon her return) : A dozen brown rolls, Rachel. Be sure they’re brown! And, I guess,—an apple pie. As you and Tom never seem to get enough apple pie, get the largest she has. ”

“ The last couple of nights, Jimmy has awakened and cried most pitifully. She wouldn’t let me go to him; said I had enough trouble, and she could quiet him. She never will let me know why he [79] cries; but she stays with him, and soothes him until, at last, he falls asleep again. Every time she has come out like a rag; and her face is like a dead woman’s. Strange isn’t it, this is the first time we have ever been able to talk it over? Tom, what could have happened?
Tom: I don’t know, Ma, but I feel, as you do; something terrible and sudden has hurt her soul ”

“ They looked up, and there, in the moonlight, by their bed, was the dearest, little old lady. She was dressed all in gray, from the peak of her little pointed hat to her little, buckled shoes. She held a black cane much taller than her little self. Her hair fell about her ears in tiny, grey corkscrew curls, and they bobbed about as she moved. Her eyes were black and bright—as bright as—well, as that lovely, white light there. No, there! And her cheeks were as red as the apple I gave you yesterday. Do you remember?
Jimmy (Dreamily) : Yes.
Rachel: “Why are you crying, little boys?” ”

“ I are almost a man, aren’t I?
Rachel: Oh! Boy, I’m getting tired of correcting you—“I am almost a man, am I not?” Jimmy, boy, what will Ma Rachel do, if you grow up? Why, I won’t have a little boy any more! Honey, you mustn’t grow up, do you hear? You mustn’t.
[33]
Jimmy: Oh, yes, I must; and you’ll have me just the same, Ma Rachel. I’m going to be a policeman and make lots of money for you and Ma Loving and Uncle Tom, and I’m going to buy you some trains and fire-engines, and little, cunning ponies, and some rabbits, and some great ’normous banks full of money—lots of it. ”

“ Rachel: I don’t know. I just feel something is not quite right with you.
Mrs. Loving: I’m only tired—that’s all.
Rachel: Perhaps. But— (Watches her mother a moment or two longer; shakes her head; turns back to the piano. She is thoughtful; looks at her hands in her lap) . Ma dear, wouldn’t it be nice if we could keep all the babies in the world—always little babies? Then they’d be always little, and cunning, and lovable; and they could never grow up, then, and—and—be bad. I’m so sorry for mothers, whose little babies—grow up—and—and—are bad. ”

“ She laughs shyly and jumping up, begins to hum. She opens the window at the rear of the room and then commences to thread the sewing-machine. She hums happily the whole time. A light rapping is heard at the outer door. Rachel listens. It stops, and begins again. There is something insistent, and yet hopeless in the sound. Rachel looking puzzled, goes out into the vestibule.... The door closes. Rachel, a black woman, poorly dressed, and a little ugly, black child come in. There is the stoniness of despair in the woman’s face. ”

“ I must be—I am—nervous tonight. (With a forced smile) How do-you-do, Jimmy? Now, Rachel—perhaps—don’t you think—you had better take him back to his mother? Good-night, Jimmy! (Eyes the child in a fascinated way the whole time he is in the room. Rachel, very much perturbed, takes the child out) . Tom, open that window, please! There! That’s better! (Still breathing deeply) . What a fool I am!
Tom (Patting his mother awkwardly on the back) : You’re all pegged out, that’s the trouble—working entirely too hard. Can’t you stop for the night and go to bed right after supper? ”

“ John,—if it only—if it only— (Breaks off, controls herself. Slowly again; thoughtfully) No—No sunshine—no laughter—always, always—darkness. That is it. Even our little flat— (In a whisper) John’s and mine—the little flat—that calls, calls us—through darkness. It shall wait—and wait—in vain—in darkness. Oh, John! (Pauses) . And my little children! my little children! (The weeping [96] ceases; pauses) . I shall never—see—you—now. Your little, brown, beautiful bodies—I shall never see.—Your dimples—everywhere—your laughter—your tears—the beautiful, lovely feel of you here. ”

