A Song of Home

by Susie Finkbeinger

  I didn’t believe that for one minute. Even so, something about that place gave me the heebie-jeebies and I crossed my fingers. I figured it didn’t hurt to be careful.

  Holding what little breath I could take, I walked away from it, fast as my body allowed me. I looked back at it over my shoulder and a shiver tingled up my backbone.

  I walked faster still, trying to talk myself out of being afraid.

  My favorite seat by the fire was taken by the time I stepped foot in the library and I only had myself to blame for it. If I hadn’t spent so much time missing Red River and getting spooked by that old house, I would’ve been in the cozy chair already, a book open on my lap and the warm flames flushing my cheeks. Just as well, I decided. It was as good an excuse as any to wander about the library to see if there were any corners I’d left undiscovered.

  Holding my finger out to my side, I felt of the shelves as I passed them. There wasn’t so much as a speck of dust. My fingers came up clean at the end of the row. As long as I had lived in Michigan, I still wasn’t used to how clean things stayed with no fine dust seeping through the cracks all day long.

  I wouldn’t let myself think of how Mama spent the better part of her days trying to get rid of the dust in Red River. I just wouldn’t allow it.

  Around the corner I saw Mrs. Trask leading a young boy to the back of the library where I knew she kept the books for little kids.

  “I believe I have just the book for you,” she said, holding the shelves for support as she walked.

  If there was one place in that building I knew I hadn’t seen yet it was the upstairs. Whenever I asked Mrs. Trask if I could go up there, she’d just say it was full of old furniture and books that needed to be repaired. Then she’d say she didn’t think I better go up there.

  I told myself I wouldn’t open a single door, but if there was one with the door pulled to, it wouldn’t do any harm to peek in.

  “We could maybe read a story or two together,” Mrs. Trask said, her voice quieter as she took step after step away from where I stood. “I’d like that if you would.”

  I had plenty of time.

  I made my way to the front of the library, through the lobby, then toward the stairs. They were the kind that led up to a landing before breaking in two for a second set. Holding onto the railing to be sure I didn’t stumble, I rushed up that first set fast as my legs would go without my feet stomping on the steps.

  Turning, I made to take the set of steps to the right, surprised by how out of breath I was. Doctor Barnett had called it asthma. Said it was just something that happens to some folks after they have pneumonia.

  “When you get short of breath,” he’d told me, “I need you to slow down. All right? Just slow down and try to breathe in as deeply as you can.”

  I didn’t trust myself to slow down when I was still on my feet, so I sat on the second step, breathing down as deep into my lungs as I could.

  “Go slowly,” he’d told me. “You might feel like you’ll suffocate if you don’t breathe in fast, but it isn’t so. You’ll get better air if you take it slow.”

  I tried remembering that. But still I was struck with the temptation to huff in and puff out short air that only reached the top of my chest.

  “Pretend that you’re trying to fill up all the way into your stomach,” Doctor Barnett had told me. “You’ll be all right.”

  And then he’d given me a breathing treatment with medicine that’d made me jumpy and twitchy all the rest of the day.

  It took me more than a handful of minutes sitting on that step to start breathing regular. Even then it felt as if somebody’d filled my lungs with wool, scrubbing it around to rub my chest raw inside.

  I heard Mrs. Trask’s voice at her desk, helping somebody check out a book most likely. Must’ve been a real short book she’d shared with that little boy.

  She might’ve been an old woman with a breaking-down body and a thin memory, but she heard as well as an elephant. If I took one step up she’d know it. And if I tried going downstairs she might get sore at me for sneaking around. Last thing I needed was to have the librarian mad at me. I decided to stay put until she was off to help another kid find a book.

  Turning, I rested my back against the banister and shut my eyes. I sure had a way of getting myself in a pickle. Darn curiosity of mine.

  Opening my eyes I looked at a framed picture that hung on the wall. It wasn’t a large painting and the frame was nothing but a regular old wood one. The colors of it were those of just-after-sunset, blues and oranges and blacks. It looked like a town or city, with tall buildings sprouting up on either side of a river.

