All the Days Past, All the Days to Come

by Mildred D. Taylor

  Extra chairs were brought in, and churchgoers lined the walls of the school building, spilling outside the doors and onto the lawn. Windows were open and people outside gathered in front of them. As electric fan blades whirled, cardboard fans were handed out, and churchgoers waved them furiously, trying to cool themselves. Although the building had electricity, there was no air conditioning, but most folks could endure that. Most people, even those living north, did not enjoy that luxury either. No one complained. We had come to hear the sermon, to join together in community. We had come because no matter where we now lived, this was home and always would be. The heat didn’t matter. The comfort didn’t matter. So, we took our fans, cooled ourselves as best we could, and awaited the words of the Lord.

  * * *

  ◆ ◆ ◆

  After services, the eating began. Pots and trays of food were set out on the tailgates of trucks and wagons. Long tables had been brought from all over and set up across the lawn. Chairs that had lined the school walls were brought to the tables, along with benches, and as many as could sat, but many folks stood, plates heaped with food in hand, and enjoyed the tremendous feast. Others, mostly the young folks and children, plopped down on the ground, shaded by the huge pines, and ate voraciously, then hurried back to the pots and trays for more. Once the family food had been tasted, people moved from truck to truck, wagon to wagon to sample a neighbor’s food and enjoy their neighbor’s camaraderie. Our family sat with the Turners and the Wigginses. Little Willie, Dora, and all their family were at the revival, and so were most of the Turners. I thought about Guy. He would have loved all this.

  “So, how y’all doing?” asked Morris, holding a plate of food piled high as he swung his long legs over the bench to sit between his father and me. He had come late to the table after having made the rounds to as many people as he could to get them enrolled in this year’s summer registration drive.

  “Question is,” I said, “how are you doing, Little Brother? Getting any people registered?”

  “Few. But far as that Strawberry registrar is concerned, it’s all show so the county can say to Washington that it’s got Negroes registered to vote. But they know and we know just a couple Negroes voting can’t help bring the change we need.”

  “What about people coming to the classes? Any increase from last year?”

  “Little down, but hoping it’ll pick up after this week. Wish you were teaching again this year, Cassie. We could sure use the help.”

  “Like to, but I’ve got to work.”

  “Well, want you to do that too, especially for Moe.” He bit into a chunk of sweet potato pie. Like a lot of folks, he started with his sweets first. I waited for him to swallow. “Umph!” he said, once he did. “You make this, Cassie? Got it from your truck there. It sure is good!”

  “No, I’m not much of a cook. That’s Big Ma’s cooking you’re tasting.”

  “Should’ve known.” Morris looked down the table to Big Ma. “Miz Caroline!” he called. Big Ma turned to look at him. Morris pointed to his plate with his fork. “Great food! You sure you don’t want to marry me?”

  Big Ma laughed. “You get on ’way from here, boy! I was twenty years younger maybe, but I ain’t, so you just enjoy your food and think on that wedding you got comin’ up here with Denise. Hope she still gonna have you!”

  Morris smiled and glanced at Denise sitting across the table. “Are you?” he asked.

  Denise shrugged. “I guess so, seeing Miz Logan don’t want you.”

  Everybody near laughed, including Morris; then he got up. “I gotta get me another piece of that sweet potato pie before it’s all gone. Can I get you something, Daddy?” he asked of his father.

  “Naw, son,” said Mr. Turner, smiling toothlessly up. “You just go ’head, eat all you want. Eat some for me too.”

  “I’ll do just that, Daddy,” promised Morris.

  As Morris left the table, Uncle Hammer said to Papa, “You don’t look so good, brother.”

  I was seated next to Papa. Uncle Hammer was across the table, next to Denise. I turned to Papa. Sweat was pouring down his face.

  Papa grunted. “Well, what you expect, Hammer? It’s hot out here.”

  “Yeah, course it is. But you don’t see me sweating like you.” Uncle Hammer, as always, was blunt.

  Papa gave him a look. “Body just different, that’s all.”

  “Maybe. But I never seen you sweating like this, no matter how hot it got.”

  I hadn’t either. I touched Papa’s arm. His shirt was damp. “Papa, you sure you’re all right?”

