The Darkest Child Page 25

  “Oh, God! Oh, God!” I sobbed.“They’re going to kill somebody.”

  Jeff stared out at the confusion, then touched my arm. “If they were aiming to kill, somebody would be dead by now,” he said. “They just wanna scare us.”

  The words were barely out of his mouth when one of the men fired his pistol into the crowd, and a body slumped to the ground. Jeff fumbled with the key as he tried to start the car, and I braced myself against the dashboard and tried to suck in enough air to keep from fainting.

  Tarabelle and Wallace sprinted toward the car. Jeff had to pry my hands from the dash to let them in. He managed to get the car in gear, and we moved haltingly along, braking for people who were still darting across the lot.

  “Anybody get hit?” Jeff asked as he guided the car onto the road.

  “Bubba Nash, ”Wallace answered breathlessly. “Hambone’s got him. He ain’t dead.”

  We turned left on Atler Avenue, joining the convoy that was slowly moving west. No one in the car made a sound, other than that necessary to breathe. It was almost too quiet. I stared out the window waiting for the explosion that would kill us all. Jeff dropped Mattie off first, then he drove us to Penyon Road, all the way to our house.As we cleared the bend, I could see Mr. Dobson’s car. On the front seat were Harvey and Carol Sue, and on the back were Edith, Laura, and Edna. If Martha Jean and Velman had made it out, then we were all safe. I allowed myself a sigh, and lingered with Jeff while the others went inside.

  “Some kind of night, wasn’t it?” Jeff asked.

  “Yeah. I don’t know how it happened. One minute everybody was having fun, and then—”

  “—all hell broke loose,” Jeff said.

  “I want to blame Hambone,” I said, “but I know it’s not his fault.”

  “No, it isn’t,” Jeff agreed. “People are going to say that, but it’s not his fault at all. All he did was tell the truth. Maybe he didn’t choose the right time and place, but he was telling the truth.”

  “I know,” I said.“Why does it have to be like this?”

  “It’s always been like this, Tangy.We’ve just been conditioned to accept it. Now here comes Hambone, wanting to change things and not really knowing how. He’s too young, and the older people in this county are not going to back him. His timing is wrong.”

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” I said.“I don’t even want to think about it. I just want to get away from here. I’d never come back. Are you coming back, Jeff?”

  “I’ll be back,” he said. “In December. I’ll come back and find that nothing has changed. Nothing at all.”

  thirty - five

  She was barefoot in a sundress, and her hair hung limp across her shoulders. A cigarette burned between her lips, and her eyes were closed as she swayed to music coming from the radio.

  She reminded me of my mother.

  “Good morning, Miss Veatrice,” I said, stepping into the front room.

  She opened one eye, and continued to sway.“Hey,” she said pleasantly. “I didn’t know if you were coming today. That’s the Everly Brothers on the radio.” She sang along for a second or two, then said, “There’s a lot to do today. Bakker’s got them boys coming to paint the house. I always wanted to live in a pretty white house.They’re gonna patch it up, and Bakker says it’s gonna look good as new.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I said, although I doubted much could be done with the house.“What time are they coming?”

  “Should be here soon. I was gonna be a bad girl once, just like Susie in that song. Did you know that? Bakker said it was unbecoming and that he’d disinherit me.” She laughed.“He didn’t have nothing to disinherit me from, but I didn’t want to upset him. I could’ve been bad if I wanted to.”

  She followed me toward the kitchen and bumped into me when I stopped abruptly at the doorway. I understood the cluttered table and overflowing sink, but there were paint chips on the floor, broken glass in a chair, and a gooey substance stuck to the top of the stove.

  “What happened here?” I asked.

  “Oh, honey, we’ve been doing some work. Didn’t I tell you?

  We’re gonna have this old house looking like new.”

  “What kind of work did you do?”

  “Well, let’s see,” she said, stepping around me. “First off, we scraped these chairs down.We’re gonna paint them blue.”

  “You know, Miss Veatrice, this house would look a lot better if you and your brother picked up behind yourselves.”