  It was wide, that river, and made me think of the day we’d crossed over the Mississippi on our way to Michigan. Over the painted river were dots of stars. I wished we could have been at the Mississippi at night. How nice it would’ve been to sit there beside the river looking up at the nighttime sky.

  We’d been happy that day along the Mississippi, Mama, Daddy, Ray, and me. I tried believing that at least.

  Forgetting about Mrs. Trask’s sharp ears and the fact that I was someplace I wasn’t meant to me, I stood and stepped close to the painting. I let my eyes take in every inch of it. The sky and the spires of what I imagined to be fine places, the bridge that spanned over the water, and the tallest of the buildings with a round clock face painted in yellow.

  So small I almost didn’t see them were four people. Their arms were spread wide like wings that helped them glide in the air over the river. A tiny glow of white dotted next to the boy in front.

  Where were they going, I wondered. How was it they could fly without wings?

  I imagined myself rising up from the ground, feet wiggling as I dangled in the air. I’d be sure to wear slacks that day so nobody below could see my underthings. Up, up, up nearly touching the clouds, reaching for them and barely grazing them with my fingertips. Then I’d take off flying to all corners of the earth, seeing the things I’d only ever dared dream of. The ocean where whales would spurt water out the tops of their heads. The mountains where I’d lower down to touch the tippy-top peak with my toes before zooming off to soar over valleys of green.

  It seemed the very best kind of magic, flying wherever it was I wanted to go.

  My daydream faded when I heard steps creaking from below me. I turned to see Mrs. Trask coming up slowly, holding tight to the railing.

  “Hello, dear,” she said. “I thought I heard someone up here.”

  “I’m sorry, ma’am,” I said.

  “No.” She smiled. “No need.”

  When she got to the landing she kept her hand on the railing to keep from toppling backward. My heart flipped a little when I saw how close she was to the edge of that top step.

  “Oh yes,” she said, taking a step forward. “You’ve met Peter Pan.”

  “Who, ma’am?” I asked.

  “What do they teach children these days?” she said under her breath.

  Letting go of the railing, she pointed at the picture and stepped closer to it.

  “This is Peter Pan.” She pointed, holding her finger over one of the flying children, showing me the boy at the front of the pack. “He’s taking them to Neverland.”

  “Where’s that?” I asked.

  “Oh, I could tell you, dear,” she said. “But I won’t.”

  I turned to see her wink at me.

  “What would be the fun in that?” she asked. “Follow me. We’ll find the book together.”

  She took my hand and I walked as slow as she did down the steps, taking one last look at the picture.

  I thought I’d like nothing better than to be friends with that Peter Pan.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The minute I got home from the library Opal sent me up to bed for a rest. I snuck the book in the front of my overalls and climbed under the covers, hoping she wouldn’t catch me reading when I should have been sleeping.

  It didn’t take me long to figure out that I liked Wendy Dar
ling. She seemed a girl I might like to make friends with. She might have been the kind to like dressing up more than I did or one to want to play house, but that was all right.

  Just so long as she was nice, I would’ve been able to overlook something like that.

  Who I didn’t like in that book was Peter Pan. I thought if he’d come in through my bedroom window right in the middle of the night trying to get me to give him a kiss, I’d have slapped him right in the mouth and told him to go back to where he’d come from.

  I read all the way to where they flew out of London to Neverland where Wendy would play mama to all the boys who’d found their way there. On that page was a hand-drawn picture of them flying over that big river, like the one in the library painting, just without the color. Wendy’s face held an open-mouthed smile like she was whooping as she flew. Her eyes were wide with wonder.

  “Go back home,” I whispered, tapping the page with my fingertip. “Wendy Darling, you go back home.”

  I stayed in bed reading that story until Opal came up to tell me it was time to peel potatoes. She saw the book even though I tried stuffing it under my pillow. She didn’t say a word about it, so I knew she wasn’t too sore.

