Have No Shame

by Melissa Foster

  Mitzi Kane stood beside me, her fleshy arm around my shoulder, a constant source of comfort and confidence with her whispers of encouragement, “We’re doin’ the right thing. This has to change. Maggie would be so proud of you.”

  Mrs. Johns came through the crowd with two boys in tow. I recognized Albert, a light-colored scar led from the corner of his eye to his hairline, a painful reminder of what my husband and brother had done to him. I wanted to reach for his hand, touch his arm, do somethin’ that would let him know that I cared, but I didn’t dare. We might be among mixed races, but this was not New York, and I thought I’d be better off keepin’ my hands to myself than makin’ waves. I moved from Mitzi’s grasp and stood before Albert.

  “I’m sorry,” I said softly. “I’m sorry they hurt you.”

  He nodded, his eyes cast toward his feet.

  Jackson’s mother put her arm around the other boy, who I recognized as my Friday afternoon lollipop boy.

  “This is Tinsel,” she said. “And I’m Patricia.”

  How I had wanted to know Jackson’s family, to sit at their kitchen table and talk with his mother about her children, cookin’, and life, as I did with my own mother. Jimmy Lee’s parents rarely spoke to me, and I longed for the warmth that I saw in Patricia’s eyes, so different than when we had met at the diner.

  My voice shook. “It’s a pleasure to meet you both.” Fear and happiness coalesced, creatin’ a bubble around us, in which I wanted to stay. I wanted to get to know her better, but stronger than my curiosity was my desire to right the wrongs done by my race, in Forrest Town.

  A young girl stood behind Patricia and, behind her, a man who must have been six foot five rested his hand on her shoulder. When he looked into my eyes it was Jackson’s image that was starin’ back. My heart skipped a beat.

  He nodded. “Ma’am.”

  “I’m Alison,” I said.

  “Michael Johns,” the man said, in a voice so deep it startled me.

  It took all of my concentration to look away from Jackson’s father, when what I really wanted to do was give the man a hug and tell him that I was sorry for hurtin’ his son. Instead, I cast my eyes to the left, recognizin’ the clerk from the department store, the gangly man who ran the gas station, and the always-smilin’ librarian, Lilly. I was thankful for the distraction. The moonlight shone down on the sea of people. Most of the men carried weapons, spinnin’ around every few seconds to scan the woods.

  Mr. Kane sidled up beside me. “There are more comin’. We have scouts on the other side of the woods, they’ll send someone in if there’s any hint of trouble brewin’.”

  “Alison?”

  I had a difficult time reconcilin’ Mama’s voice to my surroundin’s. I turned slowly, and found her standin’ behind me, her eyes wide, her hair perfectly combed. She wore her Wednesday night Blue Bonnet best.

  Suddenly, I no longer felt afraid.

  Chapter Thirty

  “What are we gettin’ at the market, again?” Jimmy Lee was drivin’ me to the store to buy fixin’s for dinner.

  “I’m makin’ chicken and biscuits.”

  Jimmy Lee had come home after me the evenin’ of the meetin’, and we’d barely spoken in the days that followed. I lived in constant anticipation of receivin’ Jackson’s next letter, and there was no avoidin’ the guilt that followed the rush of excitement. I was a married, pregnant woman, and even if I’d married Jimmy Lee for the wrong reasons, even if I didn’t love him, I had to know in my heart that our marriage wasn’t failin’ solely because of my love for someone else—a warped need to not let Daddy down on all accounts. He’d be devastated if our marriage ended, but if it were my fault, he might never get past it.

  “Nice.” Jimmy Lee reached for my thigh and gave it a squeeze. “You look pretty today.” That was the first compliment he’d given me in months, and I hadn’t realized how much I missed the soft edges that he hid so well. I realized then, that even with him bein’ kinder to me, I still yearned to be with Jackson.

  “Thank you,” I said, runnin’ my fingers through my hair. “Do you wanna go to your parents’ house for Thanksgivin’ or mine?”

  Jimmy Lee didn’t answer.

  We passed the diner, and I longed to go inside, march right to the back door, and whip it open. I longed for Patricia to hand me another letter. A quick note, some sort of acknowledgment that Jackson had received my letter.

