The Hussy
((Part Four to: “Colored and White”) (1890))
It was now 1890, Witty Jackson had lived with her uncle all those years between 1869 to now the spring of 1890, her uncle Amos had died, was hung some time back in the mid 1880s (and that’s a story unto itself), and life had not changed all that much in Ozark, or the surrounding area, not for Shantytown or the plantation life anyhow, not for the colored or the sharecropper, or the cotton picker. Witty was in her early 30s, and still a lovely woman to look at, matter-of-fact, she was more filled out and had never been married, and many of the married men of Ozark and Shantytown had looked upon her with a delicate lust, although briefer was her beauty than twenty years prior, and slighter was her physical frame, but that didn’t stop the goodwives of Ozark from saying, “A hussy, that Witty Jackson is just a hussy, shouldn’t be allowed in town, she’s corrupted our own National Banker, the son of late J.R. Ritt and now with Pick Ritt, what else can we expect…?” it greatly disturbed them—but to Witty, it was a rare advantage, and a little profit. To Witty, who saw her brother and sister killed, and her parents killed and no one had lifted a finger to help, “Why should I mind the gossip, they’ll find something to talk about, if not me, than some other colored girl.” This was her dilemma in thinking.
“People say,” said Pick Ritt one afternoon to Witty, her part time lover, and gift giver, her sugar-daddy—as they say, “don’t take it too grievously to heart, that such a scandal should come upon us, at the very least they should put a brand on me, but they don’t, they put it on you, as a hussy, a shameless woman, a promiscuous woman, not looking at their own naughty baggage, little will they care to expose it too, but we must stop seeing one another before we have to stand in judgment before the whole town—it is a circumstance to be noted, if I lose all my southern dignity, it will be my death itself, and to this bank my father left me.”
And so it was, not so much the age had brought on any modification in the matter—or relationship, rather a sense of bad taste set aside among the good women of Ozark, for Witty; perhaps thinking, at least every mother thinking, such behavior might be transmitted to her child, so was their gossip; and Pick knew the only thing left was the whipping-post (figuratively speaking), should he not med his ways in the city, and this is what he was doing.
He, Hester Carter was not a large person, nor small—perhaps a little taller than short, but quite broad with big powerful hands and arms, with straight thick hair, who was the top fighter at the senior high school and he was proud of the fact he could whip any boy in town, and most of the men. He planned to go on the road as soon as he could and do some boxing, like Jack Johnson, and John L. Sullivan. His grandfather had been a fighter, and his cousins, and they lived now in Augusta, Georgia.
“Look how quick she’s walking,” Hester told his gang of buddies. Witty was leaving the Ritt Bank, it was near dusk, “maybe she’s got an inkling we’re waiting for her?” he whispered hiding alongside the stables, that lead out of town, Witty would be leaving town herself in a buckboard in a few minutes.
“Let’s get ready to run after her,” said Hester, to Buddy and Bear and Taylor, all high school seniors. “Don’t let her get away,” Hester told Taylor, his very good pal. Taylor was a tall redhead, thin and wiry, but strong, a little stupid—but he’d spar with Hester often in the backyard in a homemade boxing ring his father had made up for him; Taylor’s father owned the second, drugstore in town, it was at the other end of the town-let. “Don’t lose your head over her,” said Taylor, as Witty’s wagon got close to the stables.
“We’ve got plenty of time,” remarked Hester, “just hold your horses! If anyone goofs this up I’m going to make him hurt bad, she’s been on my mind ever since I was old enough to know better.”
“She’s a hussy,” said Taylor to Hester.
“She ain’t anything of the kind,” said Hester, “she’s just been everyone’s fancy for a long time and the Ritt’s are the riches in town so they took turns on her—you’re mama wishes she look as fine as Witty.”
“Don’t you go talking about my mama, or…!” said Taylor, and Hester took a sharp look at him,” Or what?” he replied.
“I just want everything to go okay for youall, that’s what,” said Taylor with a deep sigh.
“What’ll we do if she screams?” asked Buddy, a small boy of thirteen.
“If she screams once, it will only be once, I’ll knock her out with a right!” said Hester, “and nobody gets seconds, she’s all mine.”
