8: South Carolina

Onetime, binnuh gal name Lacey. Him people frum Spartunbuhg, but w’en dat wah staat ‘e follow’um man down yuh.

“Who was her man, Gramma?” Baby J say. She pretty luk ‘e maamy.

He Tyrone, and ‘e binnuh mighty hansum colluh man. Skin pale luk a bowl’a rice. Smile jus’ as sweet as sweetgrass.

Well, dis’ as dey like to marry, dem Naby binnuh come take him yanduh, to Parrus Ile’n, n’up obuh dat in’igo watuh. So Lacey lean fuh Beefut, out to Sa’leenuh, and stan’ fo him frum dey dey shore, wait til dark and mebbe longuh, but he dun come, no suh.

Munt’ bin pass, n’Lacey study ‘e head til she fine d’ansuh, den’e go n’git all the sweetgrass she can fin’. She webe da’grass like so, obuh n’onduh, till it this big aroun’, den she make annuduh n’tie dey two tugedduh. She culluh in him eyes wid coal, n’use tah fo’um black black hair. Pres’n’ly, bin Sweetgrass Tyrone standin’ dey.

Baby J she worried. “What did she do with it, Gramma? What happened to the real Tyrone?”

We git der suguh, like as dem done. Now, Lacey yeddy she she talk ‘bout dem Naby men, how’um ketch’m culluh gal n’bring’um home, so dat Sat’d’y she dress ST up in khaki n’put dat gol’ stah on, den hire a cah to dribe dey two in.

De buckra ‘kacely see Lacey ‘tal, jus’ salute dat stah n’wabe’m tru. Lacey n’ST git out by de barracks, n’e call: “Tyrone, Tyrone.”

He leap outtuh d’winduh. Dem kiss, n’e take ST back inside. Den dem mek’ace luk Bruh Rabbit, straight’n fuh de boatyaa’d. Dem trow dat boat intuh de watuh, n’e lay down while Lacey row ‘cross the soun’ like as dayclean comin’ on. Gwine home lukkuh Michael tuh dat great great gyaa’d’n, rowin on tawwu’d Gabrull.

Dey heah trumpets in d’mornin, n’aftuhnoon da buckra come. He dun hol’out a picthuh and say: “Ma’am, we’re looking for a fellow went AWOL last night. People say you knew him. Last name Wilson; first name Tyrone.”

But Lacey, she shake her head and say no massuh, no suh. What a mighty handsome whiteman like dat want wit’uh?

“And then what happened?” Baby J smile as you tuck ‘um in. Happy-eyed lukkuh she gran’puh bin. Lawd’a mussy on’um.

Why, Lacey and Tyrone bin stay’uh on Sa’leenuh w’ile de wah happen fah’way. N’soon dey marri’d, man  n’lawfully lady, n’dey live forebbuh in  d’yuh and aftuh, A’min.

You knees creak down d’stairs, ol’ as houses. Yo baby in de kitch’n, sett’n dey. “Nana Lacey,” she say, “you’re not telling her that old story about Papa again. Everybody and their mama heard that one.”

Hush, chil’. Tie yuh mout.