“Maximilian Devore…” she paused for dramatic effect, allowing the unspoken threat to hang in the air. “What did you hear? Is some low down going around telling uglies about her? Or did you spread the gossip yourself?”
Taxi’s fingers beat out an agitated rhythm on the steering wheel. “Some fellas over at Bubba’s were shootin’ off, that’s all. Not me. No, ma’am, not me.”
“Who then?” The words burst out with enough force to cause him to flinch. Dreama scooted closer and rubbed his neck. “Baby, I’m not mad at you,” she crooned. “Just need to know who’s been saying what.”
“White boys,” he mumbled. “Bunch of no good white trash bragging on their deeds.”
Dreama’s stomach churned. She didn’t care for the scared feeling running high speed inside her. White boys, Taxi had said. White boys with an ‘s’ on the tail end, meant more than one.
Letting folks know about the rape would surely open the cellar door on all sorts of payback time for Dreama Simms. And now, she had to worry about the trouble coming from three different directions on account of that ‘s’.
“You for sure they were talking about our wounded little bird?”
“One hundred per cent for sure.”
“Out in the open?”
“They didn’t give much mind to who all might be listening. And believe me, they should of cared.” Taxi chuckled.
Her fur stood on end and her tail feathers twitched when she heard his low chuckle. “You find their actions amusing, Mr. Devore?”
“No,” he said, raising his hands to fend off expected blows. “They ain’t the least bit funny.”
Dreama fluffed her hair and stared out the front windshield. Her patience, already frazzled from the sunset discovery gave out. “Take me to Lettie Ruth,” she said through gritted teeth.
If it had been winter instead of Spring, he could have chipped ice off the car roof.
=FOURTEEN=
DR. BIGGERS’ CLINIC
“She won’t talk,” Lettie Ruth told Dreama Simms and Taxi Devore, as she came down the stairs.
“I thought she be talking to you by now,” Dreama said, following her friend into the waiting area.
Lettie Ruth made herself comfortable in an overstuffed arm chair. Dreama stretched out on the sofa and Taxi leaned against the door jamb, looking decidedly uncomfortable.
“It’s to be expected,” Lettie Ruth explained. “She’ll come around in a few days. Until then, I want to keep her calm and quiet. Give her a secure feeling.”
“And that means no men company,” Dreama said, pointing an accusing finger at Taxi lingering in the entry hall.
“Woman,” Taxi sputtered. “I got no need to see her. I only came along cause you made me.”
Lettie Ruth smiled at him. “You’re a good man, Taxi. I’m certain Dreama didn’t mean you specific.” She glared at the other woman. “Did you?”
Although she and Dreama had been best friends since they were children playing in the streets of New Orleans, Lettie had never much cared for her mean streak. The girl’s tongue was sharp enough to cut through a beef steak, and she used it on a regular basis. But picking on Taxi for absolutely no reason seemed vexatious.
Dreama looked shamed. “No, I know you wouldn’t harm her, Taxi honey. Come on over here,” she said, patting an empty space on the sofa.
He slowly crossed the room and took a seat beside her. “I would never do that. I seen what those boys done to her.” Taxi shook his head. “Shames me to be a man.”
“You is a good man, Maximilian Devore,” Lettie Ruth repeated. “And we all know there’s a whole wide world of difference between you and them.”
Dreama nodded in agreement and climbed onto his lap. “And I’m sorry to be gettin’ on you like that. But I do believe she’d be better off without seeing people who need to shave first thing every morning.”
“You feel that way too, Lettie Ruth?” Taxi asked. “Feel Kat don’t need to see no man?”
His eyes seemed to be asking another question, but for the life of her, Lettie Ruth couldn’t figure out what he wanted to know. What difference could it make to him whether or not her patient wanted to see any men?
Suddenly Taxi jumped up, dumping Dreama on the floor as he crawled over the back of the sofa. He peeked between the Venetian blind slats. “Turn off the lights!” he yelled. “Get ‘em off now.”
The women didn’t argue with him. Dreama scrambled to her feet and Lettie Ruth popped out of the chair. They ran in opposite directions and soon the only illumination came from the headlights of the two vehicles idling in the driveway.
