Dubé stopped and looked at our stunned faces, then nodded firmly in confirmation of his own words.
“Th-That’s right! Th-They was gettin’ government money for th-them acres and then figures to g-get money from the cotton they grow’d on th-them same acres. G-G-Gettin’ money on ’em twice was what they was d-doin’. M-Mr. Wheeler, he say the Washington AAA folks was ’b-bout to come down here and dddd-do some checkin’ and these here ole landlords heard ’b-b-bout it and set everybody to plowin’ to g-g-get they figures straight ’fore th-they checked. A-A-Ain’t that somethin’!”
“Lord!” said Moe. The word was no more than a whisper.
“Y-y’all tell y’all’s folks ’bout the m-meetin’, h-hear? I-I still g-g-gotta tell everybody up and d-down the road ’long th-this way, so I-I-I’m gonna hafta g-go.” He took off, running toward the Ellises’, then yelled back. “Stacey! S-see y’all later when I-I-I come up that way.”
For a while the older boys continued standing in the road talking of this new revelation and what could happen at the meeting, but Christopher-John, Little Man, and I, growing restless, started slowly down the road; Suzella went with us. By the time we reached the crossroads, Moe and Stacey still hadn’t caught up and we stopped to wait.
“Wish they’d come on,” I said.
“They be ’long directla,” said Christopher-John, then cocked his head. “Car comin’.”
We waited a moment. Stuart Walker’s Hudson appeared on the rise. As soon as I saw it, I sighed and turned back toward the school. Christopher-John and Little Man, understanding, followed my lead, but Suzella wanted to know why we were turning back. “Them boys always up to no good,” I explained as she unwillingly came behind us. “Better we meet up with Stacey and Moe.” We managed to get only a short distance down the road before the car rolled along beside us. “Keep on walking,” I ordered, not even looking around.
But then Stuart said, “Excuse me, ma’am.”
I turned, wondering who he was talking to.
“Would you mind stopping for a minute?”
Against my advice, Suzella stopped, so that we had to do the same. Stuart, at the wheel, braked and, stepping out, took off his hat. He smiled somewhat sheepishly at Suzella and said, “Ma’am, excuse me, but by chance you Mr. Henry Harrison’s niece visiting from Shreveport?”
Suzella looked at him blankly.
“Not to be forward, ma’am, but we hear tell she’s here and we seen ya here with these younguns, and knowing they live next to Mr. Harrison’s place, we thought maybe they was escorting you someplace. Figured you might be her.”
I spoke up hastily, afraid where this was heading. “This here, she ain’t Mr. Harrison’s niece, this here’s—”
“My name’s Suzella,” she said, cutting me off. “Suzella Rankin.”
I stared at her, and shook my head at her stupidity.
“Where you from?”
“New York.”
“Ah, I see. You gonna be here long?”
“A few weeks.”
Stuart fumbled somewhat awkwardly with his hat; I had never seen him act like this before. “Well, Miss Suzella, my name’s Stuart Walker. My family owns a plantation on the other side of Strawberry.” He motioned toward the car. “That there’s Joe Billy Montier in the front seat . . .” Joe Billy immediately jumped out, swept off his hat, and nodded to Suzella. “And Pierceson Wells there in back.”
Pierceson respectfully touched his hat. “Ma’am.”
Stuart waited a moment for Suzella to speak. I waited too, afraid for her to say anything, afraid to say anything myself. Stuart had made an embarrassing mistake and I knew it wasn’t going to be very pleasant when he realized what he had done. “Who you visiting, if not Mr. Harrison?”
Suzella crimsoned. She kept her eyes on Stuart, away from us. “It was nice to have met all of you, but I really have to be going on now.”
She started to turn away but Stuart stopped her. “Forgive me, Miss Suzella, but you being new to these parts, I’d be most happy to show you around.”
I shot a quick glance at Christopher-John and Little Man and their eyes said what I already knew; we had to put a stop to this. I braced myself. “Suzella, come on.”