  Papa looked at me. “Just fine, baby girl. Do something for me now. Go get me some of that nice cold ice cream we just churned. It’ll cool me down.”

  “Better cool you down,” said Uncle Hammer. “Got a lot of work to do on this church these next few days.”

  “Don’t worry, Hammer,” said Papa. “We’ll get it done. Can’t afford not to.”

  * * *

  ◆ ◆ ◆

  On Monday morning Stacey drove Dee, Rie, and ’lois down to the Davises. Stacey stayed the night and returned the next morning to begin working on the church. Both Rie and ’lois wanted to help with the rebuilding so they arranged for one of their Davis cousins to bring them back on Wednesday. Another one of the Davises would bring Dee on Friday, and we would all be leaving, along with Christopher-John and Man and their families, on Saturday. All day Monday I worked at the church with Christopher-John, Man, Papa, and Uncle Hammer. Stacey joined us on Tuesday. On both days in late afternoon, we went back home, washed up, had an early supper, and returned to the church grounds for the evening revival service.

  After the Tuesday service the boys and I sat with Mama, Papa, Big Ma, and Uncle Hammer around the dining table. Becka and Rachel and the children were staying with a couple of the sisters and their families and they had been since their arrival. There were just too many family members to stay here in the house. With the windows open wide as a thunderstorm approached, we enjoyed some cornbread mixed in clabbered milk and some of Big Ma’s coconut pies. We talked about the night’s sermon, about what was happening all around Mississippi, about our land, and about what the future could hold for us all. Stacey, however, said very little. He had sat quietly throughout with a scowl on his face, looking as if his thoughts were elsewhere.

  “You’ve been mighty quiet there, Stacey,” said Papa after a while. “Something on your mind?”

  Stacey thumped the table with his fingers and looked at Papa. “Yes, sir, as a matter of fact, there is. It’s ’lois.”

  “’lois?” questioned Mama. “That child’s never given you a moment’s worry.”

  “Not until now,” said Stacey.

  I smiled, knowing what this was all about. Both ’lois and Stacey had told me. ’lois was now a student at the University of Toledo, and although she was studying to be a teacher, she planned not to teach in the States when she graduated. She wanted to teach in Africa. She had applied to the Peace Corps, John F. Kennedy’s new international program to aid developing nations. This was most upsetting to Stacey, who couldn’t fathom his daughter being so far away that he could offer her no protection. He told everybody about ’lois’s plan. “On top of that, she’s saying she wants to be a writer, not a teacher. Now, how is she going to make a living being a writer?”

  “She’s a Logan,” Uncle Hammer said. “That’s what she wants, she’ll figure it out.”

  Stacey stared at Uncle Hammer, as if not understanding why he wasn’t supporting him in his opposition to ’lois’s plans. But Uncle Hammer wasn’t the only one supporting ’lois. “The Peace Corps?” Mama said thoughtfully. “Oh, the opportunities these young people have these days!”

  Stacey, looking stunned, turned to Mama. “You support her in this?”

  “I do. Young woman can broaden her horizons, learn so much about the world. I would ha
ve liked to have had that opportunity myself when I was her age.”

  “But, Mama, she might go over there, get married, then she’ll never come home!”

  “Well, what does Dee have to say about all this?” asked Papa.

  “You know Dee. She’s scared for ’lois, like she was scared for Rie in those sit-ins, but all she’ll say is long as ’lois is happy and figures she’s doing the right thing for herself, then Dee’s all right with it. She can say that, but I’m not going to have it!” The scowl etched deeper into his face. This was not the plan he had for his daughters, Rie following her own mind, protesting and getting put in jail, and ’lois going off to faraway Africa. “All I want is for them to get married to some good men and give me and Dee some grandchildren and stop all this other stuff. Maybe then I’ll stop worrying about them.”

  Both Mama and Papa smiled knowingly, and Papa said, “Believe me, son, you never will. Long as you’re on this earth and they’re here on it with you, you never will stop worrying. They can be as old as me, and you’re still going to worry.”

  “Ain’t that the truth!” exclaimed Big Ma with a burst of laughter. Mama and Papa laughed too.

