The Road to Memphis

by Mildred D. Taylor

  “What if . . . Could you help him?”

  “I could defend him, if that’s what you mean.”

  “Well, what . . . what about if he goes north?”

  Stacey moved uneasily and cast me a harsh look. Mr. Jamison took note and was silent for some moments. He seemed to be pondering his answer. “Most likely he’d be better off,” he finally said.

  He had spoken the truth, and Stacey and I both knew it. There was nothing further to discuss. We started to get up. Mr. Jamison stopped us. “My secretary said that they’re still searching for Moe around Strawberry, but they’re thinking he might be out of the county by now.”

  I tried to keep from looking at Stacey. I tried to keep that same lawyer face Mr. Jamison showed when he knew a secret and wasn’t about to tell.

  “There’s been some speculation on how he might have gotten out and who might have helped him. Either someone took him without knowing the trouble Moe was in, or someone knew the trouble but took him anyway. The sheriff has even suggested that Moe could have gotten a ride with someone headed for Jackson . . . such as myself—”

  I leaned forward. “Mr. Jamison, they don’t think you—”

  Mr. Jamison smiled thinly. “No, Cassie. My sister and another lady accompanied me back to Jackson, and there’s no questioning the word of those two fine ladies. Statler, though, thinks it was Harris Mitchum who helped Moe get away. In fact, some men have already been to Harris’s grandmother’s place looking for him—”

  “They get him?” I asked, my lawyer poker face gone.

  “No. He wasn’t there.”

  I was relieved, and I didn’t care if Mr. Jamison knew it.

  Stacey stood, and I got up too. “We thank you, Mr. Jamison,” he said, “for taking the time to talk to us.”

  Mr. Jamison shook Stacey’s hand. “You have any more questions, you come back.”

  “Yes, sir, we’ll do that. We’re obliged.”

  Mr. Jamison waved away any obligation with a slight motion of his hand and saw us out. He walked us down the front hallway to the front door. Stacey glanced out into the night. “Maybe . . . maybe, Mr. Jamison, it be best we leave the way we come.”

  “Nonsense,” said Mr. Jamison and turned on the porch light as if he had no fear of eyes watching in the night, seeing colored folks walking out his front door. “Watch your step, now.”

  We said good-bye and returned to the car. Moe and Little Willie didn’t ask any questions, and Stacey and I said nothing until we were out of that neighborhood. Just being there made us nervous. Once we were back on the main street, we told Moe everything Mr. Jamison had said. Moe’s first thoughts were of Harris. “They . . . they think it was Harris helped me, then he in ’bout much trouble as I am.”

  “They haven’t caught up with him yet,” I said. “Maybe they won’t.”

  “And what ’bout Jeremy?” said Moe. “What if they find out it was him, and he faces trouble after what he done for me?” None of us answered. “Maybe . . . maybe I oughta think of going back.”

  I turned all the way around in my seat so I could look straight at him. “Are you crazy? Boy, you can’t go back there!”

  “May be the only way to keep Harris outa trouble. Jeremy too.”

  “Make sense, man!” admonished Little Willie. “Shuckies, Harris’ll be all right! They ain’t got him, and no doubt he hid good by now. And as for Jeremy, that’s his family, man! He one of ’em! They ain’t gonna hurt him!”

  “But—”

  “Moe.” Stacey was looking at him in the rearview mirror. “Forget it, Moe. You’re not going back.”

  Moe said nothing and looked out into the night. Stacey drove on. A block from Rose Street a lanky figure stepped into the street and waved us down. It was Oliver, and Clarence was with him.

  Stacey rolled down the window. “What is it?”

  “Man, the police, they been up to Miz Stalnaker’s,” said Clarence. “Best not go up there.”

  “Yeah,” continued Oliver. “Got a call from Miz Stalnaker, and she said don’t bring Moe there. Seem that Strawberry sheriff called up here about Moe.”

  “Well, then, we’ll just take Moe right on to the train,” said Willie.

  “Wouldn’t advise it. Miz Stalnaker said they know he’s here, they know he’ll wanna get out. Said they could be keeping an eye on both the train and the bus station.”

