Flowers in the Snow

by Danielle Stewart

  “Sorry for making you use your brain,” Betty shot back jokingly. “You should know, though, I’m not going anywhere. My plan is to keep coming here and keep trying to understand the world best I can. You don’t have to like me. You’d have lots of company standing in that line with you, ’cause most people don’t like me.” Betty kept her chin raised high as she folded the last towel. “I can even help you with your school work if you’d like.”

  “I don’t need any help. I’m real good at fractions and history. I get perfect grades,” Alma shot back, lifting a brow and flashing her attitude.

  “But you’re a year behind me. You can’t already be doing fractions. We just barely started them. My daddy told me your schools are way behind ours. He said your brains aren’t as big as ours.” Betty never meant to sound harsh, but she could tell by the reaction on Alma’s face she’d crossed a line.

  “When are you going to realize your daddy is a moron?” Alma huffed, and Betty realized how profound that statement was. She wasn’t surprised by Alma’s opinion of her father but the fact she was willing to say it to her spoke volumes about how she saw Betty as a friend, not someone to fear.

  “Everything he’s told you so far is malarkey. I’m tired of talking about this stuff. How would you like it if I told you stuff about you that wasn’t true? If I walked into your house and plopped myself down and just started saying how dumb you are, how dirty you are? Can’t we ever talk about anything different?” Alma pursed her lips and folded her arms across her chest.

  Betty gave it some thought. She had been coming here for two weeks and for the most part the only thing they ever talked about was what Betty was interested in. And it did usually turn out to be something that was probably pretty insulting. She had no clue what Alma liked. “What do you want to talk about? Is there anything you like to do?”

  “I make bracelets,” Alma said proudly, unfolding her arms and turning her wrist out so Betty could see one. Tied tightly and looped around three times was a colorful woven bracelet. “My daddy brings extra thread and string home from the mill, and I turn it into these. I taught myself how to make all different kinds.”

  “Wow.” Betty smiled, leaning in close to see the intricate pattern the different colored threads had created. “Can you teach me how to make one?”

  “I can try. It might be hard since our brains are different sizes,” Alma teased. “I’ll go get my basket of thread.” Alma jogged off around the corner and quickly reappeared with a tiny basket and a big smile. Guilt nagged at Betty’s stomach at the realization she’d been so painfully rude and selfish since meeting Alma. The world had suddenly gotten so serious around her she forgot what having a little fun felt like.

  Within a few minutes the walls between the girls crumbled under the weight of their laughter. Two bracelets and four cookies later they’d made more than something nice to wear on their wrists. They’d built a bridge between them with thread and knots.

  “I’m sorry if the stuff I’ve been asking sounds rude. I didn’t mean any of it that way. I’m starting to think everything everyone says about colored folks is pretty much a lie. I just don’t understand why. When did all this start?” Betty slipped a bracelet on Alma’s wrist and tied it tightly for her.

  “I dunno know. A long time ago, I guess. Maybe that’s the question you should be asking Mama. She knows all about history and stuff. Her grandma was a slave.”

  “Where is she anyway? It’s almost time for me to get gone before your daddy comes home. Has she ever been this late before?”

  “She has to stay after school sometimes. That’s probably it.” Alma didn’t look up from her bracelet as she spoke, and Betty could tell she was fighting worry.

  Betty opened her mouth to offer something comforting but stopped when she heard a board on the front porch creak. “Go in the back room,” Alma ordered, jumping to her feet to see out the window.

  “Don’t bother,” Winnie’s voice called as she pushed open the door. “I heard you two laughing from down the street. And when you tell someone to hide you gotta tell them quiet like. You two were as loud as the choir on Easter Sunday.

  “Sorry, Mama,” Alma offered as she dove into her mother’s arms. “Where have you been? You’re so late.”

  “Was a long day, that’s all. Now tell me what you two girls are doing making all that ruckus. The way you’ve been acting lately I figured I’d come home and you two would be throwing punches at each other, not laughing and playing.”

