The Road to Memphis

by Mildred D. Taylor

  The sheriff gave me a look, and Stacey, after a quick glance my way, reasked the question. “He going to pull through?”

  “Still touch and go with him.”

  “Then you mean he could die?” I asked in a hiss of a whisper.

  The sheriff looked at me again, and this time he answered me. “That’s ’xactly what I mean.”

  I looked away, giving up a word in silent prayer, for if Troy Aames died, it was all over for Moe down here. He could never come back again. He would be lost to us forever. I also gave up a word in silent prayer for us all, for if people like Sheriff Dobbs got to checking, there might be more questions to answer, questions such as why Clarence was so many miles north of Jackson when he died, while Camp Shelby where he was due to report was a number of miles south of Jackson; questions such as why Stacey and Little Willie weren’t at work on Saturday night when they had told the sheriff that’s why they were in a rush to get back to Jackson. Hard questions to answer. All I could do was pray that they were never asked.

  Stacey cleared his throat. “Mr. Dobbs, you don’t mind, we’d like to go on over and talk to Harris and Sissy. We been long friends with them, you know . . . .”

  The sheriff was silent for so long considering, I turned back to them and found him studying hard on Stacey. He studied me again too. “Long as y’all don’t get no bright ideas ’bout tryin’ to cut that boy loose,” he said finally. “Y’all jus’ stand put there at the back of that truck, and don’t y’all go gettin’ on.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Dobbs.” Stacey touched my arm, to walk on with him, but then he hesitated and looked again at the sheriff.

  “What is it?” said Sheriff Dobbs.

  “Just . . . just that Sissy and Clarence were going to get married, and she . . . she doesn’t yet know ’bout him being dead. Appreciate you don’t mention it to her till we get a chance—”

  “I got no need to tell her nothin’,” said the sheriff gruffly and stalked off toward a group of men standing at the corner of the store.

  We watched him, then headed for the truck. As soon as Sissy saw us coming, she jumped up, ran to the edge of the truck bed, fell to her knees, and grasping Stacey’s hands, sputtered, “Oh, Lordy, Stacey! Lordy, I’m so glad t’ see y’all! They gonna take Harris away! They gonna put sweet Harris in jail!”

  I studied Harris. “Harris, you all right?”

  Harris nodded mutely, but he didn’t look all right. He looked as he had that night on the Rosa Lee.

  “How they get you?” I said.

  Harris shook his head, as if he didn’t understand that himself. Sissy spoke for him. “They come before and gone all over the place, but we had done hid Harris. Then they come back just now, and they got him, and Harris, he so scared! Ma and Auntie, they gone to try and find y’all’s daddy, see if he couldn’t talk for Harris. But I already done told them men come for Harris it wasn’t him. Told ’em it was that white boy Jeremy Simms took Moe out. Told the sheriff that too!”

  “Ah, Sissy,” I said.

  Sissy turned spitfire eyes on me. “Don’t you ‘Ah, Sissy’ me! I seen Moe get in that white boy’s truck! Cassie, you seen him too! You tell ’em you seen him!”

  “Sissy . . . we can’t—”

  “What you mean, we can’t? They gonna take Harris!”

  Stacey gripped her arm. “Sissy, listen,” he said quietly, “it’s best we keep Jeremy’s name out of this—”

  “How come? Y’all carin’ more ’bout that white boy than Harris?”

  “Course not, Sissy. But we’ve got to think about Moe too. Now, listen to what I’m saying to you—”

  “There he is!” cried Sissy; then, despite her bulging stomach, she wrenched away from Stacey, leapt off the truck, and before we could stop her, she headed straight for the Simmses’ truck, pulling in front of the store. The truck came to a halt, and as Charlie Simms, Statler Aames, and Jeremy got out Sissy ran right up to Jeremy, poked an accusing finger into his chest, and yelled, “You the one done it! You the one! Tell ’em it was you!”

  Jeremy stepped back, the color draining from his face.

  “Tell ’em—”

  Statler slapped Sissy’s arm down and shoved her away. Sissy came back at him, yelling for Jeremy to confess, and this time Statler laid his flattened hand right into her chest and knocked her back with such force, she fell hard upon the ground. Stacey and I both rushed to Sissy’s side as Mr. Simms looked from her to Jeremy, then faced off with the sheriff. “Hank, what this here nigger gal talkin’ ’bout?” he demanded.

  Sheriff Dobbs came over. “She the sister of that boy Harris yonder.”

