His head tilted quick as a flash and then his mouth was on hers. He kissed her without mercy, as if her request had allowed him to unleash the true level of his desire for her. He wasn’t rough, despite his vocation, but he kissed her as if it was the last thing he would do in this world and he wanted to make sure it was done well. It was all Sofie could do to remain standing; not because her knees were weak, but because if she pulled him to the ground like she wanted to, her church clothes would be ruined and there’d be even more gossip swirling around. Ivan backed her up against a corner post and gently untucked her shirt. His hands groped at her hips and her backside, and then he threw his head back in frustration.
“Where’s the zipper?” he asked.
Sofie froze. What was she doing there with him? Was she ready for whatever he had in mind? And then he smiled at her, that sheepish, chip-toothed smile, and she reached for the hidden zipper at the side of the skirt without hesitation. “I might be too good of a seamstress,” she said as she worked it down.
“I’ve noticed,” Ivan said. “Even your most demure outfit has the opposite effect on me.” Then he slid his hand into the loosened waist of her skirt and rubbed her through her panties, and all thoughts of sewing techniques went out of Sofie’s head. One of his hands went behind her waist to lift and support her, while his mouth forged a trail from the sensitive skin of her neck down to her thin bra. He licked through the lacy fabric she had worn with him in mind, as if some delinquent part of her had hoped he’d see it. Well, he was seeing it now, and tasting it too. He lapped at her sensitive tips, swirling his tongue around and grabbing her nipple between his teeth, even as his fingers groped their way into her drawers and massaged her sensitive nub.
“Oh,” she breathed quietly. She felt more than that little sound, but her training was kicking in, even when she should be wild and free. She even had to sin like a lady.
Ivan glanced up at her and shook his head with a glint in his eye that didn’t bode well for her.
“None of that dormouse stuff, Sofronia.” His voice was rough and his hand picked up the pace to match. Callused fingertips pressed harder against that slit of pleasure, and a remarkable feeling flowed through Sofie, like all of the pain and sadness and happiness that she had bottled up over the years was suddenly pushing to get out all at once.
“Ivan!” Her voice was louder than she’d spoken in years, and when he sucked at her neck and curled a finger inside of her, she broke and let out a cry that even the lead in the choir couldn’t have matched. Pleasure pulsed and pulsed through her body, divine and unrepentant. Her voice echoed around the gym as she sagged back against the post and simply let herself feel for once.
“Good to know those pipes are still working.” He kissed the hollow of her neck as he rebuttoned her blouse, and a different kind of thrill went through her, one she had never experienced. Not during that fumbling childhood kiss with David or on the double dates she went on with Henrietta. She felt like part of a duo, two people who could change things…together.
They’d just climbed down from the ring when the front door swung open and an older black man with the body of someone half his age walked in.
His eyes widened at the sight of Sofie, and the powerful togetherness she felt started to fade as every horrible thing the man could be thinking ran through her mind. Then he smiled. “Is this the lady who’s had you distracted during your sparring matches all week?”
Sofie looked at Ivan and was shocked to see he was blushing. Blushing, after all, that talk in the ring. “Jack, Sofie. Sofie, Jack,” he said.
“Nice to meet you, young lady. And I know that pretty face is familiar for a reason.”
He handed her the morning paper. There she was, sitting primly at the Special K counter, surrounded by a mob of angry men. It seemed that her years of training had one benefit: she looked like a perfect lady, her rigidness making the men around her look even more like barbarians. David and Henrietta appeared to be studying in the midst of the melee, but Ivan was regarding her with an adoring grin. She’d seen men look at women like that before, but that Ivan was regarding her in such a way for everyone to see…
“Oh dear Lord,” she said. She could already hear her father going on about how she’d humiliated him, how his job was in jeopardy, and the other things he’d listed as he’d guilted her the night before. But something else caught her eye. NASH LEADS NASHVILLE RIDERS, a headline beside the picture screamed. Sofie clutched the paper, reading excitedly.
