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She did not intend to question or argue; she meant to control the situation from the start. "Hit's in the grave 'long o' Zalie!" Becky was on her defence. "Zalie" here the befogged brain went under a cloud "Zalie she come a-looking but hit's in the grave! I tell yo'-all, hit's in the grave!" The trembling creature wavered in the firelight. She was filled with fear but of what, who could tell?
"I am sorry to have disturbed you; I am going now." She half turned, keeping her eyes on her companion. "Come set a bit," pleaded the crackling voice; "come warm yo'self before I tuck yo' up again. How cold yo' little hands are! Po' little Zalie, jes' naturally tryin' to find hit."
Again the old woman's eyes were lifted and she peered into the depths of the fire. "I seed Zalie las' night! She come with hit." "With what?" Sister Angela had that peculiar pricking sensation of the skin caused by tense nerves. "With hit. Her young-un! That's what larnin' means to us-all. Hit! After that, nothin' counts one way or 'other. Zalie spoke in her vision clear like she was in the flesh.
"Been tryin' to find hit?" the strained voice went on. "Yo' better lie still, Zalie yo' larned enough, chile!" And then, because the rigid girl did not speak, the old woman drew nearer. Nancy, believing herself in the presence of a harmlessly insane creature, rallied her courage and sought to soothe, not excite, the woman. "I'm lost," she faltered.
"I'll leave hit, Mary Allen," she cackled, "but if yo' tell that hit ain't in the grave 'long o' Zalie all the devils o' hell will watch out for yo' soul!" Mary was not listening. She rose and mechanically moved about the disordered room. Like a sleep walker she set the rickety furniture in place; she began to gather scraps of food together hunting, hunting in corners and cupboards.
Becky, I promise to help you. But suppose Zalie, should she have a child, refused to give it up?" Becky's face quivered. "She won't las', Zalie won't." The stricken voice was as confident as if Zalie already lay dead. "Zalie ain't got stayin' powers, she ain't. She don have fever an' what-all an' she won't las' long she'll go on The Ship!
She watched the old woman unfold the coverings, and she saw the form of a sleeping new-born baby exposed to the heat and light of the fire. She tried to say something, to get control of herself, but she only succeeded in bending nearer the apparition. "Zalie she cum las' night like I told you she would. She's daid now Zalie is.
"Where is hit then?" A cunning crept into Becky's cavernous eyes. "Where is hit?" "Aunt Becky, no one must know! You want it that way." Inspiration guided Mary, or was it, perhaps, that iron strain, the strong human strain of her kind that led her true? "Zalie, she done come back; not to look for hit, but to keep you from hit!" The stroke told. Becky shrank farther in the chair.
I don buried her at sun-up an' I want it tole if it ever is tole that the child was buried long o' Zalie. She done planned while she was a-dying. "I told her what you-all promised an' she went real content-like after that." There was sodden despair in Becky's voice. "Who is the father of this child?" The commonplace question, under the strain, sounded trivial but it was rung from Angela's dismay.