All the Days Past, All the Days to Come

by Mildred D. Taylor

  For several minutes we sat talking to Mr. Jamison, answering his questions about the family and our lives in Toledo. He seemed to be enjoying our company. He asked me about my plans. I had once told him I was interested in studying law, to become a lawyer like him. “You pursuing that, Cassie?” he asked.

  “Not yet,” I said. “I’ve got a degree in education, so I suppose I’ll teach.”

  “Well, you ever do decide to pursue law and I’m still around, you let me know.”

  I promised him that I would.

  Mr. Jamison looked at his watch. “Well, I don’t want to keep you from seeing your mother. Those hospital hours are pretty strict.” We all stood. “Give her my best, and also to your father and your grandmother.” We thanked him. He shook our hands once more and we left.

  * * *

  ◆ ◆ ◆

  The next morning we went with Ola to Farish Street. Farish was the main commercial street of the black community. It was a brick-laid street lined with stores, restaurants, cafés, nightclubs, a movie theater, and Negro offices representing a variety of Negro businesses, including the photography studio where the boys and I had had our photograph taken during the war. There were white-owned businesses on the street as well, but black businesses dominated at least one block of it. Running north to south, Farish bisected downtown Capitol Street, Jackson’s premier business street. All along Capitol were the white-owned department stores and banks and office buildings. Capitol Street also boasted a splendid view of the sprawling Old Capitol Building built before the Civil War. Located on State Street, but facing Capitol Street, which dead-ended into State, the Old Capitol Building was the landmark building of Jackson.

  We stayed in Jackson until the first visiting hours at the hospital. Christopher-John and Man came with Papa to visit Mama, but went back with Stacey and me. Papa said he had business to take care of in Jackson and would see us at home. While Papa was in Jackson, the boys planned to continue some of the work that needed to be done on the land, mainly clearing the forest of some of its dead trees and chopping them for firewood. They also planned to plow the field for cotton and plant the seed before they left for Toledo. We knew Papa needed the help. He no longer worked on the railroad and now Mama, Big Ma, and Papa totally depended on what they raised on the land. Although the cotton grown would be minimal, it would bring in extra money in the fall. Other money they earned would come from the firewood they sold along with the cured meats from the hogs and cows. Big Ma still sold canned preserved goods, vegetables from the garden, and fruit from the orchard in the market up in Strawberry. That money would be much needed, not only for the hospital bills but for other expenses, including the day workers they paid to tend the fields. There was much work to be done before the boys left, and we all figured to get a good start on it.

  Before going home, we decided to go see Moe’s family. Whenever any of us were back home, we always went to see them. On the way over to the Turner farm, we had the misfortune to run into Statler and Leon Aames, along with their uncle, Charlie Simms. The three of them were in a steel-blue pickup truck coming toward us on the narrow dirt road out of Strawberry. Stacey pulled over to let them pass. Statler, at the wheel of the truck, had already slowed down. We knew he was eyeing the shiny new Mercury with the Ohio plates. When he saw who we were, he stopped alongside us. One look at him and we knew he was still festering over Moe’s attack. Statler rolled down his window. “Well, look who done made it back home!”

  Stacey did not roll down his window. He glanced over at the truck, then looked away.

  “’Ey, boy! I’m talking to you!”

  Stacey kept looking straight ahead. “We ought to get out of this car and show them who’s a boy,” said Man from the back seat. “We could whip them easy, Stacey!”

  “Yeah, and get ourselves killed afterward.”

  “You not talking, boy?” yelled Statler. “Well, I want you to know we think that nigger Moe Turner is up north. Heard from Harold Rockmiler work up at that Toledo plant, you most likely know where that Moe is. Well, you tell him for us, he might be hiding up there now, but one day we’ll get him. Our brother Troy still laid up, ain’t never been the same! One day we’ll get him! One day he’s gonna pay for what he done to my brothers and me!”

  Another car came along the road behind the Aames truck. It sat there a moment, then the driver honked to move Statler along. The driver in the car was white and, dressed in a suit, looked to be a businessman.