  “We made up,” Betty said, throwing a smile at Alma. “I was being kind of a pain asking all those questions but never really getting to know you. I’m sorry for that.”

  “Making bracelets helped,” Alma added, showing her mom the matching bracelets they were both wearing.

  Winnie looked down at their wrists pressed together, showing off what they’d done like it was a badge of honor. “Look at you two. Look at this right here.” She held both their wrists as her eyes began to well with tears. “How come two little girls can figure this out but the whole country can’t get it right?”

  “Mama, why are you crying? What happened?” Alma’s face filled with worry at the sight of her mother’s show of emotion.

  Winnie moved over toward the table and gestured for them both to sit down. “I’ve told you a lot over the last couple of weeks. You understand now the difference between what the government is insisting on versus what’s actually happening in places like Edenville. But certain things, like segregation of the schools, can’t go on anymore. They’re cracking down. They’re forcing it. I’ve told you about how it’s been in other places. I was hoping they’d keep it at bay a while longer here though.”

  “Wouldn’t you want Alma going to our schools? We have all new books and they just built a whole new music room.” Betty cocked her head to the side looking thoroughly confused.

  “It’s not safe,” Winnie sighed, dropping her head down. “She wouldn’t be safe there. But it’s nothing to fret over because I worked it out. She doesn’t have to go.”

  “I don’t? Thank you, Mama. I don’t wanna go through all that. I’ve seen what they do to us. How did you work it out?”

  “I promised to teach there instead,” Winnie announced, turning her chin up as though it was an unavoidable truth.

  “No,” Alma cried, her face crumpling. “You can’t, Mama. You can’t go into that school and try to teach. You know how bad it will be.”

  “There’s nothing we can do about it. It is what it is. I’ll start there next quarter, and as long as I do, you won’t have to go there. We’re nearly out of here anyway. You know that.”

  Betty’s heart skipped a beat at the thought of them leaving. “What do you mean you’re nearly out of here? Where are you going?”

  “You think we live in squalor for nothing? Every dime we don’t spend on fancy things and a decent house has been saved so we can move from this hateful place. Since the day Alma was born we’ve been just biding our time until we can get somewhere safer. My husband’s mama just passed on a few months ago, and she was the last of our kin. We’ve got nearly enough to leave,” Winnie explained, noticeably unable to meet Betty’s sad eyes.

  “You can’t just leave. For weeks you’ve been telling me all about these people trying to make things better. They’re fighting against this and being brave. How can you want to run away? Don’t you want to be a fighter?” Betty furrowed her brows as she tried to make a case for her new friends to stay in Edenville.

  Winnie’s face hardened in a way that made Betty’s stomach flip over with anxiety. She did her share of making grown-ups angry, but so far Winnie had been immensely patient with her.

  “I am not a fighter because I am a mother first. Do you know what kind of hellfire would rain down over this family if we went and sat at a lunch counter and waited to be served? I won’t do that to my child. It’s not fair,” Winnie shot back angrily. “My job is not to fix the world, it’s to keep her safe while it’s broken. You are damn
lucky you aren’t my child right now.”

  Betty’s head drooped and tears filled the corners of her eyes as she realized how badly she’d hurt Winnie.

  “She means if you were hers she’d be whooping you right now,” Alma interjected but quieted quickly when her mother shot her a look.

  “I’m sorry,” Betty whispered. “I don’t think you’re a coward. I just don’t want you to leave. I don’t want to be here either.”

  With a huff Winnie stood and opened her arms to Betty who dove into them with force as the tears flowed freely down her face.

  Before any of them could speak again footsteps crossed the front porch. Alma sprang forward, but Betty was frozen in fear as the door opened.

  Chapter Seven

  “Nate you scared us half to death,” Winnie sighed as the man dropped his heavy bag and moved toward them. Betty could easily deduce this was Alma’s dad. They shared so many features, and she’d heard Winnie use the name Nate when speaking about him before. But that knowledge didn’t alleviate her fear. How would they explain away her presence here?

