Then the murmuring begin, “That’s Hayes Alcorn’s maid, ain’t it?”
“And ain’t that Floyd’s girl with them?”
“And there’s that old cripple gal that works for the Gooseberrys.”
“You think they know?”
It struck Vida that what the crowd was seeing was not a group of women who had just risked their lives for the vote, but the personal property of Delphi’s quality white folk. It was an odd blessing.
The women continued to move in a tight little knot across the square while the whites stared open-mouthed. Though Vida didn’t turn around to check, she figured they were still watching, trying to figure out what to do, as the women made the slow descent to Tarbottom.
Chapter Forty-Seven
SWEATING IT OUT IN TARBOTTOM
“That’s one test I done flunked,” Creola grumbled as she came out of her kitchen carrying an iced tea in each hand. “How I supposed to know how to recite Article 3, Section 29, of the Mississippi Constitution?”
Sweet Pea took a jelly glass from Creola, adding, “And how about when she asked you how many bubbles in a bar of soap? What’s that got to do with electing a sheriff?”
“Got a lot to do with it,” Vida said. “You know they don’t ask white folks them questions.”
“Least we done it!” Creola said, deciding to be proud regardless. “And nobody can’t say we didn’t. Ain’t that right, Maggie?”
Her eye shining in the dark, Maggie sang out, “Yes, Jesus!”
Creola walked out onto the porch where Hannah was sitting with her sawed-off shotgun slung across her lap and offered her the other glass of tea. Hannah shook her head and then nodded toward the pint of Ezra Brooks at her feet. “I’m fixed up fine, Creola. A nip or two ever now and then keeps my trigger finger warm.”
Inside, Sweet Pea was talking. “Well, before y’all go pinning flowers on yourselves, if we do make it alive through this night, come tomorrow we going to have to decide what to do. Y’all know quick as our white ladies get wind of this, we good as lost our jobs. And they ain’t going to protect us no more.”
Creola eased herself down on her chair. “And that’ll be the least of it,” she said. “You done forgot who my boss is? If I shows up for work or don’t, either way Mr. Hayes be chasing me around town with a rope.” Realizing what she had said, Creola gave Vida a pained look of regret.
“Guess we could all move in together and live like them nuns I heard about in New Orleans,” Sweet Pea said with a disgusted face. “I don’t reckon they’s a man in this county wants my company bad enough to get blowed up for it.”
“How be ever,” Creola said hopefully, “I bet when the word gets out, they be people all over the state come in and help us.” She raised up her glass like she was making a toast. “Maybe even Martin Luther King show up in Delphi. Law! Won’t that be something!”
“Maybe so,” Vida said doubtfully. “But in case he don’t, Willie say he give us some money to get away.” So many things were still unclear to Vida, with her father in jail and no word yet if Hazel was dead or alive. She said firmly, “I’m staying, but y’all can go.”
“Hannah say she can hide us out at her place if we wants,” Creola reminded them. “But I reckon it ain’t no safer there. Hannah says the sheriff’ll probably shut her down.”
“Or burn her down,” Sweet Pea added darkly.
They talked continuously through the night, the mood shifting between giddy disbelief at what they had done and abject terror of the consequences. Hannah joined them near dawn. When at last they believed they had made it through the long night, there came a sound from off the front porch. Footsteps, slow and heavy, like a man’s. Everybody held her breath as the steps drew nearer. Vida reached out for Creola’s hand. A whimper rose from Sweet Pea. Maggie rocked her body gently.
Hannah raised her gun with her good arm and aimed at the door. “You better hurry up and state yo’ business, whoever you is. While you still got a head to state it out of.”
When there came a firm knock, it was accompanied by a shared sigh of relief. Night riders didn’t knock.
“Y’all in there?” The voice was familiar. “Vida?”
“It’s Mr. Floyd!” Vida said in a loud whisper.
Creola was still holding both hands over her bosom, like she was trying to keep her heart in her chest. “Nearly give me the thumps.”
“What he want, I wonder?” Sweet Pea asked. “Think he’ll bless us out ’cause of Miss Hazel?”