Bear, a short lad of twelve, was tugging at Buddy’s trousers, “We really going to do this, we can get in trouble?”
“Stop being like a scared cat,” said Buddy. “I’m going home; I’m not getting caught up with something I can’t even have after I become part of it.”
“We ain’t going to get caught; it’s no different than stealing watermelons out of old man Hobby’s backyard,” said Taylor.
“Shut up and just does what I say,” said Hester. “When the wagon gets here, Taylor you jump in front of the horse, and hold him, and Bear and Buddy, grab her off the wagon and bring her to me, and I’ll knock her out with a punch, she’ll not know what happened.”
“Then what?” said Bear.
“Then we take her around the back of the stable, and Taylor watch to see if she gets ready to scream if she’s awake, and put our hand over her mouth and I’ll do what I plan on doing, don’t anyone get tough with her, just me, she’s mine.”
“You are never going to persuade her to do what you want,” said Taylor, “so I suppose knocking her out is the think to do.”
“Just so no one comes along,” said Bear.
Witty was wearing a light spring sweater, she had just left Pick Ritt’s Bank, from the backdoor, when she— perched on her wagon seat, was directly in front of the stables, Hester nudged Taylor to jump out and stop the horse, which he did, at the same time, Bear and Buddy jumped up on the wagon and grabbed her by the arms, she started to scream, and Taylor jumped up on the wagon put his hand over her mouth, and they all fell off the wagon—stumbling on top of one anther, and the horse took off running— spooked. And they carried her to the back corner of the stable—and down along the side some, unobserved. They got her down into some tumbleweed; there wasn’t a wind so there was a cluster of them all over the back and open field around and near the stables, all torn apart from their roots.
Hester was breathless, he took Taylor’s had from her mouth, “Be quiet” he said “and I‘ll not have to knock you out!” (He looked at his friends victoriously.)
“We really can’t do this,” said Bear.
“You’re mouth is too big for your head, shut up,” said Hester.
“Just because you think you’re John L. Sullivan, don’t mean you can push everyone around, you’re not my father…!” said Bear.
“I’m a nice girl, I’ve done some wrong but I ain’t no hussy, and you boys are doing a big wrong, and Pick Ritt will see to it that you-all go to jail for this.”
“She doesn’t look scared to me,” said Bear.
“It’s just going to be me, Witty,” said Hester, “no reason to get all upset, and no one will hurt you if you just be calm about this all.”
“I have a right to my say-so,” said Bear, “and I want you-all to know, that if we get caught, I’m telling that I tried to stop youall.”
Witty moved her shoulders up against the back of the wooden stable wall, and then asked “What are your intentions Hester?”
Bear knew she could recognize them all and he was really frightened of that. And everyone else was picking up on that. “She’s not going to be quiet on this matter,” said Bear, “let her go!”
“Undress yourself or I will,” said Hester (Hester didn’t want her clothes torn, lest she have a motive if she did go to the authorities.)
Bear slipped out into the dark weeds and ran home. He was scared to look, not that he hadn’t seen a naked girl before, he had seen his sister, and when her cousin had come over for a visit, her as well, but Witty was much more to be seen, she was more woman, and there she sat naked as a jaybird.
“His dad’ll know about it tomorrow,” said Buddy, “he’s a tattletale.”
“My dad would say,” said Hester, “I hope she was worth it, and be careful!”
“I want to go home too,” said Buddy, “I’m a little ashamed of myself forgoing along with this.”
“Get out of her and go home and suck your thumb,” said Hester, “Taylor and I will do what we got to do.” And Buddy ran off quickly.
Hester lit a match to look at Witty’s bronze nakedness.
“Who’s back there,” said old may Yancy Yankcavick holding a lantern, and a pistol, and then Yancy saw Hester, “and if you try one of your right hands on me Hester, this pistol might go off accidentally, so get you butts moving—now!”
“How did you know it was us?” questioned Hester, thinking it was Bear or Buddy who told.
“When you lit the match, dummy, now gets moving.” But it was a lie, it was Bear who told.