  “Alison!” Jimmy Lee fumed.

  “Gheez, what, Jimmy Lee? You scared me.”

  “I asked you three times. You were off in La La Land. I said, I have to go out tonight, so have dinner ready early.”

  “Where are you goin’?” Annoyance pecked at my nerves.

  “It doesn’t matter,” he said.

  “It does matter. We’re married, and I never see you.” I crossed my arms over my chest, bitin’ back my hurt.

  “You see me. I’m here now, aren’t I?”

  “That isn’t what I mean. Ever since we got married, we never hang out anymore, we never go on dates, we never do anything but wake up together.”

  He eyed my belly. “I think we do more than that.”

  I rolled my eyes and turned away. Then realized it was now or never.

  “Jimmy Lee, where do you go at night, when you go for drinks? Where are you goin’ tonight?”

  We stopped at a red light and Jimmy Lee turned toward me, one hand on the steerin’ wheel, the other restin’ on his open window. “What I do does not concern you.” He faced forward, then said in a cold, even tone, “Someone has to keep these streets safe.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Women huddled by the butcher, whisperin’ among themselves. The cashier leaned in close, whisperin’ to the customer in line when I walked by. I glanced out the front window where Jimmy Lee was lightin’ a cigarette, and then headed for the frozen vegetable aisle. I neared the butcher counter and the gossipin’ women quickly dispersed.

  “Hi, Charlie,” I said to the butcher as I passed.

  “Alison. Where’s that husband of yours?” He looked up and down the aisle.

  “He’s waitin’ outside.”

  What was goin’ on? Did everyone know about the meetin’ last night? Oh, God. I hurried through the store and picked up the groceries I needed, then headed for the cashier.

  “Hi, Millie.” Millie Lapas, a thin-lipped girl who'd been in my English class, looked me up and down.

  “How are you Alison?”

  I patted my belly. “Fat and happy, I suppose.”

  She smirked, dartin’ her eyes at the women who were now huddled by the dairy aisle.

  “How are you really doin’?” she whispered.

  “Fine?” What on earth?

  “I just figured, with that boy pressin’ charges and all that, you know?” she raised her eyebrows.

  I shook my head in confusion.

  “Oh, it’s none of my business. I’m sure it wasn’t Jimmy Lee.” She swatted the air.

  “What wasn’t Jimmy Lee?” I asked. Jimmy Lee leaned on the front of the truck, cigarette in hand.

  Millie stopped ringin’ up my items and leaned across the counter. “You know, that boy he beat up?”

  Albert? I wrapped my arm around my belly, wantin’ to protect my baby from hearin’ whatever might come next.

  “You don’t have to hide it, Alison. Everyone knows he beat up that colored boy, Thomas Green. Left him near ‘bout dead.”

  My knees grew weak. “Wh...what?”

  What had he done? Good Lord, everyone knew? I looked around the store, the eyes of every patron were cast on me like fishin’ hooks.

  “Can you hurry, please?” I scrambled to pay, grabbed my groceries, and rushed out of the store, one hand around my burgeonin’ belly, the other carryin’ the bag of groceries, as I crossed the parkin’ lot toward the truck.

  “Get in quick,” I urged Jimmy Lee.

  He didn’t budge while I climbed in and set the bag of groceries strategically between him a
nd me. “Get in, Jimmy Lee, now!”

  He stamped out his cigarette under his foot and lackadaisically stepped into the truck. I covered my face and motioned with my hands with him to hurry.

  “What has gotten into you?” He started the truck and I ducked down in my seat to avoid the glares of the women who stood peerin’ out the window of the market.

  “What did you do, Jimmy Lee?”

  He laughed. “Smoked a cigarette.”

  “You beat up another boy, didn’t you? All those people in the store, they said you beat up a colored boy and his family is fixin’ to press charges.”

  “Shit, that kid? He was just some scrawny Negro.”

  “Well, that scrawny Negro is a person. He has feelin’s, Jimmy Lee, and he hurts just like you an’ me. Besides, that poor sufferin’ boy will get you put in jail.”