  “What are you doing home early, Daddy?” Alma asked as she threw her arms around his waist. Betty watched as his face lit up while holding his daughter. She couldn’t remember a time when her father had looked half as pleased to see her.

  Betty shrank back, trying to make herself as small as possible, and thought maybe it was working because no one had addressed her yet. Surely she’d be in big trouble for being here, so she readied herself as Nate began to speak. “I got word about the school integrating, and the boss let me take off to come see if you were all right. Everyone was talking about how you were on the short list of teachers. They can’t really force you to work there, can they?” Nate asked, running a hand over his wife’s cheek, heavy worry on his brow.

  “It’s me or Alma. That’s what they told me,” Winnie choked out, looking ready to cry.

  “I should get on home,” Betty said just above a whisper as she made a move for the door.

  “Aren’t you gonna say hi to my daddy?” Alma asked, giving Betty a cross look as though she were being terribly rude.

  “I-I didn’t think he’d want me here,” she stammered in a tiny voice as she stared down at her shoes.

  “I don’t,” he said flatly, “but they do, and they always get what they want when it comes to me. I’m a sucker for a few tears.” Nate gave a shrug and a half smile.

  “You already knew I’ve been coming here?” Betty asked with wide eyes. She had assumed the moment he found out he’d put an end to it.

  “I don’t keep secrets from my husband,” Winnie said, planting a kiss on his cheek. “I just bother him until he lets me do things my way, like any good marriage.”

  “But you should get on home,” Nate said, his dark eyes soft but tired. Betty was in awe of his height. He towered over her and would have stood a few inches over her father even. His shoulders were wide under his dirty cotton jumpsuit, and she could tell his battered hands had already worked a lifetime. “It’s getting wild out there all of a sudden. Word’s spreading that at the start of next term there’ll be black teachers at Edenville East. People are gathering in the center of Main Street protesting. I doubt it’ll end there. That kind of stuff takes on a life of its own at some point.”

  “I bet my daddy’s there,” Betty said absent-mindedly, as though she were giving a weather update. “He doesn’t think we should be mixing in school or church or anywhere. He’s Klan.”

  “You ain’t telling me anything I don’t already know. That’s why I don’t think it’s a good idea to have you coming round here. But when Winnie has her mind set to something there ain’t no changing it.” Nate and Winnie exchanged a knowing look that Betty couldn’t read.

  “You got that right,” Alma snickered.

  “Thank you, sir, for letting me come here. I don’t have nothing else to look forward to all day.” Betty reached for the door handle but froze when Nate grabbed her wrist suddenly.

  “You hear that?” he asked in a hushed voice. Betty strained her ears but the only thing she could hear was the nervous thumping of her heart. “There’s a crowd coming,” he said with a crackling, nervous voice.

  Winnie peered out the window, working hard to keep from being seen. “It’s a whole mess of people coming down the hill like a swarm of angry bees. You gotta hide, girl.”

  “No,” Nate grunted, dragging Betty toward the side door. “You’ve got time. You can get up those rocks, but you’ve gotta go now.”

  “But what are they doing here? What’ll they do to you?” Betty’s heart was thudding fiercely when Nate swung open the side door.

  “It won’t be nothing compared to what they’ll be doing if they catch you here. Go on,” he said in a hushed voice as he shoved her forward again.

  The smell of wet moss overtook Betty’s nose as she shimmied herself up the rocks and tucked herself away where she couldn’t be seen. It would have been wise of her to run straight home, but something kept her frozen. She couldn’t see over the rock she was tucked behind, but she closed her eyes and strained to hear any noise she could. Her labored breathing settled, and she folded her hands together, praying hard for all sorts of things that were bolting through her head. She prayed she wouldn’t get caught. She prayed the crowd coursing through the dirt streets that separated the shacks would not hurt anyone.

