Baby Suggs' three (maybe four) pies grew to ten (maybe twelve). Sethe's two hens became fiveturkeys. The one block of ice brought all the way from Cincinnati — -over which they pouredmashed watermelon mixed with sugar and mint to make a punch — became a wagonload of icecakes for a washtub full of strawberry shrug, 124, rocking with laughter, goodwill and food forninety, made them angry. Too much, they thought. Where does she get it all, Baby Suggs, holy?
Why is she and hers always the center of things? How come she always knows exactly what to do and when? Giving advice; passing messages; healing the sick, hiding fugitives, loving, cooking,cooking, loving, preaching, singing, dancing and loving everybody like it was her job and hersalone.
Now to take two buckets of blackberries and make ten, maybe twelve, pies; to have turkey enoughfor the whole town pretty near, new peas in September, fresh cream but no cow, ice and sugar,batter bread, bread pudding, raised bread, shortbread — it made them mad. Loaves and fishes wereHis powers — they did not belong to an ex slave who had probably never carried one hundredpounds to the scale, or picked okra with a baby on her back. Who had never been lashed by a tenyear-old whiteboy as God knows they had. Who had not even escaped slavery — had, in fact, beenbought out of it by a doting son and driven to the Ohio River in a wagon — free papers foldedbetween her breasts (driven by the very man who had been her master, who also paid herresettlement fee — name of Garner), and rented a house with two floors and a well from theBodwins — the white brother and sister who gave Stamp Paid, Ella and John clothes, goods andgear for runaways because they hated slavery worse than they hated slaves.
It made them furious. They swallowed baking soda, the morning after, to calm the stomachviolence caused by the bounty, the reckless generosity on display at 124. Whispered to each otherin the yards about fat rats, doom and uncalled-for pride.
The scent of their disapproval lay heavy in the air. Baby Suggs woke to it and wondered what itwas as she boiled hominy for her grandchildren. Later, as she stood in the garden, chopping at thetight soil over the roots of the pepper plants, she smelled it again. She lifted her head and lookedaround. Behind her some yards to the left Sethe squatted in the pole beans. Her shoulders weredistorted by the greased flannel under her dress to encourage the healing of her back. Near her in abushel basket was the three-week-old baby. Baby Suggs, holy, looked up. The sky was blue andclear. Not one touch of death in the definite green of the leaves.
She could hear birds and, faintly,the stream way down in the meadow. The puppy, Here Boy, was burying the last bones fromyesterday's party. From somewhere at the side of the house came the voices of Buglar, Howard andthe crawling girl. Nothing seemed amiss — yet the smell of disapproval was sharp. Back beyondthe vegetable garden, closer to the stream but in full sun, she had planted corn. Much as they'dpicked for the party, there were still ears ripening, which she could see from where she stood.