Part Two Chapter 24
To Kill a Mockingbird
Calpurnia wore her stiffest starched apron. She carried a tray of
charlotte. She backed up to the swinging door and pressed gently. I
admired the ease and grace with which she handled heavy loads of
dainty things. So did Aunt Alexandra, I guess, because she had let
Calpurnia serve today.
August was on the brink of September. Dill would be leaving for
Meridian tomorrow; today he was off with Jem at Barker's Eddy. Jem had
discovered with angry amazement that nobody had ever bothered to teach
Dill how to swim, a skill Jem considered necessary as walking. They
had spent two afternoons at the creek, they said they were going in
naked and I couldn't come, so I divided the lonely hours between
Calpurnia and Miss Maudie.
Today Aunt Alexandra and her missionary circle were fighting the
good fight all over the house. From the kitchen, I heard Mrs. Grace
Merriweather giving a report in the livingroom on the squalid lives of
the Mrunas, it sounded like to me. They put the women out in huts when
their time came, whatever that was; they had no sense of family- I
knew that'd distress Aunty- they subjected children to terrible
ordeals when they were thirteen; they were crawling with yaws and
earworms, they chewed up and spat out the bark of a tree into a
communal pot and then got drunk on it.
Immediately thereafter, the ladies adjourned for refreshments.
I didn't know whether to go into the diningroom or stay out. Aunt
Alexandra told me to join them for refreshments; it was not
necessary that I attend the business part of the meeting, she said
it'd bore me. I was wearing my pink Sunday dress, shoes, and a
petticoat, and reflected that if I spilled anything Calpurnia would
have to wash my dress again for tomorrow. This had been a busy day for
her. I decided to stay out.
"Can I help you, Cal?" I asked, wishing to be of some service.
Calpurnia paused in the doorway. "You be still as a mouse in that
corner," she said, "an' you can help me load up the trays when I
come back."
The gentle hum of ladies' voices grew louder as she opened the door:
"Why, Alexandra, I never saw such charlotte... just lovely... I
never can get my crust like this, never can... who'd've thought of
little dewberry tarts... Calpurnia?... who'da thought it... anybody
tell you that the preacher's wife's... nooo, well she is, and that
other one not walkin' yet... "
They became quiet, and I knew they had all been served. Calpurnia
returned and put my mother's heavy silver pitcher on a tray. "This
coffee pitcher's a curiosity," she murmured, "they don't make 'em
these days."
"Can I carry it in?"
"If you be careful and don't drop it. Set it down at the end of
the table by Miss Alexandra. Down there by the cups'n things. She's
gonna pour."
I tried pressing my behind against the door as Calpurnia had done,
but the door didn't budge. Grinning, she held it open for me. "Careful
now, it's heavy. Don't look at it and you won't spill it."
My journey was successful: Aunt Alexandra smiled brilliantly.
Stay with us, Jean Louise, she said. This was a part of her campaign
to teach me to be a lady.
It was customary for every circle hostess to invite her neighbors in
for refreshments, be they Baptists or Presbyterians, which accounted
for the presence of Miss Rachel (sober as a judge), Miss Maudie and
Miss Stephanie Crawford. Rather nervous, I took a seat beside Miss
Maudie and wondered why ladies put on their hats to go across the
street. Ladies in bunches always filled me with vague apprehension and
a firm desire to be elsewhere, but this feeling was what Aunt
Alexandra called being "spoiled."
The ladies were cool in fragile pastel prints: most of them were
heavily powdered but unrouged; the only lipstick in the room was
Tangee Natural. Cutex Natural sparkled on their fingernails, but
some of the younger ladies wore Rose. They smelled heavenly. I sat
quietly, having conquered my hands by tightly gripping the arms of the
chair, and waited for someone to speak to me.
Miss Maudie's gold bridgework twinkled. "You're mighty dressed up,
Miss Jean Louise," she said, "Where are your britches today?"
"Under my dress."
