The Interference of Pasty Ann by Paul Laurence Dunbar
Patsy Ann Meriweather would have told you that her father, or more
properly her pappy, was a widover, and she would have added in her
sad little voice, with her mournful eyes upon you, that her mother had
bin daid fu' nigh onto fou' yeahs. Then you could have wept for
Patsy, for her years were only thirteen now, and since the passing away
of her mother she had been the little mother for her four younger
brothers and sisters, as well as her father's house-keeper.
But Patsy Ann never complained; she was quite willing to be all that
she had been until such time as Isaac and Dora, Cassie and little John
should be old enough to care for themselves, and also to lighten some
of her domestic burdens. She had never reckoned upon any other manner
of release. In fact her youthful mind was not able to contemplate the
possibility of any other manner of change. But the good women of
Patsy's neighbourhood were not the ones to let her remain in this
deplorable state of ignorance. She was to be enlightened as to other
changes that might take place in her condition, and of the unspeakable
horrors that would transpire with them.
It was upon the occasion that little John had taken it into his
infant head to have the German measles just at the time that Isaac was
slowly recovering from the chicken-pox. Patsy Ann's powers had been
taxed to the utmost, and Mrs. Caroline Gibson had been called in from
next door to superintend the brewing of the saffron tea, and for the
general care of the fretful sufferer.
To Patsy Ann, then, in ominous tone, spoke this oracle. Patsy Ann,
how yo' pappy doin' sence Matildy died? Matildy was the deceased
Oh, he gittin' 'long all right. He was mighty broke up at de fus',
but he 'low now dat de house go on de same's ef mammy was a-livin'.
Oom huh, disdainfully; Oom huh. Yo' mammy bin daid fou' yeahs,
Yes'm; mighty nigh.
Oom huh; fou' yeahs is a mighty long time fu' a colo'd man to wait;
but we'n he do wait dat long, hit's all de wuss we'n hit do come.
Pap bin wo'kin right stiddy at de brick-ya'd, said Patsy, in loyal
defence against some vaguely implied accusation, an' he done put some
money in de bank.
Bad sign, bad sign, and Mrs. Gibson gave her head a fearsome
But just then the shrill voice of little John calling for attention
drew her away and left Patsy Ann to herself and her meditations.
What could this mean?
When that lady had finished ministering to the sick child and
returned, Patsy Ann asked her, Mis' Gibson, what you mean by sayin'
'bad sign, bad sign?'
Again the oracle shook her head sagely. Then she answered, Chil',
you do' know de dev'ment dey is in dis worl'.
But, retorted the child, my pappy ain' up to no dev'ment, 'case
he got 'uligion an' bin baptised.
Oom-m, groaned Sistah Gibson, dat don' mek a bit o' diffunce. Who
is any mo' ma'yin' men den de preachahs demse'ves? W'y Brothah 'Lias
Scott done tempted matermony six times a'ready, an' 's lookin' roun'
fu' de sebent, an' he's a good man, too.
Ma'yin', said Patsy breathlessly.
Yes, honey, ma'yin', an' I's afeared yo' pappy's got notions in his
haid, an' w'en a widower git gals in his haid dey ain' no use
a-pesterin' wid 'em, 'case dey boun' to have dey way.
Ma'yin', said Patsy to herself reflectively. Ma'yin'. She knew
what it meant, but she had never dreamed of the possibility of such a
thing in connection with her father. Ma'yin', and yet the idea of it
did not seem so very unalluring.
She spoke her thoughts aloud.
But ef pap 'u'd ma'y, Mis' Gibson, den I'd git a chanct to go to
school. He allus sayin' he mighty sorry 'bout me not goin'.
Dah now, dah now, cried the woman, casting a pitying glance at the
child, dat's de las' t'ing. He des a feelin' roun' now. You po',
ign'ant, mothahless chil'. You ain' nevah had no step-mothah, an' you
don' know what hit means.
But she'd tek keer o' the chillen, persisted Patsy.