  Her hazel eyes widened with astonishment, and she touched her cheek as if I had slapped her. “That’s what we hired you for,” she said.“Why are we paying a nigger if we’re suppose to clean it ourselves? That don’t make sense, honey.”

  I turned the water on at the sink as her word echoed in my head. I was angry.“Miss Veatrice, do you know there’s a difference between calling a person a nigger and a Negro?” I asked.

  “Sure, I do,” she answered, and explained with such simplicity that my anger dissolved and was replaced by pity. “Bakker says all the Negroes moved north. He says the niggers stayed in the south ’cause they don’t have no sense of direction. Oh, look!” She went to the window.“They’ve come to start on the house.”

  I peered out the window and saw, of all people, Hambone, wearing overalls and brogans.With him were Maxwell, Russell Tucker, and Mister Leddy.Miss Veatrice started for the back door, and I followed her, my hands dripping water across the floor.

  “Miss Veatrice,” I said, “don’t you go out there calling those men niggers.”

  “And why not? That’s what they are.”

  “No, ma’am. I know those men and they’re Negroes. Try to remember that.”

  She tilted her head to one side, closed one eye, and stared at me from the other. “I’ll call them whatever I want,” she whispered, then opened the door and stepped outside. I followed.

  “Which one of you is Tucker?” she asked.

  Russell Tucker was squatting beside a row of paint cans. He stood when Miss Veatrice entered the yard.“I am,” he said.Tucker was in his early forties, and was the type of man who could go from crib to grave unnoticed if he chose.He was of medium height and build with a medium-brown complexion and a soft-spoken voice.

  “Bakker says I’m to do business with you,” Miss Veatrice said. “Nobody but you. Everything is here for you to work with, and Bakker says you’re not to come in the house for any reason. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, ma’am, ”Tucker answered.“I figure we’ll start ’round there in the front, on the roof, if that awright wit’ you, ma’am.”

  “Oh, I don’t care where you start, ”Miss Veatrice said, spreading her arms and waggling her fingers. “Just make me a pretty white house. That’s all I want. Of course, I work on my flowers in the front, but I guess if I stay out of your way, you’ll stay out of mine.” She giggled.

  Hambone and I exchanged glances. I think he had figured out that Miss Veatrice was a touch simpleminded, but I didn’t know how he would respond if she called him a nigger.Maxwell had figured it out, too. He watched her from the top of his eyes, his chin resting against his chest.

  “Awright, let’s get some of the stuff ’round to the front, ”Tucker instructed. “Let’s get busy.”

  Back in the kitchen, I listened to the noise of hammering and was comforted by the sound. At noon, when the men took a rest, I went out to the yard and sat on the grass next to Hambone. He had separated himself from the others, as if he’d known I would come. He was stretched out, resting on his elbows, and staring at the house.

  “We’ve got our work cut out for us,” he said. “I wonder how this house ever got over here in North Ridge.”

  “Hambone, I wanna warn you about Miss Veatrice,” I said.“She’s a little mixed up about some things.”

  “I already gathered that.”

  “Yeah, but she might slip up and call you a nigger, and I don’t want you to lose your temper and do something stupid.”

  H
ambone sat up and propped his elbows on his knees. He stared at me, shook his head, then grunted. “Let me get this straight,” he said.“We’ve got a twelve-year-old boy shot in the leg, Becky James limping from being struck with a bat, and another boy with a busted arm, and you’re worried about whether somebody is gonna hurt some old crazy-ass white woman?”

  “It’s not like that, Hambone. I’m not worried about her. I’m worried about you.”

  “Why are you spending your time worrying about me?”

  “It’s the way you hate,” I answered.“It’s not right. I believe you’d hurt Miss Veatrice, and they’d come after you. They’d find you, Hambone, and lynch you.You know they would.”

  “You’re too young to be so serious,” he said, leaning back on the grass.“You know why I’m out here with Tucker today? It’s because I’m getting ready to do everybody a favor. I’m leaving Pakersfield. I’m not washing anymore windows or dishes. I’m not hoeing any more fields or sawing down any more trees. I’m moving on.”

  “Just like that?”

