Pete and Dovey sat together in a faded yellow glider in his mother’s front yard. They silently rocked back and forth, with Dovey letting him think things through, until finally he said, “I feel like a really mean joke’s been played on all of us.”
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“Well . . . everybody in town knew Daddy Ballard had hired that detective and that we were lookin’ everywhere to find Isaac. And all that time, Judd’s mama and that insurance man—they’re walkin’ around, goin’ about their business, knowin’ exactly where he is. They don’t care at all that he’s got a mama and sisters wantin’ to bury him or that Hattie’s goin’ half crazy, picturin’ Isaac lost and hurt somewhere. And why’d they do it? So that awful woman can keep a husband she don’t even love. It just makes me so . . . I don’t know what I’m supposed to do now.”
“I think you’re supposed to do exactly what you’re doing,” Dovey said. “You’re supposed to be so mad you can’t see straight. And you’re supposed to feel all of that anger till you’re done with it. Then you can move on to the sadness. Because even though you knew in your head Isaac was gone, I imagine a tiny little part of you was still hoping for a miracle.”
He put his arm around her. “Were you born like this,” he said, smiling down at her, “or did it happen over time?”
Dovey and Lila were clearing the supper dishes when the telephone rang. “Oh, hello, Mr. Harwell,” Dovey heard Lila say. “Yes, we heard. I guess you called to track Daddy down for the building committee . . . No? . . . Pete can what? . . . Are you sure that would be a good idea? . . . Well, I guess it’s up to him . . . Yes, I’ll send a note to school with him . . . Thank you so much. Y’all have a good night.”
Dovey had stopped washing the silverware and was watching Lila. “Something wrong?” she asked.
“Not exactly. C’mon, sweetheart. I think your daddy needs to hear this too.”
Dovey followed Lila into the front parlor, where the men were watching a ball game. Lila walked over and turned off the sound.
“Pete,” she said, “that was Mr. Harwell on the telephone. He says that, what with all the tornado damage to the school, they’re short on space. So the school board held an emergency meeting and voted to give all the seniors whose grades are good enough the option of taking a high school equivalency test. If you pass, you get your diploma from the school this coming week. But now, before you even say it—”
Pete had already jumped up, grabbed Dovey, and twirled her across the parlor. “We can get married!” he exclaimed. “We don’t have to wait anymore!”
“Now, Pete, just a minute,” Lila said. “We have to talk about this. First you have to pass the test.”
“I’ll pass it!”
“And even then, we’ve always said the wedding would be in May.” She looked to Dovey’s father for reinforcements, but he appeared too blindsided to put a thought together.
“But Mama, we said May because that’s when I was gonna graduate, right?”
“Well, yes, but—”
“And if we always agreed that me and Dovey could get married when I graduate, then we oughta be able to marry in March if I can graduate in March.”
“Honey, there’s no way we can plan a wedding in two weeks.”
“Yes we can, Miss Lila,” Dovey pleaded. “I promise we can.”
“John Pickett, you open your mouth and say something right this minute or you and me are gonna have trouble!” Lila demanded.
“I’m thinkin’, Lila, I’m thinkin’!” he said.
Lila’s father was sitting quietly, taking it all in.
———
“Well,” John said as quickly as he could gather his wits, “they’ve respected our wishes all this time. And now I guess we gotta honor our promise. Whether we like it or not.”
Pete and Dovey squealed and jumped up and down.
“Mama?” Pete said. “We can’t do this without your blessing.”
She sighed and shook her head in defeat. “You know you have it.”
Pete and Dovey ran over and hugged her, then hugged everybody else in the room, then Lila again, then each other, and then they ran out the door and hopped into Pete’s truck.
Lila’s father stood up to go. “For what it’s worth, honey,” he said, putting an arm around her shoulders, “I think y’all made the right decision. A couple more months won’t change a thing in the world but the date on the calendar.”
John got up and shook Ned’s hand as he left. As he and Lila watched the taillights of her father’s Cadillac disappear in the distance, he turned to her and said, “You’re feisty when you’re all riled up.”
