Mississippi Trial, 1955

by Chris Crowe

  “But I thought—”

  “Yeah, you thought I helped kill that Chicago boy. Well, Mr. Sisbaby, I guess I missed my chance.” He shrugged his shoulders. “I dunno, I could’ve done it, but I didn’t. Like I said, things are gonna be different for me now. I’m lookin’ for a change in Jackson.”

  “What about Naomi? Where is she? What’s she going to do?”

  “Naomi’s no baby. Livin’ with somebody like Pa makes you pretty tough, Hiram Hillburn, so I ain’t worried ’bout my kid sister. If Pa’s dead, maybe she’ll stay in the house a while. Or maybe she’ll move in with some do-good neighbor. She can come down to Jackson with me if she wants, but I ain’t tellin’ her what to do or not to do. She’s old enough to figure things out, and I got my own worries.”

  “Do you know where she is right now? I want to see her, help her if I can.”

  R.C. took a last long drag on his cigarette, flicked it out into the parking lot, and picked up the duffel bag near his feet. “You didn’t hear me, sisbaby. Only thing Pa ever done for her was make her tough, so she don’t need your help or nobody else’s. She wants to see you, she’ll find you. You could go lookin’ for her, and maybe you’d find her; she’s probably at home or at the hospital if Pa made it, but I doubt she’s goin’ to be wantin’ to see anybody right now. Even you.” He touched his nose gingerly, then looked up at the sky for a moment before walking past me. “I gotta get to the bus depot. See you round, sisbaby.”

  When R.C. left, I walked to the bridge and stood where Naomi and I usually met. I hoped maybe she’d show up later, after she got her dad taken care of. Leaning against the bridge rail, I thought about R. C. Rydell. Was he lying about being in Jackson? Lying about Naomi? R.C. was mean, but I’d never known him to hurt his sister.

  But if he was telling the truth, who had been with Bryant and Milam that night they kidnapped Emmett Till? Probably somebody as hateful to Negroes as R.C., but I didn’t want to think about it. Like Grampa said, the trial was over, and nobody down here was going to be looking to start another one.

  Besides, I wanted to think about Naomi. I’d always known she’d had it bad living with her dad, but until tonight, I really had no idea how rotten things were for her. I didn’t know what I could do, but I wanted to be there at the bridge if she decided she needed my help or if she just wanted somebody to talk to. Maybe the best thing for her would be to get out of Greenwood and come back to Arizona with me. She could stay with my family a while, at least until we could find somebody in Tempe for her to live with. My sisters would love her; so would Mom. She could go to Tempe High with me. It’d be hard for her at first, kids would tease her about her Southern accent and stuff, but like R.C. said, Naomi was tough; she could handle whatever Tempe High threw at her.

  I sat at the base of that bridge rail for a couple more hours thinking about how great life would be with Naomi in Tempe, figuring out exactly how to convince her to come back with me, aching to see her again, to hold her and let her know that I’d do whatever I could to make things right.

  I sat there a long time waiting and dreaming, but she never came. Finally I walked home and went to bed, but I didn’t sleep much.

  The next morning even the smell of Ruthanne’s bacon and biscuits wasn’t enough to get me out of bed. I felt flat, wiped out from the trial and everything, sad that my summer was over, and, because I wasn’t sure how he’d react, a little worried to go back home and face Dad. I’d be leaving Mississippi in a couple days, and when I got back to Tempe, I’d have to jump right into school and everything else that had started without me. Anyway, I wanted at least one lazy morning in bed before I went back to the grind at home.

  I should’ve been able to sleep in—I felt plenty lazy enough—but too many things were buzzing in my brain. Not the trial or Emmett Till or R. C. Rydell. That stuff was all done as far as I was concerned. I was worrying about Naomi. Was she all right? Would I see her before I left? If I did, would I be able to talk her into coming to Arizona?

