I nodded to show her I understood.
“Go — wash your hands for supper,” she said softly.
At the supper table, all of us ate quietly. I was working out how to prove Frankie was wrong about Laura. Daddy was probably thinking about preaching to the shut-ins he’d be visiting tomorrow, and Jesslyn was for sure swooning over Robbie. After we each ate a big wedge of peach pie, we headed for the front porch. Jesslyn and I pushed back and forth on the porch swing with our bare feet. Emma waited inside for her Liberty taxi ride home.
When her friend pulled up, I called out, “Hey, Mr. Miles. Emma will be there in a minute.”
I stood up just when Emma stepped on the porch, and I noticed something I’d never seen before. Two little colored kids sat in the backseat of the taxi, a boy and a girl, younger than me. When the girl’s eyes met mine, she looked like she wanted to wave at me, but stopped her hand before she let the wave rise up to where the open window let in this night’s summer heat.
Our daddy sat off to one side of the porch holding his newspaper under the light. I leaned over to read the open page.
“Is my letter to the editor in there today?” All I saw was an ad for eggs, priced at forty cents a dozen, and an announcement that somebody was giving away kittens for free.
Daddy shook his head. “Mrs. Simpson has a lot to say about what gets in this paper and what doesn’t.” He turned the page. “You did a good thing, Glory.”
“Anything about the Community Pool? Frankie says the Freedom Workers broke in and messed up the lockers and stole things.”
“I saw a policeman there this afternoon,” Jesslyn said. “What’d you hear, Glory?”
I glanced up just as Emma started down the steps. Before I could answer my sister, Emma stopped real quick and took a step back onto the porch.
A white car pulled up in front of our house. Out came Mr. Smith. Frankie was in the backseat. He didn’t get out. He didn’t even wave.
“Howdy, Reverend.” Mr. Smith touched his hat, tipped it toward our daddy. He nodded at me and Jesslyn. He looked right through Emma like she wasn’t even there. “May I have a word?” he asked Daddy.
As preachers’ kids, Jesslyn and I know that when a member of the church shows up on our front porch — especially when the member is a deacon like Mr. Smith — we’re supposed to give Daddy some privacy. Emma, standing with her summer straw hat set just so and her pocketbook under her arm, ready to go home in Mr. Miles’s taxi, knew what she was supposed to do, too.
All three of us stepped inside the front screen door.
Daddy spoke first. “What’s on your mind, James?”
Even though we’d left the porch, we could hear every word between the two men and could see them talking.
“It’s about Glory,” Mr. Smith answered.
“What about my daughter?”
I sucked in my breath and held it.
“You realize she’s been keeping bad company, socializing with that Yankee gal over at the library,” Mr. Smith said. “I heard tell Glory wrote a letter to the editor of the paper about the pool closing. Your daughter was probably unduly influenced by the girl from up North. Frankie thinks Glory knows where she’s staying at.”
Daddy didn’t answer right off. Emma leaned closer to the door. Even without the front hall light turned on, I saw her jaw clenching and a frown taking over her face.
“We’re trying to get word to that girl’s mama about vandalism that occurred at the pool.” Mr. Smith took a step closer. He was about a foot taller than my daddy so Daddy had to look up at him. “Somebody broke into the pool last evening, late. Messed up the lockers and stole candy bars.” Mr. Smith’s voice got louder, near about made me want to cover up my ears. “We suspect it was the girl from the library.”
Daddy was stretching his neck, holding his head up higher to look as tall as Mr. Smith.
“I’m speaking for the Pool Committee,” Frankie’s daddy went on. “But there’s also people in the church who agree that Glory being friends with these outside agitators — why, she’s sticking her nose in where it don’t belong.”
By now, Daddy looked to be as tall as Frankie’s daddy. Maybe it was the sure way he was speaking.
“Well now, James. Truth to tell, I’m right proud of Glory. She’s standing up for what she believes is right. All of us should lead our children to do that, don’t you know?”
“What I know is that we can’t have these freedom people damaging town property. We need to stand up for things the way they’ve always been.” Mr. Smith’s bald head glowed under the front porch light. His eyes looked meaner than a snake’s.
