The Lions of Little Rock

by Kristin Levine

  It was quiet in the car. Daddy gripped the steering wheel like he was driving in a snowstorm. Not that it snowed much in Little Rock, but I’d seen a movie where there was one once, and the actor clutched the steering wheel so tight, his knuckles turned white.

  “Daddy?” I asked.

  “What?”

  “Can you find her for me? Maybe get her phone number?”

  Daddy shook his head. “Marlee, you need to leave that girl alone.”

  “But she’s my best friend.”

  “She was your friend. Now she’s someone else.”

  No, she wasn’t. Liz was funny and outspoken and clever, and I didn’t see how all that had changed, just because people were now calling her colored. But Daddy and I usually got along so well. I trusted him. “I don’t know,” I said finally. “I want to hear her side of the story first.”

  “Marlee, you can’t still be friends with Liz.”

  “Why not?”

  “Segregationists don’t take kindly to Negroes who try to pass as white. Liz and her family are in real danger. The farther away you stay from them, the better.”

  “You’re worried about me?” I asked.

  “Yes, I am,” said Daddy. “Why do you think I drive you to school every day?”

  I shrugged.

  Daddy ran a hand through his hair. “Do you remember when I invited that colored minister, Pastor George, to come speak at our church?”

  I nodded.

  “The next day there was a note tucked in with our paper. It said, You let your youngest walk to school tomorrow, she won’t make it. And it was signed, KKK.”

  “The Ku Klux Klan is in Little Rock?”

  Daddy nodded.

  “Who’s in it?”

  “Hard to tell, since it’s a secret organization. However, the Capital Citizens’ Council, or CCC, is not a secret club. Their avowed purpose is to support segregation in Little Rock. It seems reasonable to assume that some of their members are Klan sympathizers, at the very least.”

  “Do we know any CCC members?” I asked.

  “Mr. Haroldson, from next door.”

  He was a nice old man who sometimes gave me penny candy. At least, I’d always thought he was nice.

  “And Mrs. McDaniels, Sally’s mother, is a member of the Mothers’ League.”

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  “A women’s group, associated with the CCC, that formed last year to oppose integration at Central.”

  This was a lot to take in. “Isn’t everyone allowed to have their own opinion?”

  “Of course,” said Daddy. “But the reason there were police all over David’s graduation last May was not because people have different opinions. The FBI was there to protect Ernest Green because they were worried that someone was going to try to kill him.”

  I had never really thought about why we’d gotten so few tickets to David’s graduation that Granny hadn’t even been able to go. Apparently, there was a lot I hadn’t thought about.

  “But you still support integration, right?”

  “I do,” said Daddy. “And I still talk to Pastor George. He’s Betty Jean’s husband, you know.”

  I hadn’t known. How could I? “Why haven’t you ever told me any of this?”

  “These are issues for grown-ups to deal with, not children.”

  “The Little Rock Nine weren’t much older than me.”

  Daddy sighed, but he didn’t answer.

  “I thought things settled down at Central once they called the soldiers in.”

  “Somewhat,” said Daddy. “At least that was the official story. But things were not ever pleasant for them there. Minnijean Brown got expelled.”

  She was the colored girl who’d dumped a bowl of soup on the boys who were picking on her. That was something Liz would do.

  “If they were still being harassed, why didn’t they complain?”

  Daddy shrugged. “Maybe they did and nothing was done. Maybe they thought if they showed any weakness, it would only get worse. In any case, last year the pictures from Central told the whole world Little Rock is filled with hate. And now the town’s gone and voted against opening the schools. We are not just a town of racists, but those of us who believe in integration . . .” He shook his head. “We can’t seem to find our voice.”

  Daddy was so upset, for a minute I thought he was going to cry. That scared me as bad as anything he’d said. I knew what it was like to have trouble finding your voice, so I reached over and patted his arm. He didn’t look at me.

  “I mean it, Marlee. I don’t want to scare you too much—I’ll keep you safe—but I do want you to be careful. Which means you stay away from Liz.”

  I nodded to show him I understood what he was saying.

  But I didn’t promise that I would.

  16

  SENT AWAY

  That day at school passed in a blur. JT was surprised when I didn’t have his homework. His mouth made a big round O, and I could tell he was talking, but I couldn’t concentrate on what he was saying. For the first time, I noticed his ears were too small, his teeth were crooked, and his eyebrows looked like fat, blond caterpillars wriggling on his face when he spoke.

  I couldn’t stand the thought of Sally talking about what had happened with Liz, so when it was time for lunch, I didn’t leave Mr. Harding’s classroom. Just sat in my seat and pulled out my math book to make up the homework I had missed. The first homework I had ever missed in math. Mr. Harding finished grading a few papers, then came over to my desk.

  “Marlee,” he said, “it’s time for lunch.”

  I didn’t move.

  Finally, he left me alone, doing long division in the empty classroom.

  When I got home from school, Mother and Daddy were already there. Daddy still had on his work clothes, but he’d taken off his jacket and loosened his tie, like he was going to dig a ditch in his suit. Mother’d taken the opposite approach. She’d put on pearls, a fresh coat of lipstick and a new pair of white gloves. One look at them, and I knew it was bad news.