“The rides aren’t over,” she said, looking at Ivan. “Students are leaving from Nashville and encouraging others to ride to Mississippi. They believe that if the rides stop because of the incidents in Anniston and Birmingham, the blow to the movement will be hard to recover from.” Sofie again felt the sense of unity that was a newfound thing for her—she wasn’t the only one who felt that way. These young people in Nashville and others around the country were going to get on buses and head to Mississippi, and she was going to join them. She felt that sense of purpose flow through her again.
“Now, a lunch counter is one thing, but getting on that bus is another,” Jack said. He looked at Ivan as if he had some say in the matter, but Ivan raised his hands.
“If she wants to go, we’ll go. It’ll probably take a few days to get everything together and scrape together money for tickets. Besides, you have your finals and I have my match. We can leave Saturday morning.”
Sofie had never felt such a quick rise and drop in spirits. “A whole week? Do you know what can happen in a week? We have to go now while the world is still watching. A week from now the Soviets might launch a nuke and no one will care about whether some kids are causing a scene in the Deep South.”
“If you miss your exams, won’t you flunk out for the semester?” Ivan asked. “Think about what you’re saying.”
Sofie felt her instinct to buckle to authority kick in. Ivan was right. She stood to lose so much if she skipped out, and not just her—her father’s savings and his hope for the first generation to go to school would also be lost. But she couldn’t sit in a classroom while her fellow students were making sacrifices of their own.
“There will be other semesters, Ivan. There may not be other Freedom Rides. I’m going to go, whether you decide to or not.”
“You can’t go by yourself,” he said. He snatched the paper from her, eyes scanning the cramped newsprint. “These students have signed their last wills and testaments. They’re ready to die. Are you?”
When their eyes met in challenge, Sofie felt something in her heart give way like a crumbling ledge. He didn’t believe in her. She still felt his touch on her body. He’d made her feel wonderful but more wonderful still had been the thought that finally someone had thought her capable of more than being a goody two shoes. She’d been mistaken on that account.
“If that’s what it takes,” she said, squaring her shoulders. “I don’t see how you being there will change anything. If you want to stay, stay, but don’t you dare presume to know what I’m willing to give up for the movement.”
“Oh no, girl,” Jack said, moving to stand between them. “Don’t you try to lay a guilt trip on the boy because he has priorities. He’s been working toward this fight for years. Almost half his life!” The man looked so disappointed in her as if she was trying to steal Ivan’s glory, that she couldn’t help but think of her father.
“This isn’t an ultimatum,” she said weakly. Jack leaned in to hear her because her voice had barely carried to him. Had that loud, resounding cry earlier really come from her?
“I should get you to church,” Ivan said. He took her arm, but his touch was like that of a stranger. She should have been angry, but the fire in her chest went cold. Disappointment replaced it, spreading through her body so that she felt sluggish as she walked out after him. She’d allowed herself to think that Ivan was different, but he was just one more person to let down, and Sofie didn’t think she needed that in her life. She was full up on people w
ho would gladly judge her.
The ride to her church was silent. As loss crept up on her, she tried to remind herself that a week ago she hadn’t been thinking of Ivan at all. If after today she never saw him again, the last seven days would have been an aberration and he would recede to the vaults of her memory once again. She didn’t believe that for a second, but if it got her through the rest of the day, she’d try to.
“I wish I could leave sooner than Saturday,” he said as he dropped her off three blocks from her church, as she’d requested. “But I’ve worked so hard for this. There are going to be promoters there, and this could be my chance at the big time, and a chance to help Jack get his name on the map. I’d be letting everyone at the gym down if I didn’t fight.”
Sofie tried to muster a smile, but couldn’t quite pull it off. “I understand. You’re going after what you believe in. I didn’t believe in anything for a long time but keeping my head down and not being noticed. But now I feel like I can do something, be part of something.” She took a deep breath. “I won’t wait for you.”