“Oh, hush,” she said with a laugh. “I guess you know we’re going suit shopping tomorrow.”
“I guess you know Pete and Dovey are on to us.”
“No! What do they know?”
“Something—not sure how much.”
“But how?”
He smiled and put his arms around her. “Dovey says I smell like Chanel No. 5.”
Thirty-two
MARCH 17, 1968
Lila had just stepped into the kitchen to grab the tea pitcher when she heard a car in her driveway and looked out to see Junie pulling up. Junie waited in the car as Hattie came to the kitchen door. It was the first time Lila had seen her since Isaac had been found. She invited Hattie in, and for a minute the two mothers just looked at each other, not knowing what to say. Then Lila put her arms around Hattie and hugged her.
“I ’pologize for botherin’ y’all durin’ your Sunday dinner,” Hattie said when they stepped apart.
“You’re not bothering anybody. Won’t Junie come in?”
“We can’t stay. I just need to ask your men somethin’, and I know they all here right now. Won’t take but a second if you don’t mind me interruptin’.”
“They’re all in the dining room. Come on in.”
All the men stood up when Hattie came into the room. Pete hugged her, then pulled up a chair for her.
“I’m sorry to come durin’ your dinner,” Hattie said, “but Pete, Mister Ned, Mister John—I wanted to ask y’all a favor. We gonna bury Isaac on Wednesday—have his funeral at my church. I wanted to ask y’all if you would be honorary pallbearers.”
“Why, Hattie, of course we—” Ned began.
“No,” Pete said.
“Pete!” Lila was stunned.
“No, Hattie,” Pete said again. “That ain’t right. Everybody knows when Morning Star invites white men to be honorary pallbearers and follow behind the casket, it’s a way for y’all to honor us. But we want to come to your church to honor Isaac. Let us help carry him, Hattie. I wanna help carry him.”
“Hattie, it would be a privilege,” Ned said. “But now, Pete, Hattie may have family members that she wants to do that.”
“No,” Hattie said, smiling at Pete. “Just my three girls’ husbands. Nobody I’d rather have helpin’ ’em than y’all.” She stood up to go. “Well, now we got that settled. ’Scuse me again for interruptin’ your dinner.”
Ned walked Hattie to her car as Lila refilled Pete’s tea glass and kissed him on the cheek.
Thirty-three
MARCH 20, 1968
Morning Star Baptist Church was packed, with people standing all along the side aisles and in back. The little church had never hosted so many white people. Everybody Hattie had ever worked for had at least one family member there to represent them.
Pete’s mother and Dovey sat together with his Aunt Geneva and her family on the pew just behind the section reserved for family. Dovey’s father and Daddy Ballard were seated next to Pete on the front row with the other pallbearers. A beautiful blanket of red roses and white lilies covered Isaac’s closed casket. Hattie had placed a framed picture of him on a little table near the head of it. Pete had overheard his grandfather call the florist and tell her to put a $150 balance on Hattie’s account so she could have whatever she wanted for Isaac’s funeral blanket. Isaac’s
youngest sister, Iris, had bought two matching sprays. These had to be the prettiest flowers Morning Star had ever seen.
As the organist took her seat, the choir filed into the choir loft. They wore purple robes with gold satin stoles and swayed in time as the organist began a slow gospel swing. All over the church, one little cluster at a time, the congregation started clapping in time until everybody was keeping rhythm with the organ—everybody except some of the white people, who couldn’t seem to land on the beat and struggled to find something to do with their hands. And then the choir sang out.
Glory, glory, hallelujah,
Since I laid my burden down.
On and on the music went, one great song right after another.
On Jordan’s stormy banks I stand
And cast a wishful eye
To Canaan’s fair and happy land,
Where my possessions lie.
The congregation stood as Reverend Patterson came down the aisle, leading a procession of Isaac’s family. Hattie and Aunt Babe walked side by side, their arms linked. Though she wore her black funeral dress, Aunt Babe carried the bright red walking cane Isaac had made for her. The choir sang Hattie’s favorite hymn.
