“You expecting they would?” asked a cynical Uncle Hammer. “Only change coming to a black man down there in Mississippi is getting put in the ground.”
“We had a meeting up at Great Faith about what happened,” Mama said.
“And what good that do? Y’all collect some new clothes for that Clemens boy to be buried in?”
“Yes, Hammer, as a matter of fact, we did,” Mama replied. “Collected a little money for his family too. We also listened to a man from the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People, the NAACP. I even went to an NAACP meeting up in Jackson and heard the young man who’s leading it in Mississippi. His name is Medgar Evers. He’s from Decatur. Worked in the Delta selling insurance for a while, but he’s been working with the NAACP for about eight years now, and I heard from Little Willie that he did investigative work for the NAACP checking on so-called accidents whenever colored people were killed. He even did investigative work up around Money, town where that poor Emmett Till boy was murdered. He said they’re organizing for some real protests in Mississippi.”
“To do what?”
Mama leveled her gaze at Uncle Hammer. “To deal with what’s happened to all the young men like Clay Clemens. To deal with all the killings and the mutilations and the burnings, with all the injustice. There was another young man too recently, roped and dragged along the road because he didn’t address a white woman with the kind of respect they demanded. He was so torn up his own family couldn’t even recognize him. We’ve got to stop it, Hammer. You know if we organize, take a chapter from the Montgomery boycott, we might be able to get some change.”
“And you believe that?”
“I have to believe something’s going to change things, Hammer.”
Uncle Hammer sneered. “Haven’t long as I’ve lived. Our folks been in this country how long now? Went from slavery to so-called freedom. What freedom? Still got to kowtow to those white folks down there, other parts of the country too. Can’t vote down there. Can’t drink from their water fountains. Can’t eat in their restaurants, except at the back door. Can’t sleep in their hotels, though they don’t mind us cleaning them for them. Still got to sit at the back of the bus. Still got to step aside when they come walking.”
“What you said about riding at the back of the bus, that’s no longer the case in Montgomery,” contested Mama. “After that boycott in fifty-six, colored folks can sit wherever they choose on the bus. They don’t have to sit in the back any longer. They got that through a boycott and the protest movement. Now, from what I understand, it was the Supreme Court that ended the boycott, banning segregation on the city buses. Said it was unconstitutional, but Negroes hurt the city with the boycott. We hit the white businesses where it counted, in their pocketbooks.”
“Yeah, well . . . you let me know how that goes in Mississippi,” retorted Uncle Hammer.
“I’ll just do that, Hammer,” Mama countered. She smiled at Uncle Hammer’s disillusionment. “Got to start somewhere, Hammer.”
Uncle Hammer laughed. “Well, you just keep on believing, Mary. I’m going to keep on believing too, believing things don’t ever change much with these white people. Just think about it. Right here in Toledo just year before last, wasn’t it, white folks got all upset because a colored girl was voted queen of the high school? First colored queen in the city? From what you said, they hung an effigy from a tree right there on the school grounds. They doing that stuff up here, you know it’s a whole lot worse down there.” He turned to Papa. “Remember Cousin Thad?”
Papa nodded. “Course.”
“Went to work one morning, came home early and found that white sheriff on his wife. Cousin Thad yanked that white man off her and beat him near to death. White folks put him in jail for life.”
“Wonder they didn’t lynch that boy,” said Big Ma.
“Only reason they didn’t,” Papa said, “was because that sheriff didn’t die.”
“Might as well have,” concluded Uncle Hammer. “Thad, he still down there serving time at Parchman. Been there going on more than thirty-some years.”
Big Ma sighed heavily. “Crying shame,” she said. “Thad, he was a first cousin of mine.”
“Point is,” said Uncle Hammer, “same thing happening today.”
Big Ma nodded agreement. “Just blessed that ain’t happened to that boy Moe.”
“What about Moe? What’s going on with him?” We told Uncle Hammer about the arrest warrant and extradition request from Mississippi. “Where is he now?” Uncle Hammer was looking at Stacey, but it was Papa who replied.
