Treasure in a Tin Box (Wall of Silence Book 1)

by Dorey Whittaker

  Triggering on these last words, I sat up, wiped my eyes and said, “That is what Grandpa Samuel said to you in the livery.”

  Pearl smiled and patted my head, “That’s right, Toby. It is when things are not fair that we need to be wise. You can get angry and storm out like Sulley did today; or you can be a good friend and place your hand on a hurting person’s back and bring him comfort, like Ruth did for you today. We can’t always remove the injustice, but we can always be a good and true friend.”

  Ms. Ruby slid off the couch and sat on the floor in front of me. “Toby Boy, do you think Sulley needs a good and true friend right now?”

  “Yes, he does,” I said with confidence, “but I don’t know if he is ever coming back. You didn’t see the look on his face today.”

  Ms. Ruby smiled, “I’ve seen that look. I’ve even given that look. When a friend is hurting so deep he cannot imagine ever feeling any other way, he needs a good and true friend to remind him that he is not alone. Toby, here is a brand-new, shiny white button. I think you should put it in your tin box, along with the button you have from Brother Samuel. This button will always remind you of Miss Buttons. She should be remembered.”

  “You are right, Ms. Ruby. I will also put one of my marbles in my tin box as a reminder of my friend, Sulley.”

  The next morning I left for school thirty minutes early. I didn’t really know where Sulley lived, but I had an idea. I knew he did not have a momma anymore. He lived with his daddy and his two older brothers. Sulley said it was every man for himself at his house. I had seen him turn the corner by the leather shop several times, so I decided I would walk real slowly, hoping Sulley would see me and come out onto his porch. Sure enough, out came Sulley, but he was not dressed for school. It looked like he was wearing an old pair of his daddy’s overalls. He had rolled up the legs four or five times to keep from tripping over them. He had taken an old belt that looked like it had seen its share of kid beatings in its day. Sulley tightened the belt around his waist and let the extra leather hang in the wind. I stepped onto his porch and asked as casually as I could, “You coming to school today, Sulley?”

  “Nah, no more school for me, Toby. I’m gunna start painting houses with my daddy and brothers. My daddy said schooling is a waste of time anyway. I only went because I liked Miss Buttons. She always told me I could learn if I really wanted to; but now that she is gone, there is no reason to go.”

  “Sulley, can we still be friends?”

  “Sure we can, Toby. Not so sure how, now that I’ll be working all the time and you being in school all the time. You’re an all-right boy, Toby. Maybe I can stop by your house on Saturday mornings sometimes. I like your Auntie Ruby’s biscuits. My brother, Jethro, makes bricks instead of biscuits. If you aren’t careful, you can break a tooth on ’em.”

  I knew Sully was only half joking as I offered, “That’s a deal, Sulley. I’m sure Ms. Ruby will even have lots of strawberry jam for your biscuits. See you Saturday.” I heard Sulley whistling as he headed back into his house. I knew his brothers were always mean to him, but on that day, Sulley knew he had a good and true friend.

  It was not easy warming up to Miss Jackson, but I promised my aunties that I would try, and I did. It slowly began to feel normal, but it would never again be the wonderful experience I had had with Miss Buttons. I focused on my studies and making friends. Without Sulley around, I had to reach out to the other boys and make myself forget how hard they had been on Sulley. I had to learn early that no one is perfect and that I had to give these boys another chance. It was not their fault that my friend was no longer at school.

  Sulley came around nearly every Saturday. His father and brothers worked him hard and paid him very little. Ms. Pearl offered to school Sulley on Saturdays, but he was not interested, so we just fed him and remained his friends. Ms. Ruby would often mend his torn trousers and replace missing buttons. Eventually, Ms. Ruby found some used clothes that fit Sulley. Since his daddy and brothers did not believe in washing their clothes, Sulley would bring his wash over, and Ruby taught him how to use the washtub. He even began to wash himself while his clothes were hanging out to dry. I could see how much Sulley liked spending those Saturdays with us. At first, he ate fast, as if he had never eaten before. After a few Saturday dinners, Ms. Ruby came up with a trick. About thirty minutes before our dinner was ready to serve, she called Sulley into the kitchen and placed a whole plate of buttered biscuits in front of him. By the time we were called to the table, he was smiling contentedly, ready to enjoy his dinner instead of inhaling it.

