by Eden Royce
“No, missy, it isn’t.” Mama lifted the corner of one muslin cloth and stuck a spoon into the jam.
I didn’t want to make her angry, but I wanted to know the difference. I leaned against the two big boxes on the counter, sticking my finger in the diamond-shaped spaces between the rows and rows of empty jars inside.
“How come?” I asked.
“Yeah,” Jay asked, mashing his fingers into the soft beeswax Mama used to seal her jars. “Doc boils teas too.”
“Because rootwork takes intent. And all I’m intending to do is make myself a drink, not throw hexes or fix somebody’s condition.” Mama put the back of the spoon, covered with jam, against her bottom lip. “Now those jams are cool enough. You both get to filling up those jars.”
I was about to do exactly that when the hard sound of gravel under moving tires cut through the quiet evening. I rose up on tiptoe to look out of the kitchen window, but I couldn’t see the car. Chickens squawked and scrambled, but the driver was careful to move the car slowly, to give anything a chance to move.
“Somebody’s coming to the house!” I hissed.
We all waited like statues while the car pulled to a stop outside our front window. Mama twitched back a corner of the curtain and peeped out. Me and Jay huddled up behind her so we could see too.
I gasped when I saw it was a police car.
Mama cursed and let the curtain drop. “You two stay right there. Don’t you move a muscle.”
My hands were shaking so much that I had to put down the jar I was holding. “Jay, look!” I whispered.
We both watched as the door to the police car opened and the tallest white man I’d ever seen stepped out. He practically had to unfold himself from the car. His beige uniform was clean and pressed sharp. He reached in the car to get something and my breath caught in my throat like a fish bone. Once I saw it was only his hat, though, I could breathe again. The tall man gave a quick look over to Doc’s cabin, then loped up our front steps.
Mama grasped the scissors from her sewing kit on the table in one hand. We waited, listening for the sound of the man’s footsteps on our porch. He opened the screen door and knocked, a gentle one-two-three rhythm.
“Don’t answer it,” Jay said.
“Hush now,” Mama said, opening the door.
The man was so tall that he was taller than Mama, even though he was on the porch and there was a big step up into the house where Mama stood.
“Mrs. Turner?” He looked at the scissors in Mama’s hand, then raised his dark eyebrows. “Were you expecting someone?”
The man didn’t sound like he was from around here. His tone was smooth and calm, not like any of the other police officers I’d heard before with sharp-edged voices.
Mama ignored his question. “Can I help you?”
“My name is Nate Edwards, and I’m the new sheriff. I want to extend my sympathies for the loss of your mother.”
Mama had a tiny frown between her eyebrows now, but she was still polite when she spoke. “Thank you, Sheriff Edwards.”
The man saw me and gave a tiny smile. Then he was all seriousness again when he talked to Mama. “I’m sorry to bring you more news at such a difficult time, but I want to inform you of a development.”
“What sort of development?”
He took off his hat and held it in his big hands. “It’s my understanding that people in this area have had . . . run-ins. With some of the local deputies.”
“They were more than run-ins.”
The sheriff nodded. “I imagine they were.”
“And this development?” Mama asked again.
“Some talk I overheard around the station. Something about searches of Negro people’s homes without cause. I thought I’d warn you in case—”
Jay peeked over my shoulder. “Collins was here already.”
“Is that true, Mrs. Turner?” He watched Mama’s face real close, like he was trying to memorize it. I could tell from the shock on his face that he didn’t know. “Are you okay? Did he hurt you or the kids?”
“We’re all right. Only my mother’s flower vase was hurt. He broke it when he went crashing through my house.”
The sheriff’s jaw worked back and forth. “He came inside?” When Mama confirmed it, Sheriff Edwards didn’t say anything for a minute. Then he slapped his hat into the palm of his hand a couple of times. “What was he looking for?”
Mama snorted. “How would I know? Police come to the houses and farms out here a few times a year to tumble through what little we’ve got and leave the place a mess. They never say what they’re looking for. And those who question them are always worse off.”
