Orchard of Hope

by Ann H. Gabhart

  Right inside the door, a big sign directed all freshmen to the gym. A few teachers were standing around to point the way down the hall to the double doors that led out to the gym if freshman stupidity kept any of them from moving in the right direction.

  As Jocie walked toward the gym, the nervous ants worn out from all that dancing fell asleep, and she forgot about being scared. It didn’t even bother her when she saw Ronnie Martin and some of his buddies leaning against the wall, giving the freshman girls the eye. She had acted as if Ronnie Martin was invisible for weeks at church. It wasn’t a bit hard to carry that over to school. So if he was invisible, the boys with him could be invisible too.

  When she passed by them she thought she heard somebody say, “Hey, look, there’s the preacher’s kid. She looks more like a fourth grader than a freshman. Hey, little girl, you sure you’re not lost?”

  She looked around, but since Ronnie and the others were invisible, she just stared straight through them at the wall.

  “Where’s your darkie shadow, huh?”

  For a second she almost saw Ronnie, but then his shape just sort of melted away in front of her eyes. She didn’t care what Ronnie Martin had to say. Her father and Ronnie’s father had forced them to face one another at Mt. Pleasant one Sunday after church while Ronnie pretended to apologize for the awful things he’d said to Jocie and she pretended to accept the apology, but they both knew they were pretending. Not a thing had changed in his heart. Or in hers. Some things were just too mean to forgive.

  She didn’t really want to think about what her father was always preaching the Bible said about forgiveness. About how a person had to forgive to be forgiven. That was in the red-letter part of her Bible, which meant it was Jesus talking, but surely the Lord understood that some forgiving took longer than other forgiving. Sometimes Jocie thought about talking it out with her father, but there just hadn’t been the right time. And besides, her father thought she’d already forgiven Ronnie when she’d put on that big pretending act at church.

  She pushed all that to the back of her mind. She didn’t have time to worry about that now. She had to think about being a freshman on her first day of high school as she moved along with the other kids toward the gym. She knew nearly all of them, so she supposed Tabitha had been right about starting high school with all the kids she’d always gone to school with not being all that hard. And Tabitha had been right about the curly hair too. Some other girls had hair just as straight as Jocie’s, and some looked sort of like Jocie had looked before Tabitha had brushed the weird kinks out of her hair that morning. At least Jocie had bra straps under her new blouse. She might not need them, but she had them.

  What Jocie really needed was a camera. All around her she saw pictures that would be great on the front page of the Banner. One of Mr. Madison, the principal, handing out schedules to three or four black kids might have made the top fold. Jocie took a closer look to see if one of the boys was Noah, but it wasn’t. She idly wondered if he was there yet before she let her mind go back into picture mode. The back of the freshman kids in front of her moving toward the gym like so many lemmings to the sea would be another great shot. She could have gotten a good portrait study of Mr. Hardin, the basketball coach, checking out how much the boys had grown over the summer. His eyes really narrowed in on the new black boys. The black high school over in Grundy had a great team nearly every year.

  But her father hadn’t let her bring her camera. He said she needed to think about her first day of high school and not about pictures for the Banner. He promised to take a few shots out front before he went over to the elementary school. Cute little first graders sold more papers than high schoolers.

  Practically the whole front page of this week’s Banner had been about school starting and desegregation. It was the news of the week in Hollyhill, and would be next week too when they ran all the pictures her father was taking today. He’d probably even want her to write some kind of article about what went on at the high school. Jocie had gotten her first byline for the paper when she was twelve. Her father said she had a natural talent for writing the news, maybe because she’d practically grown up in the pressroom. Breathing all the newspaper ink had probably done something weird to her brain.

  She made herself quit snapping imaginary pictures and really look around. Paulette had promised to keep an eye out for Jocie after her bus got to school, but the school buses were unloading at a different door so Paulette was probably already in the gym. Jocie spotted three black kids in the group going up the stairs to the gym. One girl and two boys. When one of the boys looked her way, Jocie smiled and waved a little hello. The boy glanced over his shoulder to see who she might be looking at.