Jesslyn grabbed my hand in the dark front hall. She held it so hard I thought my fingers might break off.
I shivered.
Emma reached over and squeezed my shoulder, then hugged me close. For a minute, all I could hear was her whispering “Lord, Lord” over and over, like she was praying to herself. I leaned into her and listened to my daddy and Mr. Smith start up again. I was getting madder at every word Frankie’s daddy said, but I was proud of my daddy for sticking up for me — and Laura.
“I don’t believe Laura did what you’re accusing her of,” Daddy said. “She’s visited in our home, and she is a sweet, well-behaved, polite child. She’s a friend of Glory’s. That’s enough for me.”
“That so? Well, she was up to no good last night, I tell you,” Mr. Smith answered. “They found a black sock at the scene. My boys tell me she’s the only person who wears those socks. She’s lucky the police won’t press charges — this time anyway. But her mama, that civil rights worker” — Mr. Smith pronounced civil rights like it was a bad taste he needed to spit out of his mouth — “she needs to know what her daughter’s up to.”
I couldn’t wait one more minute in the dark listening to Mr. Smith. I knew I shouldn’t talk back to a grown-up standing on our front porch, but that was my friend he was talking about. And this was my pool! And three days before my birthday!
I pulled away from Jesslyn and Emma, then stormed onto the porch, looked hard at Frankie’s daddy. Everything, including the lightning bugs, seemed to hold still for a minute, waiting for me.
I let out a hard breath.
“You’re wrong, Mr. Smith. Laura Lampert’s my friend. She wouldn’t do that. You’re just plain wrong.”
Jesslyn opened the door and stood close to me on the porch. Emma pushed by Mr. Smith and stopped at the bottom of the steps. She kept her eyes on her friend driving the taxicab.
“There’s more to stories than it seems at first looking,” she said. “Two sides to most stories. Folks better be thinking about that for once.” And Emma kept on walking without another word ’cept to call out into the evening darkness, “Good night, Brother Joe, Jesslyn, Glory. See you all in the mornin’.”
Mr. Smith shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut real tight.
“You’d best be leaving, James,” Daddy said.
When the light came on in the car, Frankie was slinking down so low in the backseat I couldn’t hardly see him. Daddy held me and Jesslyn tight. “You did right, Glory,” he whispered.
I didn’t like the look Mr. Smith had when he stomped off our porch. There was a heap of hate swirling around Frankie’s daddy.
I needed to find Laura.
The next morning, I crept downstairs before the sun peeked over the tall zinnias blooming along our back fence. I’m at the library was all I wrote for Emma on my note. Pretty soon, I headed straight down Church Street.
When Miss Bloom opened the library’s back door, Laura stood next to her. “Glory. You’re up with the chickens.”
“Did you hear, Miss B.? Something bad happened at the pool,” I said. Laura had a big stack of books hugged tight and a worried look on her face. “They’re blaming it on you,” I told her. “Frankie’s daddy came to my house last night.”
“We know about the incident,” Miss Bloom said. She took off her glasses, put her arm around Laura. “Laura had n
othing to do with it. Everything’s fine.”
“That’s not what Mr. Smith said.” I stuffed my hand in the pocket of my shorts. “He scared me. I told him you didn’t do anything. My daddy stuck up for me, too.”
“You and your father are right,” Laura finally said. “I didn’t break into your pool. Your friend Frankie and his father are wrong.”
Miss Bloom said, “Mr. Smith’s just stirring up trouble. Laura was with me the night someone vandalized the pool. She and her mother and I were having supper together. I told the police that when they were here yesterday evening.”
Laura looked down at her stack of books, then back at me. “I’m going back to Ohio to stay with my grandparents. They’re worried. They’ve heard bad things might happen here.”
Miss Bloom patted Laura’s shoulder. “But you’re here for July Fourth. And we’re planning something special at the library next week. Right, Laura? A thank-you for everyone who helps with the July Fourth parade,” Miss B. said.
“Miss Bloom says we’ll help with that,” Laura said to me.