  Little Willie, sitting directly behind Stacey, leaned forward. “Well, what we gonna do, Stace?”

  Stacey glanced at the silent Moe, then checked the street. “This here’s no place to talk. Let’s go back to the cafe.”

  “Yeah, you right,” Oliver agreed as he and Clarence moved away. “See y’all there.”

  When we got to the cafe, Stacey looked around cautiously, then parked several buildings down. Oliver and Clarence passed us, parked as well, and we all got out. We met, shielded by the night and the broken streetlight overhead.

  “So,” said Oliver, “what we doing?”

  “If the police are watching the train and the bus station,” said Stacey, “then I figure the best thing to do is to drive Moe out myself.”

  Moe spoke for the first time since we had learned about the police. “No, Stacey, I won’t let you do that.”

  “No other way. I’ll drive you to Memphis, and you can get a train from there to Chicago and Uncle Hammer. Once you in Chicago, you don’t have to worry. They’ll have a hard time getting you there.”

  “Look, it’s me in trouble, and I got no right bringing y’all in it. You got any idea what’ll happen if we get picked up? You’ll be going to jail too! No, sir! I’m not gonna let ya do it!”

  Stacey turned back to the Ford.

  Moe grabbed his arm. “Stacey, you hearing me?”

  “Well, what you going to do, then?” Stacey asked him. “Stay here and let them take you back? You want to go to jail? Man, what’s the matter with you? You want to end up like T.J.?” After those words, Stacey looked around fiercely as Moe released his arm, then was silent. We all were silent at the mention of T.J. Avery. All of us except Oliver had known T.J. well. All of us except Oliver had grown up with him and had witnessed the day he had been taken off to prison at the age of fourteen for, supposedly, killing a white man.

  Finally, Moe broke the silence. Slowly shaking his head, he sighed and said, “No . . . no, that’s not what I want.”

  “Then you going to have to go.”

  Little Willie looked anxiously across the street, where a car had slowed. “Well, looka here, we can’t be standing up here all night jawing ’bout the thing.” The car drove on, and he looked back at Moe. “We gotta move!”

  “I just can’t have y’all in trouble on my account. Y’all done risked enough as it is.”

  “Seem to me,” said Stacey, “I’ve been in trouble on your account before, and you been there, too, on account of me, so don’t fight me on this, Moe. We got no time to fight.”

  I hooked my arm with Moe’s. “Well, whatever y’all finally decide to do, I’m going with you.”

  “Ah, naw, Cassie,” said Stacey. “Naw, you’re not. Papa and Mama would skin me alive, I took you with me and anything happened—”

  “But you’re going—”

  “Look, Cassie, I get into trouble, I got only me to worry about. You be with me, I’m going to have to worry about you too.”

  “You don’t have to worry about me. I can take care of myself. Besides, if I’m with you, it might make things easier.”

  “She got a point,” said Oliver. “If police start looking, they won’t be looking for a girl traveling with Moe.”

  Stacey was still against it.

  “Ah, man,” said Willie, “you know you ain’t gonna get no peace ’less you let her go. We all watch out for her, ’cause we goin’ too.”

  “Yeah, that’s a fact,” said Clarence.

  “Well, I thank y’all,” I said snidely. “I’ll watch out for y’all as well.”

  Stacey looked at me as he
had often done in past years when we were younger and I had insisted upon tagging along with him; it was not a look of brotherly love. “What about that debate of yours?”

  “I don’t think that’s so all-fired important right now, do you?” I took hold of his arm. “Stacey, I care about Moe much as you do. Let me go. Please.”

  Maybe it was the fact that I seldom pleaded with him about anything. Maybe it was just that he was understanding how I felt about Moe. In any case, he gave in. “I don’t want you giving me a hard time, you hear?”

  “What I’m going to give you a hard time about?”

  “Just mind my words.”

  I agreed to that, just to get the thing settled.

  Little Willie slapped his hands together, ready to go. “Good, then! Let’s get on outa here!” Both he and Clarence turned for the car.

