The Collected Stories of Eudora Welty - Eudora Welty [307]
"Trot under here!" called a pre-emptory voice.
"Miss Hattie! Forgot she was anywhere near," said Dewey's father, falling back. "Now we got to be nice to her."
"Good evening, Lavelle."
At that name, Dewey fell back, but his father went on. Maybe he was getting used to being called, today, and it didn't make any difference what name he got, by now.
Something as big as a sail came out through the brambles.
"Did you hear me?" said Miss Hattie—there she stood. "Get you both under this umbrella. I'm going straight back to town, and I'll take you with me. Can't take your fishing poles, unless you drag'em."
"Yes'm," they said, and got under.
Starting forward, Miss Hattie held her own umbrella, a man with her or not, branches of trees coming or not, and the harder the rain fell the more energetically she held to the handle. There were little cowlicks of damp standing up all around the black fur of her collar. Her spectacles were on her nose, and both windows had drops all over them like pearls. Miss Hattie's coat tapered up like one tent, and the umbrella spread down like another one. They marched abreast or single file, as the lay of the land allowed, but always politely close together under the umbrella, either despising paths or taking a path so fragrant and newly slick it didn't seem familiar. But there was an almost forgotten landmark of early morning, boarded twin towers of a colored church, set back closet-like in the hanging moss. Dewey thought he knew where he was. Suddenly frogs from everywhere let loose on the world, as if they'd been wound up.
In no time, Miss Hattie brought them to the edge of the woods. Next they were at the gravel road and walking down the middle of it. The turn was coming where Royals could be seen spread out from Baptist church to schoolhouse.
Dewey, keeping watch around Miss Hattie's skirt, saw the lady appear in the distance behind them, running like a ghost across the road in the shining rain—shining, for the sun had looked through.
"The Devil is beating his wife," said Miss Hattie in a professional voice.
There ran the figure that the rain sheathed in a spinning cocoon of light—as if it ran in peril. It was cutting across Mr. Jep Royal's yard, where the Royals were all sitting inside the house and some cows as black as blackbirds came close and watched her go.
"Look at that, to the side," said Miss Hattie suddenly. "Who's that, young eyes?"
Dewey looked shyly under her forward sleeve and asked his father, "Reckon it's the lady?"
"Well, call her," said Miss Hattie. "Whoever she is, she can trot under this umbrella just as easy as we can. It's good size."
"La-dy!"
That was Dewey, hollering.
They stood and waited for the lady to come across the pasture, though his father looked very black, trapped under the umbrella. Had Miss Hattie looked at him, that showed what his name was and how he got it, looking like thunder.
But the lady, now opposite, in a whole field of falling light, was all but standing still. Starting here, starting there, wavering, retreating, she made no headway at all. Then abruptly she disappeared into the Royals' pear orchard—this time for good.
"Maybe somebody new has escaped from the lunatic asylum," said Miss Hattie. "March."
On they went in the rain.
Opal Purcell slipped sideways through the elderberry bushes at the creek bank, with both hands laid, like a hat, on top of her head, and waited for them.
"Why, it's only my own niece," said Miss Hattie. "Trot under here, Opal. How do you like this rain?"
"Hey, Aunt Hat. Hey," said Opal to Dewey.
She was grown. Sometimes she waited on people in the Seed & Feed. She was plump as ever. She didn't look far enough around her aunt to speak to his father.
Miss Hattie touched Opal on the head. "Has it rained that much?" she said in a gratified way.
"I thought I saw you in the post office, Aunt Hat," objected Opal.
"I expect you did. I had the mail to tie up. I'm a fast worker when the case demands."
They were all compelled, of course, to keep up with Miss Hattie and stay with