“ Tom (Quietly) : I don’t know. She generally tells me everything; but she avoids me now. If we are alone in a room—she gets out. I don’t know what it means.
Mrs. Loving: She will hardly let Jimmy out of her sight. While he’s at school, she’s nervous and excited. She seems always to be listening, but for what? When he returns, she nearly devours him. And she always asks him in a frightened sort of way, her face as pale and tense as can be: “Well, honey boy, how was school today?” And he always answers, “Fine, Ma Rachel, fine! ”

“ After all, an outsider doesn’t help much.
Rachel: But friendship—just friendship—helps.
Strong: Yes. (A silence) . Rachel, do you hear anything encouraging from the schools? Any hope for you yet?
Rachel: No, nor ever will be. I know that now. There’s no more chance for me than there is for Tom,—or than there was for you—or for any of us with dark skins. It’s lucky for me that I love to keep house, and cook, and sew. I’ll never get anything else. Ma dear’s sewing, the little work Tom has been able to get, and the little [51] sewing I sometimes get to do—keep us from the poorhouse. We live. ”

“ Even God can’t take you away. (A pause; very sweetly; pathetically) Little children!—My little children!—No more need you come to me—weeping—weeping. You may be happy now—you are safe. Little weeping, voices, hush! hush! (The weeping begins again. To Jimmy, her whole soul in her voice) Jimmy! My little Jimmy! Honey! I’m coming.—Ma Rachel loves you so. ”

“ Tom (Suddenly) : Rachel! (Rachel starts slightly) . I nearly forgot. John is coming here tonight to see how you are. He told me to tell you so.
[76]
Rachel (Stiffens perceptibly, then in different tones) : Very well. Thank you. (Suddenly with a little cry she puts her arms around Jimmy) Jimmy! honey! don’t go tonight. Don’t go without Ma Rachel. Wait for me, honey. I do so wish to go, too, to the Land of Laughter. Think of it, Jimmy; nothing but birds always singing, and flowers always blooming, and skies always blue—and people, all of them, always laughing, laughing. ”

“ We’re entirely too old, but we still play. Ma dear rather dreads the climb up three flights, so Tom and I do all the errands. We don’t mind climbing the stairs, particularly when we go up two or three at a time,—that is—Tom still does. I can’t, Ma dear stopped me. (Sighs) . I’ve got to grow up it seems.
Strong (Evidently amused) : It is rather hard being a girl, isn’t it?
[8]
Rachel: Oh, no! It’s not hard at all. That’s the trouble; they won’t let me be a girl. I’d love to be.
Mrs. Loving (Reentering with parcel. She smiles) : My Chatterbox, I see, is entertaining you, Mr. Strong. ”

“ My philosophy—learned hard, is to make the best of everything you can, and go on. At best, life isn’t so very long. You’re wondering why I’m telling you all this. I wish you to see things exactly as they are. There are many disadvantages and some advantages in being a waiter. My mother can live comfortably; I am able, even, to see that she gets some of the luxuries. Tom, it’s this way—I can always get you a job as a waiter ”

“ During the singing, Tom and Mrs. Loving apparently do not listen; when she sobs, however, Tom’s hand on his paper tightens; Mrs. Loving’s needle poises for a moment in mid-air. Neither looks at Rachel. Jimmy evidently has not noticed the sob) .
Rachel (Kneeling by Jimmy) : Well, honey, how did you like it?
Jimmy (Proceeding to pull down her hair from the twist) : It was lovely, Ma Rachel. (Yawns audibly) . Now, Ma Rachel, I’m just beautifully sleepy. (Dreamily) I think that p’r’aps I’ll go to the Land of Laughter tonight in my dreams. ”

