A Sky Full of Stars

by Linda Williams Jackson

  “What?” I asked.

  “Colored people do live in houses with bathrooms and electricity in every room. Some even have hallways and closets.” Hallelujah gave me a pitiful stare and said, “You’ve never seen that, have you?”

  I shrugged, embarrassed. “Aunt Clara Jean’s house kinda has a bathroom in it. They have a toilet and a tub, but they have to get water from the pump to pour in the back of the toilet to flush it. And they have to fill the tub with pump water because the faucets don’t work.”

  “So good old Mr. Robinson had the bathroom fixtures put in, but he never had the plumbing connected,” Hallelujah said, cutting his eyes in the direction of Mr. Robinson’s house.

  I frowned but didn’t answer.

  “Didn’t your mama and Mr. Pete have those things in their house in Greenwood?” asked Hallelujah.

  Again I shrugged. “Me and Fred Lee never set foot in Mama’s house in Greenwood.”

  This time Hallelujah looked embarrassed. “Sorry,” he muttered.

  “Not your fault,” I said. To liven things up, I lightly punched his shoulder and said, “I never been to your house either.”

  Hallelujah thought for a moment. “You haven’t, have you?”

  I shook my head. “Nope. I’ve only been to school, church, and Mr. Robinson’s place.”

  “You’ve been to more places than that,” Hallelujah countered.

  “Okay, my aunt’s house out in the sticks, where she no longer lives. And to your aunt’s store and to the Jamisons’ store the few times I’ve been to town with Papa and Uncle Ollie.”

  Hallelujah smiled and said, “Well, now we’re about to change all that.”

  “But Ma Pearl won’t let me go.”

  Hallelujah winked. “My aunt is a powerful persuader.”

  “And you’re a good friend,” I said, smiling.

  “Always.”

  Feeling guilty, I decided to tell him the truth about my conversation with Shorty.

  “You know me and Shorty didn’t just talk about my daddy, right?”

  Hallelujah nodded. “I know. A boy in my class told me about his plans.”

  “So you already know what he’s planning to do?”

  Hallelujah frowned. “Yeah. He asked Edward and a few others to join him. Said they weren’t gonna hurt anybody, just scare ’em.”

  I breathed a sigh of relief. I didn’t have to “run ’n tell Jenkins.” Someone else already had. “He asked me for Papa’s shotgun,” I said.

  “He asked Edward the same thing. And he asked him if they could use his daddy’s car. Edward told him he had lost his mind if he thought he was gonna get his daddy’s shotgun and ride around in the middle of the night and shoot out white folks’ windows.” Hallelujah shrugged. “Wouldn’t do anything but start a riot anyway.”

  “You gonna tell your daddy?”

  “Nope,” Hallelujah said flatly. “Shorty won’t do it. He doesn’t have the resources. He can’t sneak around at night in that loud truck of his.” Hallelujah scoffed. “He doesn’t have the guts, either.”

  “Humph. That’s what he said about me. But what if he does? What if he can get somebody to help him?”

  “That’s his problem if he wants to get thrown in jail. Or worse, get shot and killed.”

  I winced. “Then maybe you should tell your daddy.”

  With a frown, Hallelujah said, “I probably should. But Shorty Cooper doesn’t seem to be the kind of fellow who can be reasoned with.”

  “How do you know if you never talk to him?”

  Hallelujah crossed his arms over his chest. He didn’t answer me.

  I cut my eyes at him and said, “So, Shorty was right.”

  Hallelujah returned my sideways glance. “Right about what?”

  “That you class yourself.”

  Hallelujah glared at me. “I don’t class myself. I just select my friends carefully.”

  I shook my head. “Same thing.”

  With a huff, Hallelujah said, “Okay, I’ll talk to him.”

  I smiled. “You’ll see. He’s not as bad as you think.”

  Hallelujah groaned.

  “So what’s your plan?” I asked. “You said in Miss Hill’s class that we should march or something, like they’re doing in the cities. But where will we march? And what good would it do?”

  “Marching itself doesn’t do anything. But it shows that we’re united. It shows how many people want to see change. How many are willing to stand up for their rights.”