  Stacey just looked at them and did not laugh. He found nothing funny about his daughters’ rebellious actions, nothing humorous at all. He had brought up Rie and ’lois in his own image and now they were going off on their own paths. He had done his job well, but right now we all knew he was regretting it. I figured though in time Stacey would get over it and be proud of the daughters he had raised. They were the new generation.

  Big Ma sighed heavily. “That child go off to Africa, then I s’pose that’s one more I can’t count on to be on this land.”

  “What you mean, Mama?” said Papa.

  Big Ma shared her worries. “I don’t mind tellin’ y’all, I’m real worried ’bout what’s gonna happen to this land. I mean, after I’m gone. Ain’t got much time left here on this earth—”

  “Ah, Big Ma,” I said, cutting her off, not liking to hear her talk like this.

  “Hush, child! It’s the truth. The Bible says three score and ten, that’s all that can be expected if we’re so blessed. The good Lord, though, done seen fit to keep me here way longer than that, and I know He got His reasons for doin’ it, and I thank Him for allowin’ me to be here with my children and my grandchildren and seein’ my great-grands all growin’ up, but I know I ain’t gonna always be here.” She took a moment, then looked from Uncle Hammer to Papa. “For that matter, my boys won’t always be here either. Once they’re gone, then what comes of this land?”

  “Now, Mama, I’ve told you not to be worrying ’bout that,” Papa chided.

  “I know what you told me! But that don’t mean I’m not gonna worry! Somethin’ happen to you, then who’s gonna be here? Hammer? He’s way off in California!”

  Uncle Hammer cocked his head in attention. “I’m here now, aren’t I? Something happens and you need me, we’ll figure it out.”

  “What?” countered Big Ma. “You comin’ back here to live?”

  “Now, I didn’t say that, Mama.”

  Big Ma grumped and turned her head. “That’s what I thought. Then who’s gonna be here? All my grandchildren and all their children way up north. Land’ll just be sittin’ here empty. Land my Paul-Edward and me worked hard for, sacrificed for, just sittin’ empty waitin’ for these white folks to take it over.”

  “Big Ma, that won’t happen, I promise you that,” Stacey said. “You don’t have to worry about white folks taking the land over. The taxes will always be paid.” Christopher-John seconded that.

  Big Ma nodded in recognition that the taxes would be paid, then said, “Well, that’s all well and good, but what I wanna know is who’s gonna live on this land? It ain’t just the taxes I’m worryin’ ’bout. I want to know who’s gonna be here taking care of it, keepin’ it from all going back to weeds and woods. Who’s gonna keep life on this land? Just about everybody round here still got some young folks on their places to take care of it for them, but here our family got all our young folks gone.”

  The boys and I looked at each other. We all felt guilty about leaving Big Ma, Papa, and Mama alone on the land.

  “You know, Big Ma,” said Man, “things are better for us up there.”

  “Boy, don’t you think I know that? I ain’t faultin’ none of y’all for moving up north, not a one of you. Y’all doin’ well up there for yourselves and for your children and I’m happy ’bout all that. Still, I can’t help worryin’.”

  We were all silent, pondering Big Ma’s words, then Stacey said, “Well, Big Ma, if things were different here, maybe we’d be coming back. Fact is, Christopher-John, Man, and me, we’ve all talked about just that. Things ever change down here, we’d want to come back and build houses on the land, enjoy the rest of our days here. Course that would be years away, after we retire.”

  “But that’s only if change comes,” clarified Clayton Chester, so there was no misunderstanding. “I’m not about to come back down here to live the way things are now, way they’ve always been.”

  Now Mama spoke up. “We all know there’s some hope for change. Just look at that freedom ride you were on and that sit-in Rie was in—”

  “And look what happened to them,” grumbled Uncle Hammer. “Both Rie and Man sat in jail and nothing was changed when they got out, so what the hell did they accomplish?”

  “They accomplished a lot,” contested Mama. “In some states, colored folks can now sit at the lunch counters, sit where they want at movie theaters, and the signs have come down—”

  “Not here in Mississippi,” interrupted Uncle Hammer.