  “Wait a minute, Clarence,” Stacey said. “What about your pass?”

  “Shoot! Got till tomorrow night, six P.M. for that. Plenty of time to get to Memphis and back and still take a bus down to Camp Shelby. Ain’t ’bout to miss seein’ Memphis!”

  “Thought you had the headache so bad,” I reminded him. “You up to this ride?”

  Clarence shrugged. “Ain’t so bad right now. ’Sides, ride might do me good.”

  “Yeah.” Little Willie laughed. “Maybe it’ll get your mind off that girl Sissy and becomin’ a daddy.”

  “Don’t you start up again with me, Willie.”

  Little Willie just slapped Clarence’s back and kept on laughing. He loved teasing Clarence.

  “Look here, Stace,” said Oliver, “don’t think I’ll be going with y’all ’less you figure you need me. Jasper ain’t been feeling too well tonight, and Jessie pretty much having to run the cafe by herself. All these people here, I best stay on and help her out.”

  “Yeah, all right. We’ll be fine. Need to borrow some money from you, though, for Moe’s ticket and for gas, too, if you can spare it.”

  “Yeah, sure. Can probably get forty or fifty bucks, what with what I got in my pocket. That be enough?”

  “Yeah, that’ll be fine.”

  Oliver returned to the cafe to get the money. When he came back, he gave the money to Stacey, then pulled a small notebook from his coat pocket. “Look here, y’all get to Memphis and you run into any trouble, look up Solomon Bradley—”

  “Solomon Bradley?” I said.

  “Yeah. He was in here this evening. Gone now, though. He’s a lawyer up in Memphis.”

  “He actually practices the law?”

  Oliver seemed puzzled by my interest. “Among other things. You meet him?”

  I nodded. “How did you all come to know him?”

  “He drives down to New Orleans a lot and he just stopped by one day to get something to eat. Met him then.”

  “Oh,” I said as Stacey looked curiously at me.

  Oliver went on. “Wrote down his address. He’s a good man to know. Y’all run into any trouble, y’all get in touch with him. Most likely he can help.”

  Stacey took the paper. “Thanks,” he said.

  “You know how to get to the train station once you get to Memphis?” asked Oliver, who knew Memphis well. “There’s more’n one you know. One y’all wanna go to is Central Station.”

  “It’s downtown?”

  “Yeah . . . let me draw you a map.” Oliver quickly sketched out the directions on the notepad. When he finished, he gave Stacey the pad. “Shouldn’t have any problems, but you do, you can always ask somebody.”

  Stacey nodded, then went to the driver’s side of the car and opened the door. “Ought to be back tomorrow morning or early afternoon sometime.”

  “Yeah, all right . . . if that white boy Jeremy Simms or that Mr. Jamison ain’t done sold y’all out and told the police about Moe ’fore then.”

  Stacey glanced once more at the distrustful Oliver and got in. Oliver shook Moe’s hand. “Moe, you take care, hear? Things gonna work out.”

  Moe nodded. “Thank ya, Oliver. That money, I’ll pay you back every cent.”

  “Yeah, I know you will. Don’t worry ’bout it. You just make it to Chicago, ya hear? Tell Cousin Hammer I said hello. Hope to see him down here come Christmas.”

  “I’ll do that.” Then Clarence got in the back seat, and so did Little Willie. I slid in beside Stacey, and Moe sat next to me. We were set to go.

  Suddenly Oliver said, “Wait a minute, wait a minute!” and ran back into the cafe. We didn’t know what had gotten into him. His return took more than a minute, but when he came back out, he was carrying a large bag. “Got shoeboxes of food for you there, Moe. Fried chicken and corn bread and some sweet potato pie. You’ll be needing it on that train. Got ’nough for the rest of y’all too, y’all get hungry.”

  Moe smiled his thanks and took the bag.

  “See you tomorrow sometime,” said Stacey and started the car.

  “Yeah,” said Oliver. “Yeah . . .” He slapped the roof in farewell and stepped back.