  “You think marching in Stillwater would do any good?”

  Hallelujah smirked. “It’d be better than shooting out white folks’ windows in the middle of the night.”

  “Seriously,” I said, “what can we do? I mean, we are just children.”

  With a smug grin and a tilt of his head, Hallelujah said, “I’m a man, remember?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, a man who’s going places. But for now, what’re you gonna do while you’re still in Mississippi?”

  Hallelujah shook his head and said, “I honestly don’t know yet. That’s why I can’t wait to go to Montgomery. I want to hear what Dr. Howard and the others are doing.”

  “Still thinking about going into a place and demanding to be served?” I teased him. “What about Danny Ray Martin’s store? He has that little dinky restaurant in the back where his colored workers cook collard greens and cornbread and serve ’em up to his white customers for lunch.”

  Hallelujah chuckled. “Don’t think that would work. His colored workers would be too scared to serve us anyway. But, hey,” he said, smirking, “since Preacher said we needed a Joshua, maybe we could march around the store seven times like the Israelites did with the walls of Jericho.”

  I raised my hands and pretended to blow a trumpet. “Then we’ll blow our trumpets, and the walls will come tumbling down.”

  We laughed for a moment before the conversation turned serious again.

  “What if we really did do that?” Hallelujah asked. “Can you imagine how scared Danny Ray Martin or anyone else would be if a group of colored children silently marched around their store seven times?”

  I shook my head and said, “No. They’d just think we were crazy.”

  “Then let ’em think we’re crazy. I think we should do it.”

  I went silent for a second, thinking about my cousin Mule in Arkansas.

  “What’s the matter?” Hallelujah asked.

  “What if we get arrested for trespassing? What if we go to jail?” I sighed and confessed, “I don’t know if I’m ready for any of this. I keep thinking about Mule and how he got beat up in jail.” I rubbed my face. “I can’t imagine someone hitting me hard enough to break my jaw.”

  I remembered how Ma Pearl had once slapped me hard enough to knock me from my chair, and how she had socked Aunt Belle in the jaw and knocked her across the room. Neither of us had a broken jaw, but I know for me, the pain from the slap was nearly unbearable.

  “Pain is part of the process,” Hallelujah said.

  “You reading my mind?” I asked.

  Hallelujah answered, “No. Your face. It’s scrunched up like you just sucked ten lemons.”

  I relaxed my face and tried to laugh with my friend, even though there was nothing really to laugh about. All that talk about marching now had my stomach in knots. I didn’t want to go to jail and get beat up.

  Hallelujah extended his hands toward me, palms up. “Give me your hands,” he said.

  “Why?”

  He nodded at his hands. “Just place your hands in mine.”

  I shrugged and did as I was asked.

  “Okay, now say the Twenty-Third Psalm with me.”

  “What?”

  Hallelujah sighed. “Just do it, okay?”

  “The Lord is my shepherd,” Hallelujah started. “I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures.”

  I joined him at “He leadeth me beside the still waters.”

  Together we said, “He resto
reth my soul. He leadeth me in the path of righteousness, for his name’s sake . . .”

  But when we got to the part about the valley of the shadow of death, I wouldn’t say it.

  Hallelujah gave my hands a slight squeeze. “This is the most important part. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,” he said. “I will fear no evil.”

  I shook my head. “No.”

  “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,” he said again.

  I thought about all the people who had walked through that valley—​Reverend Lee, Levi Jackson, Lamar Smith, Emmett Till. They had not survived.

  I snatched my hands from Hallelujah’s grip.

  He grabbed my hands. “I will fear no evil.”

  I tried to pull away, but Hallelujah held on tightly.

  “Please let go of my hands,” I said. My voice cracked. “I do fear evil.”

  With his eyes full of concern, Hallelujah asked, “Don’t you believe God will protect you?”

  I shook my head and answered, “No.”

  Hallelujah sighed and let go of my hands.

  When tears sprang to my eyes, Hallelujah placed his arm around my shoulders and said he was sorry.

  I nodded and tried to say it was okay, but I was too choked up to speak.

