Haint Blue
Times was hard back in them days. Marmy and Daddy had it really rough. When all the banks in the cities closed, didn't nobody have no money. 'Course, in the hills we was used to not havin much of anything, 'specially money,
Daddy had a job down at the saw mill but when folks in the cities and towns didn't have no money, they won't buyin no lumber, so Daddy lost that job and all we had to fall back on was farmin. We was rentin a place from Ole Tom Tennyson but when Daddy lost his job and couldn't find another'n, we couldn't afford to pay the rent. We moved over'n the mountain to Cherokee County, out in the country where there won't much of nothin and rent was cheap.
We moved into an ole house that probably used to be nice, but by then it won't much more'n a shell. It did have six acres of land with it, four of 'em won't too rocky to farm. One thing Marmy and Daddy did understand was how to farm and it was the only'est way they could have food to feed us four young'uns. The man who owned the farm let us have it rent free if Daddy agreed to keep the fields weeded and the house from fallin down. I spent a lot of my spring, summer and fall days, a 'weedin them fields and plowin. We was too poor to own and feed a mule so Daddy would pull the plow and I'd walk behind it, tryin to keep it straight in the rows. Bein the oldest son, It was hard work for me, but at least we had a roof over'n our heads and food on the table.
'Bout once a month Daddy'd drive Marmy over to Murphy to buy staples and some chicken scratch. They'd trade fresh vegetables, eggs, home-canned or dried fruits and vegetables for what they needed. One day when they came back from Murphy, I could hear 'em fussing out in the yard from all the way in my bedroom in the upstairs of the ole house. I couldn't hear all what they was sayin but I could tell Marmy was upset. Luanne Bailey was a quiet woman who seldom raised her voice at anybody and especially not at Daddy.
I went downstairs where I could hear better and this is what I heard,
“Walter Bailey, you had better paint that door and porch ceilin and I mean paint it right quick now. I'm sceerd to live in this ole house lessen that ceilin is painted haint blue.”
“But, Darlin, how you 'spect me to get the paint? I aint no rich man. I can't just go down to the hardware store in Murphy and buy a gallon a paint. Now, be reasonable, woman. It don't make no difference what color that ole porch ceilin is painted. There aint no sech thing as haints. That's all just a bunch a superstishun. What's for supper?”
“There aint gonna be no supper 'til you promises me to paint that porch ceilin and the front door too, and I mean it, Husband. I aint never asked you for much but this time I's tellin, not askin.”
“I tell you what, Lu, you mix up some homemade paint outa flour and water and have the young'us pick some blueberries to mash up and mix in it to color it. When I get done in the fields tomorrow late afternoon, me and Ted'll paint that damn ceilin and door. Now, get me some supper and I don't wanna hear no more about ceilins and haints.”
“I will. What are you gonna use for brushes?”
“I don't know, Darlin. You need to figure that out and have 'em ready for us to use.”
It was painful quiet at the supper table that night. After Daddy ate his fill of biscuits, gravy and fried apples, he went to bed. Marmy sent all the young'uns, 'cept me, off to bed. After I helped her wash up the dishes, me and her sat down in the livin room in the two ole rockin chairs Daddy had built. I had a book to read and Marmy was doin the mendin. Won't no lectricity so
we read and mended by oil lamp.
“Marmy, I heard you and Daddy a fussin bout haints and paintin the porch ceilin. Why are you sceerd to stay here and why do you need that ceilin painted blue?”
“You's 14 years old and you don't know about haint blue, Son?”
“No Ma'am. What's it mean?”
“it's a tradition and a remedy that's been passed down for generations here in the South. It started with the Gullah Slaves way down South on the coast, and it was passed on 'til most everybody done it. If you paint outside doors and ceilins blue, then the haints can't pass though it 'cause they think it's sky or water, neither which they can pass. So if you use haint blue paint it'll keep the ghosts outa your house and keep your family safe.”
“Oh, Marmy, that's just an ole wife's tale. You don't really believe that do you?”
“Yes, I do, Ted, and whether you believe it or not you are gonna help your daddy paint that ceilin and door tomorrow. I really don't care what you and your daddy believes, I believe it and it's gonna get painted.”
“Alright, Marmy. I just does whatever you and Daddy tells me to do. I know where a big patch of blueberry bushes are and they full of berries. I'll tell the other young'uns where to find 'em. Marmy, why are you so sceered of this ole house anyway? It don't seem skeery to me.”
“Son, you got to promise not to tell your brothers and sisters. If you promise I'll tell you why I's skeered.”
