“It’s all right, Mrs. Woods. I asked them to come. We’re sorry to bother you. They just have a few questions.” Frank remembered seeing the short and portly reverend move forward to stand in front of the agents.
“May I offer you some tea and cake?” Frank heard the tightness in his mother’s voice. It was the first and last time she invited any white men to sit down for tea with her.
“Miz Woods, that won’t be necessary. We can sit in the parlor without any refreshments,” the reverend said.
At the same time, the man who Frank would learn was the lead agent said, “Thank you, ma’am. I hate to bother you, but I would appreciate some tea and your kind hospitality.”
As he thought back now, Frank realized that the agent’s gesture of kindness, perhaps a false extension of sympathy, had given them more time in the house.
The teacups clinked against the saucers while Frank’s mother served from the tray she was carrying. He had seen her serve tea many times with a steady hand and comfortable conversation. This time, fear rattled the cups.
As they sat in the parlor, the lead agent’s big hands were surprisingly agile as he placed the delicate cup down and nodded to his partner to take off his hat.
“We’re trying to determine the cause of the fire. Is there anything you can tell us? Was your husband having trouble with anyone?” The agent spoke in a low voice, perhaps trying to soften his questions or his presence.
Annie Mae just shook her head. She had answers, but she wouldn’t share what she knew. She was too frightened. Just having the FBI in the house put the family’s safety at risk.
“We know he was a vet and had some friends on both sides of the Mississippi. Have they been here to see you?” The lead agent took another sip of tea as he waited for her answer.
Frank wondered where this man was from. Didn’t he know that the white mechanics his father worked with wouldn’t come to the house? Ever? Even though he was a top-notch mechanic whom they sought out and hired? Maybe he had served, but that didn’t matter. He had been a civilian when he died—someone who lived on the wrong side of town, not on the army base.
“No, sir, just our friends from church and our neighbors.” Annie Mae lifted a plate of sliced cake to offer the agents. “Our community has been a great comfort. My friend Evelyn made this cake.”
The other agent balanced his hat on his knee as he reached for a slice of cake and finally spoke. “Have any of the NAACP members come to visit?”
Annie Mae looked toward the reverend for some support.
“Miz Woods just told you that only neighbors and friends from our church have been to visit. I think it’s time for us to take our leave now.”
The lead agent nodded but asked, “Is there anything else you can tell us, Mrs. Woods?”
She shook her head and looked away.
He took the reverend’s advice and stood. “Thank you for your time, Mrs. Woods. Here’s my card. Please call me if you change your mind.”
The memory of his mother shaking her head made Frank recall the reason she had been so quiet. His father’s army buddy, another Korean War vet, had died in a truck explosion over in Natchez. His father had been the third Korean War vet with connections to the Natchez branch of the NAACP and Armstrong Rubber Company to die. Frank knew that the fire wasn’t an accident. The men involved in killing him would find a way to hurt Frank, his sisters, or his mother if they helped the FBI. He was sure of that.
All this time, he had hidden the lighter. Would anyone believe it had anything to do with the fire if he handed it over to the FBI four years later?
The lighter’s surface was scratched and well used, but three engraved letters were visible: BNH. Frank knew it was time to do something, even if he was afraid. Instead of putting the lighter back in the hiding place, he slid it into his pocket and went to find his mother, to tell her that he was going with Dedra on Thursday.
Chapter 42
Colleen
Tuesday, May 19, 1970
Colleen parked the car next to the trailer and was grateful when she heard the hum of the air conditioner. Miguel was home.
“You’re an hour late. I was getting worried about you.”
“Yeah, me too. The day was awful. It ended okay, but I seriously thought I was in mortal danger.”
Alarmed, he stopped what he was doing and came over to her. He put his arm around her, and they sat down on the couch. She was grateful for the closeness of his body and the cool air that flowed over them.
“Things got worse,” she told him.
“What happened?”
Colleen told him how upset the children were, about Rachel’s note, and how every time she looked at Cynthia, she had to hold back her own tears.
“They hate me. I’ve totally let them down. They will never believe a white woman again in their lives. You should have seen how they looked at me.”
“School will be over in two weeks, and we’re going home in eighteen days.”
Home. A place where she understood the rules, even if she didn’t always agree with them.
She told him about her meeting with Penelope. Miguel was a good listener but wasn’t one to give a lot of advice. He kept things to himself. She never had.
Colleen thought about her husband’s way of dealing with unfair situations. He just pushed forward, didn’t dwell on what he couldn’t change. He couldn’t change Castro’s broken promises and Cuba’s shift to communism. He couldn’t change his parents’ decision to flee from their beloved country or his draft status after college. He had no choice but to accept his two years in the army. Now he was ready to go home to New Jersey and start the life they had planned.
“Well, quit, then. I don’t know how you did it this long.”
“I can’t run away from this. You wouldn’t. I can handle it—I have to handle it.”
“Colleen, I don’t know what to say or how to help you.”
“Just hold me.”
All day long, she had wanted to cry. Now she could, but the tears wouldn’t come.
