Hazel

The Lee family had left their cabin up the road and were on their way to church. They were all out this Sunday evening, old man Lee, sober for once, his wife, Scipio, a heavy, solemn-looking boy of thirteen, Julius, Theora, Thomas and Ezekiel. Mother Lee had evidently long since given up keeping all her children’s clothes in repair. Her boys’ garments were few and ragged. But upon her little girl she had attempted some embellishment. Theora’s crinkly hair was tied with a piece of bright cotton cloth, and on her feet were shoes and stockings.

The family caught up with Granny and Hazel, and the mother felt a sullen resentment at Hazel’s dress. The child wore her blue coat, and a dark blue hat with a grey quill. She nodded pleasantly to her neighbors, but kept close to Granny’s side. She was afraid of old man Lee whom she had seen one night staggering past her home, and his children seemed dull. Granny, who had a kindly word for everyone, talked with the mother, and Hazel watched the deepening twilight.

It was a pleasant walk to church, along the road and then through the open fields. At a turn to the west the new moon shone before them, a clear bow in the deep blue sky. Hazel stopped to look at the lovely crescent; but she was recalled to earth by hearing a sharp voice call: “Where you going, Scip? Stop your mooning and help me with Zeke.”

Scipio had been looking at the moon, too! She watched him with awakening sympathy as, moving past her, he picked up his little brother. As she hurried to join Granny she found herself by his side, and turning, and nodding her head toward the moon, she said in her clear, distinct voice: “It is pretty, isn’t it?”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Scipio.

The church was small, and when they entered the bare room was more than half filled, so they took their places near the door. The only light was furnished by two kerosene lamps, and in the corners of the room were strange shadows. As the black men and women and children continued to come the place grew crowded and the air became close and full of an uncleanly odor.

“Move up, Hazel,” Granny said, for the child was at the end of the bench and there was space for one more on it.

Hazel moved up reluctantly, dreading a seat-mate, but Scipio, who had been standing, slipped in at her side. She felt relieved.

The minister, a portly man in a long black coat, mounted the platform and the congregation began to sing:

They did not rise, but remained in their seats swaying a little back and forth. It was strange minor music.

After the singing, the minister prayed and read from the Bible, and then he began to preach. He gave as his text:

“Ye serpents, ye generation of vipers, how can ye escape the damnation of Hell?”

He began by drawing a picture of heaven, the dwelling-place of the saints. He measured the thousand furlongs of the city; he depicted the streets of gold and the gates of pearl; he garnished the walls with chrysolite, beryl and amethyst. His voice at times was low and soft, and then suddenly it became loud and dramatic, and almost shook the little building. Hazel awoke from her absorption in his manner to note his words when he called out:

“And the building of the wall was jasper.”

“There,” she thought triumphantly, “I was right that day and Charity was wrong. Jasper isn’t something to eat.”

She was wholly unaccustomed to hearing the congregation take a spontaneous part in the service, and was amazed at their frequent cries of “That’s so,” and “Amen.”

But the preacher did not mean to dwell long this evening on the celestial sphere. He was concerned with showing his hearers the terrors of the underworld. In a few moments he depicted them as standing in the lake of fire and brimstone, burning, burning, not for a day but forever and ever. The flames seemed to leap up as the minister shouted: “And the devil will reach out for you, ye generation of vipers, he’ll reach out for you across the flames, and he’ll catch you and draw you into the burning lake.”

“Lord save us!” “Please have mercy, Jesus,” came from the moaning crowd.

Hazel was aghast.

“Come to the Lord and be saved,” cried the preacher. “Be saved by the blood of the Lamb!”

A change came over the congregation. The moaning ceased. From different parts of the room arose calls of “Yes, Jesus,” “I’s coming, Lord.” Women began to sway back and forth, crying loudly for salvation.

Hazel looked at Granny. The old woman had forgotten her.

“The devil shan’t get us in the burning pit,” shouted the preacher.

“No, Lord,” said Granny.

“Lord save us,” shouted old man Lee in front.

Hazel grew frightened. She felt suffocated and wanted to get away. Glancing at Scipio she saw that he sat as stolid as ever, unmoved apparently by all that was going on about him.

“Scip,” she whispered, “I want to get out.”

He looked at her frightened face, and, taking her hand, butted with his head until he had made a way through the crowd of people standing between them and the open door. Then they passed out into the night.

The little moon was setting behind the trees. The air was fresh and cool, but not chill. Above were the peaceful stars.

“The heathen are burning,” shouted the preacher, “and every day the devil pours on fresh oil and the flames mount higher and higher to the sky.”

“Scip,” said Hazel with a quick breath, “do you believe in hell?”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Scipio.

“You don’t believe what he is saying? You don’t believe God will put us in fire to burn forever and ever?”

“I seen a lynching once,” Scipio replied. “It were just like that, they poured on oil.”

“Oh, don’t,” Hazel gasped. She seized his arm with her two hands; “don’t,” she cried.

After a moment she whispered, “But it didn’t last forever. He died?”

“Yes, ma’am. He died.”

“And wicked men burned him, and it was only for a few minutes. God wouldn’t make him burn forever and ever.”

“Don’t you fret,” said Scipio. She had let go of his arm, but he knew that she was trembling. “They-all is sure they’ll get off. They’s sure the devil won’t catch them. There’s my pa, he ain’t done a stroke of work this week. Been crazy drunk. But he’s got religion. Hear him holler!”

“I don’t believe it’s like that, Scip,” Hazel said very earnestly. “Religion is being good and honest and pure in heart.”

A man approached the children as they stood a little apart from the throng about the door.

“Howdy, little ’un,” he leered, lounging up to Hazel. “You’s a pretty trick.”

Hazel caught Scipio by the hand.

The boy moved forward into the light, leaving the little girl in the shadow. He held her hand tight.

“Let her alone,” he said.

“Deliver us from the fire of hell and take us into the kingdom of heaven,” called the preacher.

“Amen, Hallelujah,” came out upon the night.

The strange man advanced another step toward Hazel. Scipio stood still, his chin forward like a bulldog. The man muttered a curse and turned away.

A hymn was sung and the service broke up. Granny was among the first to leave the building.

“I’s glad to find you, child,” she said as Hazel came up to her. “Where you done gone?”

“I felt faint, Granny, and came out to get a breath of fresh air,” Hazel explained.

At that moment old man Lee called roughly to his son, “Come here, you lazy hound,” and moved as if to strike him.

Hazel started forward. “Please don’t blame Scip, Mr. Lee,” she said. “He’s been taking care of me.” And turning to the boy she added: “Thank you, Scip.”

Something in her speech, perhaps the unfamiliar “Mr. Lee,” quieted the old man. He turned away from his eldest son who went to help with the baby.

Hazel was silent on the way home, for she felt that this time Granny could not share her thoughts. The old woman was happy at having seen her friends and hummed a hymn. Perhaps, had Hazel given her her confidence, she would have said that hell was just a place to scare people with: that the Lord never meant the devil should keep anyone there.

They reached home before the Lees whom they saw coming slowly behind, Scipio with the baby in his arms.

Granny gave Hazel a good-night kiss, but the little girl did not go at once to bed. For some time, wrapped in her warm shawl, she sat at the window, looking out upon the stars. They rested her perturbed spirit. At length, a smile lighted her face. A new thought had come to her.

“My own father wouldn’t have hurt anybody,” she whispered. “Not even if they were wicked. And God is my Father in Heaven.”

And comforted, she knelt and said the Lord’s prayer, and asked God to bless her mother and Charity and Mr. and Mrs. Perkins and Granny and—and Scip.