Grady smiled at Pole.
Wasn’t no need for him to even look at Pole. If she ever went to the dance with anybody from the Low Meadows, it would surely be me.
Everyone headed towards town where the white folk were. The farther we got, the lower the water got. Some folk were wading in the waist-deep water. Some folk were riding in their boats.
“Papa, there go Cousin Braxton and Cousin Babe. And he got Cousin Mer and Pattie Mae,” I said, glad that they’d made it safely to us.
“Barb Jean and Coy with them too,” Ralph said. He was glad to see Coy because he was a good boxer. Ralph liked him a lot.
“Hey, y’all,” I said.
“Hey, Pattie Mae,” Pole said. Pole looked like she was some kind of glad to see Pattie Mae. She was older than Pattie Mae, but they loved to play together when she came to the Low Meadows.
“Hey, everybody,” Pattie Mae said.
Cousin Braxton pulled his boat up beside Papa’s.
“Y’all all right?”
“We fine. You folks all right?” Papa asked.
“We’re fine, Stanbury. I’m sorry we didn’t make it to the sittin’ up last night. Babe made some coconut pies, but the clouds looked so bad I thought we best stay on Rehoboth Road.”
“You-you did the right thing,” Papa told Cousin Braxton. “We would have been-been in trouble sho’ ’nuf if more than-than Low Meadows folk had been at the sittin’ up. We wouldn’t have had-had enough boats.” Papa was quiet for a minute before saying, “We lost Real Kill.”
“Lord, have mercy,” Cousin Mer said.
Baby Wiley let out a cry. He sounded like a little cat. I don’t believe Cousin Mer or Cousin Babe had noticed the new baby before he cried.
“Gal, you done had that baby?” Cousin Babe said as her face lit up.
“Yes, ma’am. I had him this morning. Lottie Pearl remembered everything you showed her from when Bessie’s girl was born last fall.”
“I helped,” Miss Florenza said with a big grin on her face. Miss Babe didn’t even look at Miss Florenza. I heard her tell Ma last year that she was gonna tell Miss Florenza a piece of her mind if she ever came on Rehoboth Road carrying on with the menfolk the way she do down in the Low Meadows.
“Hand him to me,” Cousin Babe said, still ignoring poor Miss Florenza. Cousin Braxton struggled to get his boat close to us so his wife could get Baby Wiley.
“He is one fine baby,” she said. Then she sang “Jesus Loves Me” to my new little brother.
TWENTY-FIVE
A whole hour passed before we made it to the town square. The water was so low that the men got out and started pulling the boats the rest of the way. Ralph and Coy helped. I wanted to join them but I needed to be near Ma since Papa was helping pull the boats in. I wanted to comfort her. Take care of her like a man.
“Ma, Ole River seemed madder at us colored folk than the white folk.”
“Why in the world would you think such a thing?” Ma asked as she tried to nurse Baby Wiley without showing her breast. She pulled the dead folk fabric tight as I looked the other way.
“They don’t have much water out here and ain’t nobody dead.”
“Son, I believe Ole River is like God. Color don’t matter at all.”
Ma stopped talking to me ’cause she was looking at Miss Remie’s big house, which sat right on the edge of town.
“Lord, Husband, stop the boat. That’s Miss Remie.”
There she was. One of the richest white women in town, sitting all alone with water all the way to the tip of her porch.
“Why you sitting here, Miss Remie? Where is Mr. Faison?” Ma asked.
“I sent Jack into town with the car so he could put it on high land. I didn’t think the water would get this close to my house. When it started to rise I came out here to wait for you. I knew you would come. I knew you would come.”
“Waiting for me? Lord, have mercy, Miss Remie, you could have been killed.”
Ma thought for a minute.
“Now, Miss Remie, you can always buy another car. You had no business staying here.”
That white woman looked at all of us, one by one, then back at Ma.
“You are my only friend, Magnolia. You are my only friend.”
Ma turned to me and put Baby Wiley in my arms. I held my little brother for the first time.
“He looks like us, Ma,” I said as Wiley’s eyes were opening and closing like he was sleepy.
They helped Miss Remie in the boat, and Ma held her tight.