Chapter 43
Evelyn
Thursday, May 21, 1970
Evelyn smoothed her shirtwaist dress as she got behind the wheel of her car. She took a deep breath to calm herself. How many board meetings had she attended as the liaison for the Parent Teacher Association? But this one was different. She had been powerless, but now she had a plan. She had been told to retain her class, just like Colleen and two other teachers. Except for the student walkouts, the desegregation of the Kettle Creek Schools had avoided more serious confrontations and personal injury. Tonight could be different. Even Annie Mae was riled up. She was the force behind the group that was insisting on an emergency meeting of the school board.
As Evelyn drove along the unpaved streets of her neighborhood, she passed small groups of students walking toward the main road. She noticed that they were carrying blankets. Puzzled, she stopped her car. As she rolled down the window to speak to a group, one of them came over to her. It was Sissy, Frank’s sister, and right behind her were her friends Kendra and Pearl.
“Sissy, where are you going?”
“Oh, hi, Miz Glover. We’re just walking to our high school to meet some friends.”
“With blankets? Does your mama know what you’re doing?”
“No, she left the house right after dinner for the parish school board meeting.”
Kendra and Pearl stood back, whispering to each other, shifting from one foot to the other as they waited for Sissy. They looked nervous.
Evelyn called them over. “Where are your manners? Don’t you greet your old third-grade teacher?”
As the girls approached the car, Evelyn could see that they also had food wrapped in bags under the blankets they were balancing. She realized the rumors must be true: the students were on the way to their old high school and were prepared to stay.
“Oh, Miz Glover, please don’t tell us to go home. We have to go.”
Evelyn was impressed tha
t these children, as she still thought of them, had the courage to stand with the seniors to protest the graduation decision. She was on her way to the board meeting to do the same. Even if she told them to leave, she knew they’d just return after she drove away. They had more spirit than she did. The year had worn her down. And she worried about what the next year would bring.
Evelyn recalled a recent newspaper interview with the superintendent, which described the “professionalism” of teachers who had worked through the closing and the unifying of the Kettle Creek Schools. The superintendent credited the staff for the smooth transition. “We should hire good teachers, pay them well, and provide them with the tools they need. … The keys to good schools are good teachers. … Failure in schools is due to teachers who are not flexible, who don’t have enthusiasm or love for the children.”
Clearly, he didn’t know the staff at West Hill Elementary. He had hired good teachers. If the school board had provided them with the tools they needed, things would have been better. Would any teachers retire or move away after this school year? Evelyn wondered what would happen to her.
“Miz Glover, are you okay?” Sissy’s voice brought her back to the present. She realized the girls were staring at her silently.
“Promise me you’ll be careful and run home if there’s any trouble. Can you do that?”
“We promise, Miz Glover.”
Evelyn left the girls and drove onto the pavement with a worried heart. She knew that Annie Mae would not be happy with her decision to let them go. Annie Mae thought her daughter was home, but at least Evelyn knew where Sissy really was. Who’s watching Rachel and Baby James? Oh, Lordy, did I do the right thing?
As she passed the high school, she saw that it was still boarded up and locked. The only lights were from the streetlamps near the parking lot. Students were quietly gathering in the side yard, laying down blankets. It looked peaceful, as if they were going to have a picnic.
The five-mile drive down Highway 179 seemed longer than usual and very still. She scanned the road. Shouldn’t there be more traffic? She tapped her fingers on the steering wheel. How many folks would be there? That question was answered as she searched for a parking spot. Was she late? Had she missed it? The lot was full; some cars were on the lawn, and a few were parked diagonally along the side roads, making it difficult to pass. She finally found a spot past the white high school and had to walk two blocks to Kettle Creek Elementary.
Chapter 44
Colleen
Thursday, May 21, 1970
No wonder school ended in May. The heat and humidity of the Louisiana days were ramping up. Tension and stress in the cramped classroom had doubled since the previous Friday. It was time to go home and work on packing before dinner. Colleen shut down the AC, locked the door, and walked to her car. She was amazed at how much she and Miguel had accumulated in one year. The army would ship the boxes home, but she had to fill them. “Ten weeks—that’s all we have left. June sixth, we’re gone,” Miguel had said. June 6 was just two weeks away.
The second bedroom, at the back end of the trailer, was where she organized the packing. She held up a sweatshirt and remembered the day she had bought it at the five-and-dime. KETTLE CREEK was printed in bold letters across the front. Cynthia had been in the store with her mother that day, buying calico-print fabric. The sweatshirt would always remind her of how surprised Cynthia had been to see her teacher shopping in the same store, and how the sales clerk had told Cynthia to stop bothering the customer. The clerk’s expression had hardened when she’d realized that Colleen wasn’t bothered at all.
She repacked the Corningware and the blender in their original boxes. The tape recorder her father had mailed to her fit back into the Styrofoam mold. A shoebox could hold her father’s tapes and the prerecorded music cassettes. Their collection had multiplied exponentially. The Post Exchange had the latest record albums for amazing prices. Colleen and Miguel now had more than fifty: the Rolling Stones, the Beatles, James Taylor, the Supremes, the Temptations, and more.