“Hear he’s in Canada.”
“Better stay there,” said Uncle Hammer.
* * *
◆ ◆ ◆
After that the evening was full of stories, long-ago stories told over and over again. There was the story about our friend Mr. Tom Bee and how the white store owner John Wallace had shot him because Mr. Tom Bee refused to address him as “Mister.” There were stories from Big Ma’s childhood, stories of her first husband Mitchell, and stories of Grandpa Paul-Edward. There were stories of Uncle Hammer and Papa when they were boys, stories about their mischief, stories about their older brothers, Uncle Mitchell and Uncle Kevin, stories of laughter and good times. Stacey, Christopher-John, Man, and I had our stories to tell too. Stacey had gotten to be a master storyteller and we all deferred to him, calling on him to recount the events as we all remembered them, and he did so with great gusto, acting out the parts of all persons involved, standing up to show their action and mimicking their voices. We laughed as hilariously as when I was a child hearing the stories in front of the fire down home.
Most of the children did not hear the stories. They were still downstairs in the rec room. There was plenty of room to run and play down there; also, there was an old standup piano they could bang on, games, and a phonograph, as well as all of Rie’s and ’lois’s childhood toys. Of course they had taken their new Christmas toys downstairs too. We had not seen them since they disappeared and figured we wouldn’t see them again until they were called to come upstairs.
Rie and two of her girlfriends were in the recreation room with the children, along with a gangly young man who had come courting Rie on this Christmas Day. He was captain of her high school basketball team. Rie always had some boy courting her and they were good boys. Stacey saw to that. He drilled them like an Army sergeant when they came to call. All boys who ventured to see Rie knew the protocol and they adhered to it. They knew they could only visit on Sunday or a holiday, knew they had to be wearing a suit and tie, and knew above all else that Rie was to be treated with respect. She was a gregarious girl, high-spirited, as beautiful now as she had been as a baby, and the boys flocked around her. They were always the popular boys, on the football and basketball teams; shyer boys were too mesmerized to approach her, though Rie had no airs about herself. She treated everyone the same; yet there was a magnetism to her, and girls and boys alike enjoyed being around her. With ’lois, though, it was different. She pretty much kept to herself. While all the other children entertained themselves in the adult-free rec room, ’lois had come back upstairs to sit with the “old” folks. She was listening to the stories. She was always listening to the stories.
* * *
◆ ◆ ◆
Late that night, when Aunt Loretta and I were alone in the kitchen washing the last of the dishes from the second round of Christmas dinner eating, Aunt Loretta, her hands in soapy water, suddenly said to me, “Cassie, you got a man in your life?”
“What?” I asked, startled by the unexpected question.
“It’s time, Cassie. Past time. Woman needs a man. Now, you had a good one, fine-looking one at that. But he’s been gone a good long while now and you need to be with somebody.”
I laughed. “You know who you sound like, Aunt Loretta? Big Ma.”
Aunt Loretta nodded at the compa
rison. “Couldn’t be compared to a finer woman, but getting back to what I was saying, you’re not getting any younger, you know. Fact, you getting old, girl!”
I laughed again. “Well, thank you very much!”
Aunt Loretta reached out a soapy hand and squeezed mine. “Serious now, Cassie, don’t you want children? It still ain’t too late.”
I pulled away and dried the casserole dish I was holding. I turned my back to Aunt Loretta and put the dish away before turning to her again. “I lost my child, and the only man I wanted.”
Aunt Loretta’s hands were back in the dishwater. “You’re wrong, Cassie, to talk that way. I had a no-good man. Fact to business, I had two no-count men. They was good for only one thing and you know what that is. Come to think of it, they wasn’t always good at that neither, but you better not tell them that. Thought they was God’s gift!” She shook her head and went on. “Didn’t treat me right. Ran around with other women. Beat me when it suited them, even though I gave almost good as I got. Both those men, each of them, they gave me a child and I couldn’t love those children any more than I do. Mostly, I had to raise them by myself. Then I met Hammer. My children were near to grown and he was good to them. Hammer didn’t give me a child. I was already too late for that. Wish I hadn’t been, but that’s just the way it was. Still, he’s the best man’s ever come into my life. Now, he’s got his ways, you know that, but the man has never raised a hand to me, never cheated on me, and he’s totally honest with me. If he doesn’t like a thing he sure enough lets me know about it. You know how direct he can be. Me, I don’t want to think about growing old, but each day I look in the mirror and face the fact that I’m doing just that, and I thank the good Lord I’ve got Hammer.” She looked at me again. “You need to have that too, Cassie, a man who loves you as you grow old. Every woman needs that.” She gave me a studied look. “Just don’t wait too long.”
