“You lost a good amount of blood. You can’t be walking home. You need to rest and get your strength back.” Cynthia packed up her small bag and headed for the door. “Winnie, I hope you know what you’re doing here. I’d do just about anything for you. Most everyone round here would. Just be sure you aren’t asking us to do something that’s gonna get us killed.”
As Cynthia slipped out the door, the room was taken over by an awkward silence. Alma and Betty moved over toward the table and sat down, all four of the wobbly chairs occupied now.
“I’ll fix y’all something to eat. You like okra?” Winnie asked. “Alma, fetch something out of the medicine cabinet for the boy’s pain.”
“You don’t need to cook me nothing. You’ve done enough already. Your friend is right, me being here ain’t no good for anyone. Me and Betty’ll be on our way.” Simpson grunted as he shifted in the chair.
“Being here is good for me,” Betty argued, starting out timidly and then gaining more confidence. “When I’m here no one is calling me names. No one’s pushing me around. Winnie, Nate, and Alma treat me more like kin than my own folks do. And I help out round here too.”
“How lucky for you,” Simpson huffed. “Don’t you ever think about what it means for them? You can’t be hanging round here. Nobody’s gonna give a rat’s ass why when they come stringing up her daddy for having you here.”
“Ain’t nobody gonna string up my daddy. He’ll kill your daddy before he lets that happen,” Alma shouted, shooting up from the table.
“Shut up, all y’all. I can’t tell you what you’re supposed to do out there. I don’t have an answer, but I can tell you in here, in this house, you will treat each other with kindness. There might be wild animals banging down this door, but if you step over this threshold you won’t act like them. Now sit down, and find a way to get on with each other while I fix the food. Simpson isn’t going anywhere until he’s had something to eat, so work it out.”
“I don’t have nothing to say to him,” Alma snapped as she turned her back to him.
“You better use your proper English, child. I don’t stay up late nights teaching you just so you can sound like a fool. If you don’t have anything to say to him then sit down and listen. Why do you think God gave you a mouth that could close but ears that couldn’t?”
“Yes, Mama,” Alma said before closing her lips exactly the way God intended her to.
“I’ve learned a lot coming here, Simpson,” Betty said in a tiny voice, still unsure of the odd dynamic between this mismatched trio.
“Like what?” he asked skeptically.
“I’ve heard all about the sit-ins and the Freedom Riders. All sorts of stuff they won’t teach us in school.” Betty beamed with pride at how knowledgeable she was now about the world.
“Speaking of school, you’ll be teaching there next quarter won’t ya?” Simpson asked, leaning slightly to catch Winnie’s reaction as she bustled around the kitchen.
“Looks like it,” Winnie replied as though she didn’t have time for the conversation.
“That’s really brave,” he said, clearly thinking he was paying her a compliment.
“Brave? You think I knocked on their door and demanded a spot? You think I’m going because I want to change the world? I’ll be teaching there because I made a deal to keep Alma out of that school in exchange for my unwelcomed services. That’s not brave. If I signed up to go there on my own that would be like making my own storm then complaining when I get struck by lightning.” Winnie stoked the fire and brought the oven to life with a roar of ash and smoke.
“It don’t matter how they got you there, if you show up then it’s brave.” Simpson shimmied to the edge of the chair and tried to stand but lost his balance and flopped back down.
“You eat,” Winnie ordered, pointing her wooden mixing spoon at the boy. “Just sit right there and eat.”
It wasn’t long before the table was covered with food. Too early to be dinner, too big to be an after-school snack, the three kids partook happily in the impromptu meal. And as it sometimes did, food closed the gap between them all. Laughter erupted when they compared notes about the three-legged goat at the farm adjacent to the woods. Silly names and puns had their sides splitting as they passed plates of food to one another.
Two hours ticked by, and Betty watched Winnie frequently peer out the window to make sure no one was coming. She wondered who Winnie feared might show up.
