How Sweet the Sound

by Vanessa Miller

  “Huh? Did you say something?”

  “Go home. You’ve been here working all day. Don’t stay late tonight. You need some rest.”

  Landon put his face in his hands as he tried to calm himself. When he looked up, he decided. “You’re right. I’ve been working on this project for too long without a break. I’m going home and getting some sleep.”

  “I think that’s an excellent idea. Get you some rest, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Landon jumped out of his seat and headed toward the door. His hand was on the knob, but he remembered something and then turned back around. “Hey, Nettie, when I give you my letters to mail, have you ever not had enough postage to mail all of the letters?”

  “No, why?”

  “A friend said that she hasn’t received my letters lately.”

  Nettie hunched her shoulders and with wide-eyed innocence responded, “I can’t imagine why anyone would have problems receiving your mail, but I’ll check with the post office.”

  “Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow.” But the minute Landon stepped outside, he dreaded the thought of going home. Sitting down on the church stoop, he tried to figure on something to do this evening. Going to an empty house to spend another night with nothing but his passion for the community to keep him company wasn’t on his to-do list. So he walked the neighborhood. Landon desperately needed to remind himself of what he was fighting for.

  He’d been working so hard for the past few months, trying to do right by the people in the community that he’d let down the one person he wanted to spend a lifetime with. But Landon was having a hard time understanding how Shar didn’t know how he felt about her. Maybe the truth was, Shar knew and didn’t care.

  She wanted Nicoli James and that was all that mattered to her. Now Landon needed to figure out what mattered to him. And as he walked block after block of the Black Belt, his conviction for his mission in life grew stronger. The men, women, and children in this neighborhood needed him, and he wasn’t going to let them down.

  He headed home. Turning on to his street, Landon became a bit perplexed. Although it was dark out by that time, his street appeared to be lit up like a Christmas tree. He kept walking down his street, and as he got closer to his house, Landon realized that it wasn’t lights from a Christmas tree that lit his street, but a burning cross that had been erected in his yard.

  So now they’ve come after me, Landon thought. He had seen crosses a-plenty in the South. Erected whenever the Ku Klux Klan thought a colored man had gotten too big for his britches. Landon shook his head as he thought about the day Shar’s father had told him he was a day late and a dollar short. That’s how he felt about this attempted intimidation from angry people who wanted things to stay the way they were.

  They should have burned this cross in his yard before Shar kicked him in the teeth with her betrayal, because now he was too numb to care about it. He walked past the cross, opened his front door, went inside his house, and flopped onto his bed without taking his street clothes off. The rains came and quenched the fire outside, but the one burning in Landon’s heart would be much harder to get rid of.

  “What’s this I hear about you and Nicoli getting engaged?” Mahalia asked as she took a seat next to Shar.

  Shar rolled her eyes. “Nicoli was just jealous because my pastor came to see me the other night, so he told him that we were engaged. But I’ve only been seeing Nicoli for a few weeks.”

  “Just like a dog, marking his territory,” Mahalia said.

  “What territory?”

  “Girl, you too wet behind the ears to know what Mahalia is talking about. That’s why you don’t have no business with that snake,” Sallie said.

  Shar ignored Sallie. She didn’t have much good to say about any man. She told Mahalia, “Nicoli didn’t mean anything by what he did. He knew that Pastor Landon had hurt me by not responding to my letters, so he was just trying to let him know that I done moved on.”

  “I’ve met Pastor Landon. I even had a few conversations with him concerning what he’s trying to do with the housing situation in Chicago. He’s a good man. Are you sure you want to mess that up?” Mahalia asked.

  “Pastor Landon is the one who messed up. He left me in the lurch without so much as a by-your-leave. I can’t sit around and wait on him to save the world. I need someone in my life right now.”

  Mahalia stood up. But before she left she said, “Now, Shar, you’re younger than me, and where you’re going, I done all ready been. So I’m gon’ tell you straight. That Nicoli James don’t have the same love for gospel music as we do. He’s just like my first husband, always looking for the money and trying to see how the things in your life can benefit him.”

