The Washer Woman's Day

May 1973 Photo by Dean Cadle Harriette Arnow The Washer Woman's Day by HARRIETTE SIMPSON ARNOW "It was pneumonia all right, but the lye maybe had something to do with it," Granma said. Mama shifted Joie to her other breast. "Ollie Rankin ought to have had more sense," she said. "She didn't know the old fool would take off her shoes and scrub the kitchen barefooted." "Can I go to the funeral," I said. "Be quiet," Mama said. "Her shoes were new, and she maybe diought to save them. The poor fool, her legs were swollen purple to her waist, Molly Hardwick said." "If that Laurie Mae were fit to go into a decent house. They say that baby is exactly like Perce ..." Mama looked at me. Granma hushed. "Can I go to the funeral?" I said. "No," Mama said. "It does make it unhandy . I guess we'll have to get a nigger from Canetown, but I don't like niggers about." "I always said I'd rather have black trash than white trash any day ..." "Did she walk home without her shoes? Susie Chrisman said she did, and there was snow and ..." "Hush, Jane," Mama said. "You'll be late to school." "Spell vegetation," Granma said. "V-e-g-e-t-a-t-i-o-n," I spelled. "Wear your overshoes," Mama said. "Don't go about the funeral," Granma said. "The Ladies Aid are burying her. Susie Chrisman said her father ..." "Don't argue," Mama said, and Granma tapped her cane. I ran all the way to school. I thought all morning, and at noon I said, "Miss Rankin, my little brother Joie was croupy this morning and Mama forgot." "What?" "To write a note of excuse for me to go to the funeral. Susie Chrisman is going." "Are you sure your mother wanted you to go?" "Yes, Mam. Clarie Bolin has always done our washing. Mama said I should go out of respect for the dead and the Ladies Aid ... if she was poor white trash. I know my spelling." "You may go at one-thirty," she said. Susie and I held hands »and ran fast down the sidewalk from the school. We laughed as we ran, for it was good to be out of school and there was a snow promise in the air and Christmas wa,s only two weeks away. At the foot of the hill we stopped. "It's not proper to run all the way to a funeral," Susie said. "No," I said. "Did they undertake her?" "No. My father said it was a waste of good money to undertake poor people in cold weather. He sold the Ladies Aid the coffin, though." "Is it true about the roses?" Susie skipped twice before she remembered and was proper again. "Yes. The 5 Ladies Aid sent all the way to Lexington. Two dozen white roses, and it the dead of winter. They cost three dollars . . . and her the washerwoman, Papa said." Inside the church Mrs. Hyden was singing a solo. Her mouth was very wide open, and while we tiptoed to the second row from the back she held the word dew until it seemed she would not let it go until we sat down. I was embarrassed and in my haste stumbled over Susie. Susie tittered . When we were seated, Mrs. Hyden sang on about the dew on the roses and the voice she heard. Susie nudged me. "Laurie Mae don't look so nice. That coat Mrs. Harvey gave her don't fit so good." I craned my head down the aisle to see. Laurie^ Mae sat alone in the front row before her mother's coffin. Beside her was a long bundle wrapped in a piece of dirty brown blanket. "Mama said, 'She'll have her nerve to bring that baby.' The Ladies' Aid'll be mad," Susie whispered. "Mama said the baby looked like Mr. Perce Burton," I said. "On account of Laurie Mae was a hired girl there last year." Something jerked my pigtail. I looked around. Mrs. John Crabtree set her lips tight together and looked hard at me. She was president of The...