No: 602 (2-12-2010)
((Part Four to: “Colored and White”) (1890))
It was now 1890, Witty Jackson had lived with her uncle all those years between 1869 to now the spring of 1890, her uncle Amos had died, was hung some time back in the mid 1880s (and that’s a story unto itself), and life had not changed all that much in Ozark, or the surrounding area, not for Shantytown or the plantation life anyhow, not for the colored or the sharecropper, or the cotton picker. Witty was in her early 30s, and still a lovely woman to look at, matter-of-fact, she was more filled out and had never been married, and many of the married men of Ozark and Shantytown had looked upon her with a delicate lust, although briefer was her beauty than twenty years prior, and slighter was her physical frame, but that didn’t stop the goodwives of Ozark from saying, “A hussy, that Witty Jackson is just a hussy, shouldn’t be allowed in town, she’s corrupted our own National Banker, the son of late J.R. Ritt and now with Pick Ritt, what else can we expect…?” it greatly disturbed them—but to Witty, it was a rare advantage, and a little profit. To Witty, who saw her brother and sister killed, and her parents killed and no one had lifted a finger to help, “Why should I mind the gossip, they’ll find something to talk about, if not me, than some other colored girl.” This was her dilemma in thinking.
“People say,” said Pick Ritt one afternoon to Witty, her part time lover, and gift giver, her sugar-daddy—as they say, “don’t take it too grievously to heart, that such a scandal should come upon us, at the very least they should put a brand on me, but they don’t, they put it on you, as a hussy, a shameless woman, a promiscuous woman, not looking at their own naughty baggage, little will they care to expose it too, but we must stop seeing one another before we have to stand in judgment before the whole town—it is a circumstance to be noted, if I lose all my southern dignity, it will be my death itself, and to this bank my father left me.”
And so it was, not so much the age had brought on any modification in the matter—or relationship, rather a sense of bad taste set aside among the good women of Ozark, for Witty; perhaps thinking, at least every mother thinking, such behavior might be transmitted to her child, so was their gossip; and Pick knew the only thing left was the whipping-post (figuratively speaking), should he not med his ways in the city, and this is what he was doing.
He, Hester Carter was not a large person, nor small—perhaps a little taller than short, but quite broad with big powerful hands and arms, with straight thick hair, who was the top fighter at the senior high school and he was proud of the fact he could whip any boy in town, and most of the men. He planned to go on the road as soon as he could and do some boxing, like Jack Johnson, and John L. Sullivan. His grandfather had been a fighter, and his cousins, and they lived now in Augusta, Georgia.
“Look how quick she’s walking,” Hester told his gang of buddies. Witty was leaving the Ritt Bank, it was near dusk, “maybe she’s got an inkling we’re waiting for her?” he whispered hiding alongside the stables, that lead out of town, Witty would be leaving town herself in a buckboard in a few minutes.
“Let’s get ready to run after her,” said Hester, to Buddy and Bear and Taylor, all high school seniors. “Don’t let her get away,” Hester told Taylor, his very good pal. Taylor was a tall redhead, thin and wiry, but strong, a little stupid—but he’d spar with Hester often in the backyard in a homemade boxing ring his father had made up for him; Taylor’s father owned the second, drugstore in town, it was at the other end of the town-let. “Don’t lose your head over her,” said Taylor, as Witty’s wagon got close to the stables.
“We’ve got plenty of time,” remarked Hester, “just hold your horses! If anyone goofs this up I’m going to make him hurt bad, she’s been on my mind ever since I was old enough to know better.”
“She’s a hussy,” said Taylor to Hester.
“She ain’t anything of the kind,” said Hester, “she’s just been everyone’s fancy for a long time and the Ritt’s are the riches in town so they took turns on her—you’re mama wishes she look as fine as Witty.”
“Don’t you go talking about my mama, or…!” said Taylor, and Hester took a sharp look at him,” Or what?” he replied.
“I just want everything to go okay for youall, that’s what,” said Taylor with a deep sigh.
“What’ll we do if she screams?” asked Buddy, a small boy of thirteen.
“If she screams once, it will only be once, I’ll knock her out with a right!” said Hester, “and nobody gets seconds, she’s all mine.”