  My dread only grew when Mother announced that we were all going to a cafeteria for dinner. That was another bad sign. My parents believed in telling a person bad news in public so they couldn’t make a scene. Maybe occasionally we’d go by the cafeteria after church on Sunday. But out to dinner on a Tuesday night could only mean something was wrong.

  They waited until we all had our food. Then Daddy cleared his throat and said, “Girls, we have something to tell you.”

  I kept my eyes on my plate. They already knew about Liz. Had they found out about JT and the homework too?

  “Since it appears that the schools are going to remain closed indefinitely,” Daddy continued, “and she’s already missed a month of school, Judy is going to go to live with Granny in Pine Bluff. She’ll go to school there.”

  Judy and I stared at Daddy in confusion.

  “What?” Judy asked finally. I glanced over at Mother, but she was stirring circles in her mashed potatoes.

  Daddy sighed. “You’re going to live in Pine Bluff with—”

  “I heard you,” Judy interrupted. “But I don’t want to go. My friends are here and Marlee and—”

  “I’m afraid you don’t have a choice,” said Daddy. “You’ve missed so much school already.”

  “I’m doing the TV classes.”

  Daddy shook his head. “Watching a teacher on TV is no substitute for real instruction. You can’t ask questions. I know you’ve been working hard on your assignments, but we don’t even know how long the TV classes will continue.”

  “There are study groups,” Judy insisted. “Parents help out and—”

  “Why can’t she just order those correspondence classes David talked about?” I ask
ed.

  “This doesn’t concern you, Marlee,” said Daddy.

  My face stung like Daddy had slapped me. Of course it concerned me—my only sister was being sent away!

  “Why can’t I just go to T. J. Raney with Margaret?” asked Judy.

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  “It’s a private school that’s just starting up,” Judy explained. “It’s free.”

  Daddy put his fork down, a little too hard. “It’s not free. They’re using public money, money that should be going to the public schools. It’s Governor Faubus’s way of trying to get around the integration order. I will not allow my child to be a part of that.”

  “But—”

  “I know this isn’t ideal, Judy,” said Daddy. “But Mother and I have talked it over.”

  I glanced at Mother, but she wouldn’t meet my eye. It didn’t seem like she was too excited about this plan. But she wasn’t speaking out against it either.

  “You can’t send me away. You can’t!” Judy was yelling now. Other people at the cafeteria started looking over at us. So much for not making a scene.

  “I’m afraid we can, Judy. I know you’re upset, but we’re your parents. We know what’s best for you.” Daddy spoke quietly, but firmly.

  “No you don’t,” Judy hissed. She jumped up out of her seat and stormed off, knocking over Mother’s cup in the process. The coffee dripped off the saucer onto the tablecloth.

  Mother and Daddy looked at each other. It was like they had forgotten I was there. “It’s the right thing to do, Maurine,” said Daddy. But he didn’t sound too sure about it himself.

  First my best friend, and now my sister. Who was left? There’d be no one for me to talk to. Daddy might as well lock me in a tower like Rapunzel. At least she had the prince come by occasionally for a visit. But my hair wasn’t long enough to climb up, and of course that was just a fairy tale, anyway, and now that I knew what it was like to have a friend, I didn’t think I could stand being so awfully lonely again.

  “Marlee?” Daddy repeated sternly. I looked up, wondering how long he’d been calling my name.

  “What?” I tried to keep my voice icy, tried to tell them with one word how angry I was. But I think I just sounded kind of scared.

  “Go into the bathroom and tell your sister we’re leaving. If we go right now, we can swing by Margaret’s house and she can tell her good-bye. Tell her . . .” His voice broke. “Tell her she’s leaving tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow?”

  But Daddy wouldn’t look at me again. He fiddled with his wallet, pulling out a few dollar bills. “Just go get your sister.”

  I pushed my way into the bathroom. Judy was sitting in one of the stalls, crying. I didn’t know how to handle this. I wasn’t old enough. I wanted to cry myself. “Judy?”

  “Go away.” She sniffed.

  “They want to leave now.”

  “I don’t care what they want.”

  I didn’t either. “I’ll come with you.”

  “What?”

  “We can run away.”

  “And go where?”

  I thought for a minute. “Granny’s house.” I looked around the bathroom. “We can climb out that window and walk to the bus station and—”

  “That’s a stupid idea. That’s where they’re sending me.”

  That was true.

  “And we don’t have any money.”

  Another good point. But I felt a little better that she had stopped crying.

  “Come on, then,” I said. “Daddy said we can go by Margaret’s house on the way home.”

  Judy went to the sink and splashed water on her face. I didn’t tell her it didn’t help. Her face was still red and blotchy.

  I sat in the car with my parents while Judy went inside Margaret’s house. I kept waiting for someone to say “I’m sorry, Marlee,” or “we know this is hard on you too,” but they didn’t. Daddy just drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, over and over again, tapping out some melody I couldn’t hear. Mother laid her head against the window and closed her eyes. A vein pulsed in her head the way it did when she had a headache.

