Church Work

‘Miss MARY, does you want to punch my cyard?’ Mammie, having made her usual noiseless entrance, stood beside me with hands extended; a very grimy card with a number of stars printed on it in one hand, and in the other a large pin.

‘You does like dis. Punch a hole in de middle of one of dese stars; so! Den gimme fi’ cents for my church. De baby done punch fo’ times dis mornin’, an’ dat meck you owe me twenty cents.’

I handed over the quarter. ‘This is for the baby and myself, Mammie. But please don’t let him play with pins.’

Mammie tossed her head indignantly. ‘When is I ever let no baby play wid pins? My goodness, Miss Mary, I ain’t gwine let him ever tech no common pin. Dis here is a church pin, wid a deep black mournin’ haid; an’ I ain’t gwine trus’ Billy wid it no mo’, ’kase he might lose it likely as not.’

The old woman looked very much offended; and fearing that I had hurt her feelings, I encouraged her to talk of her church, knowing from past experience that it was a most soothing topic.

' Are you raising money for any special purpose, Mammie?’

‘Money, Miss Mary,’ she replied sententiously, ‘is what everybody’s ’bleege to have. An’ folks done talk so much ’bout hard times, de niggers feel like dey ain’t got nothin’. Now our Pasture he ain’t never had all dat de deacons promuss him dis year; but what wid poundin’¹ him an’ envitin’ of him out to meals, an’ ’eludin’ what his white folks what he used to work for ’fore he tuk ter preachin’ give him, he is got on right well. But now he says he jus’ pintedly got ter go ter some contention er ’nother wid a whole passel of other preachers; so we members is boun’ ter do all kinds of things ter git some cash money, ’kase everybody knows you can’t git no credit on a railroad ticket. You got ter teck yo’ money wid you, an’ spend it ’fore you starts, when you travels on de train. Us old folks what goes out in service ’mongst de white people, we got cyards; an’ de gals an’ boys dey got de church all festoonded wid tissue paper, an’ is aholdin’ of a fair. You ought ter see how dey done fix it up wid a big table front of de pulpit all laid out wid what dey calls numbered prizes. An’ at one end is a pile of sharp sticks, an’ a wash-tub of bluein’ water wid all kinds of numbers in it. You got ter pay fi’ cents to poke fer a number. I poked several times, but I did n’t teck none of de prizes ’kase most of dem come frum de tea sto’, an’ I had give a heap of dat li’l trash to de fair myself ’kase I did n’t have no use for it.’

'1 Were many people there, Mammie? ’

‘Yes, mam, dat dey was! You know John?’

I shook my head. ‘Do you mean Mary’s son? The one whose husband’s funeral you went to the other day?’

‘Naw indeed, Honey. Dis dat big black John wid a knot on his haid. His mother’s a ol’ maid. Her name’s Frances. She used to do washin’ fo’ yo’ ma. She is a mighty good religious woman; an’ it worried her ’kase John did n’t waste no time in church work. But las’ night, when he see all dem niggers crowdin’ roun’, he come in de church to look at de fun. Den he see de tub, an’ he study a li’l. Den he come up, an say — Let him fix a number. He gwine show um sumpin’. So he meek a mighty fixin’ of a number in de tub. Den he reach down in his pocket, an’ teck out a dollar bill, an’ laid it on de table wid a number. Den he stan’ back, an say, “Step up, ladies an’ gent’men, an’ poke fo’ de dollar.” ’

Mammie waved her hands enthusiastically. ‘He did n’t need to say dat word! My King! Every nigger was mos’ fightin’ ter poke! John had ter teck off his coat an’ his collar. He was sweatin’ same as a horse; wid such a crowdin’ an’ scufflin’ an’ excitement as you never see. It ain’t been a half an hour ’fore he took in mo’ den fo’ dollars. De niggers push an’ shove till he was wore out aholdin’ of um back. But dey was suttinly nice behavior, for I ain’t seen nair lick struck, though in all the hullabaloo of stirrin’ an’ pokin’ mos’ all de water got sloshed outen de tub. John, he got a mighty bad cold in de excitement; but Frances say she don’t mind dat, she feel so proud ’kase he done teck some intrus’ in church work at las’.’ Mammie was turning away — ‘What dat you say? Who done git de money? Lord, Honey, you git his money, is you? He done tack dat ain’t think John gwine let dem niggers number in de bottom of de tub.’