Bear, a short lad of twelve, was tugging at Buddy’s trousers, “We really going to do this, we can get in trouble?”
“Stop being like a scared cat,” said Buddy. “I’m going home; I’m not getting caught up with something I can’t even have after I become part of it.”
“We ain’t going to get caught; it’s no different than stealing watermelons out of old man Hobby’s backyard,” said Taylor.
“Shut up and just does what I say,” said Hester. “When the wagon gets here, Taylor you jump in front of the horse, and hold him, and Bear and Buddy, grab her off the wagon and bring her to me, and I’ll knock her out with a punch, she’ll not know what happened.”
“Then what?” said Bear.
“Then we take her around the back of the stable, and Taylor watch to see if she gets ready to scream if she’s awake, and put our hand over her mouth and I’ll do what I plan on doing, don’t anyone get tough with her, just me, she’s mine.”
“You are never going to persuade her to do what you want,” said Taylor, “so I suppose knocking her out is the think to do.”
“Just so no one comes along,” said Bear.
Witty was wearing a light spring sweater, she had just left Pick Ritt’s Bank, from the backdoor, when she— perched on her wagon seat, was directly in front of the stables, Hester nudged Taylor to jump out and stop the horse, which he did, at the same time, Bear and Buddy jumped up on the wagon and grabbed her by the arms, she started to scream, and Taylor jumped up on the wagon put his hand over her mouth, and they all fell off the wagon—stumbling on top of one anther, and the horse took off running— spooked. And they carried her to the back corner of the stable—and down along the side some, unobserved. They got her down into some tumbleweed; there wasn’t a wind so there was a cluster of them all over the back and open field around and near the stables, all torn apart from their roots.
Hester was breathless, he took Taylor’s had from her mouth, “Be quiet” he said “and I‘ll not have to knock you out!” (He looked at his friends victoriously.)
“We really can’t do this,” said Bear.
“You’re mouth is too big for your head, shut up,” said Hester.
“Just because you think you’re John L. Sullivan, don’t mean you can push everyone around, you’re not my father…!” said Bear.
“I’m a nice girl, I’ve done some wrong but I ain’t no hussy, and you boys are doing a big wrong, and Pick Ritt will see to it that you-all go to jail for this.”
“She doesn’t look scared to me,” said Bear.
“It’s just going to be me, Witty,” said Hester, “no reason to get all upset, and no one will hurt you if you just be calm about this all.”
“I have a right to my say-so,” said Bear, “and I want you-all to know, that if we get caught, I’m telling that I tried to stop youall.”
Witty moved her shoulders up against the back of the wooden stable wall, and then asked “What are your intentions Hester?”
Bear knew she could recognize them all and he was really frightened of that. And everyone else was picking up on that. “She’s not going to be quiet on this matter,” said Bear, “let her go!”
“Undress yourself or I will,” said Hester (Hester didn’t want her clothes torn, lest she have a motive if she did go to the authorities.)
Bear slipped out into the dark weeds and ran home. He was scared to look, not that he hadn’t seen a naked girl before, he had seen his sister, and when her cousin had come over for a visit, her as well, but Witty was much more to be seen, she was more woman, and there she sat naked as a jaybird.
“His dad’ll know about it tomorrow,” said Buddy, “he’s a tattletale.”
“My dad would say,” said Hester, “I hope she was worth it, and be careful!”
“I want to go home too,” said Buddy, “I’m a little ashamed of myself forgoing along with this.”
“Get out of her and go home and suck your thumb,” said Hester, “Taylor and I will do what we got to do.” And Buddy ran off quickly.
Hester lit a match to look at Witty’s bronze nakedness.
“Who’s back there,” said old may Yancy Yankcavick holding a lantern, and a pistol, and then Yancy saw Hester, “and if you try one of your right hands on me Hester, this pistol might go off accidentally, so get you butts moving—now!”
“How did you know it was us?” questioned Hester, thinking it was Bear or Buddy who told.
“When you lit the match, dummy, now gets moving.” But it was a lie, it was Bear who told.
No: 602 (2-12-2010)
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