So Luke, Gemma, and I sat in the den sipping on tall glasses of sweet tea, the Tinker boys’ snoring as our background music. I told Gemma the short version of what had happened, and I could tell that she believed I’d been locked in. She hadn’t been oblivious to the spite I’d received, and I think she suspected there was even more to it than what she’d noticed. But she didn’t say anything about it. She just took my hand in hers and held it. Maybe she thought if she held on to me tightly enough nothing bad could happen to me.
Gemma had turned the radio off when she heard my screaming, so Luke turned it back on, and the three of us sat there listening. I put my head on a pillow and listened to the music and the rhythmic tapping of Luke’s boot on the floor.
Peace had begun to flood back into my spirit until the front door opened and Momma entered all flustered.
Daddy followed her. “Sadie. Now, Sadie, darlin’,” he was saying, “tell me what happened.”
Momma rushed up the stairs without answering. I could hear her breath coming in hiccups, and I knew she was crying but trying not to let it show. Daddy went after her, taking the steps two at a time.
Luke, Gemma, and I exchanged glances. I laid my head back down and closed my eyes, my heart sinking.
I didn’t need to hear Mrs. Tinker’s quiet and quick explanation to us as she gathered the boys’ things to know what had upset Momma. “Seems people have longer memories than I thought. And we’d made it through the first bit of the night so well too. . . .” She noticed my unhappy face and said, “Oh, your momma’ll be fine after a while. She’s just feelin’ people’s smallness, is all. Thank you for takin’ care of the boys.”
Mr. Tinker piled both sleeping boys into his arms and nodded at us, and the family left us just that quickly.
Luke said nothing, but he smacked his knee so hard I figured it had to have stung something fierce. Gemma squeezed my hand more tightly, and we sat in silence, no doubt wondering how long life could go on like this. Or for that matter, how long we could go on like this.
Chapter 17
Momma wasn’t too talkative about that night of the sewing meeting. “People can be strange” was all she said to me the next morning when I questioned her. “Ain’t no accountin’ for it.” She put her hand lightly on my cheek and said, “Ain’t nothin’ I can’t take care of. Don’t you worry your pretty little head about me.” And that was the end of the discussion; I could see it on her face.
I sat down at the table next to Gemma and swirled my eggs around with my fork. The clock chimed halfway, announcing six thirty. “Daddy already in the fields?”
“Got a lot of work to do today. He was out before sunup.” Momma sat at the table with us and urged me to stop playing with my food and eat. “Growin’ girls need food for energy.”
I nodded and picked up a piece of bacon, crunching it without enjoying it.
“Daddy tells me you had a mishap at the shed last night, Jessilyn,” Momma said in between blows to cool her tea. “Said you got locked in.”
“Yes’m, I did. No big deal,” I told her, not wanting to make things harder for her than they already were. I could see her eyes were puffy and bloodshot, and I figured she’d cried herself to sleep last night. I didn’t want to upset her more.
“Sure it’s no big deal? He said you were pretty scared.”
“It was just dark, is all. I couldn’t see nothin’. Makes a body scared.”
Momma added some more sugar to her tea and stirred it, clanging the spoon from side to side. “Got you scared too, no doubt, Gemma. Hearin’ that screamin’ and all.”
“Yes’m,” Gemma replied. “Did my heart good to see them comin’ back to the house.”
“Well, I must say I’m glad I wasn’t home,” Momma told us. “I’d have been takin’ a stroke hearin’ that kind of screamin’ from my girl like that. I don’t know how I would have made it through.”
“Weren’t nothin’,” I assured her. “Like I said, no big deal.”
After breakfast, Momma sent me down to the fields with some iced tea for Daddy, but I found Jeb instead. I was uneasy the moment I came upon him. “Oh, it’s you. I was lookin’ for Daddy. I’ll just go find him.”
“He’s gone to town quicklike, Miss Jessie. Seems he ran out of somethin’ he needed to fix the back fence.”
“I’ll see him when he gets back, then,” I said and turned away.
Jeb caught my arm. “Hold up. I gotta talk to you for a second.”
I jumped away from him, wrenching my arm free.