  I felt weak. Like a failure. There I was, standing beside one of the bravest boys I knew, and I couldn’t even recite a scripture with him. I couldn’t say out loud, “I will fear no evil, for thou art with me.”

  Because whether God was with me or not, I feared evil.

  Folks said that when Willie Reed testified against Roy Bryant and J. W. Milam, he told the court that he heard screams coming out of the barn where they were beating Emmett Till. He said he heard Emmett Till screaming for his mama.

  After Willie Reed testified and was immediately spirited off to Chicago, it was said that he had a nervous breakdown.

  Everyone fears evil.

  After I calmed down, I asked Hallelujah, “How can you not be afraid?”

  “I am afraid,” he said. “But I’m willing to walk through the valley in spite of my fears.”

  When the front door creaked open, we both jumped. Hallelujah quickly removed his arm from my shoulders.

  Miss Bertha peered through the screen door. After an awkward glance at us, she stepped outside and smiled. “I have some good news,” she said.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Saturday, November 26

  I COULDN’T BELIEVE I WAS ACTUALLY GOING TO Montgomery, Alabama. It almost made up for the disappointment of my daddy not showing up for Thanksgiving.

  No one, or nothing, had to wake me that morning—​not Ma Pearl, not our old halfway faithful rooster, Slick Charlie, not even the angel Gabriel bringing the sun from the other side of the world and hanging it over Stillwater. In fact, I doubt I even slept more than two hours the whole night. I don’t know how they did it, but Reverend Jenkins and Miss Bertha’s convincing Ma Pearl to let me go to Alabama was the best thing that ever happened to me. Maybe being around a bunch of brave people in Montgomery would help me be braver.

  It was still dark outside, but I had already washed up and dressed myself using the light from the kerosene lamp. Even Queen couldn’t sleep. She sat on the side of her bed wanting to know what she could help me with. I almost felt like I was in a dream. Queen had never been nice to me in my life. Never. Not even the night I helped wipe her wounds after Ma Pearl beat her when she found out she’d been sneaking out of the house at night.

  But in the early-morning dimness I could even see a smile on her face. Was she happy I was going to Alabama, or just happy I wasn’t going to be around for a few days?

  “It’s too bad Baby Susta didn’t bring you no new clothes this summer,” Queen said, yawning and halfway covering her mouth with her palm.

  “I was able to borrow a couple of dresses from Miss Bertha,” I said.

  Queen shrugged. “I know. But they ain’t city clothes. They Mississippi clothes.”

  “Miss Bertha buys her clothes in Greenwood. She has nice things.”

  Queen waved her hand. “I don’t mean that. Old man Jamison got nice things in his store right here in Stillwater, but they ain’t like the clothes from Saint Louis.”

  I glanced down at the dress Miss Bertha had loaned me. It might not have come from Saint Louis, but it was the most fashionable outfit I had ever worn. I smoothed down the front of the navy blue dress with the palms of my hands. It’s a good thing Miss Bertha was tall and slender. The dress was a perfect fit for me. And so were the black patent leather shoes. But my legs were bare. Ma Pearl said stockings would have given me the big head and made me think I was grown.

  I had two more of Miss Bertha’s dresses packed in the brown suitcase Hallelujah let me borrow. One was pink and the other brown. I didn’t think I would look good in brown, so I would wear the pink one to Dexter Avenue Baptist Church, where Dr. Howard was speaking. I wanted to look my best. I wanted to look like I belonged in a crowd of sophisticated Negroes. I wanted to have the confidence that Saint Louis girl, Ophelia the Ogre, had when she visited with Aunt Belle over the summer.

  “Rose Lee!” Ma Pearl called from Fred Lee’s room. “You ready? Preacher ’n ’em be here in a lil’ bit.”

  After a few squeaks of the floorboards, I heard her say to Fred Lee, “Git up, boy. Yo’ sister ’bout to leave. Make sho’ you tell her bye.”

  Ma Pearl made it sound like I was leaving forever. I was only going to be gone until early Monday morning. Reverend Jenkins was planning to get back in time for school, but there was no way he could do that if the meeting was late in the day. So he said he’d figure it all out when we got there. If we missed school for one more day, it wouldn’t hurt too much, he’d said.