  With all that running through my head, I tried to sleep and did doze a little, but I was too restless to sleep soundly, like there was something I should’ve been doing but wasn’t. I was thinking of Naomi too, of course; it would’ve been impossible not to.

  Around 11:00 I heard Grampa talking to somebody down in the driveway below my window. Being lazy had made me bored and hungry, so I decided to get out of bed, get dressed and see what Ruthanne had left me to eat. Before going downstairs I looked out the window and saw Grampa talking to three men I didn’t recognize.

  Whatever they’d been doing, it looked like they had just about finished up. One man patted Grampa on the shoulder and said, “You just let us worry about this, Mr. Hillburn. We know how to take care of these kinds of things; you can count on us doing it right.”

  “I hope to get a fair price for it,” said Grampa. “It’s been good to me all these years.”

  The man held up a set of keys. “You can’t be too choosy about price in this situation, but we’ll do what we can. I guarantee you this truck will be out of Mississippi before dark. Soon as we get it sold, you’ll get your money.”

  “I could sell it myself and save a heck of a lot of money and trouble.” Grampa’s voice was edgy, like it got when he was mad or tired.

  “Sure you could,” the man said, “but having it sit around here for too long might end up making more trouble than you want. We’ll keep it quiet, and you’ll get your money.” The man got into the cab and started the truck while his two friends jumped in the back.

  Grampa watched them drive away.

  When I came downstairs, he was at the kitchen table with a pile of papers spread out in front of him.

  “So, the dead rise again,” he said with a smile. “Thought you’d never miss one of Ruthanne’s breakfasts.”

  “I decided to sleep in at least once before I have to go back to school.” I went to the stove and found a plate of biscuits and jelly Ruthanne had left. I took the plate to the table and sat down across from my grandfather. “Hey, Grampa, what happened to the pickup?”

  “I sold the damn thing. It was getting too rattlely for me. I’m going to get a car with automatic transmission.”

  “A car? What are you going to do with a car? Can’t haul stuff in it, can’t take it out to the plantation. Or fishing. There’s not a thing wrong with that old pickup.”

  “Don’t be bothering me about this, Hiram. It’s gone, and it’s not coming back.”

  Grampa looked a little mad, and I didn’t want to be arguing with him during my last days in Greenwood, but selling that truck made no sense. “I always liked that pickup; there’s no good reason for getting rid of it.”

  “I’ve got reasons, and I don’t have to be explaining them to my grandson.” His face got red again, and he started shoving his papers into a big brown envelope. “Adults have reasons for doing what they do, even if they make no sense to children. Children, including you, Hiram, have got to learn to trust their elders. That truck’s gone, and I don’t want to hear any more about it.”

  “Seems like you don’t want to hear any more about anything these days,” I snapped back. “First about the trial, then about R.C. or whoever helped Bryant and Milam, and now about the truck.”

  Grampa ignored me and concentrated on getting his papers into the envelope. There was no sense fighting with him about this; I was going home soon and wouldn’t have been driving the truck much anyway, so I cooled off and changed the subject.

  “I saw R. C. Rydell last night, Grampa.”

  He looked up right away. “R. C. Rydell? Did he try to break your neck?”

  “We just talked. He was heading out of town after one too many fights with his dad.”

  “Too bad he’s not taking his father with him,” Grampa said. “That man’s been tormenting his children for longer than should be allowed. It ruined R.C., and I’m sure it was no good for Naomi, even though she seems to have turned out all right. At any rate, she’ll be better off w
ith her good-for-nothing brother gone. Where’s he headed?”

  “Jackson. He’s been working down there for almost a month. And you know something kind of funny? He was down in Jackson the night Bryant and Milam kidnapped Emmett Till. When he first told me that, I thought for sure he was lying, but now I believe him. All this time I thought he was the third man they were looking for, and he wasn’t even in the county.”

  “I wouldn’t trust that boy any farther than I could throw him,” Grampa said. His voice sounded hurried, nervous. “You can’t take anything he says for truth, though I never was convinced he had anything to do with all that trouble with Roy and J.W.”