Miss Lottie Pearl reached in her Sunday-go-to-meeting bag and gave Miss Remie a piece of dead folk fabric to wipe the sweat off her forehead. That touched my heart even if Miss Remie didn’t show Mr. Faison the respect he deserved.
Pole smiled at her mama.
“Thank you, Lottie Pearl,” Miss Remie said.
When we got to Main Street, we could see everyone making their way to Taylor’s Grocery Store. Mr. Taylor was giving folk orange juice, sardines, and crackers.
White folk and the coloreds were all together that morning. The color of our skin didn’t mean nothing. It didn’t mean nothing at all. Everybody was just glad to be alive. The white women were crying just like our colored women.
When everyone saw the Low Meadows men pulling boats and wading in the water, they all noticed Mr. Bro. Wiley’s casket and lowered their heads to show respect. The men removed their hats and the womenfolk cried some more. I hoped they wouldn’t see Real Kill’s body. That would have upset them for sure.
Sheriff Franklin was standing in the middle of the road telling folk where to tie their boats.
“Over there, Stanbury. Take your boats and tie them to the trees at the sawmill. Leave one man at each boat until we can get some order around here.”
“What about Mr. Bro. Wiley’s casket and Real Kill’s body?” Papa asked the sheriff.
“Real Kill? He’s dead?”
“Yes, Real-Real Kill is dead. He-he drowned last night. His body is in the last boat,” Papa said.
“Well, that makes two folks dead now. Walter Townes who lived over in Occoneechee Neck drowned last night too,” the sheriff reported.
Mr. Thomas came running over to Papa.
“Stanbury, how did the animals make out? Did they all survive? Is the tobacco still standing?”
He ain’t been in the Low Meadows one time since Mr. Bro. Wiley died but he had the nerve to be asking about cows and ’bacco.
“Real Kill is dead, Mr. Thomas. A man is dead. We’ve lost another Low Meadows man.”
Not one time did Papa step on his words.
“We missed you at the sittin’ up last night,” Miss Lottie Pearl said. For the first time in my life, I was glad she put her nose in someone else’s business. Mr. Thomas just ignored her, but she wasn’t letting it go for nothing in the world.
“I said we missed you at the sittin’ up last night,” she shouted.
Before Miss Lottie Pearl could finish her beef with Mr. Thomas, Mr. Gordon walked up.
“Morning, everybody. Sheriff Franklin just told me about Real Kill. The casket factory and funeral home so far down the hill that everything flooded. I don’t have one casket left or a place to keep a single body. The only thing we have left is the house. Mrs. Creecy and Mrs. Gordon are making room for a few people. When they finish, they’re going to the Creecys’ to get that place ready too.” Then he pulled the dead folk fabric back to see Baby Wiley.
“I see one good thing happened to us last night,” he told Ma.
“Yes, it did,” she said.
While Mr. Gordon was talking, Mr. Creecy walked up in boots almost to his thighs. “Men, let’s get everyone settled the best we can,” he said.
“Did you-you find any folk along the way?” Papa asked.
“Yes, we picked up the Ramseys who live on Cumbo Road. T
heir boats turned over. The coast guard will go back out shortly, and I’ll go with them again. The Red Cross will be here first thing Monday morning with food and clothes.”
Mr. Creecy leaned over and whispered something in Mr. Gordon’s ear. Papa, Mr. Jabo, and the two dignified men gathered in a circle and started making plans for us. Ain’t no telling what they were talking about. It’s just no telling.
“Don’t you worry about Mr. Bro. Wiley and Real Kill,” Mr. Carter said as he and Mrs. Carter walked up. “We will find a way to help you as soon as we get the women and children fed. Take the casket and the body around the corner, so folk won’t get upset. I got plenty caskets and we’ll find one for Real Kill.”
Pole seemed to ignore everyone as she jumped out of the boat and helped Mrs. Carter and Mrs. Taylor pass out apples and juice from the store. Sara and Pattie Mae joined in.
“Can you help me out of the boat, child?” Miss Remie asked Ralph.
She got out and started helping the womenfolk.
The menfolk kept on talking as Mr. Thomas turned red as a beet.