  Charlie Simms turned to the truck. “Well . . . see y’all done finally got that nigger. He done told y’all where he took Moe?”

  The sheriff glanced at the men standing near, then looked back at Mr. Simms. “Well, Charlie . . . he sayin’ . . . he sayin’ he ain’t took Moe no place.”

  “Let me at him!” shouted Mr. Simms and headed straight for Harris like some charging bull. “I’ll make him tell where he done took that nigger!”

  “But it wasn’t Harris!” Sissy screamed. “Wasn’t Harris! I seen it! I seen the whole thing! It wasn’t Harris! It was a white boy took Moe out!” She pointed a finger straight at Jeremy. “That white boy, right there!”

  Jeremy seemed to go smaller as all eyes, including his father’s, turned on him. Then Charlie Simms started for Sissy. The sheriff intervened. He stepped in front of us and caught hold of Mr. Simms’s shoulders and halted him.

  “You let go of me now, Hank!” Mr. Simms ordered. “Let go of me right now! That gal, she lyin’ on my boy! You oughta know how these niggers lie!”

  Sissy had her back up now. She showed no fear for herself, not with Harris in trouble. Holding her stomach and leaning against Stacey for support, she got up. “I ain’t lyin!” she declared. “You ask your boy, you think I’m lyin’! I seen Moe get onto the back of his truck, and he seen him too! Harris, he was already gone when Moe got onto his truck! Ask him! He standin’ right there! Ask him!”

  The sheriff looked at Jeremy. Charlie Simms jerked away, turning to the other men. “Ain’t nobody askin’ my boy nothin’! Any one of y’all believe the word of a nigger and go questionin’ my boy, they ain’t no friend of mine!”

  The men shook their heads, murmuring that they weren’t thinking of such a thing.

  “Don’t you go worryin’ yourself none, Uncle Charlie,” consoled Statler, gripping his uncle’s shoulder. “We know who done this thing! That nigger Harris over there been vengeful ever since that accident of his! His way of gettin’ back at us. Couldn’t’ve been nobody but him took Moe out!”

  “Well, that be the case,” said Sheriff Dobbs, “I’m gonna take him on with me. Harris! Get on down from that truck, boy. You goin’ to town!”

  Harris looked around perplexed, as if he didn’t know what was going on. Two of the men jumped onto the truck and jerked him up, and he shuffled to the edge.

  “No!” Sissy screamed again and ran back to the truck. “Wasn’t him, I tell ya! Wasn’t him!” Then she turned to me. “Cassie, you tell ’em! You seen it!” She pointed right at me. “That girl there, she seen it too! She seen Moe get in Mr. Jeremy’s truck! Whole buncha us seen it! Now, Cassie, you tell ’em! You tell ’em, Cassie!”

  The judgment was now on me, and I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know what to say. If I denied I knew about Jeremy, these men would take Harris away. If I told them what Sissy said was true, they most likely wouldn’t believe me anyway, and they would still take Harris. I didn’t think that whatever I said would make any difference to what happened to Harris. The thing was, though, that I would make an enemy of Sissy by not telling the truth, and I would betray Jeremy if I did. I didn’t want to make that choice. I looked at Jeremy, saw the awful fear in his eyes, then looked at Stacey, who saw my fear and stepped forward. “Sheriff—” he started, but then Jeremy spoke up and cut him off.

  “It’s . . . it�
��s the truth . . . . That girl Sissy, she . . . she speakin’ true.” There was only silence as all eyes turned on him. “She speakin’ mostly true ’bout Moe on the truck, ’ceptin’ for . . . ‘ceptin’ I ain’t seen Moe get on. She mistakin’ that . . . .”

  Sissy started to deny that hotly, but Stacey tightly clutched her arm and laid a look on her that warned her into silence, and she said nothing more.

  “I ain’t know’d . . . .”

  The silence was deafening.

  Then Charlie Simms tore it. He stormed over to Jeremy and stood like a mountain before him. “What you sayin’?”

  Jeremy bowed his head, unable to speak with his father opposite him. Mr. Simms jerked Jeremy’s head upward and clinched his chin with fingers like a vise. “What you sayin’, boy?”

  Jeremy looked again at the men around him, and I knew that his world was crumbling. “I—I ain’t know’d Moe was on the truck, Pa . . . . I ain’t know’d . . . not till I done got to Bogganville and . . . and I seen him jump off. I ain’t know’d . . . and—and I was fearful of tellin’ . . . scared to tell ya, Pa! I was scared . . . .”