  Jocie’s cheeks went red, but she kept her smile bright as she tried to inch over toward the black girl. She wanted to know her name. It didn’t seem right not to know the name of a girl her own age who lived in Hollyhill. The town was so small that not only did everybody know everybody, they knew everybody else’s business. Who their parents were and where they worked. When they were sick or in trouble. When somebody in their family was born or died. Where they went to revival meetings and what they planted in their garden.

  In every issue, the Banner published ten community news columns sent in by somebody, usually a sweet little gray-haired lady, who kept up with what was going on in their neighborhoods. Her father didn’t pay them. The columnists’ sole reward was seeing their bylines in the paper and having an excuse to be nosy.

  The West End news was reported by a Mrs. Washington who brought in her column every Monday. So-and-so had visited so-and-so. So-and-so’s daughter had a new baby in Grundy. So-and-so had a nephew in the army. So-and-so was being baptized by this or that church. Jocie had to proof the names as they got the column ready to print, but she’d never been all that curious about the faces behind the names. Now she was. Especially the names of the kids her age.

  Before she could work her way over close enough to talk to the girl, they passed through the doors into the gym and Paulette ran up to Jocie. “There you are. I was about to decide you’d chickened out and stayed home,” she said.

  “I’m not that chicken.” Jocie gave Paulette the once-over. Her blonde hair hung down to her shoulders in the kind of soft, curly waves Jocie had imagined her own hair would have when she’d wrapped the strands around the curlers the night before. She had on lipstick and a touch of color on her cheeks that might have been makeup. Her blue blouse showed off her curves and matched her eyes. Jocie wasn’t a bit surprised that every boy who passed them gave Paulette an extra look. “You look great,” Jocie said.

  “Thanks. So do you, except I thought we decided you should curl your hair.”

  “I tried. It didn’t cooperate.”

  “What do you mean it didn’t cooperate? You sound like your hair has a mind of its own.” Paulette frowned at her a little.

  “I guess it does. You should have seen it this morning. It looked like I had stuck my finger in a light socket or something. Believe me, straight is better.”

  Paulette laughed. “You’re so funny.”

  “And I’ve been told I have great eyes, so maybe that’ll make up for the straight hair.”

  “You do have nice eyes,” Paulette said even as she kept her own eyes busy sweeping across the kids around them. “Did you see Derrick this morning? He’s looking extra good today.”

  Derrick was the latest boy Paulette had decided to have a crush on. He was a senior and so far hadn’t given the first indication that he even knew Paulette was alive.

  “I didn’t see him,” Jocie said. “But some of the guys in here seem pretty interested in how you look.”

  “Freshman boys are such babies.”

  “We’re freshman girls,” Jocie reminded her.

  “But girls mature earlier than boys,” Paulette said. “At least on average.”

  “I never liked being average anyway,” Jocie said.

  “I didn’t mean you, Jocie.
Besides, you may not have the figure yet, but you’re very mature. Mentally.”

  “Well, that’s something.” Jocie looked around. The gym was filling up. “Let’s go find a place to sit. How about over there by her?” She pointed at the black girl she’d been trying to catch up with earlier. She was sitting on the third bleacher up, and everybody was leaving plenty of space around her.

  “By who? That black girl?”

  “Sure, why not?”

  “Well, come on, Jocie,” Paulette said as if Jocie should already know the answer to her question. “Look, let’s go over there by Linda and Janice. They’ll make room.”

  “We already know Linda and Janice. I want to find out this girl’s name.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I don’t know her, and I should if she lives in Hollyhill, don’t you think?”

  “No. I mean, we have to be nice to them and everything, but we don’t have to try to be buddies or anything.”

  “But she looks like she needs a buddy,” Jocie said.