My movements made Jeb turn worried, and he held his hands up in front of him. “Now, I ain’t gonna hurt ya, Miss Jessie,” he said in what seemed to be grave sincerity. “Honest. Just need to talk to you for a second.”
I stood still, my shaky hand sloshing tea over the side of the glass. Despite my suspicions, and Luke’s for that matter, I still found it hard to mistrust Jeb. I instinctively wanted to know what it was he needed to say. I looked around anxiously and said, “All right, but I ain’t got long.”
I stayed well away from him, and Jeb didn’t try to get closer when he talked. “You know last night, when you got stuck in the shed?”
I nodded.
“Well, that was me that done it.” He lowered his voice and glanced over his shoulder. “But you got to believe me. I did it for your own good.”
Remembering the terror I’d felt in that shed, I had a hard time feeling anything but anger over what he was saying. “You? But why?” I asked, not sure I really wanted to know the answer.
Jeb rubbed the back of his sunburnt neck and said, “I can’t rightly tell you that. You just got to trust me that I did it for your own good.”
“I can’t trust no one no more,” I told him wearily. “Ain’t a single soul I can trust.”
“That’s a frightful way for a body to think,” he scolded gently. “You got your momma and daddy and Luke and Gemma . . . you got lots of people you can trust. And I think if you ask your daddy, he’d tell you that you can trust me too.”
I gave his words a few moments thought, and then I backed away slowly. “No, sir. No, sir. Ain’t nobody to trust, and that means you, too.” I spilled the sweet tea onto the ground and ran, ignoring Jeb’s calls to me.
When I got back to the house, I made sure to put on a brave face so no one would ask me what was wrong. It was a dull, still morning, and I found Gemma rocking listlessly on the tree swing.
“I’m bored,” she told me. “Where you been? You ain’t supposed to go off alone.”
“I ain’t alone in my own fields,” I said. “Anyhow, Momma sent me to take some tea to Daddy, but he’s gone to town.”
“Well, we’d best find somethin’ to do, else this’ll be one fine, borin’ day. Your momma says we ain’t got any chores to be done today, and it’s a day for bein’ lazy.”
“I don’t feel like bein’ lazy,” I said.
“Neither do I, but what’ll we do?”
After long thought, Gemma and I decided we would head over to Miss Cleta’s. Since I’d been sleeping very little at night, I had read through her books in just a few days, and I wanted to exchange them for others. Knowing Walt had come upon me last time I ventured out alone, Gemma was determined I shouldn’t stray far without her, so we walked through the ninety-degree heat together.
Miss Cleta was pleased as punch to see us, and we were glad we hadn’t come too early to catch some fresh-baked goods. “About ready to get some popovers from the oven,” she told us. “Hope you brought your sweet tooth with you.”
No doubt we had, and we spent the next hour gathering books and eating sweets and milk. Around ten thirty, Miss Cleta clapped as though she’d come up with a fine idea. “This is my goin’-into-town day. Why don’t you girls go home and get dressed on up, and we’ll go in and have lunch together? How would you like that?”
“I don’t know,” I said, already nervous at the idea of meeting more ornery people in town. “Momma might not want us to.”
&n
bsp; “Oh, your momma’s an understandin’ woman. I’ll bet she’ll say yes.”
“Well, Jessie may be able to go,” Gemma told her adamantly, “but I got busy work to do.”
I glanced at Gemma, who had told me barely an hour earlier that we had a lazy day ahead of us.
Miss Cleta took a long swig of milk, wiped her mouth daintily with her napkin, and stared hard at Gemma and then at me. “Just what is it you girls are really sayin’? You think I shouldn’t take you to town for some reason?”
Gemma and I looked at each other.
“Well, is that it?” Miss Cleta tossed her napkin onto the table. “You think just because some people say white and colored don’t mix, I have to listen? There any law that says that if most people believe somethin’, it must be true? Is there? Because to my knowledge, there ain’t no law in this country that says I can’t do as I darn well please. And I darn well please to go into town with my two friends. The white one and the colored one.”