  Statler glanced back at the car, then again at us. “You tell that damn nigger what I said! One day we’ll get him! We’ll get him sure!” Then he gunned the engine, and the truck took off in a swirl of dust.

  * * *

  ◆ ◆ ◆

  The Turners were sharecroppers on the Montier plantation. Their family had been on the plantation since before the turn of the century. Their house was small, but Mr. Turner had raised his seven children in it as well as his deceased sister’s four children. His daughters were now married and lived with their husbands, also on Montier land, and several of the boys were married as well, but the remaining children were still with him, including Maynard and Levis, who had just returned from the war. Levis was my age, and Maynard was a classmate of Christopher-John’s.

  “Good to see y’all,” said Maynard, slapping Christopher-John on the back in warm greeting as soon as we stepped from the car. “Figured y’all be down here.”

  “Heard ’bout Miz Logan,” put in Levis. “How she doing?”

  We told him Mama seemed better each day.

  “Good, good, glad to hear that. Come on in the house, see Daddy. He ain’t been feeling too well.” Levis led the way up the creaky porch steps and into the dark front room that served as both a living room and a bedroom. Although it was a warm day, there was a fire going in the fireplace. Moe’s father sat in a rocking chair next to it. The boys and I went over to him and greeted him with hugs.

  “’Scuse me for not gettin’ up,” Mr. Turner said, “but my legs kinda weak today. I stand up, they might jus’ give way from under me. Sit down, sit down.” He too asked about Mama. “Well, you know we all been prayin’ for her.”

  “We know those prayers been heard,” said Stacey.

  Mr. Turner nodded knowingly. “The Lord sho is good.” We all agreed. “Well, how’s that boy of mine doin’?”

  “Doing just fine last time we saw him,” answered Stacey. “Didn’t see him before we left though, had to leave so sudden.”

  Mr. Turner nodded in understanding, then glanced around the room. “Where that Morris?”

  “Last I seen of him,” said Levis, “he was out there slopping the hogs.”

  “Well, go get him,” ordered Mr. Turner. “Tell him Stacey and them here.”

  Levis went to do his father’s bidding while Maynard sat down in a straight-back wooden chair with rawhide covering and began questioning Christopher-John and Man about the war and where they had fought.

  “Well, I was all through Europe and even over in North Africa for a while,” said Clayton. “Fought in the 123rd Engineering Platoon. Became a sergeant over there.”

  “You name it, I was in it,” contributed Christopher-John.” France, Normandy, the Rhineland.”

  “Wonder I didn’t meet up with y’all,” said Maynard. “Saw Little Willie though.”

  Christopher-John laughed. “Seems like Little Willie met up with just about everybody over there!”

  While Christopher-John, Clayton Chester, and Maynard talked about their days in the war, Stacey and I answered Mr. Turner’s many questions about his eldest son. “I sho do miss that boy,” said Mr. Turner as the screen door opened and Levis came in with Morris behind him. Morris was a tall boy, chocolate in coloring, like Moe, and wiry. He was also outspoken, not at all shy for his thirteen years. “’Ey, Daddy!” he called. “You all right?”

  “Same as when you gone out from
here,” returned Mr. Turner. His voice sounded harsh, but there was a smile on his face. “Now, you come on over here and say hello to everybody.”

  Morris came right over and shook hands with Stacey, Christopher-John, and Man. When he got to me I stood and said, “Boy, you too big to hug now?” Morris laughed. Morris was like a little brother to Stacey, Christopher-John, Man, and me and we treated him as such. As a little boy he was often with Moe and often at our house. He seemed to be as much a part of our family as he was of his own. We often called him Little Brother Morris.

  “Not hardly, Cassie,” said Morris, still grinning as he bent and gave me a big hug. He then pulled up a chair, along with Levis, and we all sat talking about Moe, the North, and what it was like for Moe to be there.

  After a while, Mr. Turner said, “You know I want this boy Morris to go up north to school, be with Moe.” He looked at Stacey. “Moe tell y’all that?”

  “Yes, sir, he did.” Stacey turned to Morris. “What you think about going north?”