Sheriff rocked back on his heels, looking thoughtful, like he was trying to figure something out. “Collins shouldn’t have done any of that.”
Mama sniffed. “Well, get him to stop then. Arrest him.” When the sheriff didn’t reply, she said, “Oh, I see. He’s only a danger to us, not to white folk.”
“Mrs. Turner—”
“You delivered your message and I thank you for the notice.” Mama sucked her teeth, a sure sign she was mad.
“If you need anything—” He started to say more, then stopped. He looked sad when he finally talked again. “For what it’s worth, I am sorry. I’ll be checking in from time to time.”
“Mmm-hmm.” Mama frowned, then gave a short laugh. “You do that, Sheriff.”
He looked like he was going to say something more but then just put his hat on his head and stepped back from the door, nodding at Mama, then us. “G’night, Mrs. Turner. Kids.”
The police car’s engine started up, and dust clouds followed the car as it left our farm. After the dust settled, I asked Mama, “Do you think he would help us?”
“I don’t know, Jez.” Mama placed her scissors back in her sewing box. “Only time will tell.”
Doc returned from gathering right as we were screwing on the lids for the last of the jars. He was whistling a song I didn’t know, and he had a sweetgrass basket over his arm. When he placed it on the kitchen table, me and Jay rushed over to look inside.
There were bunches of herbs that I knew and some I didn’t. The ones Mama cooked with, like sage and thyme, I recognized by the shape of their leaves. When I rubbed those leaves, they left a fresh smell on my fingers that I loved. Mama’s saw palmetto was in there, along with catgrass and mint leaves. I handed the stuff for tea to Jay, and he placed it all in a clean cloth for Mama to sort through to make the blend she liked.
“The new sheriff stopped by,” Mama said.
Doc’s mouth dropped open. Then he dropped his whole self into a chair.
“Close your mouth before flies get in.” Mama stacked the full boxes of jam jars by the front door. “Finally, something I found out before you.”
“You always find out bad news before me,” Doc replied. “At least we know and we can prepare.”
Jay pooched his lip out. “That new sheriff don’t sound nothing like Collins.”
I tapped Doc on the back of his hand. “The man was trying to help us.”
“Hmm,” Doc said.
I knew then that this was exactly why we needed to learn more root. I hoped Mama didn’t get scared about the policemen and change her mind about letting us learn. But when I saw her put on another pot with vinegar and spices to pickle the okra, I knew there was no time to worry about it. We had work to do. And we were so tired when we finished, Mama didn’t even have to ask us to go to bed.
As I lay down on my clean sheets, I looked out of the window at the stars filling the sky. At that moment, I missed Gran so much. Things didn’t feel as solid anymore without her. Doc was a great rootworker, but if Deputy Collins arrested him, we would be without any protection at all.
I prayed that wherever Gran was, she was content, and that when the time came, I’d be able to help protect us. I cuddled Dinah close and listened to the sound of Jay’s soft snores for a long, long time before I finally fell asleep.
5
When I came into the kitchen the next morning, Doc and Mama were both moving slower than usual, like they didn’t get enough sleep. I understood, because I didn’t sleep last night either. The encounters with Deputy Collins and Sheriff Edwards had us all shaken up. I thought again of Gran too. When she was living, Mama would sit with me and Jay and eat breakfast Gran cooked, then get up and head right for her food stall when she was finished. Now, she and Doc had to get up earlier and cook, then clean up the kitchen before going off to work. Gran had left such a big hole in our lives to fill that I wondered if I could even be a drop in the bucket.
Mama looked at me strange as I sat down at the table. “You changed your hair?” she asked.
I nodded before digging into my bowl of buttered grits. At sunrise, I had gotten up and tugged a comb through my hair, then my best to part it down the middle. I put my hair up in the two pigtails I usually wore it in. Finally, I tied a white ribbon around each pigtail before twisting my hair and snapping a barrette on each end. No way was I going to wear my hair out in curls again, not after Lettie said I looked like some old lady. It was enough that I had to wear my old clothes to school. So I was going to stop trying to look pretty. There were more important things for me to worry about anyway.