“What about the animals?” Mr. Thomas said again.
I wished I was a grown-up, ’cause I wanted to tell Mr. Thomas a piece of my mind. I wanted to say, “Don’t you care ’bout Real Kill? Why didn’t you try to come to the sittin’ up last night?” I wanted to tell him that Mr. Bro. Wiley was a good man and he deserved respect, but I didn’t say nothing. Ma and Papa would have taken the skin off my hide for talking back to grown folk.
“Come with me, Stanbury. I’m gonna take my boat to check on the farm,” Mr. Thomas told my papa. Papa looked at that white man like he was as colored as us. No fear at all. Man to man.
“No-no, Mr. Thomas. I’m staying right here to take care of my family. I’m gonna take care of the Low Meadows folk.”
Before Papa could say another word, Mr. Christian interrupted.
“Father, be quiet, for God’s sake. Another Low Meadows Man is dead. We can’t worry about your animals.”
He was some kind of mad with his daddy.
“Take this money, Stanbury. Do what you got to do for the people in Low Meadows,” Mr. Christian said as he pulled money from the bag he had been holding so tight earlier in the boat.
“No, thank you. I do appreciate the-the offer, but we will be fine.” Papa said it with pride and dignity. Mr. Jabo slapped Papa on the back like he was proud of his friend.
“Well it’s here if you need it,” Mr. Christian said. Our neighbor seemed kind, like Miss Margie. The color of his skin vanished like the chickens that floated into Ole River the night before.
TWENTY-SIX
The Low Meadows were underwater a whole week. We had no choice but to live among the white folk. We ate at the same tables and slept in their beds.
They opened their fine community center for us to have extra room to sleep. Mr. Taylor gave us all the blankets he had in his store. He gave us food and clothes to wear along with the items we got from the Red Cross when they arrived early that Monday morning. Mr. Creecy made sure we got as much as the white folks got to wear and eat.
Ma didn’t want to leave us but she went to live with the Gordons so that she could sleep in a comfortable bed with Baby Wiley. Mrs. Gordon took the girls home with her, including Pattie Mae. Sara went too and she didn’t cry one time. Cousin Babe went home with Mrs. Creecy ’cause she was too old to sleep on the floor at the community center.
Me, Cousin Mer, Coy, and Barb Jean stayed at the community center and helped give out food each day. Of course Ralph was there working just like the men. I did my best to keep up with him as we carried boxes of food to people all over town.
“Where y’all going?” Ralph asked as we walked towards Pole and the other girls that Wednesday evening. They were carrying white bags with Red Cross written on the side.
“Stop yelling, Ralph. We want the white folks to know we got manners,” she said.
“We are taking medicine and clean sheets to the nursing home for the Red Cross. And see . . . they gave us pins,” Pattie Mae added.
Me and Ralph looked at the pins on their blouses.
“They sho’ did. I have one too,” Sara said with a smile.
“And they said we can keep these white gloves for our hard work,” Pole chimed in, flashing her right hand in my face, still holding the Red Cross bag in the other one.
The girls were so happy, but I was even happier for Pole. I knew what them gloves meant to the future doctor.
They went their way, and me and Ralph went on about our business.
We worked until it was too dark to see our hands in front of us, then we headed back to the community center. “Got something to show you,” I said to Ralph that night at the center. Everyone was fast asleep except us. I reached over and gave him the slave papers.
“Good Lord,” Ralph said. Then he tried his best to read the slave papers. “‘In-vent-ory.’” He hadn’t been to school in so long he could hardly read.
“Inventory,” I said to help him.
“Mr. Bro. Wiley was not inventory. He was our friend,” Ralph said.
“He was and he knew that,” I assured Ralph.
Ralph thought for a minute.
“I hope he knew. These slave papers make me feel bad for him and his family,” Ralph said as he looked again.
“That ain’t your fault. We just got to talk to your daddy about you going back to school.”
“I will as soon as we go home,” Ralph said with a grin so big that he seemed my age again.
“Here, let me read to you tonight,” I said. He moved closer to me on the floor. I was glad to help him and he wanted my help. I had room for another buddy, not just Pole. He had a space in his heart for me too. Ralph was always so distant, but not that night.