  “—and on interstate buses,” Mama continued, “colored folks now can sit where they want—”

  “Yeah, federal government finally stood up and enforced their own laws like they should’ve been doing for years.”

  “Well, they’re doing it now.”

  “’Bout time,” said Uncle Hammer, not totally conceding the point. “But what happened to that voter registration drive Cassie was in? Still can’t vote down here. Look what happened to Great Faith. Still got the same laws in place, still got the same signs, staring us in the face, still got the same old rednecks running things. I don’t see these Mississippi white folks about to change voting laws or anything else anytime soon. Remember how colored folks used to have to qualify to vote? By guessing how many jelly beans were in a jar and all sorts of fool nonsense like that!” Uncle Hammer waved his hand in disgust. “That’s about how much they think of us. It’ll be a cold day in hell before these white folks change around here.”

  Mama smiled at Uncle Hammer. “Well, that cold day could be coming sooner than you think, Hammer.”

  Uncle Hammer was unbending. “Can’t see it.”

  “Little changes, Hammer,” Mama reminded him. “Little changes—in the end, they become big ones. Everybody knew Mississippi would be the last state to go down in this fight. Alabama and Mississippi. The hardest-line states in the country. Be patient, Hammer. Be patient.”

  Uncle Hammer snorted. “Been patient long enough. Three hundred and more years of patient.”

  Papa agreed with him. “Change ain’t hardly coming here, Mary, not in our lifetime, least not mine. All we can do is hold on to what we’ve got, hold on to this land. That’s what we fight for.”

  “But how we gonna do that, son, if nobody’s here?”

  All eyes again turned to Big Ma. She looked around the table at the boys and me, and I felt weighed down by my guilt.

  Papa defended us. “Well, the boys said maybe they’d be coming back, Mama, that’s something.”

  Big Ma’s face was grim. “Maybe.” She turned and looked directly at me. “But what ’bout you, Cassie? You ain’t said. Ain’t heard you say nothin’.”

  I met Big Ma’s look, but I didn’t know what to say t
o her. I couldn’t tell Big Ma that no way in the world would I ever come back to live in Mississippi, land or no land.

  * * *

  ◆ ◆ ◆

  Before I left for Toledo, Mama spoke to me about Guy. “How is that nice Mr. Hallis doing?” she asked.

  Mama’s look was guarded and so was mine. “He was doing fine last time I saw him.”

  Mama was at her desk. She glanced down at her papers before looking at me again. “Is it over?”

  “What?”

  “Your personal relationship.”

  “We’re still friends,” I acknowledged.

  Mama nodded. “Good. As long as that’s what it is, friendship.” She emphasized the word “friendship.” Then she reiterated, “That Mr. Hallis was a nice man.” That is all she said about Guy.

  Papa talked to me too. On the morning I was to leave, Papa and I walked the forest trail to the pond. We sat on one of the fallen logs, as we had done so many times before. Papa coughed, and I asked if he was all right. “Course I am, sugar. Just got this cold I can’t seem to shake. Your grandmama’s fixing me something for it that’ll knock it right out, so don’t you worry about it. The worry ought to be on my end about you.”

  “Sir? Why?”

  “The boys, they all got their families and here you are, still alone. Flynn’s been gone a long time now, Cassie, and your mama and me, we worry about you.”

  “Oh, Papa, I’ve told you before, don’t worry about me. No need. I’m fine.”

  “I know you keep telling us that, but you know that don’t stop us from worrying—”

  “And I also keep telling you, I’ve got my work.”

  “Well, work, that might keep you busy, but I don’t see how it keeps you company, ’specially come nightfall when the workday’s done.” Papa fell into silence. When he spoke again, he was looking up at the trees, not at me. “You know how your mama and me thought about Mr. Hallis. He was a nice man . . . but you know how we felt.” I didn’t say anything. I was feeling guilty that I was not being honest about my feelings for Guy. Papa looked back to me and went on. “Your mama and me, we don’t want you to be alone, Cassie. There’s still time for you to find somebody, somebody to love, maybe even have children. Love to see a grandchild from my baby girl. We want you to be happy, honey. Are you happy, Cassie?”