Sich tekin' keer of 'em ez hit 'u'd be. She'd keer fu' 'em to dey
graves. Nobody cain't tell me nuffin 'bout step-mothahs, case I knows
'em. Dey ain' no ooman goin' to tek keer o' nobody else's chile lak
she'd tek keer o' huh own, and Patsy felt a choking come into her
throat and a tight sensation about her heart while she listened as Mrs.
Gibson regaled her with all the choice horrors that are laid at the
door of step-mothers.
From that hour on, one settled conviction took shape and possessed
Patsy Ann's mind; never, if she could help it, would she run the risk
of having a step-mother. Come what may, let her be compelled to do what
she might, let the hope of school fade from her sight forever and a
daybut no step-mother should ever cast her baneful shadow over Patsy
Experience of life had made her wise for her years, and so for the
time she said nothing to her father; but she began to watch him with
wary eyes, his goings out and his comings in, and to attach new
importance to trifles that had passed unnoticed before by her childish
For instance, if he greased or blacked his boots before going out of
an evening her suspicions were immediately aroused and she saw dim
visions of her father returning, on his arm the terrible ogress whom
she had come to know by the name of step-mother.
Mrs. Gibson's poison had worked well and rapidly. She had thoroughly
inoculated the child's mind with the step-mother virus, but she had not
at the same time made the parent widow-proof, a hard thing to do at
best. So it came to pass that with a mysterious horror growing within
her, Patsy Ann saw her father black his boots more and more often and
fare forth o' nights and Sunday afternoons.
Finally her little heart could contain its sorrow no longer, and one
night when he was later than usual she could not sleep. So she slipped
out of bed, turned up the light, and waited for him, determined to have
it out, then and there.
He came at last and was all surprise to meet the solemn, round eyes
of his little daughter staring at him from across the table.
W'y, lady gal, he exclaimed, what you doin' up at 'his time?
I sat up fu' you. I got somep'n' to ax you, pappy. Her voice
quivered and he snuggled her up in his arms.
What's troublin' my little lady gal now? Is de chillen bin bad?
She laid her head close against his big breast, and the tears would
come as she answered, No, suh; de chillen bin ez good az good could
be, but oh, pappy, pappy, is you got gal in yo' haid an' a-goin' to
bring me a step-mothah?
He held her away from him almost harshly and gazed at her as he
queried, W'y, you po' baby, you! Who's bin puttin' dis hyeah
foolishness in yo' haid? Then his laugh rang out as he patted her head
and drew her close to him again. Ef yo' pappy do bring a step-mothah
into dis house, Gawd knows he'll bring de right kin'.
Dey ain't no right kin', answered Patsy.
You don' know, baby; you don' know. Go to baid an' don' worry.
He sat up a long time watching the candle sputter, then he pulled
off his boots and tiptoed to Patsy's bedside. He leaned over her. Po'
little baby, he said; what do she know about a step-mothah? And
Patsy saw him and heard him, for she was awake then, and far into the
In the eyes of the child her father stood convicted. He had gal in
his haid, and was going to bring her a step-mother; but it would never
be; her resolution was taken.
She arose early the next morning and after getting her father off to
work as usual, she took the children into hand. First she scrubbed them
assiduously, burnishing their brown faces until they shone again. Then
she tussled with their refractory locks, and after that she dressed
them out in all the bravery of their best clothes.
Meanwhile her tears were falling like rain, though her lips were
shut tight. The children off her mind, she turned her attention to her
own toilet, which she made with scrupulous care. Then taking a small
tin-type of her mother from the bureau drawer, she put it in her bosom,
and leading her little brood she went out of the house, locking the
door behind her and placing the key, as was her wont, under the
Outside she stood for a moment or two, undecided, and then with one
long, backward glance at her home she turned and went up the street. At
the first corner she paused again, spat in her hand and struck the
watery globule with her finger. In the direction the most of the
spittle flew, she turned. Patsy Ann was fleeing from home and a
step-mother, and Fate had decided her direction for her, even as Mrs.