“What’s going on?” Lettie Ruth whispered, stepping to where she could see out the window. “Who’s outside?”
A truck had pulled up close to the building and a dark colored sedan sat cockeyed, half on the driveway and half on the grass yard. Cat calls and unintelligible shouted words filtered through the partially open clinic windows.
“It’s those men from the bar,” Taxi told her. “The ones who hurt Kat.”
“How you know that?” challenged Dreama, peeking around his stooped shoulder. “And how come you know her name?”
“I knows, Dreama. I just knows. Don’t be asking me questions all the time.”
“You think they’ll come in here?” asked Lettie Ruth. Her heart had stopped beating several minutes ago and she’d probably keel over dead any second.
Taxi shook his head. “They ain’t drunk enough yet.”
“What do they want with us?” Lettie Ruth asked.
“They want to scare us into keeping our peace,” Dreama said. She slipped her arms around Taxi’s middle and leaned her cheek against his back. “They want to make good and certain we don’t tell anyone important what happened in that field.”
“You sure called that one right, honey,” he said. He reached around and patted her behind. “They’ve been forced out into the daylight and the boys are getting skittish.”
“You seem to know an awful lot about what’s going on. How come?” Dreama asked.
“I knows, Dreama. I just knows.”
“What are they up to now?” Lettie Ruth could see three shadowy figures moving around beside the truck.
They took several steps toward the clinic door, then backed off. After a low voiced discussion, they threw several empty bottles against the sign out front then jumped back in the pickup.
“That’ll be it for now,” Taxi assured them. He let the blinds slip into place as the vehicles squealed around the corner. He turned and took Dreama by the shoulders. “You stay here with Lettie Ruth. I got business to see about.”
“What kind of business you got at this hour of the morning?” Dreama demanded. “It’s going on four o’clock, sun ain’t even up.”
“Got to make a run over to the depot. You two stay inside and keep the lights low until we get back.” Taxi gave Dreama a quick kiss and hurried out the back door.
“Did he say we?” Lettie Ruth asked.
Dreama shrugged. “I ain’t got no idea what that man is talking about.”
* * *
“All right, Lord,” Taxi prayed as he pulled away from Dr. Biggers clinic. “No need for you to hit me over the head. I planned on going to see Mr. Mitch. Just soon as I got Dreama settled down.”
Taxi clucked his tongue. It didn’t do him one bit of good to lie. The Man upstairs had all the answers. Knew everything about everybody. He knew, that Maximilian Devore planned on leaving Mr. Mitch to see out the rest of his days in the Greyhound waiting room. But it appeared the Man didn’t much care for that. He wanted Taxi to get his butt shot off. Yes sir, that’s exactly what He wanted.
“Is this gonna make you happy, Lord? Watching this colored man drive this old beat up green De Soto all the way to the depot in the early morning hours while a pickup full of whites is out looking for him?” He cocked his head, and could swear he heard heavenly laughter. “That’s what I figured. Well, I’m for sure hauling my black butt cross town to
fetch him. And why? So that white man can bust in on Lettie Ruth and Dreama and scare the dickens out of them. And you know how my woman’s going to like that. She won’t be speaking to me, or doing anything else to me, for a long time. Yes sir, a long, long time.”
As he pulled into the back of the depot, Taxi realized he’d never asked Kat about the cowboy pin or seein’ Mr. Mitch. His whole story could be nothing but lies. “If I’m dead wrong, and he belonged to that other bunch, the ones that raped her … oh Lordy.”
* * *
Greyhound Bus Depot—4:00 AM
Mitch wiggled around on the hard wooden bench until the feeling returned to his lower extremities. The boarding area left a lot to be desired when it came to comfort, cleanliness, and odor control. In fact, it smelled as though someone had taken a good long piss underneath his bench. Mitch guessed he should be grateful that’s all they’d left behind.
After spending the better part of two hours staring at the sign mounted on the wall: WHITE ONLY, he’d come to the conclusion it was the stupidest thing he’d ever seen. What made some people so afraid? Did they really think black skin pigmentation would rub off if they got too close and the only way to prevent this from happening was to call for total segregation?
