Miss Heck's Thanksgiving Party; or, Topsy Up To Date — Themes and Context

Myra said after a few moments. The old lady made no reply; she always let "Myrie" have her own way; she had found by experience that it was not easy to do otherwise. At length even the critical taste of Miss Myra seemed satisfied with the vision she beheld in the little glass, for she turned away with a contented sigh, as she did so exclaiming, "I'se gwine to give a Thanksgiving party here, mammy, tomorrer night! And it'll be a swell affair, tew, take my wurd for it!" Then she put on her coat and hat, blew a kiss from the ends of her fingers toward the old negress yet sitting stupid with amazement in the rickety rocking-chair, and with another ringing, happy laugh went out into the storm. The sky was lead-colored, the wind blew fiercely and flung the snowflakes which were falling rapidly with spiteful force against the girl, until her heavy garments were soon hidden by a soft covering of white. But not even the fleecy crystals of snow had power to change the hue of the ebony face, and Miss Myra, who was a sensitive young woman, could not but feel a sensation of disgust as she thought, "I must look blacker than ever by contrast."

On down the street she walked rapidly; here and there she paused long enough at some house to leave an invitation for the cook or coachman to attend her Thanksgiving party; but at the end of two hours this part of her preparation was ended.

It was time, then, she decided, to turn her attention to further details of her audacious plan; and retracing her steps she soon found herself at banker Holmes' door. Here she entered, and for a long time busied herself with necessary preparations for the morrow's festivities. As twilight fell, she closed the house once more and walked rapidly homeward. That she had not been idle, the next night's feast would show.

Any one passing by Jim Heck's tumbled-down cottage Thanksgiving night would have been astonished at the number of gleaming lights flashing out upon the snow through the cracked and grimy window-panes, and would have stopped for a moment to listen to the sounds of revelry within doors. A fiddle squeaked in a lively, even if discordant fashion, while a banjo made frantic efforts to keep it company. There was a sound, too, as if of many feet dancing an old-fashioned break-down, which made the shanty fairly tremble under the unwonted strain upon its frail supports.

The aroma of hot coffee also floated out upon the crisp air, mingled with an odor of more substantial viands, which appealed strongly to the imagination of a passing tramp who had paused to look through a window void of shade or curtain.

Suddenly the dance ended; the music ceased with one last unearthly squeak, and for the space of a single moment almost perfect silence reigned, and then it seemed as though just previously a cyclone of noise had been running riot.

At this juncture from the doorway of the combined dining-room and kitchen the host himself announced in his most gracious manner, "Supper am suhved, ladies and gemmin; choose youah pardners and walk out!"

With one hand he pulled down the draperies which had been improvised for the occasion, and which had so far kept the glories of the feast hidden from view; whilst with the other he politely motioned his guests to cross the hospitable threshold. For a second nobody stirred; a bashfulness as sudden as it was unusual seemed to have seized old and young alike. Then a tall mulatto took his late "partner" by the arm and made a hasty exit into the supper room. This was the signal for a general stampede for seats; but when the full glories of the scene impressed themselves upon the senses of the bewildered guests, each and all stood as if rooted to the spot, staring with eyes and mouth wide open at the unexpected grandeur.

At the head of the table stood Miss Myra herself. But such a Miss Myra! Accustomed to see her always in the latest style, they had, "up to date," never beheld her attired like this.

Solomon in all his glory, the lilies of the field in their beauty, were as nothing compared to her!

She wore a trained robe of richest ivory satin, elaborately trimmed with point lace; the dusky neck and arms shone like polished ebony against the glimmering sheen of the satin.

She stood perfectly silent for a moment, her head uplifted, and with a haughty smile upon her lips, did her utmost to impress these humble admirers with this transitory grandeur.

"Yes, it jis' is indeed Mis Holmes' weddin' dress, nuffin' else, you simpletons," she said calmly, as if announcing the most commonplace fact. "An' dis yeah is her linen, and dat's her coffee; and it's her silber, too," she added calmly, as she moved her hands here and there, pointing out the objects which she named. "But dat is nobody's business but mine; you uns has nuffin' to do but enjoy de good things I'se provided. Sit down, goosies, and let der feast proceed," she commanded in an imperious manner, and set the example by seating herself--with due regard for her long-trained gown--at the head of the table.

This proceeding elicited tumultuous applause, and from that moment until the gray dawn began to lighten the east, the fun was fast and furious.

Of all races in the world none can equal the African in its abandon of enjoyment. From the far-off homes of their ancestors, where the tropical sun forces vegetation into luxuriance and raises the blood to well-nigh fever heat, the negroes of the South have derived the power to live in and for the present only. "Foolish!" you say? Well, probably. Yet, after all, how much of human wretchedness results from either idle regrets for an unalterable past, or causeless care for an undiscoverable future? Be this as it may, at Miss Myra's Thanksgiving party shouts of laughter, bursts of negro melody, the shuffling of feet, all these sounds became more and more tumultuous as the night waned.

In the early morning dusky forms might have been seen entering many a back or side door in Rexville, and many a mistress complained that day of inattention to duty; but the darkies never told the secret of their all-night festivities.

For many and many a day the glories of Miss Heck's Thanksgiving party lingered in the minds and on the tongues of the favored guests.

Upon the return of the banker's wife, that worthy lady found all her belongings in the same condition, apparently, as when she left home. Miss Myra was shrewd enough to skillfully effect this result, and if ever her conscience troubled her in reference to her late "grand ball," she always quieted its qualms by saying: "What Mis Holmes don't know ain't gwine ter hurt her none! 'Tain't right ter be selfish in dis wurld noway! If der Lawd don't make no ekal division of things, why I'll jes have ter help, an' dat's all ther is about hit!"

It must have been at least a year after the occurrence before the banker's wife learned of the party at which her possessions had played so very conspicuous and magnificent a part; and by this time Miss Heck had left her employ, being maid of all work at the parsonage, and hence beyond all need of censure from outsiders, since it was perfectly evident that her reverend employer was trying to convert this Topsy (up to date) from the error of her ways and to pluck one more brand from the burning, adding yet another jewel to his anticipated dazzlingly brilliant crown.

But at last accounts the worthy man's efforts had not met with that measure of success which usually have crowned his ministrations. Miss Heck appears to be a rather difficult "subject."

Topsy yet reigns over all the mistresses of Rexville, and condescends to work for them all in turn.

Her impartiality is sublime!

EVANSTON, November, 1895.

_PRESS OF W. B. CONKEY COMPANY, CHICAGO._

End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Miss Heck's Thanksgiving Party, by Ida Hamilton Munsell