Letters to Missy Violet

by Barbara Hathaway

My brothers want to go get Mister Lordnorth, but they know better. Mama wants them to keep quiet about what happened. She doesn’t want any trouble. She and Papa finally got the boys to calm down, all except Claude Thomas. You know how Claude Thomas is, Missy Violet. He says he is going to kill one of the Klan. Mama is so afraid for him, she is thinking about sending him away. Mama told him about little Jody saving us, but it didn’t do any good. He’s mad at all white people. I wish I could understand why all different kinds of people can’t love each other.

  Charles try to pretend he’s not scared. He says he is going to tell Mister Lordnorth that his great-granddaddy on his mama’s side was white and he thinks that that will keep the Klan from bothering him. Papa told him if he knows what’s good for him he’d better keep his mouth shut! Please pray for us and please write soon.

  Viney

  September 22, 1929

  Deer Missy Violet,

  Its me again writin to tell you what happen to me and Viney in the woods comin from the P.D. riva. Me and Viney went fishin and I catched a lot of fish, twiney or thurdy. Viney just catched a few sunfish. She think she such a good fisher but I can catch more thin her any time. Any how we come back thru the woods. It was Viney’s idea. And guess what, Missy Violet? We walk right up on the klan. They was wearin white sheets and hoods and evything, and befo we could hide they seen us.

  One of the men under the hoods was Mr.Lordnorf who own the firniture store. Viney went and called out his name, thin he new she new who he was and they tied us up. Viney was just hollerin and cryin and callin on the Lord. I tole her to hush but she woodint shut-up. You know she is a real scurdy cat.

  You wooda ben proud of me. I was brave and strong. I thought and thought and thought of a way to save us. Then I did like Tom Mix did when those outlaws tied him up in that cowboy movie. He rubbed the rope aginst the tree and cut his sef loose. Then I untied Viney and we ran home. Viney so scired Mr. Lordnorf gonna come and git her. Unca James tole her not to worry, he said all colard chiren look the same to Mr.Lordnorf excep maybe me. He said he wood remember my red hair. Do you think he will? If he do he might come and git me out my bed one nite and carry me in the woods and string me up! And mama and papa won’t neva see me again.

  Missy Violet, I hope you can come home soon, becose you know most all the white folks in the county and you done helped bring some of their chiren in the worl. So maybe you could talk to Mr.Lordnorf and tell him I am not a bad kid and if he want me to I will work in his store for free.

  Please write back qwik!

  Charles

  Words to Comfort

  September 27, 1929

  Dear Viney, Dear Charles,

  My dumplings, Missy Violet was so sorry to hear about the terrible thing that happened to you in the woods. It is sad that people do bad things to one another, but that’s the way the world has been ever since Adam turned his back on God.

  Thank the Good Lord for that little boy, Jody. I think I know who he is. I believe he belongs to Mr. Lordnorth’s daughter, Laura Lee. She is married to one of the Delacroixes. I did not attend his birth but I remember when that little boy was born. He is the Lordnorths’ only grandchild. I know the family quite well—I used to make tonics and teas for Mrs. Lordnorth. And there was a time when Mr. Lordnorth wanted to go into business with me. He wanted to sell my teas and tonics, but to do that would have taken up too much of my time and I wanted to care for my patients.

  Try to get over what happened, children. Try not to let hate grow in your hearts—look what it has done to Claude Thomas, your brother. Hate has eaten him up. There is a better time coming. Look to that time. Be peaceable, do good works—it is like a salve that heals. Be kind to all. This will keep you steady.

  I don’t think you children need to worry about Mr. Lordnorth. Just stay out of his way. I think his main concern is making a lot of money. Your main concern should be getting an education. Be good students. Make Miss Battle proud. Stay out of the woods for a while if you can.

  I hope to be home before the year is out and am looking forward to seeing you two. Give the family my regards, and you two try to get along in Christian love.