  Mr. Simms emitted a horrendous scream and slammed his enormous fist into Jeremy’s jaw. Jeremy slumped but his father caught him by the shirt collar, held him and slammed his fist into his stomach, then again into his face. This time Jeremy went flat to the ground. Mr. Simms raised his leg to kick him, but the sheriff grabbed hold of him. “Let him be, Charlie! Let the boy be!”

  Charlie Simms, in his rage, knocked the sheriff backwards and tried to get at Jeremy again. This time some of the other men intervened and pulled him off. They kept hold of him as the sheriff recovered and came back to face him. “Now, Charlie,” he said, “we been knowin’ each other all our lives and I know this here ain’t easy for you, what this here boy’s sayin’.” He looked around at the other men. “But I figure we oughta believe him, what he’s sayin’. That he ain’t know’d that boy Moe was on his truck. We gotta believe that, all of us. We know he wouldn’t be turnin’ his back on his own. We know that!” He looked pointedly at Statler. “You know it, too, Stat. Jeremy’s your blood!”

  Statler studied Jeremy and turned away from him without a word.

  The sheriff looked back to Mr. Simms. “Charlie?” he said.

  The men helped Jeremy to his feet. Jeremy, his face bleeding badly, looked at his father and tried to speak. He grimaced with pain, then mumbled, “Pa, ya . . . ya gotta believe me. I—I ain’t know’d—”

  Charlie Simms set a dead-eyed stare on his son. Then, in a voice as chill as well ice water and as low and quiet as a winter still night, he said, “Get outa my sight. Don’t know where ya got it from, but you always was a nigger lover. Never thought I’d live to see the day I said that ’bout my own flesh, ’bout my own son, but it’s so. I done tried to beat it outa you since you was knee-high, done tried to make ya see right, but you jus’ had t’ be ’round niggers. Well, ya might’s well be one your ownself, ’cause you ain’t white no more. Not after what you gone and done ’gainst your own kin. Your own blood, boy!” Jeremy’s lower lip quivered, and I knew he was fighting back tears. “Don’t you never again let me see you in this life, boy. Can’t stand the sight of ya.”

  I shivered, feeling Jeremy’s pain, feeling the stabbing jabs of his father’s anger, for the chill of that anger—and that hate—was enough to arouse the devil.

  “But, Pa—”

  Charlie Simms spat upon the ground in front of Jeremy, the spittle landing on Jeremy’s shoes, turned his back on his son, and headed for his truck.

  Weakly Jeremy held out his hand, upraised, in a plea to him, then let it drop and lowered his head.

  “Get this boy to my car,” Sheriff Dobbs told the men. “I’ll take him on home.”

  Mr. Simms turned wildly. “Not t’ my house, you won’t!”

  “But, Charlie, this boy need tendin’ to. His ma need t’ take a look at him—”

  “Far’s I’m concerned, he got no ma, no pa neither. He got no family now. You wanna see t’ him, that’s up t’ you. But me and mine, we got no further use for him. None in this world.” He set his eyes on Jeremy one last time. “He dead t’ me.” Then Charlie Simms got into his pickup truck with his nephew Statler, and they rode off down Soldiers Bridge and across the Rosa Lee.

  As the truck sped away nobody said a word. Finally the sheriff sighed and turned to the men holding Harris. “Y’all let that boy go on home now,” he said.

  The men looked at the sheriff with questions in their eyes, but they cut the ropes anyway, and we helped Harris down. The sheriff didn’t say anything to Harris or to us. He just gave Stacey a nod, indicating for us to leave. He waited until we had gotten Harris across the road and into the Ford, then he helped Jeremy into his car and drove off toward Strawberry. As the sheriff’s car passed us we glanced over at Jeremy, but his eyes were downcast, and he didn’t look back.

  We left the crossroads and headed south toward home. Just past Jefferson Davis School, we met Papa in the truck headed for the crossroads and the Wallace store. Ma Batie and Mrs. Sarah Noble sat beside him. Stacey braked, and so did Papa. Papa, seeing Sissy and Harris seated in back, said, “Everything all right?” He seemed not surprised to see Stacey and me.

  “Yes, sir,” Stacey said. “Jeremy . . . Jeremy told them he took Moe out, left him in Bogganville . . . . We were just on our way to take Harris and Sissy home.”

  Ma Batie leaned across Papa and cried, “Harris! Harris, they hurt ya? Answer me, boy!”

  Harris looked around but said nothing.

  Then Mrs. Noble hollered: “Harris! You sure you all right, son?”

