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Partheny was trudging down the road on her way to town to "do a little trading at de sto'", based on a handful of advertising slips offering free soap. On her skinny black arm was a market basket covered with a clean linen cloth. She wore a poke bonnet, from under the brim of which her wideawake eyes peered through steel-rimmed spectacles. A black sweater covered a clean lilac dress, and clinging to her hand was a fat lemon-colored child of five, her great-grandchild, Kercy Ruth.
"I ain't 'member much 'bout slavery time," she apologized. "I was only five years old when freedom declared. I was de baby in confinement befo' de war started. I was born den on November 6, and war commenced in Spring. I used to hear my mother say her ole Mistis went to Augusta to buy a nice new o'yage and dere was so much talk o' war going on, she didn't see a man laugh when she was in Augusta.
"My Mistis' house was a great big ole white house. De niggers had some kind of log houses, and bed things nailed up to de wall - some had bedsteads corded for slats, and cotton pads to put on de slats. Us had plenty to eat and dere was plenty o' milk for de people dere at home.
Asked about marriage customs, Partheny thought a moment.
"Course I was right young to 'member 'bout dat, but seem like some of 'em had white justice peace and some of 'em jus' went on livin' together. Dat ole sayin' 'jump over de broomstick' was jus' a sayin' - dey didn' really jump nothin'. Some couples got married regular when freedom come."
Partheny did not remember how her father was taught to read, "but he knew how to read when freedom come," she said. "And he wasn't no church member, neither. But mother and grandmother was baptise' in de white folks' pool belongin' to de church. My grandmother was de cook woman and she cook all de meals, and my mother always carried hearn to her house to eat. She work in de fields. I would be playin' round, totin' chips, gittin' water at the well and at de spring. I could sweep yard and do things like that.
"De place was four miles from town. Dere was five or six houses in de quarters."
Asked about the war, Partheny recalled only vague memories.
"I kin 'member how when dey thought de Yankees was comin' dey tuk de silverware and bury 'em, but de soldiers didn' tear up nothin' dere. After freedom dey said one day 'bout 12 o'clock a white man called Preacher Simmons spoke to 'em 'bout freedom being declared and all like dat."
Partheny's stories lacked the dramatization natural to negro story telling, but she did her best.
"Dere was some boys went rabbit huntin'. Dey seed a rabbit dodgin' in de cabbage rows. Dey run after him and he kick up his heels and flirt his tail and den disappear somehow or nuther. Den de boys chase him to de wood, and dere was ole Brudder Rabbit sittin' on a stump waggin' his tail. He laugh at de boys and disappear again. Dey seed a hole dere, and de boys went and got de dog. De dog dig down in de hole, and whee! out come Brud' Rabbit from another hole farder on. Ole Brud' Rabbit dodge dem boys like dat till finally dey run him down into a patch of brown sage and he sat on top o' de brar patch laughin' at 'um tell dey sot de brar patch afire and kotched Brud' Rabbit dat-a-way."
Partheny gave the usual version of the "Skinny, Skinny don't you know me story," salt and pepper and all, and then told another witch story.
"De ole witch got on a woman one night while she slep' and beat her up good. De woman 'spected anudder woman in de house, so nex' night she played like she was asleep and jus' waited. Pretty soon de ole witch come on bumpin' down de chimley. Den when she hit de flo' she turn into a big black cat. Den all de people in de house got sticks and beat up dat ole cat tell it run off howlin'. Nex' day, when de people come out of dey rooms, here come old Aunty a-hobblin' and all drawed up, bruised all over, jus' like she had been beat. She stay droopy and sad like dat for a week and de folks knowed twas her dat turn into a cat-witch and rode de people at night, but dat cured her."
"Partheny, did you ever see a hant?"
"No Ma'am! I never did in my life see a hant, and I ain't want to see a hant!" She turned into the path leading to her cottage, little Mercy Ruth nodding her peppermintsmeared face in obedience to the command "say goodbye to de ladies."
Cora Shepherd Beech Island, S.C. (By: Miss Velma Bell District Supervisor Maude Barragan - Editor May 14, 1937)