  Shar shook her head emphatically. “Nicoli isn’t like that, Mahalia. I don’t have no money, but he still wants to be with me. He loves me.”

  Mahalia sat back down. “I thought you just been seeing him for a few weeks?”

  “That’s right. I can’t explain how it happened. I just know that he loves me and I love him right back.”

  Sallie rolled her eyes heavenward. She tapped Mahalia on the shoulder. “Come on, let’s go practice. You can’t open a closed mind.”

  As the two women walked away from her, Shar suspected that they thought she was the biggest fool who’d ever come north. But as Nicoli sauntered over to her, put his arms around her, and pulled her into a loving embrace, Shar stopped concerning herself with what other people thought. However, she did have a bone to pick with Nicoli. She pulled out of his embrace and sulkily asked, “Why you going around here telling everybody that we’re engaged?”

  “I thought we were.”

  “How? You never asked for my hand in marriage. And besides, we’ve only been going together for three weeks. We can’t just up and get engaged.”

  The look on Nicoli’s face was serious as he told her, “It don’t take me two years to decide what I want, Shar. I’m not that pastor friend of yours who wants you one minute and then leaves you high and dry the next.”

  Sometimes, Shar wished that she had never mouthed a word of her and Pastor Landon’s business. Nicoli seemed to delight in telling her just how little Pastor Landon cared about her. But maybe he was right. And maybe she needed to be with someone who knew his mind and had no trouble acting on it. “All right then, Nicoli, we’re engaged. But we need to keep this just between us until we talk to my ma and pa about it.”

  He held up his hands. “Whatever you say, baby, whatever you say.”

  Nettie knocked on Pastor Landon’s front door. When he didn’t answer, she tried the knob. It was unlocked. She thought it strange that Pastor Landon wouldn’t lock his front door when there had obviously been a cross burned in his front yard the night before. She and her parents had heard about it first thing that morning, so Nettie made it her business to come and check on him.

  “Pastor Landon,” she called from the entryway.

  He didn’t answer.

  She called again, “Pastor Landon? Are you here?” Please God, don’t let him be dead. With little concern for her own well being, Nettie rushed through the house in search of Landon.

  “If you’re in here, please speak up, Pastor Landon.” Desperation dripped from Nettie’s voice as she made the plea.

  Landon yelled from the back of the house, “Who’s there?”

  “It’s me, Pastor. Nettie.”

  “Oh.”

  She heard the disappointment in his voice, but she didn’t care. She was just grateful that the Klan hadn’t strung him up or shot him and left him for dead in his own home. “We heard about what happened last night, so I came to see if you were all right.”

  Landon walked into the living room. He had on a long terrycloth robe, pajama pants, and house shoes. “Why aren’t you dressed?” There was distress in Nettie’s voice as she viewed the disheveled look of her pastor.

  “I think I’m going to stay home today. I need to rest.”

  With hands on hips Nettie t
ook charge. “Stay home if you like, but you are going to sit yourself down in this kitchen so I can fix you some breakfast and then you can lay back down if you want to.”

  Landon sat down as he was told but said, “If I’da known you were this bossy I don’t think I would have hired you.”

  As she scrambled eggs, Nettie smiled as she said, “You sure would have hired me. Believe it or not, you need me. And by the way, I already had that hideous cross removed from your front yard. It’s going to take a while for the grass to grow back, but that’s all the damage you received.”

  Landon rubbed his temples. “I forgot about that cross.”

  “How could you have forgotten about something like that?”

  He laid his head on the table. “I had something else on my mind.”

  “Sit up, Pastor. That’s enough moping around. I’m going to take care of you, and you’re going to be just fine.”

  Landon turned around and looked at Nettie as if seeing her for the first time. “So you’re going to take care of me, huh?”

  “That’s what I said.” She put the eggs on his plate and then handed it to him. Nettie then stood behind him, smiling as he took the first bite.

  14

  They were on their dilapidated bus headed to Memphis for another concert. Shar leaned her head back against the headrest and closed her eyes, hoping that she’d be able to get some sleep during the bumpy ride.