Stuart’s eyes left Suzella and fell on me. “You best watch your manners, gal.”
“I—”
“Please don’t talk to her that way,” Suzella said.
Stuart’s voice ran smooth again. “You being from the North, Miss Suzella, you most likely don’t know that down here we demands respect from our nigras. We let something like this slide by, they’ll go walking all over us.”
My anger rose, fiery and hot, but I now knew better than to say what I felt.
Suzella moved away from Stuart. “We really have to be going. It was very nice to have met you.”
“My pleasure. One thing ’fore you go. I’d like to come calling on you, you don’t mind.”
For the first time Suzella appeared nervous. “No . . . that wouldn’t be possible.”
“I’m really quite a reputable person. I’m persistent too.” He smiled charmingly. “Maybe I could see you at church.”
I started down the road, about to explode. Little Man came with me. Christopher-John, torn, looked around indecisively and waited for Suzella.
“I . . . I really have to go,” she repeated and started walking.
“Can we give you a lift?”
“No . . . no, thank you.”
“Well, I’ll be seeing you again, though, Miss Suzella. I’ll make sure of that!”
The car door slammed, then the car passed us with a honk, moving slowly to avoid raising the dust. When the car was gone, Suzella ran to catch up with Little Man and me. “Cassie—”
I was burnt and let her know it too. “Don’t you talk to me, girl! Don’t you say one devilish word!”
“But, I—”
“Can’t stand you no way!”
She pulled back, her face growing pale at my attack. Then Christopher-John quietly reprimanded her. “Suzella, you was wrong to do what you done. Uncle Hammer, he say that kinda thing get you in trouble.”
“’Round here acting like you white,” grumbled a disenchanted Little Man with an angry, disappointed glance back at her.
On the way home, none of us said anything further about the meeting, and Stacey with his mind on other things seemed not to notice how quiet we all were. I certainly didn’t feel like talking, but I was surprised when neither Christopher-John or Little Man said anything either. I supposed they were feeling let down that Suzella had acted as she had; another idol had fallen. As for Suzella, I didn’t know what she was thinking and, frankly, I didn’t much care. I was tired of her.
When we reached the house, Russell Thomas was there sitting on the back porch with Mama and Big Ma. It was a surprise to see him, and the boys and I brightened noticeably. “How long you gonna be with us this time?” Stacey asked, pumping his hand.
“Got myself a whole week.” Russell stepped back to look Stacey over. “Man, how you get to be tall as me?”
Stacey laughed. “I jus’ keep growing.”
“Miz Mary, you don’t watch out, you gonna soon have yourself a full-grown man ’round here.”
“Sometimes I feel I already have one. By the way, Russell, I don’t think you’ve met my niece, Suzella.”
“No, ma’am, ain’t met her but I gotta admit, done heard ’bout her.” He extended his hand. “Russell Thomas. Miz Lee Annie’s grandson.”
“She’s spoken of you. I’m sure she’s pleased that you’re home,” Suzella said graciously. Then, excusing herself, she went into the house.
Russell stared after her. “Well, like everybody say, she’s mighty pretty all right.” He sat back down. “Kinda short on her words though.”
“That’s her way,” said Big Ma.
“Humph!” I grumped, but no one but Christopher-John, who shot a disapproving glance my way, heard.
“Mama, we run into Dubé,�
� said Stacey, “and he told us Mr. Wheeler come back and said how come all this plowing up been going on.”
“He did? What’d he say?”
Stacey repeated what Dubé had told us.
“Well, I declare.”
A discussion of the plow-ups followed as Russell asked about what had been happening in the community. In the midst of the conversation, Big Ma turned to Stacey and told him to get the watermelon that was cooling in the well. I went with him and together we tugged at the heaviest of the three ropes hanging from the scaffolding and brought up the melon, a large, round, dark-green one, the kind Big Ma preferred above any other. Later, when all of us but Suzella, who had decided to keep herself in the house, were finishing up our second slices of watermelon, Dubé arrived. Immediately, he started in about the union, his voice rising in angry indignation as he quoted Mr. Wheeler about the reasons for the plow-ups, then about the conditions of sharecroppers and day laborers across the South.