I hadn't meant to be funny, but the ladies laughed. My cheeks grew
hot as I realized my mistake, but Miss Maudie looked gravely down at
me. She never laughed at me unless I meant to be funny.
In the sudden silence that followed, Miss Stephanie Crawford
called from across the room, "Whatcha going to be when you grow up,
Jean Louise? A lawyer?"
"Nome, I hadn't thought about it..." I answered, grateful that
Miss Stephanie was kind enough to change the subject. Hurriedly I
began choosing my vocation. Nurse? Aviator? "Well..."
"Why shoot, I thought you wanted to be a lawyer, you've already
commenced going to court."
The ladies laughed again. "That Stephanie's a card," somebody
said. Miss Stephanie was encouraged to pursue the subject: "Don't
you want to grow up to be a lawyer?"
Miss Maudie's hand touched mine and I answered mildly enough, "Nome,
just a lady."
Miss Stephanie eyed me suspiciously, decided that I meant no
impertinence, and contented herself with, "Well, you won't get very
far until you start wearing dresses more often."
Miss Maudie's hand closed tightly on mine, and I said nothing. Its
warmth was enough.
Mrs. Grace Merriweather sat on my left, and I felt it would be
polite to talk to her. Mr. Merriweather, a faithful Methodist under
duress, apparently saw nothing personal in singing, "Amazing Grace,
how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me..." It was the
general opinion of Maycomb, however, that Mrs. Merriweather had
sobered him up and made a reasonably useful citizen of him. For
certainly Mrs. Merriweather was the most devout lady in Maycomb. I
searched for a topic of interest to her. "What did you all study
this afternoon?" I asked.
"Oh child, those poor Mrunas," she said, and was off. Few other
questions would be necessary.
Mrs. Merriweather's large brown eyes always filled with tears when
she considered the oppressed. "Living in that jungle with nobody but
J. Grimes Everett," she said. "Not a white person'll go near 'em but
that saintly J. Grimes Everett."
Mrs. Merriweather played her voice like an organ; every word she
said received its full measure: "The poverty... the darkness... the
immorality- nobody but J. Grimes Everett knows. You know, when the
church gave me that trip to the camp grounds J. Grimes Everett said to
me-"
"Was he there, ma'am? I thought-"
"Home on leave. J. Grimes Everett said to me, he said, 'Mrs.
Merriweather, you have no conception, no concep¯tion of what we are
fighting over there.' That's what he said to me."
"Yes ma'am."
"I said to him, 'Mr. Everett,' I said, 'the ladies of the Maycomb
Alabama Methodist Episcopal Church South are behind you one hundred
percent.' That's what I said to him. And you know, right then and
there I made a pledge in my heart. I said to myself, when I go home
I'm going to give a course on the Mrunas and bring J. Grimes Everett's
message to Maycomb and that's just what I'm doing."
"Yes ma'am."
When Mrs. Merriweather shook her head, her black curls jiggled.
Jean Louise, she said, "you are a fortunate girl. You live in a
Christian home with Christian folks in a Christian town. Out there
in J. Grimes Everett's land there's nothing but sin and squalor."
"Yes ma'am."
"Sin and squalor- what was that, Gertrude?" Mrs. Merriweather turned
on her chimes for the lady sitting beside her. "Oh that. Well, I
always say forgive and forget, forgive and forget. Thing that church
ought to do is help her lead a Christian life for those children
from here on out. Some of the men ought to go out there and tell
that preacher to encourage her."
"Excuse me, Mrs. Merriweather," I interrupted, "are you all
talking about Mayella Ewell?"
"May-? No, child. That darky's wife. Tom's wife, Tom-"
"Robinson, ma'am."
Mrs. Merriweather turned back to her neighbor. "There's one thing
I truly believe, Gertrude," she continued, "but some people just don't
see it my way. If we just let them know we forgive 'em, that we've
forgotten it, then this whole thing'll blow over."
"Ah- Mrs. Merriweather," I interrupted once more, "what'll blow
over?"