  “Well, he’s off the hook in case anybody ever starts trying to track down whoever else was in on that killing.”

  “I told you before, Hiram, no one in the Delta is going to bother with that case again. The jury gave a decision, and the judge accepted it.” He got the last of his papers into the envelope and sealed it with the brass clasp. “And now there’s no evidence left to link any other person to the kidnapping. As they say, ‘This case is closed.’” Grampa smiled, looking more relaxed than he had since before the trial started. “And now it looks like we’re going to have to start working on getting you on a train to Arizona.”

  “Yeah. Do you think you can call Mom and Dad today and let them know the trial’s over, and that I’m clear to leave now?”

  “News about the trial was in papers all over the country, so I’m sure they know the trial’s over, but I’ll call and let them know you’re coming home as soon as possible. I’d also better have Ruthanne run over to the train depot and make sure we can get you a ticket for tomorrow or Monday.”

  It surprised me that Grampa was so cheerful about my leaving. Sure, I was anxious to get out of there as fast as I could, but I’d expected him to start with the usual sales pitch to stay in Greenwood. For most of my life he’d been begging me to come back, and now it seemed like he couldn’t wait for me to leave.

  But I didn’t have time to figure him out right then. If I was going to be gone soon, I had to talk to Naomi. I told him I had to go find a friend.

  Grampa smiled. “Of course, you have to say good-bye to the girlfriend. Don’t be gone too long; you’ll need to be getting your things packed up pretty soon.” Grampa pushed away from the table and went into the living room, and I headed out the kitchen door for Naomi’s house.

  When I was walking down the driveway, I spooked Ronnie Remington, who had just come out of his house and was walking his path to the sidewalk with his head down. He almost ran into me when we reached the sidewalk at the same time.

  “ ’Scuse me,” he said nervously as he stopped dead in front of me, waiting for me to move out of his way so he could follow his route on the sidewalk. He looked up, and his eyes got wide when he recognized me. “I-I-I’m just going downtown to get some things. I should’ve been looking where I was going. Ralph’s always telling me to look where I’m going, because if I don’t, I’m going to run into things or get run over.” He gulped and blinked rapidly. “Not that I’m worried about getting run over, or that I’m saying you ever tried to run me over. I’m not saying that at all. No, not at all. You can trust me on that. I did not say that you were driving that old blue Ford pickup with that evil Rydell boy and tried to run me down. I did not say that, and you can rest assured that I will never say that to anyone. Not a single solitary soul.” His eyes glazed as he talked faster and faster. “One thing the Hillburns know is that the Remingtons are good neighbors. We never tell anyone anything. Ralph and I, we mind our own business and we trust other people will mind theirs. Your grampa, he knows that. We haven’t told a soul about his pickup, not a soul.”

  I had no idea what he was talking about, so I tried to slow him down. “There’s nothing to tell about the pickup, Mr. Remington. Grampa sold it. No secrets there.”

  “Nobody calls me Mr. Remington.” He smiled. “It sounds good, sounds like it should sound. I wonder if I should tell people to start addressing me as Mr. Remington. ‘Ronnie’ always sounds so childish, and a man at my age, well, Ralph’s actually older than I am, so I suppose he’d like to be called Mr. Remington too. As a matter of fact, I’m sure he’d like that. We have similar tastes, you know. Well, not about everything, but about some things. A few things, at least. We used to, anyway.”

  He twitched when I touched his arm to stop him. “Mr. Remington, about the truck. It’s . . . no . . . secret,” I said slowly. “Grampa sold it is all.”

  “Of course he sold it. He told us he was going to, after the trial and all and the horrible, horrible trouble that started up in Money. Not that I’ve even been to Money. Too small. Just a cotton gin and a few stores, I hear. He made Ralph and me promise, as good neighbors, of course, that we wouldn’t say anything to anyone about what Ralph saw. Well, when he saw it, he didn’t think anything of it at the time. Folks often borrow your grampa’s truck, and Ralph of course can’t sleep and often watches out the window. Not peeping, of course, of course not that, but in a neighborly way, watching out for our neighbors and their things.”