  Then we were on our way, leaving Oliver behind, a solitary figure in front of the cafe. We left Lynch and headed out State Street into the blackness of the Mississippi night. A few minutes later we were on the road to Memphis.

  The Road to Memphis

  All around us the world lay black. Only the headlights of the Ford cut a swath of brilliance across the night. Earlier a few cars had passed us going toward Jackson, and several huge trucks traveling north had closed in behind us, then sped on. But no other vehicles were now on the highway. There were no lights along the roadside either. For a while after we left Jackson we had seen lights flickering in roadside houses and in little towns still awake as we passed through. Now the towns were asleep, and all lights were out; we seemed alone in the world. Once Stacey stopped the car, and all the boys got out and walked off to the woods. I didn’t go with them. I didn’t like the thought of squatting out in the night over things I couldn’t see. I told them I’d just wait.

  “Won’t be any toilets we can use between here and Memphis,” Stacey told me.

  “Said I’d wait.”

  “All right, suit yourself.”

  As we made our way through the hill country the smell of skunk and other wild things seeped like a gaseous stink into the car. Little Willie complained about the smell for a while, then fell off to sleep. Clarence, too, slept. Moe and I remained awake, and, of course, Stacey was at the wheel, but none of us said anything much. I suppose we were all too caught up in our own thoughts for talking. The day had moved so fast and the night even faster. There was a lot to think about. I thought about all that had happened in Strawberry. I thought about the once important debate, the once important grade I needed to get, and realized how unimportant they seemed now. I thought about Solomon Bradley, too, and wondered if we would see him in Memphis. I hoped so.

  Since there was no radio in the car, there was no distant voice to soothe the night or the ride. Stacey fixed his eyes on the road; Moe stared out the side window into the blackness of the night. I shivered and pulled my coat close. The heater was barely working, and I was cold. Stacey glanced over at me and pushed the heater up to full blast, but it didn’t make much difference.

  “Right about now I’m wishing this car had a better heater,” he said.

  “No more than I,” I replied.

  He smiled, then glanced at the gas gauge. He had filled the tank in Jackson, so there was plenty of gas. But I knew something about the car was bothering him. “What is it?” I said.

  “I don’t know. Car’s not running quite right. Think I need to stop at a station somewhere and check under the hood.”

  “You figure we can find something open this time of night?”

  “I recall, there’s a truck stop along here somewhere. We’ll stop there.”

  The silence settled in again. The night passed on. Finally we saw lights in the distance. It was the truck stop. In addition to the gas station, there was a small store and a cafe. Several huge trucks were parked
on the lot. Stacey drove the Ford in and stopped alongside one of the gas pump isles.

  Little Willie stirred in back. “’Ey, son, we in Memphis?”

  “Does this look like Memphis?” I asked, glancing back at him. Little Willie looked out. “Could be. ’Member, I ain’t never been there.”

  “Got a ways yet ’fore Memphis, Willie,” Stacey informed him and opened the door.

  Little Willie and I followed him out. Clarence didn’t waken, and Moe refused to leave the car. “Could be police here,” he said.

  I looked around. “Don’t see any police cars.”

  “Figure it’s best I stay here.”

  “Well, suit yourself, then.”

  Stacey, Little Willie, and I stood by the car and waited. After a few minutes the station attendant came from the store. Stacey asked him to fill the tank. The attendant was a sandyhaired man, middle-aged with a cherublike face and a mind to talk. As he slipped the nozzle into the tank he looked around, his cheeks red under the lights that flooded the station, and observed: “Don’t see many of y’all traveling the road this late at night. Where ’bouts y’all headed?”

  I cut my eyes to Stacey, wondering how he was going to answer. He stood there straight-faced and lied. “Nashville,” he said without a blink.

  “Nashville? That a fact? Y’all know folks up there? Always figure a place just ain’t right somehow less’n you know folks.”

  I waited for Stacey’s reply to this. If we had kin in Nashville, I wanted to know about it too. But the man went on cheerfully, not giving Stacey a chance to speak. “Been to Nashville once, and it was all right. Nothing like Memphis, though. Always preferred Memphis myself. Body can have a fine time in that town.”