Except for the two sticks I’d left in the trunk. In my rush to get away from the car, I’d forgotten completely about them. All this had been for nothing. Red still had some dynamite, and I’d lost the nicest birthday present I’d ever received from my mother. Probably the last present I’d ever get once she found out what I’d done.
I went on like that, feeling sorry for myself, till I saw a car coming down the road. I thought about jumping in the woods to hide, but frankly, I was just too tired. As it came closer, the car slowed down. I could see a young man behind the wheel, grinning at me.
“Hey, Marlee,” David said as he rolled up beside me. “Fancy meeting you here.”
“Thanks for coming,” I said.
“Course I’d come,” said David. “You’re my sister.”
I got in the car, and we started home. “Try not to get mud on the seat,” said David. “I had to borrow the car from my professor.”
I peeled off my wet shoes and socks, and a wave of relief swept over me, like wet feet had been the worst of my problems.
“So,” said David.
“So,” I repeated.
“How about a deal,” he said. “I won’t tell Mother and Daddy, if you tell me the whole story.”
“Okay,” I said, and started talking. David was a good listener. He didn’t interrupt once, but I could tell he was upset, because by the time I got to the end, his trademark grin was nowhere in sight.
“Jeez Louise, Marlee!” he said when I was done. “What were you thinking?”
“You promised not to tell,” I reminded him.
“I did,” sighed David. “But you’ve got to promise me never to do anything like that ever again.”
“Gladly,” I said.
He shook his head. “It’s always the quiet ones who are the craziest.” But he was grinning again, and I knew he was teasing. I leaned up against him like I used to do when I was four and he was ten and he was reading me a book. And even though I was worried about what was going to happen next, I felt happier than I had for a long time.
50
WORRIES
I was lucky. Really, really lucky. When David dropped me off at home, Mother was still sleeping. Daddy had left a note for me, saying he’d gone down to STOP headquarters. I called Liz to let her know I was home, ate a sandwich and went to bed. I was so tired, I didn’t even have any dreams. It was wonderful.
The next Monday at school, JT cornered me again. “How’d you do it?”
“Do what?” I asked.
“Red was furious. When he came back from fishing, his trunk was open and the dynamite was gone. He thinks you did it.”
“Why me?”
“Because you didn’t want him to take it in the first place!”
I put my hands on my hips. “JT, how could I have done it? I don’t have a key to his trunk.” I was a better liar than I thought.
JT shrugged. “I can’t figure out how you followed him to the middle of nowhere.”
“That’s because I didn’t follow him.” That was sort of true. I’d gone with him instead.
“Why,” asked JT, “if you went to all the trouble to steal the rest—why didn’t you take the last two sticks?”
“I didn’t mean to leave—”
JT grinned at me. Okay, so he wasn’t stupid. And, clearly, I was.
“So it was you,” he said.
“JT, you can’t tell—”
“Of course not. You’d look really awful with a black eye. But Red is pretty angry and looking for someone to blame. And he and my dad have been talking a lot about Birmingham.”
“Why are they talking about Alabama?”
“Colored folks are starting to move into the white neighborhoods there, and well, there’ve been a lot of bombings. In one part of town there have been so many explosions, they call it Dynamite Hill.”
“That’s awful!”
“That’s what I thought. But Red and Daddy were laughing about it, like it was some big joke. ‘Ought to do that here,’ said Daddy. ‘That’ll solve our school problems real fast.’ Mother said they were only kidding, but . . .”
JT glanced around. No one was paying any attention to us.
“Remember last year, when there were those bomb threats at Central?”
“Yeah.” Judy had told me about them on more than one occasion.
“Well, Red called in at least one of them. I know. I was home sick, but Red didn’t know that, and I heard him make the call.”
I said nothing.
“I never told anyone.”
“Do you think he’d bomb my house?” I asked.
JT considered that, and the longer he considered it, the more nervous I got. “I don’t think he’d bomb a white girl,” he said finally. “But Liz is colored.”
“He doesn’t know what she looks like.”
“Not yet,” said JT. “But look at this.” He pulled out our yearbook, which we’d gotten in homeroom that morning. I hadn’t even looked through it yet. He flipped to a page in the back.
It was a picture of the cheerleaders at a football game. In one corner, sitting on the bleachers, Liz and I were clearly visible.
“Red hasn’t seen this yet, has he?”
JT shook his head. “I’ll hide my yearbook, but a lot of people have copies.”
“Thanks for the warning,” I said.
He shrugged. “It was kind of fun to see Red so mad.” He swaggered off like a cowboy, but this time, I was pretty darn sure it was an act, like David’s happy grin. And I hoped that JT wouldn’t turn up at school the next day with another black eye.
I warned Liz about the photo, but there wasn’t much she could do. Someone was already keeping watch at her house every night. There was now less than a week before the election on May 25, and I was a nervous wreck. I spent hours staring out our front window, watching for Red’s old gray Chrysler Windsor.