“Something special, indeed. This is an important week for Hanging Moss.” Miss Bloom’s eyes squinched up and a huge smile broke out. “The parade! Fireworks! And a big to-do at the library. Won’t that be fun, girls?”
Laura bit her lip like she was deciding about that.
“The library party sounds like fun. I’m not sure about July Fourth,” I said under my breath.
Miss Bloom touched my hand, then looked back at Laura. “You’ll enjoy the parade, all the floats. Bands are coming from all around. There will be beautiful fireworks after dark. We’ll all go together. You’ll be fine with me, dear.”
Yeah, and the Fourth of July, day after tomorrow, was also my birthday. Nobody cared about that, that’s for dang sure.
“I don’t know, Miss B. The pool closing. Frankie accusing Laura of something she didn’t do. Mr. Smith yelling at my daddy.” I shivered in the air-conditioned library office. I hoped this parade would have the best-ever floats and bands, but the way things were going so far this summer, I didn’t want to think about what else bad might happen.
“I’ve never been to a parade,” Laura said. “It might be fun.”
I bet Laura won’t think sitting on scratchy grass in the summer heat with a bunch of strangers singing and waving little flags is as much fun as spending her summer finding shells at the beach like her mama had promised her.
But Miss Bloom smiled again, like all this celebrating was getting better and better.
It was finally my birthday, July Fourth.
I sat with Emma at the kitchen table mixing lemonade and cherry punch, what Frankie called bug juice. He claimed if you left it outside in the sunshine, bugs would come. But I wasn’t bothering with Frankie today — as far as I was concerned, he was a bug, the lowest ant on earth.
“My friend Laura’s going back to Ohio. She doesn’t like Hanging Moss much,” I told Emma. I propped my head on one hand and drew invisible circles on the kitchen table with the other. “I don’t want to go to the stupid picnic. The pool’s closed. Frankie’s a liar. Jesslyn would rather be with her stuck-up pep squad friends, and Mr. Smith is mad at Daddy. This is beginning to feel like the worst birthday of my entire life.”
Emma pulled her chair closer to me. “Want Emma to tell you a good thing happening for the Fourth of July? A special secret?”
I stirred the bug juice, not sure I needed another secret. “You mean somebody cares about our country’s independence after all?”
“We got a big visitor coming to my church.” Emma sat up like she was making an important announcement.
“You mean like Elvis or the Beatles? That big?” I scootched my chair closer.
Emma laughed. “Bigger.” She took my hand and held it next to hers. “Mr. Robert F. Kennedy is coming to visit,” she said, looking right into my eyes.
“Who’s that?” I asked her.
“The most famous man in our government. He’s the baby brother of President Kennedy, God rest his soul.” Emma leaned in. “He’s preaching about the new law, just passed. Everybody’s gonna be treated the same. I’ll be able to vote just like your daddy and Mr. Smith. No more white and colored drinking fountains. Everybody can eat wherever they want to. Things are changing, Glory. Mr. Kennedy’s coming to prove it.”
Before I could ask Emma one more thing about this famous brother of President Kennedy’s, we heard a noise that sounded like the ceiling was coming down.
“Now what’s your sister up to?” Emma shook her head and started up the stairs. I followed her. Jesslyn was in Mama’s old sewing room, cramming shirts and sweaters into a little chest in the corner.
“What are you doing?” I asked her.
“Moving to my new room.” She slammed another drawer shut. “Daddy said I could.”
“You plan on sleeping there?” Emma nodded toward the little bed in the corner. “Room’s too tiny for you and all your belongings. You’d be happier staying put with your sister, like you have since the day she was born.”
“I need my privacy.” Jesslyn pressed her lips together. “I’m going to high school soon,” she said, like that explained everything. She stuffed one more skirt into her new closet before she prissed off down the stairs.
Shoot. Let Jesslyn sleep in the sewing room. I’d have more space for my books and my china horse collection and my baseball cards. But then I thought about last summer, the summer before that, and almost every summer I could remember. How we’d get under the covers to tell ghost stories with our flashlights on. All those nights we stayed up late playing Junk Poker and sharing secrets. I thought about how Jesslyn acted proud when she heard about my letter to the newspaper. How she’d held my hand when I spoke up to Mr. Smith. Seemed like she’d already forgotten about that night on the front porch.