  Finally, Judy appeared on the porch. I watched Margaret’s mom give her a hug, and then she climbed into the backseat of the car.

  “Thank you for ruining my life,” Judy snapped.

  No one said a word as we drove home.

  17

  THE NEGRO CHURCH

  In the middle of the night, I woke up and went into David’s room. Judy was curled up on the bed. Her suitcase was packed on the floor beside her. In the morning she’d be leaving, just like David had done, just like Liz. After a moment, she rolled over and looked at me. “You can’t sleep either?”

  I shook my head.

  Without a word, she picked up her blanket and came back into our room, the one we had shared ever since I’d been born. She lay down on her old side of the bed.

  Soon I heard her quiet, even breathing, but I still couldn’t sleep, not until the sky began to lighten and I heard Pretty Boy stir under his cover.

  My stomach hurt something awful the next morning. I wanted to stay home from school, but I didn’t have a fever, so I knew Mother wouldn’t let me. Daddy made a special breakfast, pancakes and bacon, but no one ate much. Judy’s green suitcase sat by the door like a wart.

  “We’ll drop you off at the bus station on the way to school,” said Daddy. “I spoke to Granny last night. She’ll be waiting for you in Pine Bluff.”

  I stared at my plate, a half-eaten pancake wallowing in a pool of maple syrup.

  “Come on, girls,” Daddy said quietly. “It’s time to go.”

  Mother gave Judy a hug and kissed her cheek. Daddy put Judy’s suitcase in the trunk while Judy and I got into the car.

  All the way to the bus station, I rehearsed heartfelt good-bye scenes in my head. I would say something like “good-bye, dearest sister of mine,” and Judy would burst into tears, and Daddy would be so touched, he’d relent and take us all home. But what actually happened when we reached the bus station was that Judy gave me a hug, I whispered “bye” and then she was gone.

  I gave JT his homework as soon as I got to school. He didn’t even notice that they were all wrong. After math class, I stayed in Mr. Harding’s classroom again for lunch. In history, Sally was still retelling the story, though everyone at school must have heard it about a hundred times by now. It was good gossip, sure (at least I might have thought so if it hadn’t been about my friend), but Sally was acting like she was a hero who’d personally saved us from a Soviet invasion. It was ridiculous. All she’d done was go by the church and . . . Gone by the church. The Baptist church on South Chester. If Sally could go there, so could I. Maybe I could find Liz. Talk to her. Maybe learning how or why or something would help me feel not quite so confused and alone.

  I pulled a piece of paper from my math notebook and thought for a moment. It would have to be a short note, no names, but somehow she’d have to know who it was from. I had an idea and scribbled furiously.

  “What are you writing?” Sally said.

  I shook my head.

  Nora snatched the note away before I could finish. I reached for it, but she jumped up and read it aloud. “You owe me a magic book.”

  “What does that mean?” asked Sally. “Marlee, are you studying to become a magician?”

  “Maybe she has an imaginary friend,” suggested Nora.

  They both laughed.

  The bell rang, and Miss Taylor rapped on her desk. I didn’t even bother trying to get the note back from them. It was short. I could just write it again.

  That afternoon, I rode my bike over to the Baptist church. I was worried about finding it, since I’d never been there before, but I’m good at reading maps, and I didn’t have any trouble
. It wasn’t until I got there that I remembered what my father had said about staying away from Liz. I glanced around the parking lot. Was someone going to jump out and call me a race mixer, steal my bike, beat me up? But the parking lot was empty.

  Finally, I left my bike in the bushes and went inside. The Baptist church looked a lot like the Methodist one we went to, pews, altar, a couple of stained glass windows. A colored man in a dark suit and tie came up to me. He had short hair, was clean-shaven and had that serious yet helpful expression on his face, just like the reverend at our church. I wondered if they practiced it in the mirror between services.

  “Hello,” he said. “I’m Pastor George. What can I do for you?”

  I couldn’t believe my luck. Pastor George was Betty Jean’s husband and Daddy’s friend. If anyone could help me, it would be him. I handed over the note. I’d folded it into quarters and written “To Liz (Elizabeth)” on the front.

  His smile faded when he read the name. “She doesn’t go here,” he said, and handed the note back to me.

  That’s when I realized he knew exactly who I was looking for. Elizabeth is a real common name, and he didn’t even ask me what her last name was. Not that I knew it. I mean, she was listed on the rolls at school as Elizabeth Templeton, but I was pretty sure that wasn’t her last name. I wasn’t even sure if Liz was her real first name. Maybe it was really Wanda or Darlene or Phyllis.

  “I’m sorry I can’t help you,” Pastor George said politely, though his tone made it clear that what he really wanted was for me to go home.

  I unfolded the note and handed it back to him. He took it like it was the tail of a dead mouse. “You owe me a magic book. Friday after school, the usual spot.”

  “She’ll know what it means,” I whispered.

  Pastor George gave me a funny look. “Are you Richard Nisbett’s daughter?”

  I nodded. Sure hoped he wouldn’t tell my father what I was doing.

  Pastor George still didn’t smile, but his face softened a little. “Youth group is tonight. I’ll ask around.”