  Ma Pearl pulled back the curtain that separated our room from Fred Lee’s. “You ready, gal?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” I pointed at the packed suitcase.

  Ma Pearl glanced at the suitcase, then at Queen. “You up too? You need to lay on back down ’n rest. You go’n lose ’nuff sleep when that baby come. No sense skimpin’ on it now.” She turned to me and said, “You come on in here and git somethin’ to eat. Preacher ’n ’em ain’t go’n ’cuse me o’ sendin’ you on the road hungry.”

  “Fret’Lee, go git that gal’s suitcase and carr’ it to the parlor,” she said as she lumbered back through the house.

  Even Aunt Ruthie was waiting for me in the kitchen. Since all her children were still asleep, she enjoyed breakfast and coffee with Papa and me. I ate three biscuits and a plate of grits and eggs and chugged down two cups of coffee while savoring the company of Papa and Aunt Ruthie. Ma Pearl warned me that the coffee would run right through me and began chastising me ahead of time for making Reverend Jenkins have to pull over on the side of the road just so I could pee. I assured her it wouldn’t happen seeing how many times I had drunk two cups of coffee before going to work in the cotton field, and I had never had to stop to do my business before it was time for a break.

  After eating, I quickly washed up and sat in the chair near the window of the parlor and listened for the sound of Reverend Jenkins’s Buick to pull into the yard. Slick Charlie had crowed minutes before. And now old faithful Gabriel was bringing the sun to set it in the sky over Stillwater.

  “Preacher shoulda been here by now,” Ma Pearl said as she entered the parlor, wiping her hands on the tail of her apron.

  Papa nodded toward the window, where daylight was finally showing through. “He’ll be here in a minute. He had to get Bertha, too. Womens can be slow sometimes.”

  Ma Pearl grunted and said, “Mens too.” She spun on her heels and left the room.

  Papa and I sat and sat, waiting for Reverend Jenkins to show up. We waited for so long that Aunt Ruthie’s children got up and about, and the two boys went outside to play.

  The parlor had begun to grow warm, so I opened the window to let in the little breeze that was stirring outside, swirling
leaves around in the yard. I don’t know why it mattered at that point, but I figured opening the window would help me hear better when the Buick pulled up. It was taking them so long that I had begun to panic, thinking that perhaps they showed up while we were sitting around the table chatting over coffee. What if they came and knocked quietly because they thought everyone besides me and perhaps Papa was sleeping, and they didn’t want to wake them? What if I had missed my one chance to travel and hear a great man speak?

  Papa must have read my thoughts by the look on my face. “Somethin’ musta happened,” he said, his voice a bit croaky. “Preacher don’t run this late, no matter what.”

  My palms began to sweat. What if they left me on purpose? What if they forgot me? Surely Hallelujah wouldn’t forget me. And Miss Bertha was so excited for me to come so she could have a female companion along for the ride that she brought those dresses over for me later the same day. Maybe someone important, like an NAACP worker, asked to go and took my place. My heart sank at the thought.

  Ma Pearl entered the parlor and smirked. “You still thank Bertha holdin’ ’em up?”

  Papa shook his head. “This ain’t like Preacher. He ain’t never late.”

  “Humph,” Ma Pearl countered. “I’on know what church you been goin’ to, but that boy been late mo’ times than I can count on both hands.”

  Papa only shook his head again and repeated, “This ain’t like Preacher. He ain’t never late.”

  “Well, he late today,” Ma Pearl retorted.

  As soon as the words passed her lips, rocks crunched on the road.

  I jumped up from my chair. “They’re here!”

  Papa calmed me down. “Hold on, daughter. Ain’t proper for a lady to rush out the do’ that way. They’ll come up and knock.”

  I sighed and slumped down in the chair. I had waited for hours. I guess it wouldn’t hurt to wait another minute for Hallelujah to come to the door.

  When not just one but two car doors slammed, I peered out the window. Both Hallelujah and Reverend Jenkins were coming toward the porch. From my position, I could barely see into the car. But it appeared to be empty. I couldn’t believe they still hadn’t picked up Miss Bertha.