The color had returned to Simpson’s cheeks, and he seemed to doing much better by the minute.
“Looks like food did the trick,” Winnie smiled as she stacked their plates and carted them toward the sink.
“Thanks,” Simpson said as he grabbed his hat and plopped it back on his head. “I’ll make sure no one’s looking, and me and Betty’ll get out of here.”
“Wait,” Alma cried as she darted out of the room, leaving them all to worry that something was wrong. When she scurried back in she held a bracelet in her hand. “Me and Betty wear these. It’s like we’re secret friends and these bracelets mean something to us. You want one?” Even though Betty wasn’t very experienced out in the world, she could tell Alma was holding more than just a bracelet in her extended hand. It was an olive branch. It was her heart.
“I can’t wear that. I can’t be friends with you, and you know why,” Simpson huffed.
Alma’s eyes dropped to the ground, and she stared at her shoes. “I didn’t think you were like that.”
“Well I am. There ain’t no way I’m gonna be friends with a couple of girls.” Simpson’s deadpan look cracked away and was replaced by a hyena laugh. When the girls realized his joke they started laughing too. Alma ignored his words, and grabbed his uninjured wrist, and slipped the bracelet on.
“Gross, cooties,” Simpson joked, and they all broke down in tear-inducing laughter again. Alma tightened the knot on his bracelet just as the door to the shack swung open.
Nate stood there, looking nervous at first as the laughter died down. He surveyed the scene, watching this white boy’s hand in his daughter’s as they giggled at some joke he’d missed.
For the first time since she’d started coming here, Betty watched Winnie’s expression change to a guilty embarrassment.
They all stood in a stony silence until Nate finally chiseled his way through it.
“For goodness sake Winnie—call the newspapers. They’re multiplying.”
Chapter Ten
Two weeks later they’d all found a way to make it work. For the kids it was a relief, but Betty could tell, for Winnie and Nate, the weight of the world was on their shoulders.
“We always said for Alma’s sake we wouldn’t be sticking our noses into the problems of the world,” Nate murmured to Winnie as they sat on their front porch. They were swinging away on the swing Nate had made out of pallets from the factory. Their hushed voices should have been quiet enough to go unheard by the three kids in the house, but still Betty managed to eavesdrop.
Alma and Simpson were sitting at the wobbly table playing cards as Betty carried all their plates filled with cookie crumbs to the sink. She lingered there to hear what Winnie and Nate were talking about.
“We have to balance the need to protect Alma with our responsibility to show her compassion and empathy. I’m sorry this is hard on you, but I just see these kids and can’t imagine locking them out.” Winnie shrugged and shot him a look.
“What is it you always say to Alma? It’s better to stop the apology before you get to the part with the excuse,” Nate crowed back, not able to hold the smile from forming.
“Don’t go putting my own wisdom back on me. That’s against the rules. Plus it’s not like I’m carrying a damn sign or sitting at the counter of the dime store demanding a milk shake,” Winnie defended.
“No, you’re babysitting a couple white kids right here in our house. Best-case scenario: you’re going to end up with a disappointed and broken heart. Trying to protect these kids in a world like ours is
like trying to plant seeds in the dead of winter. Even if you manage to break through the frozen earth, nothing can come of it. You can’t grow flowers in the snow.” Nate’s voice wasn’t angry; it was sympathetic and pleading.
Winnie shook her head solemnly as his words seemed to strike at her very heart. “Then you turn them out. Send them back to their miserable parents so they can get beaten some more. If you think it’s the right thing to do, then you do it. I won’t stop you.”
“I will,” Nate said firmly. “Tomorrow maybe.” Betty couldn’t interpret the look they exchanged. It might have been a knowing and understanding look or a serious one. She backed away from the window and headed somberly over to the table.
“I think your daddy is finally gonna turn us out of here tomorrow and tell us not to come back,” she reported sadly as she took her seat.
