Free Mississippi Bridge by Mildred D. Taylor Page A

don’t ’spect it matter none. Can’t buy it noways.”
    “That’s what I figured,” said Mr. John Wallace, then he turned back to Pa and R.W. and Melvin and the other men sitting around the stove. “Niggers,” he snorted, then he done laughed again.
    Just ’bout when he done that, Miz Hattie McElroy and her granddaughter, Grace-Anne, come riding up. Miz Hattie was a widow lady. She used to be my teacher and she lived right up the road from the Jefferson Davis School. Uncle Moses Thompson, an old colored man, who done a lot of odd-job work for Miz Hattie, was driving. He stopped the car ’right side of the gas pump, got out, and opened the door for Miz Hattie and Grace-Anne. Grace-Anne was a pretty girl, not more than maybe four years old. She had sunshine curls and eyes green as new pine tree needles. I liked her and I liked Miz Hattie too. They was quality folks.
    “’Ey, Jeremy!” squeaked Grace-Anne in that tinkle of a little voice.
    “’Ey,” I done returned.
    “Jeremy, child!” spoke Miz Hattie. “What you doing here all alone? Your daddy inside?”
    “Yes, ma’am,” I said. “Him and R.W. and Melvin.”
    Miz Hattie seemed a mite displeased ’cause she give a frown. “Well, they most times are, aren’t they?” she said, and I wasn’t sure how to take that. I wasn’t sure if that was a slur against my daddy. Then she turned back to Uncle Moses Thompson. She spoke to him a few minutes, words out of my hearing, and then Uncle Moses took out the bags, set them on the porch, and drove away. When he was gone, I said, “Miz Hattie, y’all travelin’ today?”
    “We going to see my mama!” answered Grace-Anne, right happy about the thing.
    Miz Hattie nodded. “That’s a fact.” Then she frowned and looked up the road. “I do hope that bus is on time.”
    “Why y’all takin’ the bus, Miz Hattie?” I asked. “Y’all got a car and y’all could drive on down.”
    “Well, child, when Mr. McElroy was alive, we used to drive down all the time, but since he passed I just rather take the bus. I can’t drive that car myself—my nerves are too bad—and Uncle Moses can’t half see.” She laughed. “As far as I would trust him to drive is from the house to this store and back. Believe me, it’s a lot safer for us to take the bus.”Then, leaving me with a sunshine smile, she took hold of Grace-Anne’s hand and gone into the store.
    Soon as they entered, Mr. John Wallace stopped his leaning against the counter and straightened up real gentlemanlike to greet her. She greeted him back, then they exchanged a few words about Miz Hattie traveling and about how both their families were doing. Then Mr. John Wallace said, “Anything in particular I can help you with today, Miz Hattie?”
    “Well, I stopped in to get some candy for Grace-Anne here so she can have something while we’re traveling.”
    “Yes, ma’am, we take care of that right now,” said Mr. John Wallace. “Pretty little girl like Miss Grace-Anne deserve some sweets.” He took a large glass jar of candy off the counter and bent down and held it in front of Grace-Anne so she could take whatever she pleased from the jar. Miz Hattie’s eyes wandered to the counter and that summer-sky-blue hat Rudine had been admiring. Mr. John Wallace took note. “Anything else I can do for ya, Miz Hattie?”
    “Well . . . I was just admiring this hat here . . .” She touched it real gentle-like. “It’s so springtime . . .”
    “Hat like that sure ’nough would put a little sunshine in this gloom,” said Mr. Wallace. “Why don’t you go ’head try it on, Miz Hattie? It sure would set well on your fine head of hair.”
    Miz Hattie turned plumb red. “Go on with you now, John Wallace! Can’t much afford it anyway, not in these hard times.”
    “Well, it won’t hurt nothin’ t’ try it on. There’s a mirror right over here.” He handed her the hat. “Go on, Miz Hattie, brighten up the place. It be a joy to see you