“What’s wrong?” Evelyn asked.
“Frank’s not home yet. Something happened.” Annie Mae’s face clouded with worry. “He claimed to have an early football practice, but I knew it wasn’t true. He overslept, and I delayed him more by asking him to take his sisters to school.”
“Yes, I saw him walking Rachel to her line,” said Evelyn.
“But he didn’t meet her after school. It’s not like him, Evelyn.”
Worry surged through Evelyn’s body.
“Annie Mae, there was a problem in the morning at the high school. We got a note to keep the children inside at recess. That’s all I heard.”
“A problem? What kind of problem?”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t know. All the reporters and the folks with signs were gone when we walked into the school at lunchtime.”
“Reporters? Signs?” Annie Mae clutched her hands to her chest. “Sissy, why didn’t you tell me?”
“I’m sorry, Mama. I didn’t want to get you upset. Frank took Pearl and me into school after the dog scared us.”
“A dog? Sissy! What else?”
“Come to the meeting,” Evelyn said. “Leave Sissy with Rachel and bring James along. The reverend might know more.”
Annie Mae hesitated but then nodded.
The church’s heavy door creaked when Evelyn pushed it open. The reverend was sorting pamphlets beneath a large, arched window. She caught his worried expression before he managed to mask it.
“Good evening, Evelyn, Annie Mae—and look at this fine boy. Hello, James. Why, doesn’t he look just like his daddy, God rest his soul.”
“Good evening, Reverend,” Evelyn said. “Can we help you with that?”
“No, no. Praise to God, and have a seat in His house. I believe we’ll wait for the others before I share the news.”
Alarm spread over Annie Mae’s face.
Evelyn spoke first. “Reverend, Frank hasn’t come home from school yet. Do you know something about that?”
“Frank? No, I didn’t hear—”
The church door flew open with such force that it blew the pamphlets the reverend had just sorted. Evelyn wasn’t surprised to see their friend Mavis enter. Her grand entrance almost knocked off the smooth pixie-style wig she insisted on wearing. Mavis didn’t mean to attract attention, but she always did.
“Evening, Reverend. Evening, Evelyn. And Annie Mae—hoo, hoo! Look at James! Not a baby anymore. Those hands, those feet. Like a puppy, he is. He’ll grow into ’em. Be bigger than your boy Frank. No one can get past Frank on the field. Best fullback this town has ever seen!”
A stream of people followed Mavis, filling the church with energy and concern. Men came in their overalls from the tire factory, women in their maids’ uniforms, and civilian clerks from the army base in their tidy suits and skirts.
Evelyn counted more than thirty people. She could see that they were all feeling the day’s heat as she wiped her own brow. The hard wooden pews didn’t provide much comfort, either.
Reverend Wilford stood at the front of the room. “Welcome to the Lord’s house. Let’s begin with a prayer.”
Pray hard, Evelyn thought. Pray for wisdom. Pray for peace.
After the prayer, the reverend looked uncomfortable and pulled at his white collar, as if to let some steam out. “Good people, Mr. Peterson came to speak to me last night. He has concerns over some decisions beyond his control.
“As you know, today is the first day that our children were placed in the white school. We will face challenges, but the first is our football team. Rumor has it that the coaches of the white team are putting our players in as second string.”
Annie Mae gasped. All eyes turned toward her.
Mavis shouted what everyone was thinking: “Frank is counting on that football scholarship! What about the Thanksgiving game?”
The reverend pulled at his collar again. He spoke slowly. “All that I can tell you now is that Mr. Peterson and I are meeting with the coaches to try to resolve this issue.”
Everyone started talking, finishing each other’s thoughts.
“Reverend, you know this is going to get hot.”
“We might hear things, but …”
“Doubtful we can stop it.”
Evelyn didn’t miss how Annie Mae tried to hide her tears by sneezing into her handkerchief.
The reverend cleared his throat. “We don’t want anyone to get into trouble or get hurt. We must learn from what happened in other towns. Back in August, there was a fight at the New Egypt High School.”