“I understand you been doin’ quite a bit of work with them union leaders,” Russell said.
“W-work with ’em when I-I can. Th-th-this here union c-could mean a whole lot, w-we stand together.”
“And at this here meeting folks gonna be deciding what to do ’bout the plow-ups and the checks, I take it.”
Dubé nodded. “Th-th-that’s right. Mr. Wheeler, he s-s-say too the union g-g-gonna demand buck s-seventy-five a day for field wages too. That there, it’ll help f-f-folks like me a whole lot. Mr. Wheeler, he s-s-say we stick together, everybody be living a whole lot b-better. He say—”
Russell smiled at Dubé. “You kinda think a lot of this Mr. Wheeler, don’t ya?”
Dubé looked a little shamefaced and lowered his head. “I-I guess I-I does.” Then quickly he looked Russell in the eye. “But I-I-I ain’t T-Tomming none.”
“Wasn’t thinking that.”
Dubé looked relieved, for he, like most of the boys and young men in the community, admired Russell and wanted his approval. “J-jus’ that what he s-s-say make sense and he be d-doing somethin’ ’bout it.”
“From what I been hearing, it makes sense to me too. What else ya know ’bout it?”
Obviously pleased by Russell’s interest, Dubé talked a good half hour more about the union and Morris Wheeler, John Moses, and other union leaders; about how the union was started and what its goals were; about the importance of the union and his role in it, his excitement growing as he talked and his stuttering lessening. “R-Russell, you j-jus’ oughta meet Mr. Wheeler and them your own s-s-self and talk to ’em. Th-th-they’s good folks and they can ’splain everything b-better’n me.” His eyes brightened. “F-fact to business, why don’t ya c-come on with me now? I-I-I be going there soon’s I-I make these last few stops.”
Russell thought a moment. “Where they live?”
“O-over by Mr. J-J-John Bass’s place.”
“I understand they stay there together—colored and the white union men.”
“Y-Y-Y-Yeah, they do.”
Again Russell was thoughtful. Finally, he said, “Tell ya what. Can’t go today, and tomorrow I gotta make a run into Strawberry with Cousin Page. What ’bout late tomorrow afternoon sometime? You think you might be going that way?”
“G-g-go if ya wanna.”
“All right then, why don’t you stop by Mama Lee’s on the way over ’round four. Should be back from town then.”
After Russell and Dubé left, I walked out to the pasture to figure out what I should do about Suzella; then, deciding to talk to Stacey about her, I came back and crossed the yard to the barn where he was working. “I wanna talk to you,” I said as soon as I cleared the door. “You know what that Suzella done today?”
Stacey turned to look at me. “This here’s ’bout Suzella I don’t wanna hear it.”
“Whaddaya mean ya don’t wanna hear it?” I demanded, just about sick of him too. “You don’t even know what she done!”
“And I don’t wanna know. All you do is complain ’bout that girl.”
“But she—”
Mr. Morrison came up the drive in the wagon loaded with hay and Stacey went to meet him. Little Man and Christopher-John sat upon the stacks, and as Mr. Morrison turned the wagon around to back into the barn, they yelled directions to him. “Ya all right now, Mr. Morrison! Jus’ a bit farther now!”
When the wagon came to a halt and Jack had been unhitched, Stacey hopped up on the stacks to push them into position for unloading. I hopped up as well, and once the stacks at the edge of the wagon had been taken off, I struggled to pull a stack out by myself.
As he worked, Mr. Morrison spoke about other hay crops he had gathered through the years, some in Mississippi, some in states like Kansas, Missouri, and Texas. He had traveled a lot, and it seemed to me, who had gotten no farther than Strawberry, that he had been just about everywhere.
“Mr. Morrison, you wouldn’t ever think ’bout leaving us, wouldja?” Stacey asked, pulling a bale close to the wagon’s edge.