  “Just like that. I figure if old man Leddy can stay sober, we’ll finish this job in about three or four days. I’m gonna take my money and split.”

  I was sitting with my legs tucked beneath me and could feel numbness setting in. I stretched, and Hambone watched. His gaze traveled the length of my legs.

  “What are you staring at?” I snapped, remembering my encounter with him in my mother’s kitchen.

  “You need some shoes,” he said. “How long have you worked for these people and can’t buy a pair of shoes?”

  Apparently Sam had not told him about our mother’s arrangements with our pay. I didn’t tell him, either. I stared down at my lap and said, “Hambone, I wanna ask you something. When you started preaching at the fair, what did you expect those white men to do? Did you think they were just going to stand around and listen with the rest of us?”

  For the longest time, Hambone said nothing. He glanced over at the other men, then back at me. “I don’t know,” he said at last. “I just know I’m sick and tired of it. I wanna show them that we don’t have to take it.”

  “They could have killed us,” I said, “but they didn’t.”

  “No, they didn’t.They hurt us, though.You’re just a little girl, Tangy.You don’t understand that people don’t have the right to treat you any old way they want.”

  “What about you?” I asked, although I hadn’t intended to.“Do you have the right to treat me any way you want?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You know what I’m talking about, Hambone. I talking about what you tried to do to me in my mother’s kitchen.”

  “Oh, that,” he said.“You shouldn’t flirt with people if you don’t wanna be bothered. If you remember, you led me to that kitchen. I didn’t realize until later that I’d scared you halfway out of your mind.”

  “Were you blind and stupid?” I snapped.

  “If I was, that damn Tarabelle knocked some sight and sense back in me real quick, didn’t she? And I haven’t bothered you since.”

  “Because of Tarabelle?”

  “Because you weren’t ready.”

  Across the yard, Tucker stood and prepared to get back to work. Down on the front porch, Miss Veatrice packed dirt into a clay pot with her knuckles and never once glanced up.

  “What’s that she’s doing?” Hambone asked, as he helped me to my feet.

  “She says she’s planting flowers. She does that every time I come, but she never has seeds or anything. I think she’s just killing time.What do you think of her brother?”

  “I’ve never met him. He hired Tucker, who asked me if I wanted work.”

  As we walked toward the house, Hambone asked, “Did I tell you that Reverend Nelson was at my door the other morning before the roosters crowed? Everybody is blaming me for what happened at the fair. I guess in a way it was my fault. I know I feel responsible for Bubba, but he’s gonna be all right. I still think people need to wake up.”

  I slowed my pace, lagging a few steps behind him, then I stopped. He glanced back, as I knew he would.“Were you with Sam when he beat up that Griggs boy?” I asked.

  “Did anybody mention my name?”

  He went back to work, and I returned to the kitchen and put supper on the stove. The house was clean now, except the little room next to Miss Veatrice’s. Dirty clothes were piled in a corner, and I left them there. I had started out by leaving the wash until Saturdays so I would not have to roam through the rooms in Bakker Whitman’s presence, but I had learned that he was not the evil man his sister had made him out to be.He was quiet, studious, patient with his sister, and polite to me.

  At two-thirty I left the Whitmans’ house.Tucker and his crew were still at work, and I waved to them. Hambone climbed down from his ladder and offered to give me a ride home, which I accepted. On the ride through town he talked about nothing except Becky James.

  “If she wasn’t stuck on Red Adams, I’m telling you, I’d be talking to her,” he said. “That’s the kind of woman I need. She’s got that something you don’t find in most women. She’ll stand with you.You know what I mean? She’s strong enough to stand there beside you and fight until she falls. That’s what she did the other night.”

  “Well, she’s marrying Red Adams, and she’s too old for you, anyway,” I said.

  “Are you kidding? What’s a couple of years? Nothing.What am I suppose to do—wait around until you grow up and decide what you wanna do?”

  “What you need to do is grow up and decide what you wanna do,” I answered. “And you don’t know how strong Becky is. Sometimes hatred resembles strength.”

  “You’re jealous.”