Creola hoisted herself out of her chair and scuffed her feet across the bare floor. After lifting up the crossbar and pulling back the door, she saw Floyd Graham, looking little and lost. “Come on in, Mr. Floyd,” Creola said gently. “Don’t mind the dark. Let me show you to someplace to sit down.”
Creola led Floyd into the house. He stopped after a few steps. “No, I’ll stand if it’s the same with you.”
“Everhow it feels right for you to do. You sure welcome to stand there long as you wants.” Still, Creola left her chair vacant and remained standing herself.
Floyd appeared exhausted. He slowly looked around Creola’s cabin until he was able to make out his maid through the dark. “Hello, Vida.”
“Mr. Floyd,” Vida answered sheepishly.
“I went over to your place first. I been walking from house to house. Y’all was the first one that answered.”
“Yessuh. I ain’t surprised. I ’spect everybody up under their beds this night.”
“Well, I guess,” Floyd said, not understanding. “I know it’s late, and I’m sorry for it. But Hazel wanted me to be sure and find you.”
All around the room a chorus of voices went up. “Miss Hazel?”
Floyd took a step back. “That’s right. Hazel,” he said, baffled at the intensity of the response. “She wanted you to know she’s going to be all right. Bullet went clean through her neck. Only thing is, it took her voice for a while. Writes everthing down.”
Vida reached out for Sweet Pea’s hand. “She going to be all right!”
Maggie sang out, “Praise God!”
Floyd watched the maids, bewildered. “Didn’t know you all felt that strong about Hazel,” was all he could say.
“Yessuh, we do!” Creole cried. “That we do.”
Floyd stood silent for a moment considering the maids’ joy, not understanding much in his world tonight. He sighed heavily, his shoulders drooping, as if under some invisible weight. “Vida?” he said in a little boy’s voice.
“Yessuh, Mr. Floyd.”
“Was that really where she was? Delivering a Thanksgiving turkey to poor folks?”
The smile dropped from Vida’s face. “Why you ask, Mr. Floyd?”
“I don’t know. I hope that’s where she was and all,” he said uncertainly.
Considerable time passed without Vida answering his question. Floyd, clearly embarrassed, averted his eyes and began rubbing his fingers. He looked up carefully. “Can I ask you another question? Personal?”
“Yessuh,” she said carefully. “What is it you wanting to know?”
“Hazel wasn’t. . .I mean. . .” Floyd glanced up quickly at Vida, his eyes pleading with her, and then looked down at his hand again. “What I’m asking is, she didn’t get hurt doing something she shouldn’t of been doing, did she?”
Nervously, Vida ran her finger along the rim of her glass and without answering took a sip. When she looked back up at Floyd, he was still worrying his hand, rubbing his fingers, trying his best to get at those purple scars.
“I mean,” Floyd said, struggling with his words, “what I’m asking is, she wasn’t seeing another fella, was she?”
With a mouthful of tea, Vida let go a loud, gurgling “Haaah?”
Floyd glanced up from his hand with a wounded look but said nothing. Having worked so hard to get the question out, he decided to endure the ridicule silently until he had his answer.
Vida coughed and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Floyd st
ill thought he heard her giggling. The other maids hid their expressions behind their hands, and nobody would look at him.
Finally, having gathered herself together, Vida said with studied sympathy, “That what you thinking, Mr. Floyd?” She shook her head adamantly. “No sir! Ain’t no other man ’ceptin you. I swear to it. You the one she loves. One of the last things she said to me.”
On hearing that, he drew up his shoulders again. “Course she does,” he said, yet his restored self-assurance couldn’t hide the relief in his voice.
Smiling at him, Vida said, “I ’spect when she gets her voice back, she’ll have some stories to tell us, won’t she, Mr. Floyd?”
Floyd nodded. “I reckon. It’s been a long time since we swapped stories.”
He dropped his hands to his sides and looked around the room at the maids again, his face serious once more. “I hear y’all had quite a big day.”
“Yessuh,” they all mumbled.
“Can’t of helped your daddy much, Vida.”
“Nosuh, I reckon not. Doubt if it hurt him much neither.”
“Maybe you right. Like I always say. . .”
“Yessuh, Mr. Floyd?”
He smiled. “Funny, I forgot what it is I always say. Must be tired. Ain’t been to bed for a couple of nights.”