Gibson's counsels had directed her course.
The child had no idea where she was going. She knew no one to whom
she might turn in her distress. Not even with Mrs. Gibson would she be
safe from the horror which impended. She had but one impulse in her
mind and that was to get beyond the reach of the terrible woman, or was
it a monster? who was surely coming after her. On and on she walked
through the town with her little band trudging bravely along beside
her. People turned to look at the funny group and smiled good-naturedly
as they passed, and one man, a little more amused than the rest,
shouted after them, Where you goin', sis, with that orphan's home?
But Patsy Ann's dignity was impregnable. She walked on with her head
in the air, the desire for safety tugging at her heart.
The hours passed and the gentle coolness of morning turned into the
fierce heat of noon, and still with frequent rests they trudged on,
Patsy ever and anon using her divining hand, unconscious that she was
doubling and redoubling on her tracks. When the whistles blew for
twelve she got her little brood into the shade of a poplar tree and set
them down to the lunch which, thoughtful little mother that she was,
she had brought with her. After that they all stretched themselves out
on the grass that bordered the sidewalk, for all the children were
tired out, and baby John was both sleepy and cross. Even Patsy Ann
drowsed and finally dropped into the deep slumber of childhood. They
looked too peaceful and serene for passers-by to bother them, and so
they slept and slept.
It was past three o'clock when the little guardian awakened with a
start, and shook her charges into activity. John wept a little at
first, but after a while took up his journey bravely with the rest.
She had just turned into a side street, discouraged and bewildered,
when the round face of a coloured woman standing in the doorway of a
whitewashed cottage caught her eye and attention. Once more she paused
and consulted her watery oracle, then turned to encounter the gaze of
the round-faced woman. The oracle had spoken and she turned into the
Whaih you goin', honey? You sut'ny look lak you plumb tukahed out.
Come in an' tell me all 'bout yo'se'f, you po' little t'ing. Dese yo'
little brothas an' sistahs?
Yes'm, said Patsy Ann.
W'y, chil', whaih you goin'?
I don' know, was the truthful answer.
You don' know? Whaih you live?
Oh, I live down on Douglas Street, said Patsy Ann, an' I's
runnin' away f'om home an' my step-mothah.
The woman looked keenly at her.
What yo' name? she said.
My name's Patsy Ann Meriweather.
An' is yo' got a step-mothah?
No, said Patsy Ann, I ain' got none now, but I's sut'ny 'spectin'
What you know 'bout step-mothahs, honey?
Mis' Gibson tol' me. Dey sho'ly is awful, missus, awful.
Mis' Gibson ain' tol' you right, honey. You come in hyeah and set
down. You ain' nothin' mo' dan a baby yo'se'f, an' you ain' got no
right to be trapsein' roun' dis away.
Have you ever eaten muffins? Have you eaten bacon with onions? Have
you drunk tea? Have you seen your little brother John taken up on a
full bosom and rocked to sleep in the most motherly way, with the
sweetness and tenderness that only a mother can give? Well, that was
Patsy Ann's case to-night.
And then she laid them along like ten-pins crosswise of her bed and
sat for a long time thinking.
To Maria Adams about six o'clock that night came a troubled and
disheartened man. It was no less a person than Patsy Ann's father.
Maria! Maria! What shall I do? Somebody don' stole all my chillen.
Maria, strange to say, was a woman of few words.
Don' you bothah 'bout de chillen, she said, and she took him by
the hand and led him to where the five lay sleeping calmly across the
Dey was runnin' f'om home an' dey step-mothah, said she.
Dey run hyeah f'om a step-mothah an' foun' a mothah. It was a
tribute and a proposal all in one.
When Patsy Ann awakened, the matter was explained to her, and with
penitent tears she confessed her sins.
But, she said to Maria Adams, ef you's de kin' of fo'ks dat dey
mek step-mothahs out o' I ain' gwine to bothah my haid no mo'.