Mrs. Hall took their places at their rods again and the others turned to the new heap of leaves on the table.
“That James stays out in the sun much more, he’s going to change races,” Missouri said to Joan.
“I guess he might,” Joan said.
“He’s a good man. Though a bit too quiet—don’t let things show through.”
“No.”
Missouri waited, still without going back to her work. Finally she said, “Just where is he from?”
The others looked up. Joan said, “Oh … from around here he says.”
“Well, so are we all,” said Missouri. “But what
town?
”
“He doesn’t talk much about it.”
“
That’s
kind of peculiar,” Mrs. Hall called. “You ever asked him?”
“He’s not
wanted
or nothing, is he?” said Missouri.
“No.”
“You never know. I’d been married two and a half years before I found out Lem had been married before. Mad? I tell you—”
“If I were you I’d ask him,” Mrs. Hall said.
“Well, I did,” said Joan. She was beginning to feel uncomfortable. “He
told
me where he was from but it was just an ordinary town, like Larksville—”
“Then why don’t he say so?”
“Well, you know Ansel,” Joan said.
“There’s an odd one.”
“He doesn’t like for James to talk about it. He’s afraid James’ll send him back.”
“Good thing if he did,” said Mrs. Hall. “You ever been invited to meet their family?”
“Well, no.”
“They had some kind of falling-out,” Missouri’s daughter Lily said. Everyone looked at her, and she said, “Well, that’s what Maisie Hammond said.”
“Maisie Hammond don’t know beans,” Missouri said. “Haven’t you learned not to listen to gossip?”
“If I was you, Joan,” said Mrs. Hall, “I’d just march right up and ask him. I’d say, ‘James, will you take me to meet your family?’ Just like that, I’d ask.”
“No,” Joan said.
They went on watching her, waiting for her to saymore, but she didn’t. She concentrated on grouping the leaves together by the stems, a small cluster at a time, so that they lay flat against each other, and then she held them out to Missouri and waited patiently until Missouri gave up and started tying again. Each time Missouri took the leaves from her there was a funny numb feeling in Joan’s fingertips, from the leaves sliding across layers and layers of thick tobacco gum on her skin. Tobacco gum covered her hands and forearms, and it had worked in between the straps of her sandals so that there was black gum on the soles of her feet. Tonight when she walked barefoot through the house she would leave little black tracks behind her. She rubbed the tip of her nose against a clean spot on the back of her hand, and Missouri clicked her tongue at her to tell her to hurry. “I want to get
home,
” she told Joan, and Joan swooped down on another bunch of leaves and handed them to her. In her sleep she would see tables full of tobacco leaves, stack upon stack of yellow-green leaves with their fine sticky coating of fuzz and their rough surfaces that reminded her of old grained leather on book covers. Whenever she told her aunt about that, about dreaming every night of mules and leaves and drying barns, her aunt thought she was complaining and said, “Nobody
asked
you to do it. I even told you, I said it right out, I didn’t want you doing it. Secretaries don’t work tobacco, honey.” But then Joan only laughed and said she liked seeing leaves in her sleep. “There’s lots worse I could dream of,” she said, and Mrs. Pike had to agree.
Missouri had started talking again, now that she saw Joan wasn’t going to answer any more questions. “Let’s get back to sitting,” she said. “What led me to speak of it was, your working and all so soon after that, uh,tragedy occurred. Now, honey, don’t you mind Mrs. Pike. I know her, she feels like even James shouldn’t of come. Feels like it shows disrespect. But look at it head-on and—”
“Well, not
“That James stays out in the sun much more, he’s going to change races,” Missouri said to Joan.
“I guess he might,” Joan said.
“He’s a good man. Though a bit too quiet—don’t let things show through.”
“No.”
Missouri waited, still without going back to her work. Finally she said, “Just where is he from?”
The others looked up. Joan said, “Oh … from around here he says.”
“Well, so are we all,” said Missouri. “But what
town?
”
“He doesn’t talk much about it.”
“
That’s
kind of peculiar,” Mrs. Hall called. “You ever asked him?”
“He’s not
wanted
or nothing, is he?” said Missouri.
“No.”
“You never know. I’d been married two and a half years before I found out Lem had been married before. Mad? I tell you—”
“If I were you I’d ask him,” Mrs. Hall said.
“Well, I did,” said Joan. She was beginning to feel uncomfortable. “He
told
me where he was from but it was just an ordinary town, like Larksville—”
“Then why don’t he say so?”
“Well, you know Ansel,” Joan said.
“There’s an odd one.”
“He doesn’t like for James to talk about it. He’s afraid James’ll send him back.”
“Good thing if he did,” said Mrs. Hall. “You ever been invited to meet their family?”
“Well, no.”
“They had some kind of falling-out,” Missouri’s daughter Lily said. Everyone looked at her, and she said, “Well, that’s what Maisie Hammond said.”
“Maisie Hammond don’t know beans,” Missouri said. “Haven’t you learned not to listen to gossip?”
“If I was you, Joan,” said Mrs. Hall, “I’d just march right up and ask him. I’d say, ‘James, will you take me to meet your family?’ Just like that, I’d ask.”
“No,” Joan said.
They went on watching her, waiting for her to saymore, but she didn’t. She concentrated on grouping the leaves together by the stems, a small cluster at a time, so that they lay flat against each other, and then she held them out to Missouri and waited patiently until Missouri gave up and started tying again. Each time Missouri took the leaves from her there was a funny numb feeling in Joan’s fingertips, from the leaves sliding across layers and layers of thick tobacco gum on her skin. Tobacco gum covered her hands and forearms, and it had worked in between the straps of her sandals so that there was black gum on the soles of her feet. Tonight when she walked barefoot through the house she would leave little black tracks behind her. She rubbed the tip of her nose against a clean spot on the back of her hand, and Missouri clicked her tongue at her to tell her to hurry. “I want to get
home,
” she told Joan, and Joan swooped down on another bunch of leaves and handed them to her. In her sleep she would see tables full of tobacco leaves, stack upon stack of yellow-green leaves with their fine sticky coating of fuzz and their rough surfaces that reminded her of old grained leather on book covers. Whenever she told her aunt about that, about dreaming every night of mules and leaves and drying barns, her aunt thought she was complaining and said, “Nobody
asked
you to do it. I even told you, I said it right out, I didn’t want you doing it. Secretaries don’t work tobacco, honey.” But then Joan only laughed and said she liked seeing leaves in her sleep. “There’s lots worse I could dream of,” she said, and Mrs. Pike had to agree.
Missouri had started talking again, now that she saw Joan wasn’t going to answer any more questions. “Let’s get back to sitting,” she said. “What led me to speak of it was, your working and all so soon after that, uh,tragedy occurred. Now, honey, don’t you mind Mrs. Pike. I know her, she feels like even James shouldn’t of come. Feels like it shows disrespect. But look at it head-on and—”
“Well, not
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