Blessed assurance, Jesus is mine!
O what a foretaste of glory divine!
Heir of salvation, purchase of God,
Born of his Spirit, washed in his blood.
Once the family was seated, the rest of the congregation sat down, and Reverend Patterson motioned for Dovey to come forward. Hattie had spoken with her the day before and said she knew Dovey had a hard time singing by herself in front of people, but would she be willing to do it just this once? It would be so nice to hear that pretty voice singing Isaac’s favorite song with his church choir. Dovey had agreed.
Now she stood at the podium, facing an overflowing church, with the Morning Star choir behind her. Isaac’s favorite song was an old spiritual. They would sing it the old-time way, without the organ.
“Guide my feet,” Dovey sang out, and the choir answered, “While I run this race . . .”
Pete was fighting hard to hold himself together. That song made him feel as if Isaac were sitting on the pew next to him. Knowing how hard it was for Dovey to do what she was doing, how much love she was showing Pete and Hattie and Aunt Babe—it was too much to feel all at one time. As much as he loved to hear her sing, he was relieved when she stopped and Reverend Patterson came to the podium.
“Before I begin my message,” he said, “Miss Iris Reynolds would like to make an expression.”
Pete hadn’t seen Iris since he was a little boy. She was tall like Hattie and dressed in city clothes—an expensive-looking gray suit with a black-and-silver scarf tucked around her neck. When she spoke, she didn’t sound like anybody around Glory. She sounded like the people who gave the news on TV.
“As most of you know, Isaac Reynolds was my older brother, and I am a blessed woman because of him. So many of the dreams that I held as a child have come true. But I would not have any of it were it not for my brother and the sacrifices he made on my behalf. I imagine he had some dreams of his own growing up. But when our father died, Isaac and Mama put their dreams aside and tended to ours—my sisters’ and mine.
“When I was at Spelman, one of my classmates from up north learned that I was raised in an Alabama farm town, and she wanted to know what that was like. As I began telling her about my home and my family, both of which I am very proud of, she said, ‘You mean your brother is just a field hand and your mother is just a maid?’ I never spoke to her again.
“Yes, my brother was just a field hand—just a field hand who worked hard every day of his life to feed his family. Just a field hand who found the good in everybody. Just a field hand who loved books and music, who had a fine mind and a sharp wit, but who, unlike me, never got the chance to realize his potential. Isaac could have done so many things if only he’d had a big brother looking out for him the way he looked out for me.
“And my mother—just a maid? I look out at this congregation, and I see many families who have never been inside this church before, but you are here today out of respect for my mother. You are here because you’ve seen in her God’s goodness and grace. There is one very generous visitor here today whose name I will not call because he would not want me to. But he helped my family change my life. And I don’t think he would mind my saying that he did it out of respect for the people I come from.
“I suppose what I’m trying to say is that you do not need money to leave a legacy. My brother has left one. It is a legacy of love and kindness and friendship and selfless devotion to family. That is a treasure I will carry in my heart always. And I will love Isaac Reynolds forever.”
Iris sat down, and Reverend Patterson began his message. “Our Scripture this morning comes from the Gospel of John. ‘Let not your heart be troubled . . .’”
When Reverend Patterson closed his message, the choir began to slowly sing.
Amazing grace, how sweet the sound
That saved a wretch like me;
I once was lost but now am found,
Was blind but now I see.
The pallbearers carried Isaac out of the church—Hattie’s sons-in-law on one side, and Pete, his grandfather, and John on the other. Even on such a solemn occasion, Pete could hear some of the ladies of the church whispering to each other, and he knew why. They had seen honorary pallbearers before, but never had white men helped carry one of their church members to the burying ground.
At the church cemetery, with Hattie’s whole congregation gathered around, the pallbearers laid Isaac in his grave.
Reverend Patterson read one more passage of Scripture before saying his final prayer. “Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you . . .”