I thought of Guy and took up another dish to dry. As I did, Aunt Loretta looked at me hard. “Saw something in your face just now. Is there somebody?”
I shook my head and smiled. “No one I could ever bring home.”
“And you don’t want to tell me about him?”
I continued to smile, but said nothing.
“All right, nosy me,” said Aunt Loretta, turning back to the dishes. “I’ll butt out of it then.”
* * *
◆ ◆ ◆
During the Christmas week, I went to see Lawyer Tate. He was in the same office, wore pretty much the same kind of clothes, and had the same personality. “How’s my old block?” he asked as he ushered me in.
“Just like you left it,” I said.
He laughed. “It’s good then. Hated to leave it.”
“But you did.”
“Had the opportunity. Had to take it.”
I figured he did. Lawyer Tate and his wife had bought the house next door to Stacey and Dee about two years after Stacey and Dee bought their house. Then, a year ago, the Tates had seen a house that they liked in wealthy, all-white, exclusive Ottawa Hills. The house was for sale. They were politely shown the house, but their offer was rejected. The rejection was clearly racial. The white realtor admitted it. “No way are they going to let you in there,” the realtor said. “Only reason I could show you the place was because of all your political connections. They didn’t want an uproar about it.” Lawyer Tate was not dissuaded. He went to a man for whom he had great regard, a man he trusted, a white lawyer and a friend, and made a deal with him. The white lawyer, with impeccable credentials and sizeable wealth, bought the house, then turned right around and, at the same price for which he had bought it, sold it to Charles Tate.
“So, Mrs. De Baca,” Lawyer Tate said, “I understand you have really made it now! You’re a big-shot lawyer in Boston.”
I reacted with a smirk. “What?”
“All the talk. Miss Cassie Logan, also known as Mrs. Flynn de Baca, one of a handful of colored lawyers in all these United States employed by a very highly respected white law firm.”
Still smiling, I shook my head. “Well, in my case, that’s overexaggerated. All I am is a glorified paper pusher.”
“Maybe. But a paper pusher who’s made a dent, maybe an indelible impression.”
“I don’t think that’s the case.”
Lawyer Tate came from behind his desk and sat beside me on the sofa. “Look, Cassie, not only are you a person of color, you are a woman of color, so you are knocking down walls on two fronts. Tell me, how did you get into a firm like that anyway? You must have had some powerful recommendations.”
I thought of Guy. “I did,” I answered honestly.
“Well, however you got there, you’re in a position to deal with some important issues. You know, Cassie, in years to come we’re going to need powerful lawyers like our Thurgood Marshall and Charles Houston. And let’s not forget Constance Baker Motley, backbone of the NAACP Legal Defense Fund. Lawyers who can fight the fight on a legal front to turn back all these laws that are keeping us down. You’re young, you’re of that generation that can do it.”
I shrugged that off. “Not me. I’m not here to deal with all our issues, Lawyer Tate, just with Moe’s.”
“All right then, let’s talk about our friend Moe. It’s public knowledge that Mississippi is trying to arrest him and get him extradited back to Mississippi. They haven’t been able to do so thus far, since they can’t find him. What we should be talking about is what we can do if they find Moe and if he chooses to challenge the extradition. Somehow, we’ve got to figure out how to save him.”