Again, she turned to me. Mrs. Merriweather was one of those
childless adults who find it necessary to assume a different tone of
voice when speaking to children. "Nothing, Jean Louise," she said,
in stately largo, "the cooks and field hands are just dissatisfied,
but they're settling down now- they grumbled all next day after that
trial."
Mrs. Merriweather faced Mrs. Farrow: "Gertrude, I tell you there's
nothing more distracting than a sulky darky. Their mouths go down to
here. Just ruins your day to have one of 'em in the kitchen. You
know what I said to my Sophy, Gertrude? I said, 'Sophy,' I said,
'you simply are not being a Christian today. Jesus Christ never went
around grumbling and complaining,' and you know, it did her good.
She took her eyes off that floor and said, 'Nome, Miz Merriweather,
Jesus never went around grumblin'.' I tell you, Gertrude, you never
ought to let an opportunity go by to witness for the Lord."
I was reminded of the ancient little organ in the chapel at
Finch's Landing. When I was very small, and if I had been very good
during the day, Atticus would let me pump its bellows while he
picked out a tune with one finger. The last note would linger as
long as there was air to sustain it. Mrs. Merriweather had run out
of air, I judged, and was replenishing her supply while Mrs. Farrow
composed herself to speak.
Mrs. Farrow was a splendidly built woman with pale eyes and narrow
feet. She had a fresh permanent wave, and her hair was a mass of tight
gray ringlets. She was the second most devout lady in Maycomb. She had
a curious habit of prefacing everything she said with a soft
sibilant sound.
"S-s-s Grace," she said, "it's just like I was telling Brother
Hutson the other day. 'S-s-s Brother Hutson,' I said, 'looks like
we're fighting a losing battle, a losing battle.' I said, 'S-s-s it
doesn't matter to 'em one bit. We can educate 'em till we're blue in
the face, we can try till we drop to make Christians out of 'em, but
there's no lady safe in her bed these nights.' He said to me, 'Mrs.
Farrow, I don't know what we're coming to down here.' S-s-s I told him
that was certainly a fact."
Mrs. Merriweather nodded wisely. Her voice soared over the clink
of coffee cups and the soft bovine sounds of the ladies munching their
dainties. "Gertrude," she said, "I tell you there are some good but
misguided people in this town. Good, but misguided. Folks in this town
who think they're doing right, I mean. Now far be it from me to say
who, but some of 'em in this town thought they were doing the right
thing a while back, but all they did was stir 'em up. That's all
they did. Might've looked like the right thing to do at the time,
I'm sure I don't know, I'm not read in that field, but sulky...
dissatisfied... I tell you if my Sophy'd kept it up another day I'd
have let her go. It's never entered that wool of hers that the only
reason I keep her is because this depression's on and she needs her
dollar and a quarter every week she can get it."
"His food doesn't stick going down, does it?"
Miss Maudie said it. Two tight lines had appeared at the corners
of her mouth. She had been sitting silently beside me, her coffee
cup balanced on one knee. I had lost the thread of conversation long
ago, when they quit talking about Tom Robinson's wife, and had
contented myself with thinking of Finch's Landing and the river.
Aunt Alexandra had got it backwards: the business part of the
meeting was blood-curdling, the social hour was dreary.
"Maudie, I'm sure I don't know what you mean," said Mrs.
Merriweather.
"I'm sure you do," Miss Maudie said shortly.
She said no more. When Miss Maudie was angry her brevity was icy.
Something had made her deeply angry, and her gray eyes were as cold as
her voice. Mrs. Merriweather reddened, glanced at me, and looked away.
I could not see Mrs. Farrow.
Aunt Alexandra got up from the table and swiftly passed more
refreshments, neatly engaging Mrs. Merriweather and Mrs. Gates in
brisk conversation. When she had them well on the road with Mrs.
Perkins, Aunt Alexandra stepped back. She gave Miss Maudie a look of
pure gratitude, and I wondered at the world of women. Miss Maudie
and Aunt Alexandra had never been especially close, and here was Aunty
silently thanking her for something. For what, I knew not. I was
content to learn that Aunt Alexandra could be pierced sufficiently
to feel gratitude for help given. There was no doubt about it, I
must soon enter this world, where on its surface fragrant ladies
rocked slowly, fanned gently, and drank cool water.