Every morning as I sat in the car with Daddy on the short ride to school, I tried to decide if I should tell him about the trunk. I wanted to get it off my chest, wanted him to reassure me that two sticks were nothing, no real harm could be done. But every time I opened my mouth to tell him, I stopped. What would it change? The police had done all they could. I would be sent to Pine Bluff. And it seemed like not being able to keep a lookout for Red would be even worse.
But I got quiet again. Like a turtle, I pulled back into my shell, conserving my courage and my words until I really needed them. At least that’s what I told myself. I hoped it wasn’t just an excuse for being quiet and afraid.
51
STOPPING BY BETTY JEAN’S
It was Sunday, May 24, 1959, the day before the election. Mother and I had spent all afternoon mimeographing a sample ballot. My arms were sore from turning the crank, and I had purple ink all over my hands, but we needed the copies. See, the election was a little confusing. We wanted people to vote AGAINST the recall of Lamb, Matson and Tucker (because they were the moderate board members STOP wanted to keep) and FOR the recall of McKinley, Rowland and Laster (because they were the ones we wanted to get rid of). If we could get rid of the segregationists, new school board members would be appointed. Since the school board determined the opening date for the schools, if we could get the governor’s men off of it, the schools could reopen. STOP was going to hand out the ballots at the polls to make sure no one voted for the wrong person by accident.
We were making some extra copies for Betty Jean and Pastor George and were going to drop them off before dinner. The thought of going to Betty Jean’s cheered me up a bit. I’d never been to her house before, but I was pretty sure Liz would be there. She was as excited about the election as I was. I cranked out the last few copies, washed my hands to try to get rid of the mimeograph ink (it didn’t work), and Mother and I ju
mped into the car.
Betty Jean’s house was small and white, with neat flower beds in the front. It was only two blocks down from where we’d seen Red egging that house last Halloween. Mother parked on the curb, and we went inside.
Pastor George smiled real wide when he saw us. “Mrs. Nisbett,” he said, “always a pleasure.”
Mother smiled.
“And Marlee,” he said. “Any more secret messages?”
I blushed. “No. Only some sample ballots.”
“Thank you,” he said as he took them from me. “Wouldn’t want anyone accidentally voting for the wrong person.”
Betty Jean poked her head out of the door. “Marlee, Liz and Curtis are in the living room, if you’d like to say hello.”
I ran off before Mother could say we had to go home and make dinner. Curtis was putting the finishing touches on a bunch of signs. Liz sat next to him. As I watched, he leaned over and put a drop of paint on her nose. She giggled. It sounded unlike Liz.
She liked him. He liked her. I was just the third wheel in the room. I was going to lose her, just like I’d lost Judy to that awful Robert Laurence. I almost turned and went back outside, but then Mother appeared behind me and said, “Let me finally meet this famous Liz.”
When she said that, Liz looked up, and a grin broke over her face. “Marlee!” She ran to give me a hug. I felt bad for ever doubting her.
“This is my mother,” I said quietly. “Mother, this is my friend Liz.”
Liz and Mother shook hands and looked each other over. Liz was almost as tall as Mother and looked her straight in the eye. Mother smiled and clasped Liz’s hands in both of hers and said with real warmth in her voice, “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“You’ve got quite the daughter,” Liz said.
Mother laughed. “Don’t I know.”
Then Curtis stood up and walked toward us, and Liz said, “This is my friend Curtis.” And she blushed.
Curtis glanced at me, and we both said, “We’ve met.” We all laughed, and he shook Mother’s hand. I remembered how Judy had come back, even if I’d lost her for a bit, and Liz seemed so happy, how could I be sad? I turned to look out the front window so no one could see the jumble of emotions on my face.
That’s when I saw the old gray Chrysler Windsor drive by.
I blinked and the car was gone. Had I imagined it? Mother was sitting on the couch, and Betty Jean had brought in sweet tea and oatmeal muffins. Liz was talking, and Mother and Curtis and Betty Jean were laughing at something she’d said, and everything seemed so normal. Just when I was sure I’d imagined it, the car drove by again, very slowly, then turned the corner.
I had to say something. I had to do something. But it was a common car, and it would be awfully embarrassing if I was wrong. On the other hand, what if Red had followed us here? Hurting Betty Jean would be the perfect way to get back at me. Maybe he knew Liz was here too. If it really was Red . . . The car drove past the house for the third time, and I could see a dent in the trunk.
I jumped off the couch, causing Mother to spill tea all over her dress. “Marlee!”
“Get out,” I yelled, pulling her off the couch. “Now.”
“What is it?” asked Betty Jean.
“Go,” I said.
I guess they heard something in my voice, because Liz grabbed Curtis’s arm, and Betty Jean pushed them both into the kitchen, where Pastor George was talking on the phone.
“Outside,” I said.
I thought he was going to argue, but he took one look at my face and hung up the phone. A few seconds later, we were all huddled on the back stoop.
We waited, frozen, for a long moment. Nothing happened.