If that was true, then all the time he’d spent riding in a patrol car next to Kat it was a wonder his skin hadn’t turned pitch black by now. Or, on the flip side, it was a wonder Kat wasn’t white and freckled. The mental picture of their altered appearances made him smile.
The steady tapping on the glass partition drew his attention to the far side of the room. Taxi, looking ready to bust a gut, stood on the opposite side of the wall in the COLORED ONLY area.
Mitch’s heart did flip-flops when he saw him and a thousand watt smile lit his freckled face. He glanced at the clock mounted above the ticket counter: 4:00 AM. He and Kat still had one hour and twenty minutes to get to Park Street before the door closed.
He hurried toward the dividing wall, but Taxi waved his arms warning him off.
Taxi reminded Mitch of the workers on the airport tarmac as they moved the planes in and out of the gates. Once again he’d come close to making another major gaffe. Why couldn’t he get it through his thick Irish skull that white and black neither sat together or spoke publicly? He nodded in understanding and an obviously relieved Taxi motioned him outside.
* * *
“You and Alvin still messing around with that ghost business?” Dreama asked softly. She and Lettie Ruth had moved to the second floor after Taxi left and now sat on wooden chairs outside Kat’s bedroom. At the moment the patient appeared to be sleeping soundly, but as a precaution, they’d left the door open in case she awoke.
Lettie Ruth shuddered. “Those stories folks been telling me make the hairs on my neck stand up.”
“You believe in ghosts?”
“Not when all this started, but I tell you, girl, I’m about to the place where I gotta say yes I do.”
“You ever seen one?”
“No, but when Dolores Townson was a girl a ghost called her on the telephone. Told her she ought not to go on a school bus trip. Said it would end bad.”
Dreama’s eyes widened and she rubbed at the goose bumps on her arms. “What happened?” she whispered.
“She stayed home and the bus crashed.”
“Oh my Lord. That must’ve scared that sweet child.”
“Maybe. All I know is she says she ain’t never going out to no cemetery for funerals ever again. Not ever.”
“Speaking of Dolores, she still studying teaching?”
“Been at Fisk this term. She come home for Easter and Alvin got a look. I think he’s got his eye on her. Caught him sneaking peeks during choir practice on Thursday. He’s gonna miss her, she and her family are going to New Orleans tomorrow, to see family.” Lettie chuckled.
“Oh I got to get on him about her. Is that good looking brother of yours here?” Dreama asked glancing down the hall.
“Brother’s sleeping down at the church.” Lettie Ruth smiled. “Did you know he’s preaching for the first time this morning, at the county wide Ladies Prayer Meeting? He hasn’t been in a pulpit since his Army Chaplin days.”
“I think he mentioned it the other day. He’ll do good, got fire in his voice.” Dreama’s brow wrinkled. “You say he’s sleeping at the church?”
“Alvin and Timothy both been sleeping down there for the past week. Pastor Gordon’s been getting threats from somebody saying they’s gonna torch Freedom Methodist. It’s getting so scary tonight Timothy carried that big ole M-1 rifle along.”
Dreama shook her head. “Been way too many fires this month. Gladys Pauley, Dilmer Richards, Alice Carpenter, Mattie De Carlo. The list is long, Lettie Ruth. A lot of good people lost forever.”
“I fear there will be more fallen soldiers before our battle is done. And now poor old Tupelo Josephs,” Lettie said. “They found him in that little shack of his out by his garden last night all burned up. I heard he mixed it up with some white boys down by the Waffle Shop.”
“It don’t pay to get into any kind of business with white folks today,” Dreama said. “You know, me and Taxi saw that house explode up on Riverside and Azalea last month.”
“Dilmer’s place?”
“Uh-huh. A sweet, sweet man that never hurt a soul. Pastor Gordon’s feels they went after Dilmer on account of the meetings up in Birmingham.”
“What meetings?” Lettie Ruth asked.
“Dr. King and the Southern Christian Leadership Conference called meetings to train a bunch of folks about nonviolent protesting.”
“About that protesting, I know I promised to take part in the Birmingham lunch counter sit-in tomorrow. But with Kat here and all…”
“You ain’t backing out now? Alvin’s gonna drive and I already put our names on the paper at the church.”