“Why? I don’t get the rush.” His eyes widened as if she had just dumped ice over him.
“Because even a docile girl like me has to stand up for herself sometime, and that time is right now.” She leaned in and kissed him then, despite her disappointment. If things were to go awry and the worst should occur, she didn’t want to regret not having one last touch of his soft lips. Even if things didn’t go wrong, she couldn’t expect some pledge of faithfulness after just a few days. She was sure some woman or other would be hanging around the ring to either celebrate or console him on Friday night. “Goodbye, Ivan.”
“I’ll call you later!” he called after her as she walked down the street. She hated the desperation in his voice, but she didn’t look back. She was already listing the next steps of her plan.
Chapter 11
Sofie had flinched when she walked through the doors of the church, but she hadn’t combusted, despite her interlude with Ivan. If the Lord didn’t see fit to punish her, she could withstand whatever anyone else had to say.
“I saw you in the paper this morning,” Mrs. Pierce said when Sofie greeted her in passing. She regarded Sofie shrewdly, but then the church pianist grabbed her to discuss the same thing, and Sofie breathed a sigh of relief. The last thing she needed was the woman harping on her yet again.
After fidgeting her way through service beside her stiff and silent father, Sofie found she was actually looking forward to the after-church meetup. Everyone seemed to be buzzing about the Freedom Rides and what it meant for the movement. She heard a few dissenters, but she hoped that they were a minority. Although she didn’t need the support of the majority for what she had planned.
After Melba announced that the quilting circle had been moved from Tuesday to Wednesday, Sofie stood and cleared her throat. As usual, everyone ignored her, but then she remembered her voice echoing around the gym that morning and used it.
“I’d like to make a request,” she said loudly. Everyone stopped what they were doing and looked at her in surprise. “Many of you are talking about the Freedom Rides today. I would like to join the movement and head down to Mississippi, but I’m afraid I don’t have the funds for a Greyhound ticket. If there are any of you who see the same righteousness in this cause that I do, I would appreciate a donation. I may not be Martin or Malcolm, but I’d like to do my part to help put an end to the fear we live with every day, that one misstep can result in our injury or death just because of the color of our skin. I think these rides can help do that. Thank you.”
She dropped down into her seat. She didn’t know what to expect now; that was the drawback of behaving impulsively.
Sofie noticed Mrs. Pierce stand across the room. “If I may?” The words were polite, but the question was hypothetical. Everyone turned toward the woman’s perfectly modulated voice.
“Now, I’m sure many of you have seen today’s paper. If you haven’t, you should know that our own Sofie Wallis was on the front page, seen staging a sit-in.” Sofie’s face went hot and her mouth went dry. She waited along with the rest of the congregation to see what Mrs. Pierce would say. Her fellow churchgoers were suspiciously quiet.
“The movement for our people’s freedom has been a topic of conversation every Sunday since I was a child. I’ve contributed my time and my money and my tears, and I have no regrets about that. But when I saw Sofie on that front page, looking the spitting image of her mama, I couldn’t help but think, ‘This child is brave! Braver than I’ve ever been.’” Mrs. Pierce’s eyes were glossy and her usually steady voice had taken on a bit of a tremor. “We all remember Delia and how she always spoke her mind. I think…I think she would be very proud of you, girl. I’m proud of you. I’ll cover the cost of the ticket, on one condition.”
“What’s that, Sister Pierce?” someone shouted out, saving Sofie the trouble.
Mrs. Pierce smiled. “After hearing the strength in the request she just made, straight from the diaphragm, I never want to hear her whisper-singing in my choir again.”
Sofie couldn’t stop the happy tears that spilled from her eyes then. She remembered the day her mother had come running from the Freidmans’ kitchen, and how in the brief moment before she began to break up the fight, before she died, Mama had seen Sofie holding her own against the group of boys. All she’d wanted was to do her mother proud, and hearing those words from such an unexpected source was all the more shocking.