“But there’s bunches of trouble aimed at us these days,” I exclaimed. “You don’t know the half of it. You’re liable to get in trouble yourself. We know what we got comin’, but we don’t want you gettin’ hurt.”
“Nonsense. I can take care of myself against the rabble in this town.”
“I’d worry about it, Miss Cleta,” Gemma said. “Ain’t no way for me to have fun in town with you if I got to worry all the time about causin’ you trouble.”
“Now listen here. I ain’t lived on this earth for seventy-five years to sit in my house cowerin’ from human ignorance. I’ve certainly earned my right to do as I please around here within the law. And havin’ lunch with you girls is within the law.” Miss Cleta sat back and crossed her arms. “You girls think you’re wrong for bein’ friends?”
“No, ma’am!” we both shouted.
“You think colored people are less than white people?”
“No, ma’am!”
“Well then, enough talkin’ about me. I’ll be fine. The question is, do you girls have the nerve to go into town with me and stand up to all those people?”
“Me?” I asked, sitting up good and tall. “I got plenty of nerve. You ask my momma.”
“Well then, prove it. You too, missy,” Miss Cleta said to Gemma. “You two girls want to say you got nerve to stand up to people, then you got to prove it. Ain’t no way to change the world for the better if you can’t stand up for what’s right when everyone else is wrong.”
Gemma and I watched her ferocity with amazement, not uttering another word.
And that’s how one o’clock in the afternoon found us stepping from Mr. Lionel Stokes’ taxi cab in the center of town. Being a colored man himself, Mr. Stokes had done plenty of talking to Miss Cleta on our way into town, trying to persuade her to change her mind. As we exited his taxi, he shook his head. “Uh . . . uh . . . uh,” we heard him grunt slowly. “Just askin’ for trouble. That she is.”
He hadn’t helped calm our nerves any, but Miss Cleta seemed as serene as ever as we marched toward the Callo-way Inn, where she planned to have us dine. We drew plenty of stares on that short journey. Men peered from behind their newspapers. Ladies whispered behind gloved hands. I trained my eyes on Miss Cleta’s flower-covered blouse and walked ahead stoically.
“Miss Cleta,” the hostess cried with a clap of her lily-white hands, “we ain’t seen you here in an age. What a delight!” She stopped dead when she saw me and Gemma. It was like the smile just melted off her face like hot wax. “My, my,” she gasped, stricken.
“I’d like a table for myself and my two friends,” Miss Cleta said politely.
“Why, I’m so sorry to say, but . . . well . . . I believe we are full today.”
“Full? On a Thursday?”
“Yes, ma’am. You know, we get some workin’ folks in here durin’ the week.”
Miss Cleta eyed her for a second and then walked past her to peer into the dining area. She returned and put both hands on her hips. “Looks to me that you got a total of five people in that dinin’ room. You tellin’ me the rest all had to visit the restrooms at the same time?”
“Miss Cleta, please. Do be discreet!”
“And I would say the same to you, young lady. Do be discreet and show your customers to a table.”
The hostess came forward and covered her mouth like we wouldn’t hear her when she whispered loudly, “Miss Cleta, we don’t have coloreds in our restaurant.”
“Do you have a sign in your window?” Miss Cleta asked.
“Well, no, ma’am, but it’s just understood. . . .”
“I understand nothin’. All I know is I’m good and hungry, and I want to eat.”
The hostess just stood there, a menu in her hand, stumbling over words that only came out as random syllables.
“Oh, heaven’s sake, just give me that,” Miss Cleta said, snatching the menu from her hand. “I’ll do it myself while you get your tongue back in your head.” She grabbed our arms and ushered us to a table square in the middle of the restaurant.
The five diners turned with gasps and blatant stares, and within moments the manager appeared, whispering apologies to his current patrons before hurrying over to us.
“I’m sorry, Miss Cleta,” he said with forced politeness, “but I’ll have to ask you to leave.”
“Do you still make food here?” Miss Cleta asked.
“Why, yes, ma’am.”
“And do you still take American money?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Well then, I see no reason why you cannot allow me and my friends to eat here.”
“Miss Cleta,” he said, tugging at his tight collar, “please don’t make me be blunt.”