“Marlee,” said Pastor George finally, and he only sounded the tiniest bit irritated, “could you please tell me what’s going on?”
“I saw Red’s car drive by.”
Mother got a little paler, but she didn’t move. Liz clutched Curtis’s hand.
“I see,” said Pastor George. “Red is the boy with the dynamite, yes?”
I nodded. “He has a gray Chrysler Windsor.”
“I’ll go look,” he said.
As soon as he was gone, the whole thing seemed ridiculous. Red wasn’t really going to bomb anyone. Boys love to talk, Daddy always said. Nothing was going to happen, certainly not to my friends. Lots of people owned dark gray Chrysler Windsors. It was probably a neighbor, waiting to pick someone up, and driving around the block while he waited. I’d panicked, panicked like a fool. Had I even seen a dark gray Chrysler Windsor? A lot of cars look similar.
Pastor George came back. “I don’t see anyone there.”
“Marlee’s been a bit on edge lately,” said Mother finally.
My face burned red, and I willed myself not to cry.
“Well,” said Liz, letting go of Curtis’s hand and winding her arm through mine. “Better safe than sorry.”
Betty Jean opened the back door and held it open, gesturing for her husband to go inside. But then we suddenly heard a car pull up in front of the house.
We all froze.
There was a crash and the sound of breaking glass.
A screech of wheels, driving off.
And then, an explosion.
52
AFTERWARDS
I’d been right. Something had happened after all. Something bad. I’d never known I could be so upset about being right. Mother reached for my hand. Her fingers were trembling. Everyone was silent.
After a minute or two, the smell of smoke wafted out the open back door. Betty Jean glanced over at Pastor George. “Stay here,” he ordered, and he went back into the house again.
Curtis moved to follow him, but Betty Jean grabbed his arm. “You heard your father.”
The next-door neighbor poked her head out a window. “You all right?”
“I think so. I—” Betty Jean choked up and couldn’t finish.
Liz shook her head. “Marlee, if you hadn’t said something . . .”
I glanced over at Liz. She was biting her lip, but I could still see it quivering. Curtis put his arm around her.
Pastor George came back then. “Someone threw a brick through our front window. It landed on the couch. From the damage to the living room, there must have been a couple of sticks of dynamite too.”
And like a picture in slow motion, I could imagine it. Red leaning out of the window of his car. Pitching a rock at us, like he’d done with the eggs. The window shattering like the ice on a pond in spring and covering us all with little bits of glass. All of us standing frozen, shocked, glittering as the sun shone in the ruined window, not noticing the dynamite until it was too late.
“We should call the police,” said Mother.
Betty Jean nodded, but she didn’t move. I realized she was crying, great big tears that flowed down her cheeks without making a sound.
Pastor George sat down on a stump in the backyard and covered his face with his hands. I imagined, as a pastor, he’d had experience giving bad news to people, but it must have been different when it was your own wife and son. I knew I should be scared too. We could have been killed. But all I could think was, The dynamite is gone. Red doesn’t have any more. And no one was hurt.
The next-door neighbor came out then. She was old and tiny, shorter than me, with white hair and a lined face. “I already notified the authorities,” she said. “You just tell me who else you need me to call.”
Liz’s family arrived first. Her mother wore a yellow dress, which looked beautiful against her dark skin, though half of the dress was wrinkled and the other half was not, as if she’d been ironing when she got the call. Her father was light-skinned and movie-star handsome, like Montgomery Clift and Harry Belafonte rolled into one. I thought Liz might introduce me, but he
r father put his arm around her shoulders, and her mother led her away, and only Tommy looked back at me and glared.
Daddy ran up then and threw his arms around Mother and me.
“It was Red,” I said.
He nodded, and Mother started to cry.
The old neighbor offered me a cup of coffee, and I took it. My hands were cold, even though it was a warm evening, and it felt good to hold the cup. I tried to take a sip but only managed to spill half the coffee on the ground.
A few minutes later, the police arrived. There were two of them, an older man who went off with Pastor George to look at the damage in the house, and a young man with a mustache, who seemed most interested in talking to Mother and me.
I told the policeman everything, about Liz and me running into each other at zoo, and taking Red’s keys, looking in his trunk and—
“Oh, Marlee!” Mother exclaimed.
“It gets worse,” I admitted.
I told them about getting stuck in the trunk. My daddy sucked in his breath as I told them about the letter opener and forgetting the last two sticks and David coming to pick me up. And even though I knew I was going to get in trouble—I deserved to get in trouble—it still felt good to tell.
Finally, I took a deep breath. “Since I spent so much time in that car, I knew it when I saw it. And you know the rest.”
Silence again. The policeman gave me an odd look.
“Say something,” I pleaded. “I know I’m in trouble, but—”
Mother began to laugh then, a nervous, hysterical laugh.
The police officer glared at my mother. “You don’t actually believe this nonsense, do you?”
“What?” said Daddy.
“It’s ridiculous. Stealing keys, climbing into a trunk. Who can believe a story like that?”
The Lions of Little Rock Page 21