  Sulley loved story time. At first it was short stories that could be finished that same evening. He had a hard time remembering stories from week to week, and he would get frustrated when it took too long to finish. Sulley couldn’t keep track of the different characters, always interrupting and asking someone to remind him who was who—until the Saturday that Ms. Pearl started reading Treasure Island. From the first page, Sulley was hooked. “Is this why my teacher, Miss Buttons, said it was so important that I learn how to read? So I could read stories like this?”

  Ms. Pearl smiled, “This one and hundreds of others that are just as exciting, Sulley.”

  I chimed in, “Sulley, wait until she reads The Count of Monte Cristo. It is all about a young Frenchman named Edmond Dantès, who was sent to a terrible prison where he met a priest who taught him how to read, do mathematics, and how to fight with swords.”

  “You’re joshing me, right?”

  “No, Sulley,” Ms. Pearl promised. “The world is full of wonderful books that can take you away to interesting places. When you know how to read, no one can stop you from going anywhere you want to go.” Ms. Pearl walked over to the bookcase and began pulling out books. “Sulley, you want to go to France and find treasure chests filled with gold? The Count of Monte Cristo is the book. Do you want to follow the artful dodger through the streets of London? Oliver Twist is the book. You want to go sailing the open seas and fight a great white whale? Then Moby-Dick is the book for you. Sulley, do you want to be shipwrecked on an uncharted island, build an amazing tree house, and fight pirates? Then The Swiss Family Robinson is the book for you!’ Turning back to Sulley, whose eyes were wide with wonder, she asked, “Where would you like to go next, Sulley?”

  “Ms. Pearl, right now I would like to get back on that ship with Jim Hawkins. Do you think there really is a treasure? Is the map real? Will Jim survive?”

  We all started laughing at how many details Sulley had remembered; he was hooked indeed. In a very serious tone, Sulley asked, “Ms. Pearl, how long would it take to learn how to read?”

  “Sulley, it will take some time, but once you learn, no one can stop you.”

  It took about five years to teach Sulley how to read, and Ms. Pearl loved every minute of it. However, those five years were not without problems. At first, Sulley’s only splurge from the meager wages his daddy paid him was to go down to the thrift store and buy new used clothes. Ms. Ruby did her best to alter the trousers to fit Sulley’s large frame. We made sure not to laugh at him as he strutted around the house in his new outfit and proudly announced, “Ms. Ruby, now I can go to church with you all. No more globs of paint and belts to hold up trousers that don’t fit me.”

  Sulley now had three whole outfits to wear to church. He even bought himself two pairs of dress shoes, but even Ms. Ruby could not get him to wear socks. “Ms. Ruby, my feet can’t take being boiled in them socks. My feet need to breathe.”

  It was fun watching Sulley strut around, proud as a peacock. I don’t believe he had ever felt so proud. The night before his first Sunday church meeting, Sulley asked, “Ms. Ruby, do you think you could give me a haircut? I can’t even get a comb through this nappy mop of mine. I bought myself a jar of hair wax, but I need someone to cut off all these dry, dead knots first.”

  Ms. Ruby gladly sat him down out on the back porch, wrapped a towel around his shoulders and went after that mop of hair in earnest. She had wa
nted to tackle it for months but did not want to hurt his feelings. Sulley ordered me to stay inside so it would be a surprise when it was all cut and slicked back, neat and clean. Ms. Ruby even talked him into shaving off all the peach fuzz he had been sporting for months.

  We invited Sulley to sleep over so he could have Sunday breakfast before walking to church with us for the first time. Looking at him all dressed up, with his hair slicked back, clean-shaven, and smiling, it was easy to forget that Sulley was only thirteen. He was a young boy, trapped in a grown man’s body, but that morning all was right with the world.