  Opal didn’t stay to eat with us like she sometimes did. The way she hurried off, promising to get the supper dishes done up the next morning, I wondered if she was going to see that Lenny Miller boy again. I would have asked but I didn’t want her thinking I was being nosy, even if I was.

  She’d gotten everything on the table before she went, though, and just about bumped into Mayor Winston on the front porch.

  “Guess I got good timing,” he said, nodding at her and letting her know she didn’t need to apologize. “Whatever you fixed sure smells good. Far as my nose is concerned you have nothing to be sorry about.”

  “Yes, sir,” she said, smiling at him before tapping down the steps and into the dark evening.

  “Come on in, Jake,” Daddy said. “Pearl, you wanna get his coat?”

  “Yes, sir,” I answered, stepping forward.

  “Thank you,” Winston said after taking off his coat and laying it across my arms. It was wooly and tickled at the tender part of my wrist. He took off his hat and handed it to Ray. “Son, you’ll take care of that for me?”

  Ray told him he would.

  “Y’all can put those in on my bed,” Daddy said.

  Ray and I stepped into the room that hadn’t been slept in for all the months since Mama’d been gone. It was colder in there than the rest of the house on account Daddy kept the door closed most of the time. In the darkness of the room I could almost imagine she’d never left. I could pretend that behind the door of the closet were her dresses, hanging side by side. That her powders were still lined up on her vanity and her few pair of shoes stood against the wall.

  I could have made myself believe she was still there. But I didn’t.

  I lowered Winston’s wooly coat to the foot of the bed. Ray put the hat right on top of it. And the two of us walked back out into the brightly lit living room and the kind smile of Mayor Winston.

  “I hear you’re thinking of calling on Mrs. Wheeler,” Winston said, dumping a heap of mashed potatoes on his plate. “That true, Tom?”

  “Yes, sir,” Daddy said. “Guess she’s been wanting to have a talk with me.”

  “What’s she want?” I asked.

  “Now, I’m not sure. Might not be anything I could tell you anyway, darlin’. Some things folks would rather keep to themselves,” Daddy said. “I’m thinking of going over tomorrow morning if you wanna join me, Winston.”

  “I might just do that,” the mayor said.

  “Pearl, you could come and have a visit with Hazel if you’d like,” Daddy said, smiling. “I’m sure she wouldn’t mind.”

  “That’s all right,” I said.

  “Maybe next time then, darlin’.” Daddy leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “She’s not near as bad as you think.”

  What I wanted to tell Daddy was that he hadn’t spent enough time around Hazel Wheeler to know a thing like that. But I thought better of it and kept my mouth shut so nobody could accuse me of being a gossip.

  “She can be a real sourpuss,” Winston said. “Isn’t that right?”

  “Yes, sir,” I answered. “Aunt Carrie said everybody’s got their troubles. Even Hazel Wheeler.”

  “That’s so,” Winston said. “That is so.”

  We finished our supper and nobody said another word about Mrs. Wheeler or Hazel or paying anybody else in town any kind of a visit. Daddy warmed up some leftover coffee for him and Winston to have in the kitchen and told Ray and me we could listen to a radio show if we wanted.

  “I don’t want you listening in to our conversation, hear?” Daddy’d said.

  There wasn’t one thing in the world that teased my curiosity more than being told I wasn’t supposed to hear something.

  I did fight the temptation to put my ear to the door as long as I could. I sat beside Ray on the floor, eyes on the radio as if there were pictures moving across it along with the words and music pouring from it. Every inch of me fidgeted, thumbs twirling and toes tapping and teeth biting at lips. I sat there long as I could, until I felt fit to burst from the curiosity.

  “I need a glass of water,” I told Ray, getting to my feet.

  “No you don’t either,” he said, shaking his head. “You’re just gonna eavesdrop.”

  “Am not,” I said, putting on a voice like I was surprised at him. “I’m parched.”

  “You’ll get yourself into trouble.”

  “For getting a drink of water?”

  “You go on and pretend all you like,” he said. “I know you better than you know yourself, Pearl Spence.”