  Jimmy Lee sped toward home. I turned my back to him, my hands and jaw clenched tight.

  “My uncle’ll hire the best attorney in town. Ain’t nobody gonna touch me.”

  “Your uncle? Is that what you think, Jimmy Lee? Uncle Billy’s gonna get you out of this mess? How about me? How about our baby? I’ll be shunned by everyone.”

  “Not the people who matter.”

  Tears of anger stung my eyes. “You’re so selfish! Can’t you see what you’ve done?”

  He skidded to a stop on the side of the road and leaned so close to me he spit on my cheek as he spoke. “You listen to me. I’m the same man you married. All I did was take out the garbage.”

  Too frightened to move, I leaned hard against the door, the handle pressin’ into my side. I had to find a way out of my marriage.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  The letter came three days later. The date had been set. The boycott would take place on November 6, a Tuesday. I held the letter against my chest and silently prayed that no one would get hurt. I thought of Thomas Green and Albert Johns, and wondered how many other people my husband had hurt. Jimmy Lee’s hate-filled eyes consumed my thoughts. What would he do if he found out I was engaged in the civil rights movement? I leaned against the bathroom wall and wrapped my hands around my belly.

  “Don’t you worry,” I whispered to the unborn child that I was becomin’ more and more attached to. “I won’t let Daddy hurt you.” I vowed not to let him hurt me, either. I couldn’t keep him from hurtin’ others, and I couldn’t keep tabs on his whereabouts without a vehicle, but I could damn well make sure he never touched me again.

  Mama and I sat on the front porch of our farmhouse. We regarded each other with caution. I knew better than to speak of what was goin’ on, and Mama knew better than to tell me not to. The dynamic between us had changed the night of the meetin’. She learned that I was an adult, and in the silence that had stretched between us when we were surrounded by that hopeful and determined mix of races, I learned that she was far more than a quiet participant in her marriage. I wondered what my grandmother would think, if she were alive. She’d groomed Mama to be a loyal and submissive wife, and until that night, I thought that Mama had followed suit. I now understood the pride she held in Maggie for doin’ all the things in her life that Mama had only dreamed of.

  “I’ve heard the rumors, about Jimmy Lee,” she said.

  No response would change the situation.

  “They say he and his uncle are also responsible for the death of Mr. Bingham.”

  I had been harborin’ that worry for so long, and to hear confirmation out loud made my heart ache. I looked at Mama with the hope that she could make the situation go away, or at least lessen the ramifications, but I knew she could not. I wished I was twelve years old again, and that my biggest worry was what skirt to wear or which cookies to help her bake.

  “Alison, these are serious allegations,” she said solemnly.

  “His uncle and his daddy will get him off.” I hated myself for parrotin’ my vicious husband.

  “I raised you better than that.”

  I flushed. “I don’t know what to do. He’s a monster. He was a monster before I married him. Mama, what do I do?”

  “I can’t tell you what to do. I can only tell you that you need to make sure that you and that grandchild of mine are safe. That’s your job, Alison.”

  I don’t know what I expected, but it sure wasn’t such a hands-off approach. I wanted her to give me the answers.

  “What would you do?” I asked.

  Mama took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. “Come, let’s walk,” she said, and we headed out toward the edge of the property.

  “I thought he might change after we were married,” I explained. “I thought he was just, I don’t know, bein’ a schoolboy or somethin’. But he’s only gotten worse.”

  “Alison, what we’re doin’, it’s terribly dangerous. Not just because your father or your husband might find out, but most folks around here, they’re just fine with the way things are. In fact, they want things to remain exactly how they are.”

  “I know that.”

  “Jimmy Lee’s uncle, Billy, he’s the ring leader. I didn’t know ‘bout this before you married Jimmy Lee, and I’m not certain ‘bout it now, but I think he might even be part of the KKK.”

  “The KKK? Are they even around here?” I’d heard about the KKK in other towns, but not here, not in Forrest Town. If Mr. Carlisle was part of that awful group, then chances were, so was Jimmy Lee. It was fallin’ into place like pieces of a puzzle. Jimmy Lee disappearin’, boys gettin’ beat up. Of course Mr. Carlisle would cover for him. I shook my head, but the awful reality clung to my mind like meat to a bone.