“You best get on back and get you some sleep, Mr. Floyd. You can rest easy now.”
Almost out the door, Floyd turned back around and stood for a moment in the doorway. “Vida,” he said, “I’m sorry, I mean real sorry, if anything I done caused you or yours any harm.”
“Yessuh, Mr. Floyd. I believes you.”
“And I’ll talk to Hayes myself about Levi. See if we can’t get things calmed down a bit.” Floyd nodded his head, seconding his own motion.
“And Vida,” he said again, “I know tomorrow’s Thanksgiving and all, but if you can, try and come on early. The boy’s been asking for you. And with his momma in the hospital again and all. . .”
“Yessuh, Mr. Floyd,” Vida said. “I’d be proud to.”
Chapter Forty-Eight
THE HOSPITALITY STATE
The Trois Arts League had just wrapped up its annual awards meeting and members were filing out the door in high spirits when Hayes Alcorn scuttled by them, displaying the requisite charm and courtesies but at the same time making a beeline for the liquor cabinet. After Pearl had said her last good-bye, she joined Hayes in the library, where she found him muttering to himself as he paced before the fireplace, consuming a portion of bourbon that would have put a stagger into the step of a normal-sized man.
“My people are dropping like flies all around me,” he said when his wife entered the room. “Floyd Graham—that hillbilly—flat-out told me I was being too hard on Levi Snow. Then in the very next breath he had the nerve to ask for a business loan.” Hayes crinkled up his brow and shook his head incredulously. “And get this!” he cried. “He came libelously close to accusing the sheriff of planting evidence.”
Pearl, in high heels, stooped a little so Hayes could interrupt his tirade and give her a welcome-home peck on the cheek.
“Where was I? Oh, yeah. Imagine! Too hard on Levi Snow. That damned murdering nigruh sitting up in that jail as pretty as you please. And Hopalachie County catering to his every need! Well, that’s it. Time to put a stop to it.”Pearl took a seat on the sofa, knowing how Hayes hated for her to look down on him when he was working up steam. Touching her handkerchief to the dimple in her chin, she said, “I’m sorry, Hayes. What does all this mean? Will you explain it to me?”
“Gladly. Means I finally found me some boys willing to do what’s got to be done.” After taking a greedy swallow from his glass, Hayes continued. “Levi Snow’s been sitting in that cell, paid for by the taxpayers, laughing at us while he’s got his people carrying out acts of insurrection. If your brother hadn’t run the Klan out of the county, this wouldn’t be happening.”
Hayes smiled a satisfied little smile and swirled the bourbon in his glass. “Well, by tomorrow night that situation will be remedied. There’s going to be an example set. People will see Hayes Alcorn as a man of action.”
Pearl frowned. “What are these boys going to do for you, Hayes?”
“I’ll tell you what!” He was close to snarling now. “They going to take care of that nigruh once and for all. Before he provokes any more public acts of defiance.” Hayes took another gulp and then shook his head. “That must have been a sight. A vicious mob of nigruh women storming the courthouse.” A hint of a smile crossed his face as he noted the political bounce to the words.
He started his pacing again. “I swear! With Billy Dean Brister as sheriff, that gang of coloreds might be in charge of the county jail soon. Turn it into a juke joint and dance the Sassy Wiggle.” He threw back the rest of his drink, leaving Pearl to wonder how he knew about such a thing as the Sassy Wiggle.
“And quite frankly, I’m surprised at you, Pearl. That you aren’t any more concerned.” Hayes put out his arm to the mantel, which was about shoulder-high, and leaned against it.
“Concerned, dear?”
“Can’t you see what’s been going on under your nose? Your very own maid tried to vote.” His hand was now patting around on the mantel for something, but he kept an eye on his wife. “The fact that every maid in the neighborhood all at once got a wild hair to participate in the democratic process? All on the same day? Ain’t that the least bit suspicious? Even to you, Pearl?”
“Well, yes,” Pearl said, “now that you mention it, Hayes. I am concerned.”
“Yes, I thought you might be when I explained it to you.”
“About these ‘boys’ you mentioned,” Pearl continued. “Are you saying you have a plan to harm Levi?” The handkerchief traveled to her throat.