  Yours very truly,

  Missy Violet

  Savannah

  My big sister, Savannah, just saw her eighteenth birthday and wants to start keeping company. Most girls around here start courting at fifteen, but Papa said Savannah couldn’t start seeing boys until she got some education. Some folks say Papa is uppity for thinking that way. They say, “Who does James Windbush think he is? Savannah just gonna marry and have a house full a children like her mama.” And Papa says, “Yeah, but she’ll be able to teach ’em to read and write.”

  Two boys have already come by the house trying to get Papa’s permission to walk Savannah home from church on Sundays, Lorendo Smith and Solomon Trueheart. Savannah’s sweet on Solomon but Papa favors Lorendo because Lorendo’s father is partners with Mister Brownlee, the colored undertaker. They’ve been grooming Lorendo for the undertaking business and Papa thinks that’s a fine thing. “I don’t want my girls marryin’ no sharecroppers,” Papa is always saying. Solomon’s father is a sharecropper.

  Lorendo is all right. He is tall and noble-looking, but Solomon’s got maroon-colored eyes and black wavy hair that shines like a crow’s feathers. Papa says, “All them pretty-boy good looks are not what matters.” He says what matters is what’s inside a man and how he looks at the world. Mama disagrees with Papa and they go back and forth with this all the time, like two pups tussling over a bone. Mama says good looks do matter, if you don’t want your grandchildren to be hard on the eyes.

  Papa thinks Lorendo is a smart fella and has a good handle on things. He likes the way Lorendo works at the funeral home on the weekends and in the summer when school is out. Papa also says Lorendo doesn’t smoke cigarettes or get into mischief like other boys do, although we never heard of Solomon getting into mischief either.

  The day Solomon stopped by, Papa was sitting on the porch with his injured foot up on a footstool. Solomon looked very nice even though it was only a weekday. His shirt was pressed, his shoes were shined, and he had on new overalls. He came up on the porch and removed his hat. “How do, Mista Windbush, sir? How is the missus?” He tried to make his voice sound all deep and important.

  “Somethin’ wrong with ya throat, boy?” Papa growled.

  “Oh, no, sir,” Solomon answered. “Just askin’ how you and the missus?” Papa’s face balled up in a knot—he didn’t even invite Solomon to sit down.

  “I be just fine,” Papa finally grunted. “The missus, she fine too.” Solomon cleared his throat and held on tight to his hat.

  “Mista Windbush, sir,” Solomon said, “I’m here to ask permission to walk Savannah home from church service on Sundays.” Papa would have swallowed his chewing tobacco if he had known Solomon was already walking Savannah home from school every day.

  Papa give Solomon the fish eyes and wouldn’t answer him a word. Poor Solomon just stood there squirming.

  “What you say, boy?” Papa barked, and Solomon repeated what he’d said, but this time his voice came out all high and squeaky. Savannah and I were standing on the other side of the screen door, watching. We clapped our hands over our mouths to keep from laughing, because Solomon had the same look on his face that Daisy, our mule, gets when she’s been spooked.

  All of a sudden Solomon started speaking in his regular voice that he used at school every day. “I’d like your permission to walk Savannah home from church on Sundays, sir?” he asked.

  “Why you wanna walk my daughter home from church?” Papa asked, and I felt sorry for Solomon. Papa was being so mean to him.

  “Just wantin’ to be social, sir. That’s all,” Solomon answered.

  “Solomon likes to discuss Reverend Mim’s sermons after service, Papa,” Savannah put in from the other side of the screen door. And her voice reminded me of a bird warbling.

  “What’s your intentions?” Papa aske
d in that gruff, mean voice again.

  “I’d like to get to know Savannah and her family better, Mista Windbush,” Solomon said, and I thought that was a nice thing for him to say.

  “For what?” Papa barked.

  And Solomon said real nice and polite, “Well, sir, to be her friend and to talk and listen to her.”

  “Oh yeah?” Papa said in a way that sounded like he didn’t believe Solomon.

  Then Solomon began to pour out his heart to Papa. “Mista Windbush, sir, you done raised a fine girl, and if things go right maybe someday Savannah will be my wife.”