“I promise, I won't tell nothin to nobody. Cross my heart and hope to die.”
“Don't say that, Ted. It's real bad luck to ever say, 'hope to die'.”
“Sorry, Marmy, tell me the story.”
“It aint no story, it's the gospel truth about the folks that owned this house and what happened to 'em. I heard all about the truth from a woman at the store in Murphy. She's a good, church-goin woman and wouldn't tell me no lie. Now you sit quiet and listen, if you really want to know.”
I pulled my rockin chair up close to Marmy's, kept my mouth shut and listened.
Marmy started to tell me the real truth about the house and its folks from long ago.
“Long time ago when the Cherokee still lived on all the land around here, the White settlers started takin all the land from 'em. Some traded for it and some just took it like it had always belonged to 'em. Most of the Cherokee moved on to other places and the settlers thought they owned everything in these parts. They thought it was all their'n since the Indians was gone, but they hadn't give no thought to what the Indians left behind. The Cherokee people had moved on but they had left their dead behind. There was several Indian burial grounds on a few places around here and one a them places is this land we're a sittin on.
The man who took this land from the Cherokee was Benjamin Stiles, he stole the land, he never traded nothin nor gave no money a'tal for it. He was a wealthy man. He settled on 100 acres and built this house. It musta been a fine house at the time he built it. He plowed over the Cherokee burial mounds and built this house right on top of the dead.
He had a wife and a few children. His children started dyin off, beginin with the oldest down to the baby. They didn't know what was wrong with 'em. None of 'em seemed to be sick, they just died in their sleep. The onliest thing strange thing was that when they found 'em dead in their beds there was always a little leather and feather bracelet tied on their left wrists, the kind Cherokee women made. Stiles and his wife had to bury all their children. If you go a few yards down in the woods, you'll see the family graveyard where they's buried. Miz Stiles was gonna have a baby and she's terrified that the little one would die too. She was raised on the coast of South Carolina. She knowed all about the Gullah customs and she noticed that the ceilin of the front porch had been white washed. She begged her husband to paint it and the door haint blue. He called her silly and he won't gonna do no slave hoodoo to his porch nor his door. She kept on beggin and beggin but he won't about to budge and the ceilin stayed white. About a month before it was time for the baby to be birthed, Benjamin Stiles went out huntin with his hounds one night and told his wife he'd be back in the mornin. She begged him not to go but he wouldn't listen. He had a good time and shot a few squirrels and a rabbit. He skinned the animals and went back into the house for breakfast. His wife won't in the kitchen so he went upstairs to wake her up. What he found was more horrible than anythin he could ever have thought of.
There laid his wife across the bed, her and the bed was covered in blood. Stiles pulled the sheet back and ran outa the house screamin. 'Bout that time the local preacher come down the lane and sees Benjamin Stiles out on the porch on his knees, sceamin and cryin.
“What's wrong, what's wrong with you, Brother?” He asks.
Stiles points to the front door, and all he can say is, “Upstairs, upstairs.”
The preacher went up to the bedroom and there laid Ms. Stiles, her belly split wide open. She was dyin from losin so much blood, and there lays the little one next to her, already dead. The preacher goes back to help Stiles and finds him dead, no sign of harm or sickness, just dead.
The preacher didn't tell many people what had happened. The woman I talked to in Murphy today is his great granddaughter and she said he told her all about it and he said there was leather and feather bracelets tied on the left wrists of all three bodies, even the tiny, baby boy.
Now I aint saying the Indians, alive or dead, done any harm to anybody but I am saying you reap what your sow and the Devil aint beyond doing all kindsa harm to folks who open doors to him by doin bad to others. You remember that, Son.
Now you know why I want that celiln and door painted haint blue. This house is in such bad shape 'cause nobody aint lived in it since the Stiles died. We aint done no harm to nobody but we is still livin on top of them dead Cherokees. So now you know why I's skeered to live here. Maybe if Ole Benjamin Stiles hada listened to his wife and used some haint blue paint, they mighta all died in their beds of old age. Maybe not, but maybe so.
Well goodnight Ted. See you in the mornin. Remember, don't tell the other children.”
I sat in that damn rockin chair all night, scared to move, terrified to go upstairs where all those people had died. I couldn't wait to make and use some haint blue paint.
The next mornin, after breakfast, I told my oldest sister where to find the blueberries. I kissed Marmy goodbye and me and Daddy left for the fields. When we got home late in the afternoon, there was a big bucket on the porch. Marmy had mixed up the haint blue paint. There was two thick sticks with rags tied to 'em to use for brushes. Everythin was ready for us to use. After Supper, Marmy said,
“Walter, aint you gonna paint the porch tonight?”