  “Hey baby, can I talk to you for a minute?”

  As Shar opened her eyes to the sound of Nicoli calling her “baby,” she almost wanted to put her finger to her lips and shush him. They were supposed to be engaged, but Nicoli still hadn’t received her dad’s permission, so it just didn’t seem right and proper for Nicoli to be so casual with her. But nothing she said ever stopped him from doing exactly as he pleased, so Shar decided to just go with the flow. It was exciting being with a man like Nicoli, someone who took chances and wasn’t always doing what was expected of him.

  “I’ve been thinking about some things.” Nicoli adjusted himself in the seat. “Now as far as I can tell, it’s been your voice that has been carrying this choir from town to town.”

  Shar’s eyes grew wide as she looked around trying to determine if anyone else heard Nicoli’s bold claims about her voice. “Don’t talk like that, Nicoli. Mr. Dorsey has plenty of great singers in his choir. I’m just grateful to be here.”

  “Okay, okay, baby. I love your modesty, but you need a manager, somebody who will look out for your best interest . . . cause ain’t nobody else doing it.”

  “Why you talking like this? We’re just gonna make the other singers mad, and then Mr. Dorsey’s gonna put me out of his choir.”

  Nicoli leaned back in his seat and stared at Shar as if seeing her with new eyes. “You aren’t putting on, are you? You really don’t know how special you are. Matter of fact, if I was managing you, I’d make sure that Dorsey gave this choir the right billing. We should be calling it,” he lifted his hands in the air and spaced them apart as if viewing marquee signage. “I can see it now: Shar Gracey and the Thomas Dorsey choir.”

  Now she did shush him. “Hush all that foolish talk.” Her family was depending on her. They needed that little bit of money she was able to send home. Shar couldn’t afford to anger Thomas Dorsey with Nicoli’s foolishness.

  “Baby, you’ve got to trust me.” He put his arms around her and leaned in closer as he said, “And here’s something else I been pondering. We need to start putting our money together so I can get some things going for us.”

  The bus drove over a pothole, which shook the bus and jerked Shar out of Nicoli’s embrace. She turned to him with concern in her eyes. “I don’t have any money, Nicoli. I send everything I make home to my parents.”

  “But now that we’re engaged, I think we need to be more concerned about us, rather than your folks back home.”

  Shaking her head vigorously, Shar spoke up, “My mama needs that money. She’s in poor health, and if I can’t send money home, who knows when she’ll be able to get to a doctor.”

  “Calm down, baby.” He put his arm around her again and pulled her back toward him. “I just wanted to find a way to help us, but I would never jeopardize your mama’s health.”

  Shar breathed a sigh of relief. Nicoli wasn’t trying to take money from her family; he just wanted to make things happen for them. She couldn’t blame him for his ambition, now could she? “Thank you for understanding, Nicoli.”

  The bus stopped. Shar turned to look out the window, thinking that they had reached the farm they were all spending the night at. Shar wasn’t looking forward to getting off the bus, because they wouldn’t be spending the night in the farmhouse. That night, they would be sleeping in the barn with the livestock. Her home in Chicago was drafty and creaky, but at least she didn’t have to share it with animals.

  “Oh my God!” Nicoli shouted as he slumped down in his seat.

  Shar heard the fear in Nicoli’s voice and watched as he slunk down in to the seat next to her, but she couldn’t grasp what was causing all the fuss. Then a rock crashed through the back window. As Shar reflexively glanced toward the back, she was shocked to see white men running toward the bus carrying rocks and sticks and yelling hateful, ugly things at them.

  “Get down, girl. Do you want them to blow your head off?” Nicoli yelled.

  In slow motion everything was coming into focus for Shar. They were being attacked by mad, hateful men.

  “Why are we just sitting here?” someone yelled from the back of the bus.

  “The engine cut out on me. I’m trying to get it going,” the bus driver screamed back at everyone as the bus began to rock back and forth.

  “They’re shaking the bus.”