Dovey stood beside Pete as he lingered at the graveside, even after most of the Morning Star congregation had left. She glanced over to where Hattie and Aunt Babe were standing just in time to see Reverend Patterson put his arm around Hattie. A familiar look passed between the two of them.
“We should invite Reverend Patterson to the wedding,” Dovey said as she watched them.
Pete nodded but said nothing. He took off the red rose pinned to his lapel and laid it on Isaac’s blanket of flowers. “Let’s go home, Dovey. It’s time to go home.”
Thirty-four
MARCH 23, 1968
“Wait a minute—I’m not ready!” Dovey said, stopping at the foot of Pete’s front porch steps.
Pete grinned. “Ain’t gonna get any easier.”
“What do you think they’ll do?” Dovey fretted.
“Well, I think Mama’ll have a heart attack—hopefully a mild one—and your daddy’ll strangle me with his bare hands and lock you in your room for the rest of your life. But then, I tend to look on the bright side.”
“I’m serious!” Dovey cried.
Pete put his arms around her and kissed her. “I know. But you don’t need to be. This is the fun part, Dovey. We’ve waited all this time. I passed that crazy test. And we dodged the dadgum tornado that got me outta school early. Your Aunt Lydia’s been workin’ on your dress ever since you showed her that ring. It’s time to have ourselves a wedding! If it drives our parents batty, so be it!”
She started giggling, and he knew everything would be okay. They went inside the house, where their parents waited in the front parlor.
“Okay, you two, what’s the big announcement?” Pete’s mother asked.
“We know you’ve been wantin’ us to settle on where to have the wedding,” Pete began, “and you can put your mind at ease. We’ve found the place.”
“At the Methodist church?” she asked. The Methodists had invited First Baptist to use their sanctuary for Sunday services while the Baptist church was being rebuilt.
“Uh . . . no, ma’am,” Pete said.
“Surely not at the barn?” John asked.
“No, sir,” Dovey said.
“Well?” Pete’s mother asked.
<
br /> “See, Miss Lila, we wanted to get married someplace that’s special to the two of us,” Dovey said. “And the way we figure it, we’re bringing both our families to sort of a crossroads, you know?”
“So we’ve found a place that makes sense to us,” Pete finished for her. “It just needs . . . a little spruce-up.”
Dovey sat down next to John and took his hand. “Daddy, we’re gonna need your help.”
Thirty-five
APRIL 6, 1968
John stepped back to have a look. He had just hammered the very last nail, with Pete coming behind him, painting as John built. One grueling day after another, they had worked from sunup till bedtime, taking their only break on Sunday, when the women wouldn’t hear of allowing any carpentry work. John’s brothers agreed to handle the crop for now so he and Pete could get everything done. Wonder of wonders, the two of them had finished. The paint might actually have time to dry before the wedding tomorrow. And he might get back to his store before Christmas.
As he came around front to search through a box of brushes on the porch and help Pete finish painting, he heard a car in the driveway and looked up to see Junie and Hattie helping Aunt Babe across the yard. Once the hammering started, she had abandoned her house and taken refuge at Hattie’s, leaving Pete strict instructions on how to look after Cyrus while she was gone. This was the first time she had seen Pete and John’s handiwork.
“Well?” Pete said, coming around the house with a paintbrush in his hand. Cyrus followed his every step. “What you think, Aunt Babe?”
She nodded. “It’ll do.”
Junie rolled her eyes. “Grandmama, you know it’s beautiful!”
“Let’s go,” Aunt Babe said, starting back to the car.
“But we just got here!” Junie objected.
Aunt Babe would have none of it. “All this paintin’ and sawin’ gets on my last nerve.”
Pete’s clothes were covered with paint and wet with sweat. He grinned as he walked over to her with Cyrus at his heels. “Aw, c’mon, Aunt Babe,” he said, scratching the hound behind his ears. “Give me and ole Cyrus some sugar.”
Missing Isaac Page 25