“That’s the idea, dear,” Hayes said sarcastically. He began to sidle along the mantel, groping among the figurines and picture frames adorning the shelf behind him.
“Hayes, dear, I really believe you should reconsider this idea of yours,” Pearl suggested, still smiling pleasantly.
“I don’t need any more advice, thank you, dear. Action is what’s needed.” He finally retrieved a silver cigar case that had been pushed up behind a photograph of the Senator and Pearl as children. For the first time it hit him that the colored boy in the background of the photograph must be Levi.
Pearl waited until Hayes had selected one of the Havanas before she raised the handkerchief to her nose. “Please, Hayes, don’t smoke in the house. I’ve asked you before.”
Testily, Hayes flung the cigar back in the box and snapped the lid shut. As he stood there, sullen, he noticed the handkerchiefed hand had stopped flitting about and had finally lighted on the arm of the sofa. From where he stood, it reminded him of a prehistoric reptilian claw.
“Now, about Levi,” Pearl said. “This is what I want to see you do, dear. I want you to leave him alone and stop stirring up all these disagreeable feelings toward him.”
“He killed Delia!” he exclaimed. “Your own niece!”
“Pooh,” she said. “Levi wouldn’t hurt a fly, and anybody with a modicum of sense would know that. That’s why no one has touched him. Goodness, Hayes, I’m surprised at you.”
“But—”
“I’ve known Levi since he and I were children. The gentlest of God’s creatures. And he adored Delia. I know. I saw it.”
“But the Senator—”
“Isn’t himself,” she said. “Hayes, he doesn’t know what to think now. My brother is crazy with grief. And for you to take advantage of his state. . .well, I don’t think that’s very considerate of you.” Not able to muster the words to counter such lunacy, Hayes stood there blowing like a horse after a hard race.
“And what’s more. About the maids. Creola has been with me for over twenty years. Don’t you think I know everything she thinks and feels? She’s no troublemaker, Hayes.”
“She tried to vote, Pearl! The whole town saw it. You can’t just dismiss
. . .” He stopped and looked at his wife, dumbfounded. Her face hadn’t changed, it was still pleasantly vacant, completely heedless of the desperateness of the situation.
“Pearl, listen, honey, let me explain. There was a gang of them. All out to overturn the system. A communist-backed insurrection.”
“Hayes, really! I know every one of them. Creola? Well, that really is unthinkable. And Levi’s daughter, she’s overwrought from the way you’ve been treating her father. The colored do have feelings, Hayes.”
Hayes slumped down into the fireplace armchair.
“Then there’s Sweet Pea. Now, I myself have taken that poor wayward girl under my wing and turned her around with good literature. And Maggie. Really, Hayes, Maggie? Out to overthrow the system?” Pearl was taken by laughter so hysterical and unbecoming that Hayes had to shut his eyes against the ugly snorts. “Oh, dear!” she cried, laughter still coursing through her words. “Maggie! What could you have been thinking?” She started howling again.
Hayes sat through it all, seething.
“Now, dear,” she said, drying her eyes with her handkerchief, “I want you to be governor as badly as you do. But believe me, this isn’t the way to go about it.” Pearl dismissed his silliness with a wave of lace.
“Listen to me, Hayes. If you want to win, I don’t believe this race issue is going to serve you well. I think everyone is tired to death of it, myself. It’s the nineteen fifties, for goodness’ sakes. The colored question was settled in Mississippi long ago. It’s old hat. We all know our places here. And if the only evidence you have to prove this conspiracy of yours is poor old Levi and a few colored maids, why. . .why. . .” she bit her lip, barely able to suppress another fit of hilarity, “why, I’m afraid you are certain to make a laughingstock of yourself. And,” she said, unable to stifle a tiny, leftover giggle, “it’s going to be hard enough for you.”
“Yes, Pearl,” Hayes said, now in a deep sulk.
“Oh, Hayes, you never understood how it was with us, did you?”
“Us?”
“Yes, us. My family. The Columns. The land. Everything and everybody on it. That ‘us.’ We are all part of that whole. Don’t you see? You can’t, never could, touch Levi, because he is part of us, too. He’s been a part of us for three hundred years.”
Miss Hazel and the Rosa Parks League Page 37