“I’ll buy the ticket.” A hand clamped on her shoulder, and Sofie held it with both of hers.
“Daddy?” She looked up to see her father with tears in his eyes that matched her own.
“I just wanted to keep you safe. You’re all I have left.” He sighed. “Delia always said that if I held you too close I could squeeze the life out of you, and that’s what I did, isn’t it?”
His shoulders heaved, and Sofie jumped and hugged him close. “You did what you thought was best,” she said. That didn’t take away the years of hurt, but one thing the movement was teaching her was that to move forward there had to be reconciliation. She didn’t know if she forgave her father yet, but she loved him regardless.
“When are you heading out?” he asked in a hoarse voice.
“There’s a bus leaving tonight.”
“Then let’s go pack your bags. I’ll take you to dinner and you can tell me all about this movement. I still think it’s crazy, but if it’s important to you…” He hugged her even tighter. Sofie couldn’t have asked for a better gift.
Chapter 12
It was only when Sofie had boarded the bus that night, tucking her small travel bag under her uncomfortable seat, that she realized she’d never taken a trip by herself. She’d been so caught up in the end result that she hadn’t paid attention to the fine details, like how frightening it would be to do this alone. The phone had started ringing as she and her father left the house, and Sofie knew without picking up that it was Ivan. She’d let it ring. She remembered the way he’d sounded when they spoke on the phone—quiet, intimate—and felt the foolish urge to cry. She didn’t know how or why she had let him get to her, especially when others had been trying to line her up as a ready-made wife since she’d turned eighteen.
She craved Ivan’s presence, but she told herself that she could never miss anyone more than her mother, and she’d lived through that. Barely. Getting over Ivan would be easy in comparison, even if the pain in her chest indicated otherwise.
Sofie slept more deeply than was probably wise on public transportation, and woke to the sun shining across fields of Carolina tobacco. Her throat tightened at the beauty of the sight, and at the fading dream of her mother sitting beside her through the night as the bus rolled over state lines.
The trip was uneventful, and as other young people with the same intention boarded at various stops, she learned that the police had changed their tactics; allowing mobs to beat the riders was no longer an option thanks to the news media. The
trip was relatively safe now, according to them, and there was no need to guess what was waiting ahead of them. “They’re sending everyone to the farm. Parchman Farm,” a theology student from Georgia said when he’d settled into the seat across from her. “Still illegal, but they struck up some deal with Bobby Kennedy to make sure we don’t get our heads caved in. It only took one of his men ending up in the hospital before they cared enough to do that.”
Sofie had heard enough blues songs to know that Parchman was the most reviled prison in the country, but when they finally pulled into the Greyhound station in Jackson singing “We Shall Overcome,” she felt no fear. She marched out with the other riders and headed straight for the Whites Only waiting room.
“We are not afraid, we are not afraid, we are not afraid, toda-aa-ay!” She pushed the words out into the cloudless spring sky, her voice dwarfing all the others, even as the police officers stepped in front of them. Through the dirt-specked glass, Sofie could see men milling about in the waiting room, the same ugly look on their faces that she’d seen in the Special K diner.
The officers wore riot helmets, and their blue uniform shirts had stains where they’d been sweat through and then dried again. Sofie kept singing, and her voice didn’t falter, but a little seed of fear sprouted in her when one of the officers pulled out his billy club and took a step forward. His eyes locked on Sofie—perhaps drawn by her voice—and he was on her in two steps.
He grabbed her roughly by the collar of the jacket she wore over her simple dress. She heard the stitching she had worked so hard on rip and then she was flying this way and that. “You think you can just come marching in here singing a happy little tune and change things?” The visor of his helmet was up and his sweaty pink face was much too close to hers. He pushed her back and then gave her an extra shove with the edge of his baton, sending her against the glass door of the waiting room. “We treat our niggers good here. You ain’t doing nothing but causing trouble.”
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