“Hell, no I aint paintin nothin here at sunset. I been workin hard all day and I'm goin to bed.”
I seen the fear in Marmy's eyes and spoke up real quick.
“I'll paint it Marmy. Maybe I can finish most of it before dark. What I don't get done today, I'll finish tomorrow.”
Next thing I knowed, I felt a fist punch the back of my head.”
“Boy, you better be learnin right now not to let no woman push you 'round and tell you what to do. Now go on upstairs.”
I knew when Daddy spoke I had better listen. So I went on upstairs and I heard my daddy yellin at Marmy for a few minutes before I heard his heavy boots climbin the stairs. I felt so sorry for Marmy but I knew I had better not even think 'bout goin downstairs to be with her. I slept almost none that night. Next day, I spent the whole workday hopin that we would get that paintin done that afternoon.
After supper Marmy asked,
“Y'all gonna paint the porch now, Walter?”
“No, I aint gonna paint nothin. I'm goin over to Murphy and play pool with George. That damn porch can wait.”
“Please Walter, at least let Ted work on it.”
“Ted is done for the day, and if I find out he painted even a toe nail, I'll make both of y'all sorry.”
Daddy left then and Marmy cried. I knew she was terrified of haints but there won't a thing I could do to rest her fear. We all went to bed early. I was readin in bed when 'bout midnight I heard Daddy stumble in and up the stairs. Marmy was asleep or pretendin to be 'cause I didn't hear no talk between 'em.
I thought, surely we'll get that paintin done tomorrow.
Well, I was wrong, Marmy asked again and again Daddy just plain out refused to paint anything or to let me do it.
“I'm goin huntin tonight with my hound. I'll be late gettin home. Paintin gets done when I says it gets done.”
Marmy didn't say a word back but I could see the anger in her face. She was skeered and she was mad all at the same time. As soon as Daddy disappeared into the woods, she made a decision.
“All y'all younguns go upstairs and put your clothes into one a these paper grocery bags. Take your books and anythin you wanna keep. Hurry up now, y'all hurry.”
When we had all packed she rushed us out to the truck. She put the baby in the front seat between me and her and loaded the rest of us into the truck bed.
“Marmy, where we goin?” I asked.
“We's goin down to Hayesville to your grandparents' house and we aint comin back here. I aint livin in a house I'm skeered of and I aint livin with a man who aint got no respect for me 'nor my feelins. We'll make out alright, I'll take in sewin and clean houses if I have to. You can help your Papaw with the garden and the older girls can help me keep Mamaw's house clean and the cow milked. We'll earn our keep. My Daddy always told me, if Walter won't treatin me or the younguns right he wanted me to come back home. So that's what we's doin, we's going home. Don't you worry none, Son. We's gonna be just fine and we aint gotta be skeered no more.”
I felt a pang of guilt. My family was breaking up and I should have been upset but I was relieved, I was glad my mother won't have to deal with such treatment anymore and none of us younguns won't either. Daddy was a hard-to-please man, it was time for Marmy to make a life for herself and for us. That night I slept with my brothers in one of the small bedrooms at Papaw and Mamaw's house. I slept deep and woke up rested.
Days went on peaceful. We all seemed to find our place, fit in and do our part. I realized it was the first time I'd ever felt happy and not afraid I'd do somethin to set Daddy's temper off. Marmy took in sewin and helped keep the house clean. She smiled more than I'd ever seen her smile before. I believe she was relieved like I was. We all walked on eggshells 'round Daddy. It was over now. There was no phone but Daddy hadn't even cared enough to come over to Hayesville to see us. Guess he was happy too. He didn't have to worry 'bout feedin or pleasin nobody but his self and the hound dog.
One rainy Saturday mornin one of the neighbors knocked on the door and asked Papaw to come out on the porch. He was out there a while and he looked real upset when he came back in the house.
“Luanne, come here, Suga, I need to talk to you.” He said.
“What is it Pa?” she asked.
“I got some bad news, Suga. You might wanna sit down. Somebody called our neighbor from over in Cherokee county. They found Walter dead this mornin. They don't know how he died, didn't seem sick or hurt. Are you alright Luanne?”
“Yes, I'm alright Pa. Is that all you know about it?”
“They found him on the front porch, just a layin there dead and the odd thing is, tied on his left wrist was one of them leather bracelets like the Cherokee make.”
Not just in the mountains but all over the South, we still paint our porch ceilings “Haint Blue.”