Alma snickered and rolled her eyes. “I’m pretty sure he says that every night. But Mama does sound serious about you guys not hanging around here after school starts. She just can’t risk it. Best I can tell, that’s really the end for us all being here together.”
“So we need another place,” Betty determined as she waited for Simpson to deal her in.
“There is no other place,” Simpson cut back. His words were sharp but his face was soft with disappointment. Betty loved coming to Alma’s but Simpson seemed to need it even more than she did. “Tell her, Alma. Once your mama says it’s done then it’s done.”
“I’m not ready to quit hanging around with you guys,” Alma whispered. “Maybe if we all think about it we can come up with a place where we can meet up after school. We need it to be like a club just for us.”
“Don’t be dumb,” Simpson grumbled. “We’re not babies. We can’t just make up some club and think that’ll be a real thing. It’ll be a lot harder than that.”
“It’s funny, you don’t say ain’t as much anymore. My mama’s got you talking proper.” Alma picked up her cards from the table and hid her face behind them.
“Stop screwing around, you two,” Betty snapped sternly. “We need to find a way to be able to see each other after Winnie starts teaching. Simpson, you know the woods best. You know where all the worst boys in town hang out. We can stay clear of there.”
Simpson shook his head as he laid down his first card and thought it over. “There’s only one place those guys don’t go. Bill Napter’s land is pretty much off limits. He’s crazier than a bag of weasels, and I can’t think of a kid who would step a toe on his land. It’s mostly just old stories about the guy that probably are not even true. He’s got tons of barns and sheds I bet he’s forgotten about.”
“And what, we’re just going to go there and play cards after school? If everyone else is too scared to go there then why wouldn’t we be?” Alma plopped her cards down and made it clear she wasn’t feeling much like playing anymore.
“The rest of town is scarier to me than that place,” Simpson admitted. I can bring some supplies. Food. Lanterns. Even some fold-out chairs. We could find one of his old sheds that isn’t too rundown and make it nice. The guy is almost eighty, it’s not like he leaves the house much anymore. We’ll be fine.” Simpson gestured for Alma to pick up her cards and play, but she still hesitated.
“And if he does find us?” she asked, raising her brows nearly to her hairline.
Simpson straightened his shoulders and tried to look bigger than he was. “I can handle him.”
“So are we doing this?” Betty asked, looking hopeful for the first time since they’d sat down.
“Doing what?” Winnie asked with a frown as she pushed her way through the door and eyed them all suspiciously.
“Nothing,” Alma replied too quickly for her mother’s liking. She scooped her cards off the table and started to play again.
Winnie shook her head and tossed her dishtowel over her shoulder. “Well that was wholly unconvincing. Whatever you’re scheming, get it out of your heads. I know it isn’t fair or fun to have to say goodbye, but you never know what the future holds. Things will settle down here eventually.”
“You believe that?” Simpson asked, craning his neck to see Winnie’s face.
“I said it, didn’t I? By now you should know I don’t go around wasting my breath on things I don’t believe. Now take a break from that game. Simpson, grab some logs from the back porch to stoke this fire, and girls come help me get the beans made.”
“I feel like I could be a chef some day,” Betty said, jumping with excitement toward the stove. Cooking was starting to come naturally to her in a way other skills never did.
“You do have a talent for it.” Winnie smiled as she handed Betty a large pot. “That could be something to work toward.”
“Maybe I’ll own my own restaurant some day. When I do I’ll let everyone eat there. No matter what they look like. And if people don’t like that then they can just shove off.” Betty stuck up her chin assertively as though she were already turning away ignorant patrons.
Winnie smiled down lovingly at Betty. “Don’t get too big for those tiny little britches. Owning a restaurant is no small thing. You need to know more than just some recipes. You need to understand how to run a business. You need to work on that math you’re struggling with.”
“I bet you could be good at it, Betty,” Simpson said as he slipped his boots back on. “I think we’ve all got a lot of potential to be something great.”
“That’s very deep,” Alma grinned and batted her lashes affectionately.