People shook their heads, muttering.
“There was a riot—colored against whites.”
“The police teargassed the colored students.”
“Two hundred arrested.”
The room fell silent as the church door creaked open again. One of the high school cheerleaders burst in. She shouted, “Six students have been arrested! Miz Woods, Sissy told me you were here. Frank needs you at the police station.”
Evelyn gasped as she looked at Annie Mae.
Pray for wisdom.
Chapter 20
Frank
Thursday, November 6, 1969
Frank shifted his weight, watching Mr. Peterson approach the glass-walled main office. Perched on the edge of an upholstered chair, his mother faced Frank but gazed past him. Her mouth was snapped shut, and her eyes were puffed.
After his mother had brought him home the night before, he knew she had gone back to finish the ironing she’d brought home from work. And this morning she must have been up at the crack of dawn because his breakfast had been on the table, waiting for him, as usual.
She hadn’t spoken to him since she’d picked him up at the police station, except to say, “Are you ready? We have to meet with Mr. Peterson by eight thirty.”
Teachers walked past Frank, and some hurried out the office door. Frank couldn’t see behind the counter, but he knew that was where the secretary had her desk. He heard a teacher call the secretary Millie.
Frank could see Mr. Peterson through the glass office wall. He kept stopping to speak to groups of students, all the students. Frank imagined the greetings. He’d been on the receiving end often enough.
Good morning. You’re looking fine today, Frank.
How is your mama?
Great game you had last week.
After Mr. Peterson left the last group of white students, they broke into laughter. One of them saluted the retreating principal.
Frank’s heart skipped when Mr. Peterson finally entered the main office. “Good day, Mrs. Woods, Frank. We can meet in here.” He started to open a door to a smaller office.
Millie jumped up and shook her head in disapproval. “Mr. Peterson, may I help you? Mr. Armstrong isn’t in his office.” She stepped in front of Mr. Peterson, blocking his way.
“Yes, I know. I’m going to use his office this morning for some meetings. My next appointment is at nine o’clock.”
Millie put one hand on the doorknob and the other on her hip. “Well, this is quite unusual. Mr. Armstrong didn’t mention that to me.”
Mr. Peterson towered over the secretary, but his height and stature gave her no pause.
“Millie, until I have a full-size office, Joe and I will be sharing his. Didn’t he tell you that he would be meeting with the student council members this morning?”
“Yes, and I was going to do some filing for him. His desk is piled high with reports.”
Peterson held eye contact with Millie.
“When I see Mr. Armstrong later this morning, I’ll tell him that you weren’t able to do that. I won’t disturb the reports.”
Millie moved aside, still shaking her head. Mr. Peterson reached past her to usher his visitors inside.
The mess on Mr. Armstrong’s desk surprised Frank. Atop one pile of files was a half-eaten donut and a mug of coffee. He knew his mother wouldn’t approve of the careless jumble. Mr. Peterson sat them at a small, clean table surrounded by several
chairs.
Every time Frank looked at his mother, he felt the blood rush through his veins. She had her light cotton coat with the wide collar buttoned over her maid’s uniform. He wondered which of the white ladies she cleaned for was waiting for her. She wouldn’t get a full day’s pay today.
On the other side of the glass door, Millie held her telephone to her ear. She was gesturing broadly with her free hand, and her face was blazing. Frank clenched his jaw. If Mr. Peterson wasn’t respected in this school, then what hope did any of the black students have?
Mr. Peterson began the meeting: “Well, Frank, I don’t recall ever having you in my office back at West Hill School.”
“No, sir, you never did.”
“Your mama must be upset, and I appreciate her presence here today, but you’re the one I will speak to. Do you understand that when you left school property it amounted to cutting school?”
“Yes, sir.” Frank shifted in his chair and leaned forward, gripping its arms.
“So why did you do it?”