I looked over at the sewing machine closed up in its black case, pushed off in the corner with Jesslyn’s movie magazines stacked up next to it. I touched the edge of my quilt covering the bed by the window. With Jesslyn’s clothes piled on top, I couldn’t hardly see the quilt’s pattern. I knew the squares by heart, though. Years ago, when I was little and Emma was first piecing the quilt together, I’d listen to her singing in time with the whirring sewing machine. I moved Jesslyn’s pep squad jacket, sat down on the bed, and touched my quilt.
One tiny piece of the baby blanket I dragged all over the house when I was crawling.
One piece from my black cat Halloween costume.
One from my green shorts, from Lake Whippoorwill Girl Scout Day Camp last summer.
One scrap of my very first doll baby’s dress.
The quilt was filled up with my life.
Now it seemed like the patches of my life were mixing into a new pattern.
By late that afternoon, I said good-bye to Emma and headed out the door, lugging the picnic basket, the bug juice, and a blanket. I walked straight to the pool and stood next to the metal fence, looking one more time at that Closed sign. Mr. Smith and his stupid committee had won. Nobody was jumping in the Community Pool today.
I felt like I was drowning in a freezing cold pool of disappointment and confusion. Just like swimming the backstroke when it shoots smelly chlorine into every opening on my face and sets me to spitting water, making it hard for me to get a good breath.
Outside the gate, a clown tied balloons to baby strollers. A boy riding a bike decorated with red, white, and blue streamers wheeled by, almost knocked me down. From over on the library lawn, drums and trumpets tuned up for the parade. Dottie Ann Morgan, the Hanging Moss High School homecoming queen, waved from the back of a red convertible, wearing a tiara over her beehive hairdo. I didn’t wave back. She kept smiling, but she was scratching at the place where her ruffly dress’s poof skirt must’ve been itching the daylights out of her. Some little kid dropped his cotton candy in the dirt and started bawling for his mama. A bee buzzed around my head, and finally landed in my juice pitcher. At least he had a pool
to swim in — my bug juice suited him fine.
I dropped my blanket on the ground and slumped down on it. I looked for Laura.
Miss Bloom was the first to spot me. “Hello, Glory! You picked the perfect place, not too far from the library, not too close to the bandstand.” She had a camera strapped around one wrist and her picnic basket balanced on the other. She spread her blanket a little ways from mine and waved to Uncle Sam walking by on tall stilts. Pretty soon Laura and her mother showed up, and Miss Bloom smiled like the world was one big happy picnic.
When I heard some girls calling out “Over here, Jessie,” I turned around.
Jesslyn walked toward her pep squad friends. They had changed her name to Jessie?
“In a minute,” she told them. She pranced herself next to me, plunking onto my picnic blanket. Robbie came to sit with us. He and Jesslyn and Laura passed around Emma’s sandwiches and brownies, and I couldn’t hardly believe how happy I was. “Scoot over here, Glory,” my sister said, patting the space closest to her.
She pulled something from her pocket and handed it to me.
My big sister had remembered my birthday! I opened the box.
Jesslyn told what she’d gotten me before I could even get a good look. “It’s a charm bracelet, Glory, just like mine.” She held up her hand and jingled her own bracelet. “You can collect charms from places you visit and things you like.” Jesslyn clasped the bracelet around my wrist. I rubbed a tiny silver guitar dangling from the chain. When I looked up at her, it finally felt like I was twelve years old.
“Thanks, Jesslyn,” I said.
“At first the guitar was for the Beatles. For that John Lennon Beatle you and Laura are always talking about.” She turned the charm toward me. “But now, it’s for Tupelo,” she whispered.
The backs of my ears went warm with happiness.
Robbie put his closed-up hand out to me. “For you,” he said. He dropped something into my lap — a key chain with a picture of Elvis on one side and Love Me Tender written on the other.
Glory Be Page 9