“Why not? I am.”
His cheeks turned red. “Very well, then. We do not have coloreds in here, ma’am. It offends our customers.”
She looked at me. “You offended, Jessilyn, by our Gemma here?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Well, neither am I,” Miss Cleta said to the manager. “So that makes two of your customers that aren’t offended.”
By this time the manager was becoming very anxious, and he leaned closer to say, “Miss Cleta, I’m gonna lose business if you stay. Now, either you leave politely, or I’ll call the sheriff.”
Gemma looked near to tears, and with a glance at her, Miss Cleta said, “Very well. We’ll leave. But let me assure you that I will never set foot in this establishment again, nor will I recommend it to my friends.”
The manager backed away from the table as we rose, his arms folded in determination. The other patrons watched us as we walked away, and Miss Cleta stopped as we passed one of their tables. “Don’t eat the shrimp,” she said loudly. “I got the diarrhea from them once.” The women gasped as Miss Cleta turned with a smile of satisfaction and led us out of the restaurant. “That ought to fix their appetites,” she said with a hoot once we were outside. “Well now. Where should we go next?”
We stood on the sidewalk for a second thinking up our next move when Hobie Decker came out of his diner across the street. He lit up a cigarette and leaned against the wall before catching sight of our odd little trio.
“Hey there, Miss Cleta.” He put out his cigarette in a show of respect and tipped his head at me and Gemma. “Ladies,” he added. “You out for a day on the town?”
“Yes’r,” Miss Cleta called back. “We figured on gettin’ a bite, but it seems this here inn ain’t too obligin’ about servin’ all God’s creatures.”
“Well, you’re welcome to have a bite in my place anytime you want.”
“Why, Hobie Decker,” Miss Cleta exclaimed, “I can’t think of anythin’ better.”
Gemma and I smiled at him, just thankful at the prospect of actual food.
When we entered the diner, two men were sitting at the bar, and a family of three sat at a table in the corner. The family smiled at us, something so rare it shocked me to see. But one of the men at the bar looked less than enthusiastic. H
e started to speak, but Mr. Decker put a hand on his arm, eyeing him sharply. The man reached into his pocket, plunked some change onto the counter, and stormed out. The other man at the bar just turned around and continued his lunch.
We dined on the greasiest fried chicken I’d ever had and cherry cola with two cherries floating inside. It tasted heavenly to us. When we’d had more than our fill, Miss Cleta paid Mr. Decker a fine tip, and the three of us headed off to complete her errand list. We visited the grocer, the pharmacy, and the candy store, while all along the way Mr. Stokes followed in his taxi, piling all her purchases into the car.
Miss Cleta kept her head held high wherever we went, a pleasant smile on her face, one hand on my arm, one hand on Gemma’s. We followed her lead and said hello to everyone we passed. In all, we had two smiles and hellos in return, but mostly we were met with disdain or simple disinterest. Miss Cleta’s stout confidence gave me and Gemma a much-needed lift, and by the time we headed for home, we felt more restored than battered.
“You done caused a commotion, sure enough,” Mr. Stokes said as we got into the car. “Sure enough, you done caused a commotion. I can see it with my own two eyes.”
“Sure enough we did,” Miss Cleta said as we drove off down the road.
“You don’t want to be startin’ things up, Miss Cleta. No, ma’am, you don’t.”
“Mr. Stokes, ain’t nothin’ bad ever changed to good without startin’ a little commotion,” she replied. “Long as we keep a good Christian attitude with people, a little commotion can change a lot of hearts.”
“Was it a good Christian attitude to warn those ladies about the shrimp?” I asked with a twinkle in my eye.
“Well . . . ,” she said with a sly smile. “We should have a good Christian attitude at least most of the time.”
I looked at Miss Cleta fondly, proud to have her as my friend and ally. We were in great need of them in those days, and I was fast discovering that the quality of her friendship was higher than most.
Chapter 18
Miss Cleta had Mr. Stokes carry me and Gemma home in his taxi, and we stepped out onto our gravel driveway like queens departing a carriage.
Fireflies in December Page 18
