In Old Plantation Days
The Brief Cure of Aunt Fanny
Some people grow old gracefully, charmingly. Others, with a bitter reluctance so evident that it detracts from whatever dignity might attach to their advanced period of life. Of this latter class was Aunt Fanny. She had cooked in the Mordaunt kitchen for more years than those hands who even claimed middle-age cared to remember. But any reference to the length of time she had passed there was keenly resented by the old woman. She had been good-looking in her younger days, sprightly, and a wonderful worker, and she held to the belief in her capabilities long after the powers of her youth and middle-age were gone. She was still young when her comrades, Parker, Tempe, Doshy and Mam Henry had duly renounced their sins, got religion and confessed themselves old. She had danced beyond the time when all her comrades had grown to the stage of settled and unfrivolous Christianity. Indeed, she had kept up her gayety until she could find no men old enough to be her partners, and the young men began to ignore her; then she went into the Church. But with the cooking, it was different. Even to herself, after years had come and brought their infirmities, she would not admit her feebleness, and she felt that she had never undergone a greater trial or endured a more flagrant insult than when Maria was put into the kitchen to help her with her work. Help her with her work, indeed! Who could help her? In truth, what need had she of assistance? Was she not altogether the most famous cook in the whole county? Was she not able by herself to cope with all the duties that could possibly devolve upon her? She browbeat Maria and made her duties a sinecure by doing everything just as she had done before her rival’s appearance.
It was pretty hard for the younger woman, who also was active and ambitious, and there were frequent clashes between the two, but Aunt Fanny from being an autocrat had gained a consciousness of power, and was almost always victorious in these bouts. “Uh huh!” she said to Tempe, discussing the matter. “They ain’t gwine to put no upstart black ‘ooman oveh me, aftah all de yeahs I’s been in dat kitchen. I knows evah brick an’ slat in it. It uz built fu’ me, an’ I ain’t gwine let nobody tek it f om me. No, suh, not ontwcll de preacheah done tho’wed de ashes on dis haid.”
“We’s all gittin’ ol’ dough,” said Tempe thoughtfully, “an’ de young ones got to tek ouah place.”
“Gittin’ olM gittin’ ol’!” Aunt Fanny would exclaim indignantly; “I ain’t gittin’ ol’!. I des’ ez spry ez I was w’en I was a gal.” And by her work she made an attempt to bear out her statement.
It would not do, though; for Time has no illusions. Neither is he discreet, and he was telling on Aunt Fanny.
The big house, too, had felt for a long time that she was failing, but the old master had hesitated to speak to her, but now he felt that she was going from bad to worse, and that something must be done. It was hard speaking to her, but when