But I was more at home in my father's world. People like Mr. Heck
Tate did not trap you with innocent questions to make fun of you; even
Jem was not highly critical unless you said something stupid. Ladies
seemed to live in faint horror of men, seemed unwilling to approve
wholeheartedly of them. But I liked them. There was something about
them, no matter how much they cussed and drank and gambled and chewed;
no matter how undelectable they were, there was something about them
that I instinctively liked... they weren't-
"Hypocrites, Mrs. Perkins, born hypocrites," Mrs. Merriweather was
saying. "At least we don't have that sin on our shoulders down here.
People up there set 'em free, but you don't see 'em settin' at the
table with 'em. At least we don't have the deceit to say to 'em yes
you're as good as we are but stay away from us. Down here we just
say you live your way and we'll live ours. I think that woman, that
Mrs. Roosevelt's lost her mind- just plain lost her mind coming down
to Birmingham and tryin' to sit with 'em. If I was the Mayor of
Birmingham I'd-"
Well, neither of us was the Mayor of Birmingham, but I wished I
was the Governor of Alabama for one day: I'd let Tom Robinson go so
quick the Missionary Society wouldn't have time to catch its breath.
Calpurnia was telling Miss Rachel's cook the other day how bad Tom was
taking things and she didn't stop talking when I came into the
kitchen. She said there wasn't a thing Atticus could do to make
being shut up easier for him, that the last thing he said to Atticus
before they took him down to the prison camp was, "Good-bye, Mr.
Finch, there ain't nothin' you can do now, so there ain't no use
tryin'." Calpurnia said Atticus told her that the day they took Tom to
prison he just gave up hope. She said Atticus tried to explain
things to him, and that he must do his best not to lose hope because
Atticus was doing his best to get him free. Miss Rachel's cook asked
Calpurnia why didn't Atticus just say yes, you'll go free, and leave
it at that- seemed like that'd be a big comfort to Tom. Calpurnia
said, "Because you ain't familiar with the law. First thing you
learn when you're in a lawin' family is that there ain't any
definite answers to anything. Mr. Finch couldn't say somethin's so
when he doesn't know for sure it's so."
The front door slammed and I heard Atticus's footsteps in the
hall. Automatically I wondered what time it was. Not nearly time for
him to be home, and on Missionary Society days he usually stayed
downtown until black dark.
He stopped in the doorway. His hat was in his hand, and his face was
white.
"Excuse me, ladies," he said. "Go right ahead with your meeting,
don't let me disturb you. Alexandra, could you come to the kitchen a
minute? I want to borrow Calpurnia for a while."
He didn't go through the diningroom, but went down the back
hallway and entered the kitchen from the rear door. Aunt Alexandra and
I met him. The diningroom door opened again and Miss Maudie joined us.
Calpurnia had half risen from her chair.
"Cal," Atticus said, "I want you to go with me out to Helen
Robinson's house-"
"What's the matter?" Aunt Alexandra asked, alarmed by the look on my
father's face.
"Tom's dead."
Aunt Alexandra put her hands to her mouth.
"They shot him," said Atticus. "He was running. It was during
their exercise period. They said he just broke into a blind raving
charge at the fence and started climbing over. Right in front of
them-"
"Didn't they try to stop him? Didn't they give him any warning?"
Aunt Alexandra's voice shook.
"Oh yes, the guards called to him to stop. They fired a few shots in
the air, then to kill. They got him just as he went over the fence.
They said if he'd had two good arms he'd have made it, he was moving
that fast. Seventeen bullet holes in him. They didn't have to shoot
him that much. Cal, I want you to come out with me and help me tell
Helen."
"Yes sir," she murmured, fumbling at her apron. Miss Maudie went
to Calpurnia and untied it.
"This is the last straw, Atticus," Aunt Alexandra said.
