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    â€œI’ll see you next week,” Miss Remie told Ma.
    â€œI thought you said she could take all the time she needed,” Miss Lottie Pearl said as Miss Remie walked faster. That’s the reason she could only work in the field. She would run her mouth at every house she tried to work in. They would send her home on the first day.
    â€œLottie Pearl, stop your mess in front of company,” Ma said.
    Miss Lottie Pearl kept on talking.
    â€œAnd I know you don’t want your cake plate because colored folks going to eat from it.”
    â€œI’ll be back for the sittin’ up,” Mr. Faison managed to say before he drove off with his mad boss.
    When they were gone, Ma turned to Miss Lottie Pearl, her hands on her hips.
    â€œWoman, you know good and well I need my job when the sittin’ up is over. What is wrong with you?”
    â€œGirl, Miss Remie ain’t gonna fire you ’cause ain’t nobody gonna put up with her ways.” Then she grabbed the cake from Ma, went back in the house, and headed down the hall.
    â€œBye, Miss Remie!” we shouted as Ma ran in the house behind Miss Lottie Pearl. We followed them.
    â€œMagnolia, did you hear her calling Mr. Faison by his first name. She ain’t got no respect. That man too old for her to call him by his first name,” Miss Lottie Pearl said.
    â€œNever mind that! Where you going with the cake?” Ma asked as we followed the grown folks.
    â€œTo feed the chickens, honey.”
    Out the back door she went. Me and Pole ran outside and looked on in horror.
    â€œLottie Pearl, you best not throw that cake aw—” Before Ma could finish her sentence, the chickens were having dessert.
    â€œSister, that ain’t the way to act in front of the children.”
    â€œTell them to close their eyes,” Miss Lottie Pearl shouted. She was still holding the cake plate in her hand and spreading the cake out on the ground with her foot.
    â€œThere! Even coloreds know how to serve a chicken.” Then she dropped the cake plate and the top on the ground.
    â€œPole, fill the top up with water. The chickens need a drink.”
    Pole went on the back porch and started pumping a jug of water.
    â€œI’ll help you,” I said, following Pole.
    Ma was so mad at Miss Lottie Pearl that she threw her hands up in the air and went in the house.
    Miss Lottie Pearl screamed with laughter. Then she stopped her mess and fixed her eyes on me and Pole as we filled the cake plate top with water.
    â€œChildren, my way is not always right, but don’t let nobody tell you that you ain’t as good as the next person. White folk think we don’t even have the right to grieve our dead.”

N INE
    A s soon as we knocked off work Tuesday the sittin’ up started. The Cofields were the first to arrive again. Miss Lottie Pearl was still carrying on about Miss Remie acting ugly the day before. Truth be told, folk welcomed Miss Lottie Pearl’s laughter in our house that was filled with grief.
    â€œI just want to see Miss Remie again. I am gonna tell her off some more,” Miss Lottie Pearl boasted. Around nine Mr. Jabo finally got tired of his wife’s mouth, so he saved the whole neighborhood from one more story.
    â€œWell, Lottie Pearl, you know you left them butter beans soaking. Let’s head on home.” Off they went with Pole laughing at how Mr. Jabo tricked his wife away from the sittin’ up.
    Wednesday was a sad day for us. Before leaving for the ’bacco field, Papa started going through Mr. Bro. Wiley’s clothes to take to Mr. Gordon. He laid out Mr. Bro. Wiley’s black suit along with his shoes and socks on his bed. Ma placed his shirt that she had washed until it was as white as snow ’side his other belongings.
    â€œWhere we going, Papa?” I asked when he turned towards Ole River instead of heading home after work.
    â€œTo-to Mr. Bro. Wiley’s