We fell asleep friends.
Me and Ralph continued to carry food and clothes door to door. Then we rushed to the center to work on his schooling. The Low Meadows women cooked, washed, and helped with the old folks. They had no problem working with the white women. Everybody got along real good. Even Miss Lottie Pearl.
Now she made it real clear that she was in charge of the colored folk. She told us how much we could eat every day so we didn’t run out of food. Miss Florenza had on regular clothes from the white women and she looked prettier than she ever did in those red dresses. Wednesday night she cooked some cabbage that tasted way better than Miss Lottie Pearl’s. Now, I kept that to myself. Miss Florenza surely became a Low Meadows woman that week and Miss Lottie Pearl never said another unkind word to the reformed sinner.
When it was time to sit down to eat each day, we used tin plates and Depression glass from different folks’ houses all mixed in with Miss Remie’s fine china.
The dead had to be cared for too, so Mr. Smitty, who owned the meat house filled with ice, kept the bodies all week. Reverend Hornbuckle and the deacons went from place to place to pray with folks. The good reverend seemed to have forgotten all about his coupe and fine clothes.
We sho’ appreciated what the town people had done for us, but we were going home as soon as the funeral was over. Mr. Creecy and Papa had made their way to the Low Meadows on Wednesday to feed the animals that were still alive. They left the cows, but they brought Mule Bennett and our wagon back to town. We were glad to see that old mule.
Come Saturday morning, a week after the flood, we all gathered under the big oak tree on the hillside. Sandy Branch Baptist Church was still knee-deep in water, according to Mr. Creecy, and filled with mosquitoes. Slave Grave was underwater too, so the white preacher Reverend Lawson told Reverend Hornbuckle that we could use the white folks’ cemetery. The Neck people went home and buried the dead man in Jackson where the water was low. Now, it was our turn to say good-bye to our people.
The Masons, including my papa, were pallbearers. They were some kind of dressed up in their b
lack suits and their hats they borrowed from Mr. Gordon and Mr. Creecy. The sun was beating against their gold Mason pins harder than the rain that fell during the storm. As we walked up the hill, I looked at the twins, Coy, and some of the men that weren’t old enough to be Masons yet. Willie had made it home that morning just in time for the funeral. Miss Lottie Pearl was some kind of glad to see her child. Pole too. I couldn’t wait till he told us stories about places he’d traveled. Willie joined the younger men, who had their own sense of pride as they carried Real Kill to the hillside. That’s right! The white folk let us bury Real Kill right beside Mr. Bro. Wiley.
Papa’s eyes stayed on me while the women took care of Ma.
“Bean, come-come on over here and grab this casket. Help us carry your friend to his final resting place,” he said.
I had to tell my feet to move as I rubbed the picture in my jacket pocket for strength. I stood in between Papa and Uncle Goat. Then I grabbed hold to the casket. We walked together like real men. Ralph winked at me as Coy motioned for him to help them carry Real Kill to his grave. Big Shot Bob was no place to be found, but us Low Meadows folks were there for his half brother.
Pole, Pattie Mae, and, yes, even Sara were flower girls. They looked nice in the white dresses Miss Lottie Pearl made. Of course, they wore their white gloves.
Miss Lottie Pearl read the obituary. Ma read the Twenty-Third Psalm the best she could, but she was some kind of broke up.
Deacon Ward said a few words.
“Let us give honor to two of our own, Mr. Bro. Wiley and Philip Brown, the boy we called Real Kill.”
I do not know what the deacon said after that, because I was lost in the fact that I did not know my own neighbor’s real name till that day.
When Deacon Ward finished, the womenfolk let the sinner sing a beautiful song.
“Steal away, Jesus,” Miss Florenza sang all by herself.
“Sing, Florenza, sing,” Miss Lottie Pearl said to her new friend. When Miss Florenza was done singing, she smiled at the reverend. She still hoped to be his bride someday.
With the little Reverend Hornbuckle knew about Mr. Bro. Wiley he did some preaching as the white folks joined us. The reverend let out all the fire and brimstone in him as he slammed his hand against his leg and did a kick.
The Sittin' Up Page 14