  There were moments she wanted to cover her ears to block out the shouting of obscenities and hatred but she forced herself to listen. This was what Winnie had told her was going on in the world. This is what was happening here, and hearing it herself solidified it for her.

  Betty watched the sun fall below the tree line and heard the thundering crowd fall away. She wanted so desperately to go back and make sure Alma and Winnie were safe, but she knew she’d already be in trouble back home for being out past sunset. She stood, peered down quickly at the shack and then ran off into the woods. Whipping branches slapped across her face and thorny thickets latched to her socks as she raced back home.

  Her house came into view and her stomach turned with unease. Nothing about coming home ever felt good anymore. The only thing she craved now was the warm fire burning at Winnie’s house and a giant heaping of her special mashed potatoes. She’d trade any of her belongings for one tight hug from the woman who made everything feel a little less scary.

  Chapter Eight

  Betty leaned back in her chair and took a long sip of her bourbon. Every wide eye was fixed on her, and she felt compelled to finish the story even though her heart was aching.

  “Were they hurt?” Bobby asked, breaking the silence that had enveloped them all as they sat motionless on the porch waiting to hear more.

  “Maybe we should take a break and come back tomorrow to finish the story,” Michael suggested, running his eyes over Betty appraisingly. He was usually the one in the crowd who could sense someone’s angst. As a lawyer, his time in the courtroom gave him the ability to read a situation before almost anyone else.

  “But I want to know what happened. Was Alma hurt? What were those people doing there that night? I don’t get it.” Frankie’s voice was splintered with confusion and worry that sent chills down Betty’s spine.

  “You don’t hear this from me too often, but I think maybe I made a bad judgment call tonight. You might not be old enough yet to hear all this,” Betty said, running a hand over Frankie’s cheek.

  Frankie huffed out her frustration. “You said I’m not much younger than you were while this was happening. I’m just listening to the story. You lived it.”

  “I didn’t have a choice. Everything I’ve told you up until this point is tame compared to where this story goes. I think maybe I made a mistake. You don’t even need to know this darkness exists.”

  “I want to hear,” Frankie insisted, folding her arms across her chest defiantly. “You wouldn’t leave Winnie’s kitchen when you wanted her to tell you all about the world. She tried to tell you to go and you didn
’t. Everyone tells me all the time how much I’m like you. I won’t leave either.”

  “I know I’m supposed to scold here, but as a lawyer I’m impressed with her argument,” Michael interjected as he dodged a glare from Betty and a slap to the ribs from Jules.

  “She does have a point,” Piper added. “There’s no one on this porch more like you than Frankie. I think it’s important for her to hear what it was like for you back then.”

  Betty downed the last sip of amber liquid in her glass and groaned. “Piper and Michael, you’re the biggest troublemakers. I feel like we should just get that out now. When you two are together I always know I’ll be dealing with nonsense. But let’s hear what her mama thinks about it.”

  Jules shifted in her seat, her eyes darting between a pathetically pleading Frankie and everyone else on the porch. “It’s a part of Edenville’s history. It happened. Whether she learns about it on this porch or out in the world, she’ll hear it eventually. I’d rather have her here where she can ask questions and understand what that time was really like.”

  “Good,” Frankie said victoriously but toned it down instantly when her mother shot her a look of warning.

  “Do any of y’all have any questions for me?” Betty asked, holding her glass out so Clay could refill it.

  “I do,” Piper interjected. “The first time I sat at your table you told me your recipes were handed down from past generations, and your mother was the first person to put sour cream in her potatoes. But you just said Winnie taught you to make her special potatoes.”

  “I’ll never take away the fact that my folks gave me life. They brought me into the world, and I truly believe they did the best they knew how. But when I close my eyes and think about a mama I think of Winnie. That’s where I learned to cook. That’s where I learned how to be a person, a real human being. There’s a big difference between a mother and a mama. Those recipes, the ones I said were handed down . . . they were Winnie’s.”