  Sulley studied all the men at church and whispered, “Toby, with my next payday, I’m gunna get me a tie. All the men here wear ties. I’m gunna get me one.”

  I was only ten years old, and the last thing I wanted to wear was a tie, but I could see how much the idea meant to Sulley. All the ladies at church made such a fuss over him—all neat and clean as he was.

  As exciting as this time was, watching Sulley change was not without its difficulties. The next Saturday morning Sulley showed up for his lessons a heartbroken, angry boy. “Ms. Pearl, you know what my brother Jethro did? Last night he was going out dancing and wore my clothes. He didn’t even ask if he could. He just took ’em. I begged my daddy to stop him, but he wouldn’t. He just told me to shut up. He came home about two hours ago, smelling awful.”

  “Oh, Sulley,” Ms. Pearl consoled, “we can wash the smell out of your clothes.”

  “Won’t do no good, Ms. Pearl. Jethro caught my trousers on a nail and tore a big hunk out of the seat. His feet were too big for my new shoes, and he stretched them way out of shape and scuffed them up something awful. He just threw my clothes on my bed and went to sleep. It didn’t matter to him that I had worked all summer to earn those clothes.”

  As he recounted his story, I could not help but remember how proud he felt in those clothes only the week before. Now they were ruined, and I got angry. “Sulley, you should go burn Jethro’s favorite stuff. Show him how it feels.”

  “He will do no such thing, Tobias!” When Ms. Ruby used my name in that tone, I knew I was in for a lecture. Instead, she sat a plate of biscuits down in front of Sulley and smiled. “Sulley, it’s not fair that your daddy and brothers don’t respect your things, and it is not likely that they will ever change. Your burning their things won’t teach them a lesson. It will only make you just like them. So Sulley, how are you going to respond to this injustice? Do you fight back—take their prized possessions? Do you run away? If you start running, Sulley, you had better be ready to run for the rest of your life because there is lots of injustice in this world. Or, do you find a peaceful way to limit the injustice, all the while living a life you can be proud of?”

  Auntie Ruby softened her voice and asked, “Sulley, do you remember how proud you felt last Sunday? Boy, it was not the clothes that made you proud. It was the fact that you had worked hard, earned those clothes, cleaned yourself up, and stood tall and proud of the young man you are becoming. Your daddy and brothers will never understand or feel what you felt last Sunday.”

  “But Ms. Ruby, now I can’t go to church with you. I don’t have anything to wear, and it will take too long to earn enough to buy new clothes.” Standing up and displaying his painting overalls, he sorrowfully said, “I can’t wear these to church.”

  “And why not, Sully? Are you ashamed of being a hard-working painter? Do you think those ladies at church cannot see past the paint-stained overalls and see a good, clean, proud young man standing in those overalls? It’s never the clothes, Sulley. It’s the person in those clothes that matters.”

  Then Aunt Ruby suggested, “So how do we limit the injustice of your daddy and brothers? As soon as you earn enough to buy something new, you can keep your new clothes here. Your family is never going to change, so you work around them. You come here every Sunday and get dressed for church. After church, you come back here and carefully put away your clothes for the next Sunday and change back into your overalls. That is one way to limit the injustice. Don’t retaliate, but also, don’t give them another bite at the apple. Sometimes keeping the peace is just not tempting the other person to take advantage of you.”

  That first Sunday wearing his painted-coveralls was not easy for Sulley, but the women of the church acted great. One lady actually commented on one of the paint colors, saying she’d like that color on her shutters. Before we headed home, Sully had his first customer.

  By the time we were walking back home, Sulley was walking as straight and tall as the week before. Two weeks later Sulley was able to buy a pair of trousers, and Ms. Ruby took leftover material and made up a nice dress shirt that fit him perfectly. One week later, Ms. Pearl struck a deal with Sulley. She would buy the paint and every Saturday, after his reading lesson, Sulley would scrape and paint all of the trim on the house in exchange for a new suit, an extra set of trousers, and a pair of dress shoes. I remember suggesting, “Sulley, you need to have the sisters throw in a tie with that deal;” which they agreed to gladly.