“Mr. Peterson, it’s not fair. If I can’t play football, I lose my chance for a scholarship. I’m just as good as any of those white kids. Maybe better!”
He started to rise from his seat. His mother touched his arm, and he sat back down.
“Frank, your mama and I are on your side. We need to hear your story. Where were you going when you walked off the field?”
“Some of the guys wanted to walk to our old school. We didn’t have much of a plan. I guess we panicked when we saw the police cars blocking the street. We started running.”
“What did your mama say when she came to get you from the police station?”
Frank turned to his mother and saw tears filling her eyes. Guilt soured his stomach.
“She didn’t say anything to me. The cops told her if I caused any more trouble, they would put me in a cell and lose the key.” He leaned back with his head down and his shoulders slumped.
“You know they could do worse,” Peterson said gently.
Frank’s voice rose. “I know what worse is. My daddy learned what worse was. I want to get out of this town. Maybe I should just quit and join the army.”
Neither of them spoke for a while.
Eventually, Mr. Peterson broke the silence. “The army won’t solve everything. It wasn’t easy for me to come home from the Korean War to a country that didn’t respect me. It wasn’t easy then, and it’s not easy now.”
Frank wanted to punch a hole through the wall at the unfairness of it all. “I don’t know if I can be like you or my daddy,” he muttered. “Look how that secretary treated you out there.”
A surprised look crossed Peterson’s face. “And who won that one? Son, your mama needs you to keep a level head now. Reverend Wilford and I will help you and the rest of the students as best we can, but I need your help.”
Frank sat up straighter. “How can I help, Mr. Peterson?”
“You weren’t a leader in this, but you got arrested. The police have dropped the charges, but, like they told you, no more trouble. So, for now, that’s what I’m asking. Can you do that?”
Frank nodded. Tears glistened in his mother’s eyes, and her lips were pursed, as if to keep any words within. He never knew her not to speak her mind. What would she think if she knew he had recognized the officer who had arrested him the day before?
“Don’t want no trouble from you, boy! Don’t you be like your daddy, now!”
Frank rubbed his wrists. They were bruised from the jostling and the handcuffs. The memory of those words sent a chill through him.
That night in his bedroom, he pulled the second drawer out of his bureau, placed it on the bed, and reached into the hiding space he’d used for years. His fingers found something cool and metallic: the lighter he’d discovered at the scene of the fire that had killed his father.
Frank turned over the lighter to study the engraved monogram. He opened and closed the cap. Click, click, click, click, click—it was obsessive. The sound made him remember the clink-clink of the handcuffs each time he had shifted in the jail cell.
A memory bubbled up. He pushed it away.
Could he keep his promise to Peterson? Maybe, but only for his mother. Frank wanted to take care of her just as she took care of him. How was he going to get into college, get a good job, and make enough money to do that someday? Without a scholarship, he wouldn’t be able to. He couldn’t disappoint her like this again.
As he clasped his hands to flex his wrists, imagination collided with memory.
Clink, clink, clink. Metal against metal.
Handcuffs.
Lighter.
He felt his throat close.
That officer who’d arrested him—Frank had seen him years earlier, shortly after the fire, searching in the grass outside his daddy’s gutted shop. Frank had hoped it was part of an investigation, but nothing had come of it. And the cop had hurried to the patrol car when he saw Frank approach.
Frank knew the police didn’t care about his side of town or about the fire. So why had the cop been there? There weren’t any cars to ticket at that point.
Was he looking for this lighter?
Chapter 21
Colleen
Saturday, November 22, 1969
“Miguel, please. I promised them.”
Reluctantly, he handed over the car keys. “Can’t you wait till things calm down? Is it safe for you to do this alone?”
“Do one thing every day that scares you. That’s what Eleanor Roosevelt told me.”
“Huh? When did she tell you that?”
Colleen rolled her eyes. “It’s a joke. But that’s what my grandmother used to say. She quoted her favorite first lady a lot.”
“Then you admit that you’re scared?” Miguel asked.