"Depends on how you look at it," he said. "What was one Negro,
more or less, among two hundred of 'em? He wasn't Tom to them, he
was an escaping prisoner."
Atticus leaned against the refrigerator, pushed up his glasses,
and rubbed his eyes. "We had such a good chance," he said. "I told him
what I thought, but I couldn't in truth say that we had more than a
good chance. I guess Tom was tired of white men's chances and
preferred to take his own. Ready, Cal?"
"Yessir, Mr. Finch."
"Then let's go."
Aunt Alexandra sat down in Calpurnia's chair and put her hands to
her face. She sat quite still; she was so quiet I wondered if she
would faint. I heard Miss Maudie breathing as if she had just
climbed the steps, and in the diningroom the ladies chattered happily.
I thought Aunt Alexandra was crying, but when she took her hands
away from her face, she was not. She looked weary. She spoke, and
her voice was flat.
"I can't say I approve of everything he does, Maudie, but he's my
brother, and I just want to know when this will ever end." Her voice
rose: "It tears him to pieces. He doesn't show it much, but it tears
him to pieces. I've seen him when- what else do they want from him,
Maudie, what else?"
"What does who want, Alexandra?" Miss Maudie asked.
"I mean this town. They're perfectly willing to let him do what
they're too afraid to do themselves- it might lose 'em a nickel.
They're perfectly willing to let him wreck his health doing what
they're afraid to do, they're-"
"Be quiet, they'll hear you," said Miss Maudie. "Have you ever
thought of it this way, Alexandra? Whether Maycomb knows it or not,
we're paying the highest tribute we can pay a man. We trust him to
do right. It's that simple."
"Who?" Aunt Alexandra never knew she was echoing her twelve-year-old
nephew.
"The handful of people in this town who say that fair play is not
marked White Only; the handful of people who say a fair trial is for
everybody, not just us; the handful of people with enough humility
to think, when they look at a Negro, there but for the Lord's kindness
am l." Miss Maudie's old crispness was returning: "The handful of
people in this town with background, that's who they are."
Had I been attentive, I would have had another scrap to add to Jem's
definition of background, but I found myself shaking and couldn't
stop. I had seen Enfield Prison Farm, and Atticus had pointed out
the exercise yard to me. It was the size of a football field.
"Stop that shaking," commanded Miss Maudie, and I stopped. "Get
up, Alexandra, we've left 'em long enough."
Aunt Alexandra rose and smoothed the various whalebone ridges
along her hips. She took her handkerchief from her belt and wiped
her nose. She patted her hair and said, "Do I show it?"
"Not a sign," said Miss Maudie. "Are you together again, Jean
Louise?"
"Yes ma'am."
"Then let's join the ladies," she said grimly.
Their voices swelled when Miss Maudie opened the door to the
diningroom. Aunt Alexandra was ahead of me, and I saw her head go up
as she went through the door.
"Oh, Mrs. Perkins," she said, "you need some more coffee. Let me get
it."
"Calpurnia's on an errand for a few minutes, Grace," said Miss
Maudie. "Let me pass you some more of those dewberry tarts. 'dyou hear
what that cousin of mine did the other day, the one who likes to go
fishing?..."
And so they went, down the row of laughing women, around the
diningroom, refilling coffee cups, dishing out goodies as though their
only regret was the temporary domestic disaster of losing Calpurnia.
The gentle hum began again. "Yes sir, Mrs. Perkins, that J. Grimes
Everett is a martyred saint, he... needed to get married so they
ran... to the beauty parlor every Saturday afternoon... soon as the
sun goes down. He goes to bed with the... chickens, a crate full of
sick chickens, Fred says that's what started it all. Fred says...."
Aunt Alexandra looked across the room at me and smiled. She looked
at a tray of cookies on the table and nodded at them. I carefully
picked up the tray and watched myself walk to Mrs. Merriweather.
With my best company manners, I asked her if she would have some.
After all, if Aunty could be a lady at a time like this, so could I.