  CHAPTER 25

  Dissension in The Church

  AS THE TWO sisters cared for Sulley, they also had to make other hard decisions in life. For several years after the riots, no other topics of discussion were addressed. Many people would have thought the issues were simply black versus white, but they would have been wrong. The lines had been drawn; you were either with them or against them. You were either militant or passive. If you were not willing to risk everything you had to fight this injustice, you were considered, “one of them tokens”—a name hated by everyone, on either side.

  Everyone had an opinion about how unfairness should be addressed. The one matter everyone did seem to be in agreement on was the unfairness. However, unfairness was about the only matter everyone could agree upon.

  Most colored churches in Atlanta became embroiled in this discord. The militants were loud and demanded that every sermon be a lesson about injustice, which would fire up the congregation to a fever pitch, sending them out to do brazenly foolish acts to prove that they were not tokens.

  Many a promising young man was lost to the hangman’s noose during those terrible years. Every time one of these fired-up young men went out and refused to “shuffle and duck,” he became the target for many a white man’s rage. The year was 1913, and white folks were not yet ready to surrender their rights. “How dare a darkie not show me the respect I deserve!” With every hanging, the camp lines were drawn thicker. For some, the unjustified retribution signified a need to slow down and to protect the young men from danger; for the militant, the reprisals fueled their fire to fight back.

  One thing everyone of color agreed upon was things needed to change. The arguments grew out of when and how to bring these changes into being. My mind returned to the uncertainness of life in Atlanta in those days.

  We all attended Cleveland Street Baptist Church. The sisters had been going there since Ruby returned home so many years earlier. The Right Reverend Jonah Gates had been the sisters’ pastor for the past fifteen years, and up until the riots, their church was perfect. They had been known for their community outreach, and Rev. Gates was a true soul winner. His fiery sermons had driven more than a few lost souls to the altar, but everything changed after the riots.

  Rev. Gates and his only son had been out checking on members of the church on the second night of the riots. They had taken supplies from the community pantry and were trying to deliver food to the shut-ins. On the last block, he and his son split up so they could finish more quickly and get back home themselves. They had agreed to meet under the twin oaks at the entrance to the city park. Rev. Gates found Mrs. Carlyle barricaded in her living room, and she had been without food or water for two days. He filled her water jug and gave her a loaf of bread and a jar of jam. He did not feel right about leaving her alone immediately, so he spent more time with her than he had intended, leaving his son, J.G., Jr., alone and unprotected. By the time the pastor made his way to
the twin oaks, he found the lifeless, badly beaten body of his only son.

  Rev. Gates never really recovered from his loss. His once open and loving spirit became hard and bitter. All of his dreams had died with his son, and he wanted justice for J.G., Jr. The longer that justice was denied, the deeper his bitterness grew. His sermons were now filled with bitter recitations of how every black person must fight back against these injustices. With nothing else to lose, Rev. Gates used his pulpit to incite the young men to action.

  I was only nine when all of this unrest started, but I remember several funerals of young black men who, once fired up by Rev. Gates, had gone out to prove they were no longer willing to “shuffle and duck” in the presence of white men. I remember Rev. Gates’ saying how proud he was of these young men, but then I looked over at their mothers and wondered, “How proud are they? They have also lost a son, but to what end? There must be a better way to press for change.”

  I do remember the night this argument came into our house. I had quickly finished my homework that night because I was anxious to hear the next chapter in the book Ms. Pearl was reading to us. Normally, all of our books were purchased from the used book cart, but this novel was purchased new as a gift to me. Before sharing this new book with Sulley, Ms. Pearl wanted just the three of us to enjoy it. Jack London’s novel, The Call of the Wild, was set in the Yukon during the 1890s Klondike Gold Rush—a time when strong sled dogs were in high demand. The Call of the Wild was a story to capture the heart of mind of every young boy of eleven. We were only a few chapters into the book, but I already knew I wanted to go to the Yukon, get a team of dogs, and have an adventure!