  “He fine, Auntie,” answered Sissy, holding tight to Harris. “Don’t you be worryin’, Ma, he jus’ scairt, that’s all. Otherwise he be fine. He be fine.”

  “Stacey, Cassie,” said Papa, “you two all right?”

  Stacey nodded. Papa looked at me, waiting on my answer. I couldn’t lie to Papa. I never could. I wasn’t all right, and there was no sense in saying I was. But I couldn’t say what I needed to say about Clarence, not yet. I couldn’t blurt that out in front of Sissy. I couldn’t blurt out all that had happened since we had started on our road to Memphis, so I just gave a nod too and kept my silence. Papa studied us both as if he knew there was something more, but all he said was “We’ll follow you back.”

  Papa turned the truck around and Stacey drove on. Once at Ma Batie’s place, Stacey and I stayed outside with Papa as Sissy, her grandmother, and aunt helped Harris into the house. As soon as they were inside, Stacey told Papa about Clarence. He told him about Moe as well. When he finished, Papa sighed a deep, tired sigh and looked out to the field north of the house, as if not wanting to believe, yet believing still. “I was with J.D. Hopkins the day Clarence was born,” he said. “We were out hunting when we got the word. Clarence was J.D.’s first born and he was so proud . . . so proud.” Papa was silent for some moments gazing at the field before he turned again to us. “When we leave from here, we’ll go get your mama and Big Ma then go over to the Hopkins place. We’ll go over and see Mr. Turner after that.” He sighed once more and looked at the house. “Cassie, you go in with Sissy and send Ma Batie and Miz Noble out so we can tell them ’bout Clarence. Best we let them tell Sissy.”

  I did as Papa said, and after Ma Batie and Mrs. Noble were gone, I watched in silence as Sissy stood protectively beside Harris who sat on a stool in the corner staring at the floor and saying nothing. “He be all right,” she told me, patting his shoulder. “He be all right.” I nodded, then listened to her coo and fuss over Harris until Ma Batie and Mrs. Noble came back in. Papa and Stacey came with them.

  Ma Batie stood motionless for a moment, then went over to Sissy and placed a strong hand on both her shoulders. “Sissy, child . . . Sissy—”

  Sissy smiled brightly. “Don’t worry, Ma. Harris, he be all right. He be just fine.”

  “Girl, listen to me. Got some bad news here. Clarence . . . Clarence, he
’s dead.”

  Sissy laughed, then pulled away and sat down in the rocking chair beside Harris.

  “Girl, you hear what I said?”

  “I heard. You oughta be shame of yourself, Ma, telling me something like that.” She put her arm back around Harris, who now looked at her.

  “Child, it’s the truth! The boy’s dead!”

  Sissy gave her grandmother a hostile stare then, gripping the arms of the chair, settled back and began to rock vigorously. “Y’all funnin’ me.”

  Stacey went to her, placed his hand on the chair, and stopped the rocking. He stooped in front of her and softly said, “Clarence wrote you. He was thinking on you all the time.” He looked at me. “Give her the letter, Cassie.”

  I did.

  Sissy took the letter, glanced at us both with suspicion, and read it. Then she looked up grinning. “Clarence, he said we gettin’ married! He said we gettin’ married come Christmas!”

  Stacey folded her hand in his. “He’s dead, Sissy.”

  Sissy’s hand tightened around the letter. “Naw . . . naw, he ain’t. What y’all tellin’ me that for?”

  Stacey kept hold of her hand. “Something . . . something was wrong with his head, Sissy. He had all these awful headaches.”

  Sissy shook her head. “Y’all funnin’ me and I don’t like it. Clarence, he put y’all up to this, ain’t he? He jus’ wantin’ to get back at me ’cause I done give him a hard time ’bout this baby I’m carryin’.” She rubbed her stomach. “Well, he done had his joke, but I ain’t findin’ it funny.”

  I, too, stooped beside her now. Gently I laid my hand on her arm. “Sissy, it’s so . . . . It’s true. Clarence . . . is dead. He died Sunday night.” It was the first time I had spoken the words myself. It was the first time I had admitted it myself. “The Army’s supposed to bring him here tomorrow sometime.”

  Sissy stared at me, then at Stacey, then stared straight ahead at nothing and was a long time silent. Ma Batie and Mrs. Noble came closer. Harris pondered us all in silence from his stool. Then Sissy pulled her arm from my grip. She pulled her hand from Stacey’s. She calmly folded her letter and got up. “I got work to do.”