“I thought the curls looked nice on you, Jezzie.”
“Thank you,” I said. “But I like my pigtails.”
Mama frowned, but she only said, “Okay. As long as you’re happy.” She sipped her coffee. “But tomorrow, let me part it for you so it will be a straight line.”
“Glad I don’t have hair to fool around with,” Jay said, rubbing a hand over his head.
“You don’t have brains up there either.”
“Hush up, Jez.”
“Both of you, stop it.” Mama put down her cup. “I want to talk about what happened last night.”
“Janey,” Doc started to say.
“No, let me finish.” She put her hands down flat on the table. “What happened last night and the day before doesn’t change anything. You two still need to go to school, and do chores, and everything else. This is not something for you to be worried about.”
“Just be extra careful when you’re outside playing or going to and from school.” Doc tapped his unlit pipe against his lip. “We’ll still have lessons, but stay alert. Like I always tell you, don’t leave the other alone.”
Me and Jay agreed. It was the second time in two days we had police at the house. I hoped there was something in that haint-blue paint that would work on people.
“Finish up—it’s time for school.” Mama stood and refilled her cup with water from the kettle. “Go on. I got to get you two outta my hair this morning.”
We drank the rest of our tea, grabbed our books, and after a quick kiss on the cheek from Mama and a hug from Doc, headed out the door.
“Hey,” I said as we ran down the steps. “Do the boys at school tease you about root?”
“No, they think it’s cool. But we don’t talk a lot, except about ball and stuff.” He gazed over at me, his wide eyes narrowed into little slits. “Them girls bothering you?”
“One of the new girls is.”
“If she’s new, then she don’t know nothing about it.” Jay rolled his eyes. “Maybe Doc can teach us some kind of a hex to put on her.”
He laughed, and I tried to force a smile. Lettie might have been new to our school and to the island, but that didn’t make what she said any easier to take. The other kids laughed when she’d made fun of me, which meant they agreed with her. Or it meant they weren’t going to stick up for me, which amounted to the same thing.
We took our normal path to school, but before we even got to the front gate, a group of boys called to Jay. One of them had a magazine with a plane on it, waving it in the air. Jay whooped and followed behind his friends, leaving me to walk through the gate on my own. Lettie and the other girls were already gathered on the lawn. I looked around for Susie, hoping for someone, anyone, who I could walk with. But if she was there, I didn’t see her. I held my books tight, determined to ignore the girls as I walked past.
As I got closer, Lettie looked me up and down. She checked the watch on her wrist. “Hey, it’s the Wicked Witch of the South! You were almost late!” Her sneer wasn’t as bad as the one I got from Deputy Collins, but it was still pretty impressive. “What happened? Did your broom break down?”
Everyone started giggling. I had no idea how Lettie found out that my family worked root—probably that local girl who whispered in Lettie’s ear told her my uncle was a witch doctor. Doc didn’t mind the name, so I didn’t either. I couldn’t understand why that word made people so uncomfortable. Maybe it had to do with that song “Witch Doctor” that came on the radio sometimes. The last time I heard it, I listened to all the words, even the nonsense ones, and whoever wrote that song didn’t know anything at all about witch doctors. And neither did Lettie.
My face felt hot, and the words came out of me before I could stop them. “You don’t know anything about root magic! That’s not how it works!”
“Oooh!” Lettie waggled her fingers in front of my face. “Shows us how it works, then. We want to see some of this magic, don’t we?” She looked back at the other girls and they laughed again.
“Shut up, Lettie,” I told her.
She placed her hands on her hips. “Is that all you can do? Tell me to shut up? You’re still a witch baby.” Her laugh was loud, like our chickens squawking over the last bits of corn. “I bet that stupid magic doesn’t even work. It’s stuff only backwards country people believe.”
“If I could, I’d make you disappear!” I shouted in her face before stomping inside the school. More chicken-squawk laughter followed me.