  Morris shrugged, smiled, and looked over at his father. “Fine with me, long as it’s fine with Daddy.”

  “He’ll be going then,” declared Mr. Turner. “Come the end of summer, my youngest and my oldest gonna be up there in Detroit together. That’ll suit me fine.” Mr. Turner then nodded, seemingly happy at the thought.

  * * *

  ◆ ◆ ◆

  On Sunday all of us went to Great Faith Church, where so many people were asking about Mama and praying for her. Mama was a substantial member of the community, always active, and well loved as a teacher. After church all of us, including Big Ma, went to Jackson to visit Mama. Mama was scheduled to come home on Tuesday and the boys planned to leave Wednesday night for Toledo. After working through much of the day on Monday, both Christopher-John and Man washed up and got ready to go over to the McFaddon place. “You wouldn’t by any chance be planning to do some courting while you’re over there?” Papa teased as Christopher-John took the keys to the Mercury. Christopher-John smiled somewhat sheepishly. The McFaddons boasted a family of ten daughters, two of whom, Becka and Rachel, still lived at home. Becka was the older of the two sisters and she and Christopher-John had been seeing each other since before the war. As far as Rachel and Clayton Chester, they were only friends, nothing more. Still, they enjoyed being together and the two sisters and their mother had invited them to supper.

  While Christopher-John and Clayton Chester were gone, Papa and Stacey continued chopping logs brought from the forest earlier in the day, stacking the split firewood in huge piles along the pasture fence. At suppertime, Big Ma sent me to fetch them. “Big Ma says she’s about ready to set food on the table,” I said as I came from the back porch and hopped the huge stones set as a walkway to the drive. “So she said finish and wash up.”

  “Won’t finish this for a while yet, baby girl,” Papa said. “Want to get as much chopped as I can while I got the help.”

  Sweat was beading on Papa’s forehead. He looked worn. “Papa, you work too hard,” I said.

  Papa kept on chopping and said in his genial way, “You figure you grown enough to tell me that?”

  “Well, it’s the truth.”

  “Not working any harder than all those years when I worked on the railroad.”

  “But that was a long time ago.”

  Papa laughed outright. “So, you telling me, your ole papa, he getting too old for this kind of working?”

  “Well . . . no, sir . . . but you know what I mean. Stacey, you tell him.”

  Stacey looked at me, then stopped chopping and looked at Papa. “You could slow down some, Papa. I’ll chop the wood, and while you and Cassie go into Jackson tomorrow to get Mama, Christopher-John, Man, and I can finish all this up.”

  Papa chuckled. “Just how old do you think I am? I know you must think I’m awful old, but I’m not yet fifty.”

  “Not saying you old, Papa,” Stacey clarified, “but you could take a break while we’re here.”

  “Well, that’s all fine and good for now,” Papa said without missing a swing of his ax, “but what happens come another month or two and we need more firewood? You boys coming all the way from Ohio and chop wood for me?”

  Stacey frowned. “Maybe not next month, but we’ll be back in August for revival.”

  “And what I’m s’pose to do ’til then?”

  Stacey took a moment and thought on that. “Maybe Christopher-John, Man, and I can stay on another couple of days and chop enough wood to last you until we get back.”

  Now Papa stopped his chopping and looked at Stacey. “And what happens to your family while you’re down here doing my work? What about Dee and the babies? They’re expecting you back before the end of the week, needing you back. And what about the money you all trying to make just to hold on until things get better? Where’s that money going to come from if you stay down here chopping firewood for me? No, son. You gotta get back, and so do Christopher-John and Man.”

  Papa returned to his chopping; Stacey didn’t. “I could talk to Little Willie, get him and some of the other fellas to help out here.”

  “And what we gonna pay them with, son?” asked Papa, back in the rhythm of his swing. “Those boys got their own work to do. Can’t ask them to come here for nothing.”

  “We’ll find a way to pay them. Can send some money when we get steady work again.”