“Deep?” Betty chuckled. “I don’t think that’s something I’d ever call Simpson. I’ve jumped in mud puddles deeper than him.”
“I just mean it sounded real nice,” Alma cut back. “A fancy thing to say about our potential.”
“Fancy? There is nothing fancy about him. The other day I saw him use a rusty nail to pick a splinter out of his finger. He holds his pants up with a piece of rope when his belt breaks. He doesn’t even know how to set a proper table the way you showed us, Winnie. He couldn’t remember where the forks go.”
“Manners, Betty!” Winnie scolded. “I swear some days I’m not sure you have any.”
“You’ve been teaching me manners all along. I know all about how to eat at a fancy table. I know how to lay my napkin the right way across my lap. I got loads of manners. I’m fancier than he is,” Betty defended, feeling threatened. She and Simpson had ragged on each other forever, and occasionally it cut too deep. Winnie was always telling them if no one else was going to be nice to them they might as well be nice to each other.
“Those aren’t manners,” Winnie explained impatiently. “That’s etiquette. A trained monkey can learn etiquette. Manners are not about knowing which fork to use at a table; they’re about not pointing out that the person next to you doesn’t know something. I get that teasing each other is a normal thing, but I don’t want you to miss the message. Calling someone out doesn’t make him look bad, it makes you look bad. Remember that.”
“Yes ma’am,” Betty gulped, feeling badly for what she’d said. The lessons from Winnie were fast-paced, and she didn’t mince words, but she was always right. “I hope I end up in your class once you start teaching. I bet you can teach me more than any of the cranky old coots there who hate me.” Betty strained the beans that had been soaking overnight and rinsed them in the basin on the counter. She had this vision of Winnie at the head of her class, standing in the sturdy way she always did. Finally Betty would get called on again. Finally she’d be treated like every other student in the class. Maybe even better.
“Don’t count on it,” Simpson said as he put another small log on the fire. “No offense, Winnie, but I’m not sure they’ll even let you in the door unless the President gets the National Guard here. I’m hearing some grumbling about their plans.”
“I don’t want to talk about it anymore,” Alma said with a shudder, fighting tears. “It’s still a couple weeks off. I don’t want to think about it now.”
Nate crossed the thres
hold to the house and forced a smile. “I hope if you hear anything in particular, boy, you’ll tell us. There ain’t much we can do but we can be prepared at least.”
“That’s the thing,” Simpson said, staring into the fire. He seemed unable to meet Nate’s eye.
“Don’t put that on him, Nate,” Winnie said, rushing to his defense. “He’s just a boy.”
“And you’re my wife. If he hears they’re gonna do something to you I want to know about it. We’ve let him come here, we treat him good; that’s the least he can do,” Nate’s voice snapped with an edge through the silent house.
“There’s something I wanna tell you,” Simpson admitted, still not turning away from the now roaring fire. His face glowed with an orange hue as he tried to find the words. “Tonight, I’m supposed to . . .” he trailed off and then puffed up his chest so he could try again. “My daddy told me it’s time for me to go to his meeting tonight. He’s pissed about me not showing up when they came down here to hassle you guys. I’m supposed to get my hood tonight. I don’t know what to do.”
“You know exactly what to do,” Winnie interrupted, smacking her spatula down on the counter with a thwack. “You are a boy; he is your daddy. You do what he tells you to. If you’ve got to go to a meeting tonight, if they get you all set up to be one of them, then you do it. You know what they’ll do to you if you don’t.”
“I don’t want to,” Simpson said, sounding like a child. Over last summer he’d grown into the body of a teenager, but he was still lost somewhere in the limbo between little boy and man. “It’s just in my blood. It’s not like I’m some kid whose dad just works at the bank. This has been in my family for generations in one way or another.”
“What a family heirloom,” Nate jeered gruffly.
“I don’t want to do it,” Simpson pleaded, finally turning around and imploring them to help.
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