“A bit nervous, maybe, but I’m going to do it. I’m taking those children to the library. I’ll be back by noon.”
As she drove, Colleen remembered how excited Cynthia had been the day before: “Miz Rodriguez! It’s my turn tomorrow, right? My mama gave me the paper. You gonna pick me up? It’s my turn.”
It was their third Saturday monthly trip to the library and the first since everyone had been uprooted from West Hill School. Distracted by her thoughts, Colleen almost missed her turn. As she drove past her old school into the Negro neighborhood, the road narrowed until it was barely wide enough for two cars to pass. There was a runoff ditch on either side. She drove over a huge pipe. It served as the foundation of the entrance to the dirt road and funneled any water that was in the ditch. She was sure she had seen some animal, maybe an alligator, crawling into it a mile or so back. It was the road that Cynthia and Linkston lived on.
The houses were set behind huge trees with Spanish moss dripping from the branches, like curtains shielding the lives of the tenants. Life was different here for sure. She passed a house with an upholstered armchair on the porch, another with an old wringer washing machine in the corner. Most were just weathered wood, not as well tended as the Negro houses closer to town and school. She drove slowly, remembering what Cynthia had said about her house. “We just put the white paint on. It looks good!”
Colleen felt her heart pounding as she passed a man sweeping the gravel and stray twigs back to the road. He stared at her, and she realized her car had knocked some stones back into his garden. He was a big, dark man with a bald head and huge brown eyes rimmed in white.
Colleen stopped the car. Behind the man, two children ran toward her, bubbling with laughter: Cynthia and Linkston.
Colleen stepped out to greet them.
“Granddaddy,” Cynthia said. “This is our teacher.”
“Good morning, sir. I’m sorry about the gravel.” Colleen felt herself flush.
After a long pause, he limped over to meet her. “Mornin’, miss. Everyone calls me Ole Man Everett, but I’m not that old.” He squinted at her. “I graduated high school with that principal of yours, Freddy Peterson.” He studied her car. “Th
at’s a might fancy machine you gots there. You aiming to take these youngins somewhere?”
Colleen didn’t know what to say. Cynthia saved her. “Granddaddy, she gonna take Linkston and me to the library. It’s our turn.”
Colleen introduced herself to Cynthia’s mother, who had approached from the house. The woman hesitated before shaking Colleen’s outstretched hand. “Pleased to meet you, Miz Rodriguez. I’m Chantal Everett. I see you met my father, Joseph Everett.”
Cynthia’s mother was younger than Colleen had expected. Her hair was pulled back smoothly, with a headband holding down any strays. She wore a uniform, clean and pressed, just like Cynthia’s dresses were every day.
“I’m very glad to meet you. Thank you for signing the permission for the library card for Cynthia.”
“Well, I thank you. Cynthia has been reading more than she ever did. She wasn’t interested until this year. You know, it’s her second time in 2C.”
Colleen didn’t know and didn’t want to admit it. She nodded, smiling, as she looked around for the other two children. Rachel and Jarrod were supposed to meet her here too.
“Miz Rodriguez, I have some news.” Eyes down, Cynthia’s mother nervously smoothed the pocket of her skirt. “The other children won’t be coming. Miz Woods sends her apologies, but Rachel and her cousin Jarrod have family business today.”
Colleen wondered if the family business had anything to do with Frank. The day before, Rachel had confessed that her brother had been arrested.
“But are Cynthia and Linkston able to go with me?”
The children were jumping up to peer into the car, obviously anxious to get inside.
“Yes, they can go. I have work today, but Cynthia’s granddaddy will be here when you bring them back.”
“Thank you. I’ll have them back by eleven thirty.”
As Colleen opened the passenger door and pulled the seat forward, both children scrambled into the back and fastened their seat belts. She laughed to herself. She had explained that there were seat belts just like the astronauts wore in the space shuttle to the moon. And she thought of her own reluctance to wear a seat belt because it wrinkled her miniskirt.
Freedom Lessons Page 8