  “Oh, yes. Mr. Carlisle doesn’t wear a white hood and carry a burnin’ cross, he’s more clever than that. He goes undetected, but let that leave no question. They kill people—and leave them in rivers to rot.” The look in her eyes made me shiver.

  “I’m gonna be sick.” I leaned over and coughed, holdin’ onto Mama’s arm.

  “Sit down, here, under the tree.”

  I settled in beside Mama, my back against the tree, my head on her shoulder.

  “So you really think Jimmy Lee killed Mr. Bingham? Mama, I can’t go back to him. I can’t sleep next to him in that apartment.”

  “You have to.”

  I looked at her as if she was crazy.

  “If you leave now, he’s gonna figure it all out. He’ll track your every move, and his uncle will be sure of it. Right now, you’re protected. You’re his wife. He thinks you’ll cover for him no matter what it takes, and you will.”

  “But—” I must be thick headed, because it struck me then that if Jimmy Lee and his uncle were involved with the KKK, then chances were, so was his father.

  “But nothin’. Listen to me. This is real, Alison. This is life and death. If Mr. Carlisle thinks we’re plannin’ to help the colored folks, he’ll take us all out. I have no doubt.”

  “That sounds really paranoid,” I said.

  “Maybe, but think about it. Jimmy Lee found your letters from Maggie.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Maggie told me.”

  “Oh, God.”

  “She was worried about you,” Mama explained.

  “So, you knew what Maggie was up to this whole time?”

  “I’ve known what Maggie was up to since she was five. Why do you think I encouraged your father to send her to New York? I have friends there who keep an eye out for her.”

  Who is this woman? “You have friends in New York?”

  Mama blinked, her cheeks flushed, as if a fond memory had wormed its way into her mind. “A friend who relocated there after high school. If Maggie had stayed here, she’d have gotten herself killed, or put in jail. She was a wildfire waitin’ to burn. Once she sets her sights on somethin’, she pushes until she’s right in the thick of it. In New York, she can burn all she wants and people will rally around her—she’s one of thousands, not a seed in the miniscule flowerbed of Forrest Town.”

  The truth of her words hung between us. I
realized that what I’d seen of her was merely what she wanted me to see. I wondered if she worried that once the outside layer was removed, the others might unravel.

  I knew that, when Mama was young, she had painted beautiful pictures, like the one inside the barn, but she’d given that up before I was born, and I’d never seen her pick up a paint brush a day in my life. Now, I wanted to know how that felt—givin’ up somethin’ you loved. I wondered if it were strangely like how I had felt about Jackson, the night at the creek when I’d let him go.

  “Mama, why’d you give up paintin’?”

  Mama stared off into the fields. “Oh, honey, I wasn’t that good, not like Jake, and things were so different then. Women didn’t go traipsin’ off to some big city to follow their dreams.”

  “Couldn’t you follow them here? Take classes, continue to paint?”

  She shook her head, and looked at me as she had when I was a little girl dreamin’ of things that were far more magnificent than I would ever see. “I tried. I painted a bit when Maggie and Jake were younger, but life takes over, and Daddy and I had no money. Grandma and Grandpa left us some, but not much. Sometimes what you want to do isn’t really what you’re meant to do. I like my life just fine. Besides, I’m old, honey. Now it’s your turn.”

  “Old? You look like my sister.” We laughed, and it felt good to let down my guard for a minute. Lately it felt like I was hidin’ behind a coat of armor. Mama’s forehead grew tight again, and I knew our moment was over.

  “Listen, Alison, you need to be very careful. Stand by your husband. Don’t give him any reason to believe that somethin’ bigger than what he’s already goin’ through is goin’ on. To everyone in town, you are the wife of a wayward husband—to your husband, you’re his savin’ grace. Men fall hard, and he will. He might get mean, and if he does, you leave immediately. Call me and I’ll come get you, but I don’t think he’s gonna go in that direction. Most bullies—and that’s what he is, a bully who beats up kids—they turn into whiny babies. Once the seriousness of this comes forward, he’ll cling to you like a child, and the town will rally around you out of pity.”