I looked up from my struggle, wanting to hear his answer.
“Don’t ’spect I would,” he said. “Y’all’s my family now.”
Assured that he wasn’t going anywhere, I went back to tugging at the bale. Mr. Morrison saw me and let out a bemused laugh. “You figure you got enough muscle on you, girl, to be doing that?”
“Ah, Mr. Morrison, I got plenty of muscle.”
Mr. Morrison grunted. “Well, I ’spect it wouldn’t hurt none if them muscles of yours had a little bit of help now, do you?” He glanced over to Christopher-John and Little Man and told them to help me.
Christopher-John and Little Man stepped in beside me, and Little Man said, “Move, gal. Let some real muscles in.”
Mr. Morrison stopped and looked back at him. “What’s that you said?”
Little Man looked up, his face showing his surprise. “Sir?”
“You used the word ‘gal.’ Ain’t that right?”
“Y-yes, sir.”
“You ever hear your papa or your Uncle Hammer or anybody in this house talking to womenfolks with that word?”
“No, sir.”
“Then don’t you use it. It’s common. White folks use that word to talk down to colored women, and too many colored folks done gone and picked it up. White folks don’t respect our female folks, so that give us all the more reason to respect ’em and don’t be speaking to ’em the way the white folks do. That make sense to ya?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. Then get on back to work.”
Once the bales were stacked, I tried to continue my talk with Stacey, but he abruptly cut me off, refusing to listen. “I done told you once, Cassie, I don’t have time to hear ’bout it,” he said and walked off.
“You just wait!” I cried after him. “You just wait till you need somebody to talk to! Need to talk to me!”
That little outburst did not even make him miss a step, and both discouraged and angry, I went across to the yard where Mama was taking down the wash. I grabbed one of Stacey’s shirts and slapped at it furiously before folding it.
“Now what’s the matter with you?” Mama asked from the next row.
“Ah, that Stacey, he just make me so mad. I told that boy I wanted to talk to him, but he say he didn’t have the time.”
“Here, help me with this sheet.” I stepped back and took down one end of the sheet as Mama took down the other, and we folded it in half. “You know, Stacey has a bit of a problem of his own and I don’t think things are going that well for him.”
“What kinda problem he got?”
Mama shook the sheet to straighten it. “Liking someone that’s special to him and having trouble with it.”
“You mean Jacey? Ah, that ain’t nothin’.”
“When you care for someone, it’s something.”
“Well, I’m sorry ’bout all that,” I said, though I couldn’t dredge up too much sympathy about it, “but he didn’t have to be so mean to me just ’cause he’s feeling
bad.”
“He probably didn’t intend to be.”
We finished the sheet and started another. “Mama, Stacey and me, we used to be such good friends. Now he don’t even hardly say ‘boo’ to me.”
Mama smiled. “Ah, don’t you worry,” she said. “Stacey’s at an age where he’s looking for room. He’s changing and he’s looking for his life to change too, and he really doesn’t have much patience with folks he’s been around all his life. But that’ll all pass. I remember when your Cousin Bud went through the same thing and I was one upset little girl, because I just loved Bud so and we’d always been close. I just didn’t understand why he had to change, and if we both eventually had to change, why it couldn’t be at the same time.” She laughed. “It didn’t make any sense to me that just because there were three years between us it should make any difference. But it all worked out all right. We went through a few years there when we were always at odds with each other, but when we both got a bit older we became friends again . . . closer than ever. It’ll be the same with you and Stacey.”
“You really think so, Mama?”
“Most certainly do.”
Assured of the prospects for improved relations with Stacey looming in the future, my thoughts turned once more to Suzella. I asked Mama if she thought Suzella was pretty.
“Very,” she said.
“Well, I don’t see how come everybody get so excited ’bout the way she look. Jacey and Clarice jus’ as pretty.”
Mama agreed. “Yes, they are.”
Let the Circle Be Unbroken Page 23