The bell hadn’t rung yet, and so the hallways were almost deserted. Only a few teachers hurried by, barely glancing at me as they went into a room marked Teachers Only. I stood in the stuffy hall that smelled a little like bleach, closed my eyes, and breathed deep, calming myself down. I wanted to be able to work a spell on Lettie to make her go away. Maybe I should ask to go back to fifth grade with Jay. But then, I thought, Miss Watson wouldn’t be my teacher anymore. I sighed and opened my eyes.
Somehow, Susie had found me. She came up to me, grinning. She was pretty and tidy looking with her crown of braids, just like yesterday.
“Hi, Jezebel. You okay?”
“Hi.” I shifted my books to one hip. “I’m fine. Just . . . Lettie being a pain.”
“Yeah,” Susie replied, rocking back on the heels of her Mary Jane shoes. “She’s a nasty so-and-so. I heard her parents talking to Miss Watson. They’re all mean.”
I shrugged, not wanting to let Lettie ruin my day again. “I wondered if I was going to see you walking to school today.”
Her eyes opened wider. They were shiny and reminded me of the black patent leather of Mama’s pocketbook. “Which way do you come? From by the marshes? We could walk together! I mean, if you want.”
“That would be great! I usually walk with my brother, Jay; but he won’t care if you come.”
“I’d like that.” She smiled warmly. “Can I ask you a question? What Lettie was saying out there, about magic—what did she mean?”
The bell to start school clattered. Susie and I started walking down the hallway to class. Would she make fun of me too? I didn’t think so. But even if I could trust her, what was okay to tell her about rootwork, and what wasn’t okay? I should ask Doc what he thought. “I’ll . . . tell you later.”
I waited all through the morning subjects, hoping Miss Watson might read us another of her favorite poems. The day was hot, like the sun was breathing on us, but the windows of the school were open and a light breeze ruffled the papers on our desks.
Finally, she opened that desk drawer again. “This poem is by Gwendolyn Brooks, another Negro poet,” she said, sitting on the edge of her desk again. I got the feeling it was her favorite reading position.
“A girl?” Thomas said loudl
y.
“Gwendolyn is a woman, yes. Women can be poets too. In fact, in 1950, she became the first Negro to win the Pulitzer Prize.” Miss Watson opened the book. “That’s pretty much the biggest award they give for poetry. And she continues writing to this day. Isn’t that something?”
Murmurs went through the entire class.
“I taught you about Shakespeare and his sonnets this morning,” she continued, clearing her throat. “Well, now I’m going to read you one by Mrs. Brooks. This one is called ‘the sonnet-ballad,’ and it’s one I read to myself over and over again.”
I settled into my seat and waited for Miss Watson to begin her magic. Reading aloud sounds like something more for younger kids, babies almost, but it wasn’t. That she chose one of her favorite poems to read to us made me feel like she was showing us something no other teacher had before. She was sharing a part of herself, knowing that we might not like the same things she liked, but doing it anyway. Her voice changed when she got to certain parts of the poem. It swelled up to fill the whole room with sound, then it whispered softer than the wind through trees. Our whole class hushed and listened, but I pretended she was reading only to me. I closed my eyes and let the sound of her voice wash over me, forgetting about the girls calling me names this morning.
When me and Jay were almost home from school, we found Doc waiting for us at the top of our road. He wore a straw hat with a wide brim to keep off the sun, and the tail of his white shirt flapped in the wind. He was twisting something around in his hands. He nodded at us as we approached, then shoved the twisty thing in a bag he had thrown over his shoulder.
“How was school?” Doc asked us.
“Fun, but not as good as this is gonna be,” Jay said.
Doc walked with us down the road to our farm. “How about you, Jez? Everything okay?”
“Are those new girls still bothering you?” Jay stuck his chin out.
“Yeah, but what can I do? They think root is stupid and ignorant.” My load of books felt heavier than usual, and I shifted the weight of them to my other arm.
Doc sighed, long and deep. “I’m afraid there will always be people—even other Negroes—who feel that way about rootwork, Jez. In fact, they would rather forget it.”
