Betsey Brown Read Online Free

those hats she loved so much, with veils and feathers and sequins.
    Vida turned to go indoors, but the breeze tickled her ankles a wee bit, reminding her: once she was courted and treated real sweet. Once she was courted and swept off her feet in a dingy ol’ roadhouse out on the islands where her folks woulda died had they known she was parading in hose and satin where throats got cut and women were easily had. Yes, Greer would bring her something nice and she could fan herself on the front porch recollecting the magnolia and the spanish moss where Frank would hide her in the night for one small kiss. In those times akiss was very personal. Very committin, like a ring, or a first waltz.
    Vida lilted through the house to the front porch like she was waltzing in Frank’s very arms, and saw Betsey running down the street to the school. Was good the school was right cross the street, that way Vida could keep her eyes on every one of her younguns.
    The Judge was backing out his driveway, the chauffeur was opening the door for the museum man to go see over all them crypts from Egypt and the busts from Greece, the rich lady was taking her rich white little girl to the rich little school for the likes of tow-headed smart-alecks. Betsey’d picked up more than a few bad ways from that gal. Betsey didn’t know yet that white folks could get away with things a Negro’d be killed for. That’s what was wrong with this integration talk, it made the children believe in things that just weren’t possible. It was best to be the best in the colored world, and leave the white folks to their wanton ways.
    Vida hummed to herself, “Lord, I wanna be a Christian in my soul,” and sat rocking on the pillared front porch. Miss Pittypat couldn’t of done better. Jane had never had to say “I’ll never be hungry again,” cause Vida’d seen to it that every one of her chirren ate. Every single one of em. All seven. Huhuh-uhmm, maybe wasn’t Jane’s fault she was so fulla blossom chirren, maybe she took after her mother. Still, that first picture she saw of Greer was most like a monkey-man she’d ever seen. Greer, jet black in his little monkey hat, talking bout bebop or bopbe, some music that a man he callt Bird jingled outta a saxophone. A monkey man in a monkey hat done run off with her daughter and that was that. Four chirren and God only knew how many more. Please, Lord, no more. Thy Bounty Is MightilyReceived. Vida swayed in the wicker chair like the lily of a woman she was, amber-ivory skinned, elegance in the morning.
    The street grew still, cept for the slurring oaks and jays in the winds. Everybody who had somewhere to go had gone. Brick houses, ranging from sun-yellow to night maroon, etched the walks and the maids swept the stairs as if dirt were a sin. Soon the housewives would saunter back and forth cross fences, sharing gossip and recipes or the plain old doldrums of living in the roses as they did. Haitians, East Indians, Ricans, and prizefighters’ wives went on bout their business: being beautiful and fertile. Weren’t many places the likes of them could live in St. Louis and know the nooks and covies of fifteen- and twenty-room houses. Weren’t many places the likes of them could be themselves and raise their children to own the world, which was the plan never spoken.

2
    St. Louis considered itself the only civilized city on the Mississippi, after New Orleans, of course. Every boulevard bespoke grandeur and Europe, for even the colored avenues weren’t without some token frenchified accent. The Civil War accounted for most of the monuments in and about the colored section, and the buildings were graced in marble and granite, as if the nappy or straightened heads and many-hued skins simply had no implications. Betsey’s school was sucha place. A great red brick edifice covering more than a block, taking in the colored children from behind the