“ Hear? (Returns to his chair and paper) .
Rachel (Sitting down) : Come on, honey boy, and sit in my lap.
Jimmy (Doubtfully) : I thought we were going to play “Old Folks.”
Rachel: We are.
Jimmy: Do old folks sit in each other’s laps?
Rachel: Old folks do anything. Come on.
Jimmy (Hesitatingly climbs into her lap, but presently snuggles down and sighs audibly from sheer content; Rachel starts to bind up her hair) : Ma Rachel, don’t please! I like your hair like that. You’re—you’re pretty. I like to feel of it; and it smells like—like—oh!—like a barn. ”

“ In the centre of the rear wall of the room is a window. It is shut. The white sash curtains are pushed to right and left as far as they will go. The green shade is rolled up to the top. Through the window can be seen the red bricks of a house wall, and the tops of a couple of trees moving now and then in the wind. Within the window, and just below the sill, is a shelf upon which are a few potted plants. Between the window and the door is a bookcase full of books and above it, hanging on the wall, a simply framed, inexpensive copy of Millet’s “The Reapers.” ”

“ There, are you, Ma. There isn’t a sacrifice—that you haven’t made. You’re still working your fingers to the bone—sewing—just so all of us may keep on living. Rachel is a graduate in Domestic Science; she was high in her class; most of the girls below her in rank have positions in the schools. I’m an electrical engineer—and I’ve tried steadily for several months—to practice my profession. It seems our educations aren’t of much use to us: we [42] aren’t allowed to make good—because our skins are dark. (Pauses) And, in the South today, there are white men— (Controls himself) . ”

“ Rachel: All right, Ma dear. Come on, Jimmy; let’s play “Old Folks” and sit by the fire. (She begins to push the big armchair over to the fire. Tom jumps up, moves her aside, and pushes it himself. Jimmy renders assistance.)
Tom: Thanks, Big Fellow, you are “sure some” strong. I’ll remember you when these people around here come for me to move pianos and such things around. Shake! (They shake hands) .
Jimmy (Proudly) : I am awful strong, am I not?
Tom: You “sure” are a Hercules. (Hurriedly, as Jimmy’s mouth and eyes open wide) . And see here! don’t ask me tonight who that was. ”

“ Loving bows her head in her hands. Tom controls himself with an effort. Rachel creeps softly to her mother, kneels beside her and lifts the hem of her dress to her lips. She does not dare touch her. She adores her with her eyes) .
Mrs. Loving (Presently raising her head and glancing at the clock) : Tom, it’s time, now, for you to go to work. Rachel and I will finish up here.
Tom (Still laboring under great emotion goes out into the entryway and comes back and stands in the doorway with his cap. He twirls it around and around nervously) : I want you to know, Ma, before I go—how—how proud I am. ”

“ Tom (In a whisper) : Liven her up. (Rachel nods. Mrs. Loving reenters. Both rush to her and lead her to her place at the right end of the table. She smiles and tries to appear cheerful. They sit down, Tom opposite Mrs. Loving and Rachel at the side facing front. Mrs. Loving asks grace. Her voice trembles. She helps the children bountifully, herself sparingly. Every once in a while she stops eating and stares blankly into her plate; then, remembering where she is suddenly, looks around with a start and goes on eating. Tom and Rachel appear not to notice her) .
Tom: Ma’s “some” cook, isn’t she? ”

“ Youth, you know, gets over things finally. It takes them hard, that’s all—. At least, that’s what the older heads tell us. (Gets his hat and stands in the vestibule doorway) . Ma, you know, I begin with John tomorrow. (With emotion) I don’t believe we’ll ever forget John. Good-night! (Exit. Mrs. Loving continues to sew. Rachel, her hair arranged, reenters through the rear doorway. She is humming) .
Rachel: He’s sleeping like a top. Aren’t little children, Ma dear, the sweetest things, when they’re all helpless and asleep? One little hand is under his cheek ”