  Terrified, Shar whispered to Nicoli, “Do something. Stop them.” But as Shar looked into Nicoli’s eyes, she saw the same horrified look that colored folks got when they experienced hate from white folks that had no reason to hate them. In a world where a colored man could get lynched just for looking like he wanted to say something back to an up-to-no-good white man, Nicoli was powerless and so was she.

  They pounded on the bus and screamed, “Get out of here, niggers.”

  “No jiggaboos allowed on this street,” another angry, hate-filled man screamed at them.

  Hank, the bus driver, stood up and grabbed his baseball bat. Shar lifted a hand to try to halt him. “Don’t go out there, Hank. Those men are full of hate. They’ll kill you.”

  Hank huffed, gripping the bat tighter. “I got no choice, Shar. The battery done shook loose again. Got to clamp those plugs back on it so we can get moving.”

  “Them fools out there gon’ clamp something on top of your head if you go out there,” a woman shouted from the back of the bus.

  Nicoli leaned over to Shar and said, “Stay right here. No matter what happens, don’t get off this bus.” He then stood up, straightened his brown button-down shirt, and balled his fist.

  It looked to Shar as if he was gathering strength from some place down deep inside of him as he prepared to walk off the bus with Hank. The old hateful white men on the outside of the bus were still chanting and spewing evil, but that didn’t seem to bother Nicoli.

  “Hank won’t get his head knocked off if us men go out and help him,” Nicoli said as he turned a challenging eye toward the two men seated in the middle of the bus and then another at the front.

  “You talking big now, but that’s just how Matthew got his arm busted up,” Pete, the piano player, said.

  Nicoli grabbed Pete by the collar and barked in his face. “Keep my brother’s name out of your mouth.”

  “Are you two going to fight, or are you going to come outside and help me get this bus started?” Hank asked as he opened the double doors, took a deep breath, and marched outside.

  “I’m coming,” Nicoli said as he let go of Pete’s shirt.

  Shar wanted to beg Nicoli to stay on the bus with her, but as the other men got up and walked o
ff the bus with him, she turned her eyes toward heaven and prayed for the safe return of Nicoli and all the rest of the men who were determined to face this injustice head-on.

  “Get back on that bus,” one of the white men demanded as Hank lifted up the hood.

  Hank leaned his bat against the grill of the bus and ignored them as he adjusted the corroded plugs on the battery.

  “Did you hear me, nigga? I said git.” The white man bent down, picked up a big rock, and threw it at Hank.

  Nicoli blocked the rock. “He’s just trying to fix the battery. We will be leaving your upstanding town as fast as we can, believe me.”

  Hank put the hood down, and the men formed a semicircle around Hank as they attempted to get back on the bus.

  “You shouldn’t have stopped here in the first place. We don’t want your kind around here,” Shar heard one of the white men say. The next thing she knew, fists were flying, and people were running this way and that. As Shar looked out the window in horror, she saw Pete fall to the ground. A couple of the men pushed their way back onto the bus. Hank and Nicoli grabbed hold of Pete as the white men kicked and punched him. They took a few punches themselves as they lifted Pete off the ground and shoved their way back onto the bus.

  Hank pushed the lever, closing the doors so no one else could get onto the bus. He pumped the gas pedal and then turned the ignition. The engine turned over slowly, but as Hank pumped the gas again it finally roared to life.

  Shar let out a loud, “Thank you, Jesus,” as the bus started moving. The men walked back to their seats; she sat back down next to Nicoli. He had a cut above his eyebrow. Shar lifted her index finger and attempted to wipe away the blood, but Nicoli turned away from her. She looked to the front of the bus and saw that Hank was using his left hand to drive the bus while his right hand held a bloody rag against the back of his head.

  Two of the choir members were tending to Pete’s wounds, but no one said a word. Even the engine, which had been roaring its way from city to city, seemed to quiet down a bit. Shame was plastered on the menfolk’s faces. They kept their eyes averted, not looking at any of the women for the longest time. They had just witnessed the men being attacked for no good reason. They had to just take their lumps and run back inside the bus because each one of them knew that if they so much as raised a hand to one of those white men, the town sheriff would have ignored how beat up they were and hauled them off to jail, accusing them of starting a fight.