  “Wife!” I thought Mama would have to come and put Papa’s eyeballs back in his head.

  “Yes, sir, I hopes to take a wife someday. And I hope to be the kind of person she can come to, and to be someone who can comfort her in hard times.”

  Papa’s mouth dropped open like a trapdoor. I don’t think he expected Solomon to be so bold.

  “Humph,” Papa grunted.

  “And I’d like you to know, sir, that I’ll be graduating from school this spring and I plan to go on to normal school and then on to agricultural college when I graduate.” This made Papa sit back in his chair, and some of the worry lines on his face smoothed out. “That so?” Papa said, and his voice sounded almost nice. I thought Savannah would burst open, she was so proud.

  “Will you give your permission, sir?” Solomon asked. And Papa started pulling on his chin, the way he does when he’s thinking about something real hard.

  “Well, I don’t know,” Papa said.

  “I’m a respectable fella, Mista Windbush,” Solomon said. “I don’t drink no hard liquor. I don’t shoot craps, and I don’t smoke.”

  “Well, I know that’s true about the smokin’,” Papa mumbled, “’cause I never seen you up there at Liggett and Meyers, tryin’ to bum free cigarettes.”

  “Please, Papa!” Savannah squealed.

  “You ain’t gonna sully my girl’s good name, is you?” Papa asked Solomon, and gave him a hard look.

  “Why, no, sir! Noooo, nooo,” Solomon answered.

  “You best not to,” Papa said. “’Cause if you do, I’ll get my gun and I’ll—”

  “James!” It was Mama. We hadn’t even heard her walk up, but there she was, standing in the doorway. “Why you tantalizin’ the life outta this boy? You gonna let him walk Savannah home from church or not?” Papa gave Mama a look and I knew there would be some words said later on at the supper table.

  So Papa gave his permission, but only for third Sundays. So now on every third Sunday, Solomon Trueheart walks my sister Savannah home from church.

  That night while Savannah and I were in bed I asked her about boys. She laughed and said, “What you want to know, kitten? Are you in love?”

  “Ugh, no! I hate boys,” I said. “I just want to know how it feels when you are in love.” And Savannah laughed, a pretty, tinkly, silvery laugh. “It feels real nice,” she said. “You feel all warm and safe inside. And when you say his name it taste like honey on your tongue.”

  “Ugh, that’s enough!” I put my hands over my ears. “You and Solomon gonna get married?” I asked.

  “I sure hope so,” Savannah said.

  Lorendo

  Lorendo came by our house last week. He rode up on a fine reddish-brown horse they call a bay stallion. The horse’s name is Socrates. Lorendo says he named him that because he’s real smart. If he were my horse I would name him Socks because his ankles are as white as snow and it looks like he’s wearing socks. Sometimes, Lorendo lets us kids scratch between Socrates’s ears and rub his nose.

  Papa rushed out on the porch when he saw Lorendo coming. “Lorendo! How you, boy!” Papa shouted, and hollered for Savannah to come out and sit on the porch. I never saw Papa so excited. When Savannah came out, Mama was with her, so Lorendo tipped his hat. “How do, ma’am,” he said to Mama, then he bowed to Savannah. He did it just the way those cowboys do in the Tom Mix movies, when they ride up on a horse and meet a lady.

  Savannah gave him a crooked little smile. “Hey, Lorendo,” she said. But it wasn’t like the greeting she gives Solomon. She gives Solomon a great big ol’ Mary Sunshine smile.

  “Come on up on the porch and set a spell,” Papa told Lorendo, and he came up on the porch and sat down and stretched his long legs. He was wearing a fine pair of leather boots. When I stuck my head out the door to say hello, Papa hissed, “Scat!” before I could say a word. I had to duck right back inside. I suspect Papa was scared I might say something about Solomon in front of Lorendo. But Charles was the one he should have been worried about—he’s the one who let the cat out of the bag that Reverend Mims wears a toupee.