“What paper?”
“The one folks sign before going to a protest. You have to sign back in when it’s all over. That way we keep track of everybody. If someone don’t sign in at the end, we go looking for them. And they expect you and me in Birmingham tomorrow.”
Lettie Ruth shook her head and gestured toward the bedroom. “I’m not leaving that child alone. She needs my help a whole lot more than any lunch counter sit-in.”
Dreama made a face. “That’s only an excuse to stick your head in the sand. Can’t hide if you want changes, Lettie Ruth. You gotta get out there and fight for your rights.”
“I’m too tired to listen to another soap box speech, Dreama Simms. I’ll try and go on Palm Sunday.” Lettie took her hand. “And you got my word, I’ll be walking beside you on Good Friday when Dr. King leads us marching and singing all the way to the city hall. I’m gonna make me a sign to carry that says ‘Freedom has come to Birmingham.’”
“Get me a pad of paper.” Dreama laughed. “I’m going to get those promises in ink.” She pretended to write in the air. “Palm Sunday, April 7 and Good Friday April 12. I got you down now, girlfriend. Oh and, Lettie Ruth, it would probably be best if you left the singing part to me. You can just hum real soft like.”
Lettie Ruth playfully slapped at Dreama’s shoulder. “Why don’t you go down and start some coffee boiling?” She stood and stretched. “And leave the doctoring to me. I’ll be along after I check on Kat.”
Lettie Ruth tiptoed into the room, not wanting to disturb her patient.
Kat lay on her side, right arm tucked under her cheek and her left, the one with broken fingers, hung over the edge of the bed. The covers were a tangled mess around her legs.
As Lettie Ruth leaned forward to brush the wiry tendrils of hair off her patient’s moist forehead, Kat’s eyes flew open.
Her left hand shot up from the side of the bed. In spite of the broken fingers, she grabbed Lettie’s wrist in a vice grip.
The wooden tongue depressors dug into Lettie’s skin and she pressed her lips together to keep from crying out.
“Don’t touch me,” Ka
t snarled.
“Hey, honey,” she said softly. Although Kat’s eyes were open, they had the dazed look of a sleepwalker. Lettie Ruth rotated her hand to loosen the iron grip.
With a jerk, Kat sat up and twisted her Lettie’s arm backwards. The maneuver forced Lettie to her knees beside the bed.
“I warned you,” Kat growled.
The light slanting in from the hall fell on the upraised arm. Lettie Ruth recognized her Christmas money sock and heard the distinctive jingle of coins as Kat swung at her head. The first blow landed on her shoulder, temporarily numbing her free arm. The second hit her temple. Shooting stars … then a black fog filled the bedroom.
* * *
Dreama sat at the kitchen table and rested her head on folded arms, her energy level all used up. If Taxi’s skinny butt didn’t waltz through the door in the next few minutes, she was going to drop in her tracks. She generally managed to stay on her feet after a show until three o’clock or so, but it was after four now and this girl wanted to go to bed.
The thumping noises from upstairs were loud enough for Dreama to open her eyes, but not loud enough to raise her head or get up and investigate. Most likely just Lettie moving around and helping Kat. Her eyes drooped, no way she could stay awake another minute.
* * *
Within minutes of leaving the Greyhound depot, Mitch reached the decision that Maximilian Devore’s 1946 green De Soto barely met the lowest standards to still qualify it as functional transportation.
The seventeen-year-old car had enough smoke billowing from the tail pipe to be mistaken for a coal burning train. Every time Taxi hit a pot hole, which seemed frequent, Mitch had to reattach the rusty coat hanger holding the rear passenger door shut. When the De Soto plowed through a Grand Canyon-sized crater, Mitch’s head bounced off the interior roof like a ginger red basketball off a felt-covered backboard.
“Judas Priest! You learn to drive at a demolition derby?” Mitch immediately regretted his outburst. Taxi had placed his own life in jeopardy by helping out, the least he could do was behave in a cordial manner. “Hey, don’t get me wrong, I really appreciate everything you’re doing. Thanks,” he said, trying to make up for the brusque words.
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