* * *
◆ ◆ ◆
Moe did not remain in Canada. The same day I talked to Lawyer Tate, Moe showed up at the house. His wife, Myrtis, was with him, along with Myrtis’s brother, Dwayne. We were all shocked to see Moe and berated him for risking coming back into the States. He was unapologetic. “I knew you’d all be here and I needed to be with folks from home. Been eighteen years this month since I left from down there and I wanted to see Miz Caroline, wanted to see Mr. and Miz Logan. It’s worth the risk. Besides, I figure the police got better things to do than worry about me at Christmastime.”
Moe had been staying in Toronto. He had gotten word to Dwayne that he planned to be in Toledo during Christmas week. Myrtis and Dwayne drove from Detroit and met Moe here. Moe had parked his car near a church and come to the house with Myrtis and Dwayne in Dwayne’s car. It was odd seeing Moe without Morris at his side. Since Morris had gone to live with Moe, they had always come to Toledo together, and even after Morris became a student at Wayne State, they always made the trip together. When Morris graduated from Wayne State with a degree in business administration, he had stayed on in Detroit to be with Moe. The death of Hertesene had taken him back south and he had not yet returned. With Moe’s flight to Canada, we didn’t know if Morris would be coming back.
“No need for him to come back now,” said Moe when we asked about Morris. “Least not ’til I know where this mess is going to take me. He might as well stay south with Daddy.”
Soon after their arrival, we all sat down for dinner. During dinner I noticed Myrtis watching me, but as soon as I looked at her, she looked away. I had met Moe’s wife only once before. She also was from Mississippi, from around Greenwood. She was a quiet woman and somewhat skittish. She had heard about me and seemed particularly shy when I spoke to her. Her words were awkward and few. She seemed so shy that I mostly left her alone. She and Moe had no children. After dinner I told Moe I needed to talk to him about the arrest warrant and extradition request. We decided to go outside. Moe let Myrtis know and we left by the breakfast room door. Walking along the stone pavers that led to the back gate, I asked Moe, “Myrtis know you once had feelings for me?”
“Once had?” questioned Moe, and smiled.
I nudged him with my elbow as I had done in younger days. “You know what I mean.”
>
“She knows. Once when Levis was up here, he let it slip. Then she asked me about you and I told her I’d asked you to marry me, but you were having none of that from me. Told her you ran off to California and married some exotic fellow from Central America.”
I laughed. “Well, it wasn’t quite like that.”
Moe laughed too. “Well, seemed that way to me. Why are you asking about Myrtis now?”
“It’s just that she seems so uncomfortable around me. I’ve tried to talk to her, but she pretty much has nothing to say.”
“She’s intimidated by you, Cassie, and why shouldn’t she be? She’s heard a lot about you.”
“Good things, I hope.”
“Always good from me.”
We reached the towering blue spruce and stopped. The tree’s branches were laden with the morning’s snow. I walked around the tree, touching the softness of its new, blue-green needles. “I love this old tree,” I said. “Reminds me of trees down home. Not the same kind, but just that feeling of beauty, of something grand.”
“I know what you mean,” said Moe.
I rejoined Moe, still standing on the walkway. “You know you were stupid to come back here. You can’t keep taking these risks, Moe.”
“So I’ve been told.”
“You have any idea how they tracked you down?”
“I’ve been thinking a lot on that. Back when Maynard and Levis were here in the summer, they ran into this fella they knew from Strawberry who was up in Detroit visiting some of his people. Ran into him right in my neighborhood. Fella asked them what they were doing in Detroit and they told him they were doing same as him, visiting folks they knew. They told me about it and that they didn’t know this fella too well, but they’d heard he’s one of these Negroes likes to talk a bit too much to white folks. Well, I didn’t think much about it at the time, but I’m thinking since then that this fella might have gone back and told some of those white folks in Strawberry about Maynard and Levis being here and whereabout he had seen them. Police down there could have contacted police here, and they got to checking around the neighborhood, found out about me and where I work.” Moe’s brow wrinkled to a frown. “You know, I changed my last name, Cassie, when I came up here, but I never changed my name from Moe. . . .” He was silent a moment. “That was stupid.”
All the Days Past, All the Days to Come Page 30