  Right away Papa started asking Lorendo about the funeral business and Lorendo commenced to bragging about all his duties at the funeral home.

  “Excuse me, Lorendo,” Savannah interrupted him in a voice sweet as molasses, “but Mama and I got a heap of ironin’ waitin’ on us inside. Please excuse us. Excuse me, Papa,” Savannah said, and did a little curtsy to Papa, but Papa just waved his hand at her.

  “That ironin’ not goin’ nowhere, girl. Set down,” he said.

  Savannah looked to Mama for help, and Mama said, “That’s the point, James. The ironin’ not goin’ anywhere unless we get to it. You want wrinkled shirts all week?” Then Mama nodded good day to Lorendo and she and Savannah went back inside.

  I heard Savannah say about Lorendo when she got back inside the house, “That rooster think the sun comes up just to hear him crow.”

  Papa was hissin’ like a teakettle, he was so mad! But he didn’t say a word to Mama, even later after he came back into the house, because he and Lorendo had a slick little trick up their sleeves to break Savannah and Solomon up.

  Getting Ready for the Contest

  October 7, 1929

  Dear Missy Violet,

  Thank you for the nice letter. It made Charles and me feel better. We have not been back in the woods, but we passed by Mister Lordnorth’s store one Saturday. We were in Papa’s wagon. We ducked down when Papa drove by the store. I have not had any bad dreams about the woods anymore. Mama said we should stop talking about it, but Charles is still bragging about what a hero he was in the woods. Nobody believes him except Jeff Brown.

  Anyway, I’m writing to tell you about the essay contest—it’s almost time. Everybody is excited and a little scared because Miss Battle is making us read our essays in front of the class. Arma Jean, Cleveland, Charles, and I have been working on our essays all week. Charles keeps trying to see what I wrote about, but he won’t let me near his paper.

  Arma Jean is writing about her mama’s new washing machine. Cleveland is writing about some trees he read about in the Bible. Charles says he’s going to write about his trip to New York City, and me, I’m writing about my summer helping you “catch babies.” All of us except Charles are sending you a copy.

  This is Arma Jean’s essay:

  This summer my mama got a new washer machine. It’s not really new. It belonged to Miss Letty the white lady my mama work for. Miss Letty got a brand-new washer machine and she give the old one to mama. It looks like a big pickle barrel. Mama sure was glad to get it because mama got nine children to wash for. Daddy picked it up in his wagon and put it on the back porch. It goes chooka, chooka, chooka, chooka, chooka, chooka, chook.

  The clothes smell so good washing in it.

  Now Mama don’t have to boil the clothes in those big iron pots no more and use that lye soap that ruins her hands. Now we use soap powders.

  Mama lets us children take turns running the clothes through the wringer that squeezes the water out. Now everybody want to help Mama wash. It must have been some smart man who made the washer machine. The way he got the tub to wobble back and forth and the thing called the agitator to spank those clothes clean.

  Mama’s clothes look so pretty and clean hanging on the line. They looked pretty and clean when she boiled them too, but now all my sisters are fighting o
ver who is going to help Mama wash every week. Before, Mama couldn’t find anybody to help when it was wash day. She had to go after them with the switch.

  I like Arma Jean’s essay. It makes me want to see how a washing machine works. I wonder who made the first washing machine? I wish my mama would get one.

  Here is Cleveland’s essay:

  My name is Cleveland Waters and since I didn’t do nothing this summer but plow and feed the hogs and chickens, my essay is going to be about trees. I like trees, all kinds of trees. I like to look at the different kinds of leaves that grow on trees. But the trees I am going to write about are not the trees that grow here in Richmond County but some trees I read about in the Holy Bible.

  In the Bible trees sometimes stand for people and kings and nations. There are many different kinds of trees in the Bible. Like the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Bad and the Tree of Life. Jesus talked about trees in his parables. He talked about the fig tree and the tree that puts forth good fruit. He talked about trees that were no good and should be cut down. But the trees that I am going to write about are trees that talked and acted like people.