  “Okay,” I pleasantly agreed, “but if I have to get hit with a bat and knocked down in order to be strong, I’d rather stay a weak little girl.”

  He was quiet as he turned onto Penyon Road and stopped beside my mother’s car, then he laughed.“Get your smart little ass out of my car,” he teased.“You’re gonna be something else when you do grow up.”

  “So are you,” I said.

  I backed away from the car, thinking that Hambone was not as bad as I had thought. I watched him as he shook his head.Then he turned the car around, honked the horn twice, and drove off.

  thirty - six

  In November, Harvey returned to our mother’s house with a change of clothes and not one word of explanation. To my knowledge, Mama never asked him to explain. Harvey had been with us for about three days before Mama even knew he was there. She had been isolated in her room.We had heard her in there screaming Sam’s name, or crying, or mumbling to herself, and we had tried not to disturb her. She would do that sometimes— hide away in her room—but she never allowed more than a few days to pass before she would come out with a new plan of how she could get Sam out of jail.

  I knew she had spoken to Mr. Frank about helping Sam. I had heard her. Mr. Frank had shaken his head and refused her. “Sam’s past the point of bailing out, Rozelle,” he’d said, “and I don’t know that I would waste my money like that. Given the chance, Sam is likely to run, and anyway, he went down there and just outright admitted he was guilty of attacking that white boy. I can’t help nobody don’t wanna be helped.”

  Mama stayed angry with both of the Garrisons for almost a week, but the more she talked to people, the more she heard the same things Mr. Frank had said. Sam, people told her, had been to court and was serving easy time, given the circumstances. He looked good, he was well fed, and no one had laid a hand on him. Mama insisted they were lying. I didn’t know what to believe.

  Wallace had taken over Hambone’s old job of washing windows for the town merchants.Tarabelle dutifully went to the Munfords’ and slipped things from their house when she could, in an effort to satisfy our mother. Harvey had stopped going to the funeral home to work, but he went to the train depot almost every day, and most of the time he was hired out.

  My most pleasant days, oddly enou
gh, were spent at the Whitmans’. Their house had undergone a remarkable restoration. It was now an unpeeling, spotless white with intact dark green shutters, and I felt more at ease there, to speak and roam about the rooms, than in my mother’s house.

  In my mother’s house, we waited.We waited on her and for her. We waited for change, and nothing ever changed, except our mother’s moods.We were sitting and waiting one evening when Mama drove home with Miss Pearl in the car.

  “Humph, ”Tarabelle grunted, as she watched Mama park the car. “She ain’t never picked me up from work and drove me nowhere.”

  “I know,” Harvey agreed.“She be sending me all over town and won’t even let me drive that car.”

  “She wouldn’t be sending you nowhere if you’d go on home to yo’ wife where you oughta be, ”Tarabelle replied.

  “Who you to be saying where somebody oughta be?” Harvey asked angrily.

  “I’m me, ”Tarabelle answered calmly, turning from the window, “and I’m gon’ fix Mama.Watch me.” She stepped away from the window and sat on the arm of Harvey’s chair, then crossed her arms over her chest, and waited.

  Wallace and I exchanged glances.We could hear Mama and Miss Pearl laughing as they climbed the stairs. Mama entered the room first, holding a bulky white package in her arms.

  “Look what Pearl got for us,” she said. “We gon’ have a happy Thanksgiving this year. This a turkey from the Skyles Farm. Pearl said it was the biggest one out there.”

  “Sho’was,” Miss Pearl agreed, stepping in behind Mama.“Tangy Mae, you bring it on up to the house tomorrow and cook it in my stove.”

  “Here, boy,” Mama said, giving the turkey to Wallace. “Put this thing in the ice box ’til tomorrow.”

  It was two days before Thanksgiving, and once again the fifth grade had chosen the Quinns as their needy family.Tomorrow our principal would deliver twelve boxes to twelve needy families, and we would be presented with the fifth grade’s decorated box of canned goods. It thrilled our mother almost as much as it embarrassed us.Mama, who was not one for other holidays, looked forward to Thanksgiving. For me, it was the worst holiday of the year.