Colleen pulled the edge of a large envelope from between the album covers. Tears filled her eyes when she recognized that it contained the class picture taken when she was still at West Hill School. She had brought the school photos home before she knew they were closing the school.
She was drying her eyes with toilet paper in the bathroom when she heard someone knock. Colleen hurried to the front of the trailer, but no one was there by the time she opened the door. She could hear a voice calling, “Y’all in there? Hello … Hello …”
Leaning out the door, Colleen saw Jan banging on a window in the back bedroom. Jan was the last person she wanted to see.
“Hi, I’m over here. I was just packing up some things.”
Jan rushed toward her. She waved a piece of paper and said, “Did you see this? It’s outrageous.”
“I don’t know. Let me see.”
Jan handed the paper to Colleen. A flyer announced that there would be a special meeting of the parish school board on Thursday at 6:00 p.m. in the cafeteria of Kettle Creek Elementary School.
“So, did you know about this?” Jan demanded.
Colleen handed back the flyer. “No. How did you find out?”
“My friend Rita told me. She works at your school.”
“Rita Harper is your friend?” Colleen could feel her Irish temper rising.
“Yes, the colored parents requested a special board meeting because of the retentions. Didn’t anyone at school tell you?”
“Rita Harper, the cop’s wife, is your friend?” Colleen said it again, trying to make sense of it. Birds of a feather … She glared at Jan. “Nope, Rita doesn’t talk to me. Looks right through me when we’re in the same room. Not one of those white teachers gives me the time of day.”
Shaking the paper, Jan told her, “Those uppity black folks don’t want to accept that their youngins need more time to learn. Even your class isn’t ready to move on, and they had a white teacher.” Jan’s mouth spewed those words as if she had eaten some rotten fruit. “Come on,” she continued. “It’s almost six o’clock. You can drive us there.”
“Us? You want me to drive you?”
“Don’t you think you should go? Find out if they retain them or pass them on? And they want to open up their school. I’m only trying to help you, darlin’.”
Colleen resisted the desire to slap this fool of a woman. “Help me? You’ve done nothing but poison my days. The first thing you said when I got hired was that ‘no decent white southern woman would take that job.’ How was that helpful?”
“You don’t understand how it is around here, that’s all.”
Colleen walked down the steps as she enunciated each syllable. “I understand exactly how it is here. People like you are filled with hate and fear because of the color of people’s skin.”
Jan shrank back, but her tone sharpened. “Only trying to give you some advice. I told you not to take the job Mrs. Kirby wouldn’t. She said if she couldn’t tell them apart, how would she ever learn their names? You acted like a Yankee from the start. That’s why the white teachers don’t tell you anything.”
Colleen kept her rage at bay as she witnessed a retreat. She ached to avenge the pain this woman inflicted without a second thought. “A Yankee? This isn’t about the North versus the South. This is about teaching children. I know every single one of their names.” Colleen moved a step closer. “Cynthia has such delicate features. She’ll be beautiful.”
Jan stepped back.
“Linkston’s tortoiseshell glasses magnify his deep brown eyes.” Colleen took another step and leaned in. “Jarrod’s ears stick out, and he squints. I think he needs glasses, but no one will listen to me. He’s a tough one, but he’s come around with respect and patience. Should I go on?”
Jan threw up her hands and squirmed away. Colleen stepped closer. “Plants need water, sunlight, and soil with room to grow. Students need good teachers, good books, and a good school. The bo
ard should open their school. That’s where their roots are. Integrate that school.”
The tables had turned. For the first time, Jan was speechless. In fact, she seemed frozen in place, unsure of what Colleen would do next.
Relief settled over Colleen as she realized that in two short weeks this woman would be out of her life. Was this the time to call upon that saying Jan had used so sweetly to twist a knife in her back? Yes. Colleen stepped back with a contented smile and took a deep breath to keep control.
“Bless your heart, Jan, you’ll have to get someone else to take you. I do appreciate you coming by, but I have to finish packing.” She heard the southern drawl come out of her own mouth, slow and sure.
Colleen shut the door and left Jan to stand alone in the heat of the humid Louisiana day. Then she did a little dance in the kitchen. However, her exuberance was short-lived as she wondered if she should go to the meeting. Was this meeting what Penelope Woods had meant when she’d said, “We’re not done”? Would Cynthia’s mother or grandfather be there? Mrs. Woods? Jan was partly right, again. Even now, Colleen didn’t understand the unwritten rules about whom to talk to and how a misstep could put you in danger, as she had placed the children in danger by picking them up in her car. All she knew was that she didn’t belong at the meeting. She went back to finish packing.
Chapter 45
Evelyn
Thursday, May 21, 1970
The parish school board meeting was scheduled in the elementary school instead of the office building. The board was seated at the front of the room at cafeteria tables. Rows of chairs were set up for the public. A podium with a microphone had been placed to face the board. Evelyn had attended enough board meetings to recognize the typical arrangement, which allowed the public to speak or ask questions after the board president and other members gave their reports.
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