  Papa struck his ax hard into a log and let it stay. “No. I said no. Now, both of y’all listen to me.” He took a kerchief from his pants pocket and wiped his face. He said nothing for a moment as he refolded the kerchief and put it back into his pocket while Stacey and I waited respectfully for his next words. “I appreciate y’all, more’n you know. I’m proud of both of you, all of you, and I know I can always count on you. I know too you just thinking of me and your mama and your grandma when you talk about help for me and maybe stayin’ on. But truth is, I’m not an old man yet, even if y’all think so. I got plenty of strength left in me. I can do the work.

  “Now, there gonna be doctor bills to pay, hospital bills to pay, a crop to plant to help pay for all that. If I need more help, I’ll let you know. I thank you for all you done while you’ve been here, but for now, though, all I need is Cassie staying on to help your mama. You boys, though, I want you to go back to Toledo and take care of your own lives, and, Cassie girl,” he said, turning to look at me, “I want you to do the same once your mama gets better. We raised y’all to have lives of your own and we want you to have them without worrying ’bout us. We’ll do fine.”

  “Papa,” Stacey ventured quietly, “I know this is something you maybe don’t want to talk about for a while, but you and Mama ever think about joining us up north?”

  I shot Stacey an incredulous look. Papa did too. There was an audible gasp from him. “And leave this land?”

  “Well, Papa, you know things up there are a lot better in a lot of ways—”

  “That may be, but my life is here. Your mama’s life is here. As for your grandma, you know what she and my daddy went through to get this land. Our lives are in this land. Our lives are this land.”

  “Papa, I’m not talking about giving up the land—”

  “Leaving it would be just the same as giving it up.”

  “But, Papa—”

  “Now, listen to me, Stacey. You too, Cassie. I know y’all got more opportunity up there as young folks than you’d have here. More opportunities for Rie and ’lois and I’m glad for you. Stacey, you made the right decision to go north, and Cassie, Christopher-John, and Clayton, I’m hoping it’s the right decision for them too. Now, I’m not gonna say it didn’t take your mama and me a while to get used to the idea that all our children gone north and aren’t coming to live back here, but we understand why y’all had to go. I’m still hoping one of you’ll come back here one day to take care of this land when your mama and me are gone. B
ut for now, your lives are up north and ours are here, and that’s the way it’s going to stay.”

  Stacey glanced at me, then turned back to Papa. “No changing your mind about that?” he asked.

  “No changing my mind,” Papa answered quietly as he picked up his ax and began to chop again. “And that’s all I’ve got to say about it.”

  * * *

  ◆ ◆ ◆

  We all rejoiced when Mama came home. Papa and I had gone in the Mercury to get her while the boys continued working. It was late afternoon when we returned to the house, and Mama went straight to bed. The ride from Jackson had tired her out, but she was happy. She laughed a lot and talked a lot, and at suppertime, instead of our sitting at the table, we took a plate of food to Mama, who was excited to get Big Ma’s cooking again, and holding our plates we sat around the bed and enjoyed our meal together. On Wednesday, the boys and Papa continued plowing and planting the cotton field while Big Ma and I got busy cooking food for the boys to take with them on their trip back north.

  “Now, don’t you let that chicken burn,” warned Big Ma as I did the final turn of the wings sizzling in the iron skillet on the wood-burning stove.

  “Big Ma, I know how to cook chicken,” I said, giving her a look. “After all, you taught me.”

  “Well . . .” she said begrudgingly, “just make sho it don’t burn.”

  “Know how to kill one too,” I bragged. “Wring its neck, dunk it in scalding hot water, pluck out its feathers, gut it, cut it up, make it ready for frying, seasoning, and battering, and all. Guess who taught me that too?”

  “Now you jus’ gettin’ smart,” Big Ma admonished with a big smile.

  “Just saying I can do all this because of you, Big Ma. You taught me how to cook. You know, Mama never taught me much about cooking.”

  “That’s ’cause your mama had better things to do. So you tell me now, who you gonna cook for? Here you are going on twenty-three years old. All the girls your age round here been married four, five, or more years, got two, three, four children, and far’s I can tell, you ain’t even got a beau. Time you got married! You need a good man in your life.”