  “Ralph saw something?” Something tickled the pit of my stomach.

  “Oh no, I promised I would never say that. When your grandfather came over to talk to us about that terrible, terrible tragedy, that Chicago boy they found dead, when he came to talk to us about that, he wanted us to make sure we hadn’t seen anything. Well, of course I hadn’t because I always retire by ten o’clock. If I don’t get a good ten hours of sleep, I’m a wreck the next day. So of course I was asleep. But not Ralph. No, Ralph’s a night owl. So he saw Roy and J.W. that Saturday night, recognized them right off because he’d gone to high school with J.W., of course, he’s a few years older than J.W., but they were in school at the same time. So how could he not recognize them? Ralph remarked to me that he didn’t know that your grandfather knew J.W., though. It was that next day he told me that. That about your grandfather and J. W. Milam.”

  Ronnie’s words swirled around my head so fast, I felt dizzy. I wasn’t even sure what I was hearing. “Milam? Grampa was with Milam?”

  “I never said that. Did I? Promised, Ralph and I, that we wouldn’t tell anyone anything about it, and we haven’t. We told your grandfather that except for when he told me, Ralph would not ever tell anyone that he’d seen Roy and J.W. drop him off late, oh very late, that night. It was strange, though, for your grandfather to be out so late, and that’s probably why Ralph even remembered it. You know he’s so forgetful. He drinks, you know. Too much, if you ask me. But will he listen to me? No. Never has, never will. I’m the younger brother, so he thinks he doesn’t have to listen to me, even though I’m the only one in the family with any common sense.”

  The dizziness was getting worse, so I put my hands on Ronnie’s shoulders to steady myself and to slow him down. “Please, Mr. Remington, please talk in a straight line, will you?”

  That startled him. He paused, looking at my hands on his shoulders, and when I let go, he started talking again, this time more slowly.

  “Yes, yes, I do prattle on sometimes. I like it when you call me Mr. Remington. I’m going to have to remember to tell Ralph that. We must have people address us that way.”

  “About Milam and Bryant. Please?”

  “Of course you know about the trial. Ralph and I didn’t go, of course, but we read all about it in the Commonwealth. They covered it well, don’t you think? Something in there, even nice photos, about the trial every day. Comprehensive coverage, I’d say. Well, we were horrified to read all the details. Such a tragic, tragic thing. And Ralph read about your grandfather’s pickup. That one witness, oh what was his name? He saw it Sunday morning, out at that other plantation. Well, I’ll never remember his name. That worried Ralph right away, he has such a legal mind, you know. He knew people would know whose truck that was. Circumstantial evidence, of course, of course. It proves very little or nothing, he said. But if it were added to what he saw, you know, Roy and J.W.
dropping him off so terribly late one night, and Roy borrowing that truck. Well, pardon the expression, but that would be damning, Ralph said. Quite, quite damning. So of course, we admire your grandfather and his fine work with the Citizens’ Councils and all that, and we’ve always tried to be very good neighbors, so of course when your grandfather came over to chat with us, well, we knew the score. We assured him, as I’m assuring you, that we would never tell anyone anything. Of course, most people don’t listen to us anyway. Though I have no idea why.”

  I felt the blood draining from my face. The dizziness was back, and the breakfast I’d just eaten felt like rocks in my stomach.

  “My, Hiram, you don’t look so well. You know, this Indian summer we’re having is quite brutal. The heat, over ninety hasn’t it been, with all this humidity, well it is, of course, the South, but it’s just brutal. You should get right back inside, out of this sun, and have yourself a nice cold glass of iced tea.”

  I moved off the sidewalk, and as soon as the way was clear, Ronnie moved past me, still talking as he walked. “Iced tea. That will help. Yes, it would. Of course with sugar and a slice of lemon . . .”