  I stuck my tongue out at him and that only served to make him laugh at me. I hated that he could see through me so clear.

  By the time I got close enough to the kitchen to hear the men talking, I could have sworn that Ray’d turned up the radio.

  “Happy days are here again …” a crooning voice sang over top of a full band of blasting instruments.

  I could’ve stomped right back to the living room and given Ray an even worse face than I already had, but I knew he’d just roll on the floor crying his laughter tears if I did.

  “Lucky Strike features Your Hit Parade …” a man announced, just as I got my ear to the door enough to hear Daddy’s voice.

  I plugged the other ear to muffle the radio.

  “You sure we have to have a meeting?” Daddy asked. “There’s that many upset?”

  “Tom, I’ve told you. This town’s got a history,” the mayor said, no smile in his voice. “And that history goes all the way back to when the first runaway slave crossed into Lenawee County. There are some who just can’t see to treating a colored person right. You ask Mrs. Wheeler what happened to her sister and brother-in-law. I bet that’ll convince you.”

  “You told me about that before, Jake,” Daddy said. “But this is just a couple of dances.”

  “And that’s just what I’ll tell them at the meeting.” He stopped talking and I heard a slurping sound I thought must’ve been him drinking from his coffee. “We’re due one anyway. I don’t think I’ve called one for at least a year.”

  “You won’t want me to talk, will you?” Daddy asked.

  “Nope, you don’t have to get up,” Winston said. “Just be there so the people see you’re with me.”

  “I will,” Daddy said.

  “I’ll let people speak their mind,” Winston said. “Then we’ll let them know how it’s going to be. That’s all there’ll be to it.”

  “You don’t think there’s gonna be any trouble, do you?” Daddy said.

  Winston sighed. “I hope not, Tom. There’re some holdouts from the Klan. Not many, but a few.”

  “Who’s that?”

  I held my breath. I’d heard Daddy talk about the Klan before. They were white men that put on long robes and pointed hats an
d rode around on horses pretending to be the ghosts of the Confederates that’d gotten themselves killed in the War Between the States. I’d thought they were silly until Daddy told me there wasn’t a thing silly about such dangerous men.

  “Probably half of them moved away after what they did that night. That wasn’t ten years ago, I guess.” Winton hesitated. “I’ve got a list back at the office. I could give it to you tomorrow.”

  “They aren’t still active, are they?” Daddy asked.

  “Not too much,” he answered. “Guess the last time they stirred up any kind of trouble was when Gus hired Noah.”

  “I imagine they thought he should’ve hired a white man instead.”

  “Yep,” Winston said. “It’s hard times. Men do desperate things when they’re out of money.”

  “What did they do?” Daddy asked.

  “Well, Gus got a letter that said they’d burn down his house if he didn’t get rid of Noah.”

  “Must not have meant it,” Daddy said.

  “Nope.”

  “Any idea who wrote it?”

  “Some thought it was Stan,” Winston answered. “But he can’t hardly write his name. It wasn’t him.”

  “Stan?” Daddy asked.

  “Fitzpatrick,” Winston said. “Lives out in the chicken coop on the west end of town. You know the one?”

  My eyes grew wide. I knew Delores Fitzpatrick. Sat beside her in school. And I’d seen the chicken coop-turned-house they lived in. They were the very poorest of anybody in Bliss.

  “Yeah. I know that place,” Daddy said. “Wish we could get them into something better.”

  “Well, Stan wouldn’t let you if you could.”

  “I understand.”

  I heard the creak of a chair and the slurping of somebody taking in a good drink of coffee. Daddy offered another cup and Winston accepted. Other than that, the two men were quiet for at least a full minute.

  “Tom, we’ve got some good people here in Bliss. They’d do anything for anybody. But as good as most of the people here are, there are some—” Winston stopped and I imagined he was taking a drink of coffee. “There are some who’d think splitting the dances was just the start. I know of at least two families who’d like nothing more than to have Jim Crow up here.”