  “For gosh sakes, Jocie, we’re not in church. You don’t have to try to be nice all the time just because you’re the preacher’s kid.”

  Jocie looked at Paulette. “You think I’m too nice?”

  Paulette frowned. “No, sometimes you’re not nice at all— like now, trying to mess up our first day at high school.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean if you want to go sit by her, go ahead, but I’m going to go sit with Linda and Janice.” Paulette started toward the other end of the bleachers.

  Jocie took a couple of steps after her then stopped. She didn’t want Paulette to be mad at her, but Jocie didn’t want to go sit with Linda and Janice. She wanted to go find out the black girl’s name. She felt as if it was an assignment for a story she needed to write for the Banner. She had to do it. She reached out and touched Paulette’s arm. “I’ll catch up with you later. Maybe at lunch.”

  “Sure thing,” Paulette said, but she wasn’t smiling anymore. “It’s just something I need to do. You understand, don’t you?”

  “Not really. Why can’t you just be normal and have fun? Why does everything have to be about saving the world or something?”

  “I’m not trying to save the world,” Jocie said. “But I promised myself I’d find out the names of the kids I didn’t know. And I don’t know hers.”

  “Then go ask her. She’ll probably just think you’re nosy.”

  “Probably,” Jocie agreed. “And I bet Derrick notices how cute you are today.”

  At least that made Paulette smile at her before she rushed on across the floor to climb up beside Linda who scooted over to make room. The black girl didn’t have to scoot over to make room for Jocie. There was plenty of room.

  “Hi,” Jocie said. “Is it okay if I sit here?”

  “I don’t think we’ve been assigned numbers. You can sit wherever you want.” The girl looked at her without smiling. She didn’t look as nervous now. More just resigned to her fate.

  Jocie smiled as friendly as she knew how and said, “I’m Jocie Brooke.”

  “I know,” the girl said.

  “You do?”

  “Of course. Your daddy owns the Banner and is a preacher.” Her voice was soft and there was the beginning of a smile deep in her brown eyes. “But you have no idea who I am, do you?”

  “Nope. That’s why I came over here. I wanted to ask your name. Are you going to tell me?”

  “Sure, why not? Charissa Boyer. Now guess what my daddy does?”

  Jocie searched through her memory of the names in the West End community column. She remembered Boyer. She looked closer at Charissa. “He’s the preacher at West End Baptist Church.”

  Charissa laughed and her eyes lit up. “Good guess.”

  “Maybe that’s why I wanted to find out your name,” Jocie said. “So we could compare notes about being PKs.”

  “It’s not something to be wished on the fainthearted,” Charissa said. Her smile disappeared. “But from the looks of it, you aren’t a faintheart. Your girlfriend didn’t look too happy with you.”

  “Oh well, she’ll get over it. She ought to know me well enough by now to know when I get my head set on doing something I’m going to do it.”

  “Why did you get your head set on sitting by me?”

  “Because I didn’t know your name, and I thought I should. We both live in Hollyhill. We’re both the same age.”

  “And both PKs.”

  “And I thought it was just my curiosity getting the best of me when it must have been the Lord’s hand pushing me across the floor, saying go talk to her. She’ll understand.”

  “Understand what?” Charissa asked.

  “I don’t know. Whatever needs understanding, I guess.”

  Charissa shook her head a little. “I think you must have heard him wrong. I’m not understanding anything too good this morning.”

  “Why? You don’t like it here?”

  “Not much so far. It would have been easier to go on to school over in Grundy, but Daddy said we had to do this. To come here.” She looked as if she was talking about chopping up cabbage or some other yucky chore. “It’s really worse for my big sister. Anna’s a senior and her boyfriend is at Grundy. She’s been begging Daddy for weeks to let her keep going to Grundy. She cried all the way to school this morning. Says she wants to die or quit school or something. Anna’s very dramatic. Me, I don’t have a boyfriend, and all the kids I was in eighth grade with are here somewhere.” She peered around her. “We don’t look like very many mixed in with all of you. Some of them must’ve not come.”

  “Why wouldn’t they come?”

  “Too scared, I guess.”

  “I was scared this morning,” Jocie said.

  Charissa looked at her. “Because of us?”

  “No, because of me. I was afraid I wouldn’t know what to do and that everybody would think I was stupid or something.”

  “So what if everybody thinks you’re stupid as long as you know you aren’t.”

  “But sometimes I guess I’m not all that sure,” Jocie said.

  “That makes two of us.” Charissa’s smile went all the way across her face.

  “You’re really pretty,” Jocie said.

  “Tell that to that boy who works for your daddy.”

  “Who? Noah?” When Charissa nodded, Jocie went on. “Do you know him?”

  “He came with his momma to church one Sunday a couple weeks ago.”

  “Aren’t his twin brother and sister the cutest?”

  “I wasn’t looking at them all that much. I was thinking Noah was the cutest. Don’t you think so?”

  The same look was on Charissa’s face that Paulette had on hers when she talked about Derrick earlier. What was the matter with Jocie that she wasn’t drooling over any boys like that? Maybe she had a case of arrested development. She decided that was pretty obvious, given her lack of curves. “He’s okay, I guess,” Jocie said.

  “Just okay?” Charissa gave her a long look. “Girl, you haven’t been looking, or maybe you don’t think it’s proper for a white girl to look at a black boy.”

  “I hadn’t thought about it.”

  “Well, don’t. I don’t need any competition, especially competition that rubs elbows with him.”

  “I wouldn’t be much competition.”

  “Don’t sell yourself short, Jocie Brooke. You’re one of those people that other folks notice. Like Noah’s momma.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Mrs. Hearndon is drop-dead beautiful.”

  “She is that,” Charissa said. “But as my daddy is always saying, true beauty comes from inside, and he says that lady has plenty inside. That she aims to make a difference wherever she goes. And that’s you too. That’s how come you’re sitting here beside me instead of over there with your girlfriends.”

  “Flattery will get you anything,” Jocie said with a little laugh. “So why don’t you come on down to the ne
ws office any Monday or Tuesday to see me? That’s when you-know-who will probably be there.”

  “It wasn’t flattery. It’s the truth. But since you offered, I might take you up on that visit next Monday.”

  A bell sounded somewhere deep in the school, and the kids on the bleachers straightened up and looked out toward Mr. Madison, who was walking to the middle of the floor in front of them. His footsteps were loud on the gym floor.

  “Ready or not, here we go,” Jocie whispered.

  20

  Friday morning, Zella got to the newspaper office more than an hour earlier than usual. She went in and dropped her purse in the bottom drawer of her desk the way she did every morning, but she didn’t sit down and uncover her typewriter. Instead she went back and pushed open the door to the pressroom. She never went into the pressroom unless she had to. It was too dirty and too noisy. Of course, it was silent as death now. The press, which always made Zella a little uneasy with its clanging and clacking as it ate up the blank newsprint, somehow looked even more forbidding as it sat so still and dark in the middle of the room. It was almost as if the thing was watching her, as if it knew what she was up to.

  Zella hesitated, then whispered under her breath, “Don’t be an idiot, Zella Curtsinger! It’s just an inanimate object. The thing doesn’t have eyes.”

  She stepped through the door the way she might have stepped across the border into foreign territory. The front of the office was more home than her own house, but the pressroom was David and Wesley’s domain. She wasn’t sure she’d ever even been in the pressroom when nobody else was there. Usually David or Wesley was back there making some kind of unholy racket with the press, or Wesley and Jocelyn were carrying on with their foolishness and thinking up new ways to irritate her. Or they were all back there doing the dreadful folding job so the papers could go out on Wednesday morning. That hadn’t been so odious lately with Leigh showing up every Tuesday night.