Read Let the Circle Be Unbroken Online

Authors: Mildred D. Taylor

Tags: #Juvenile Fiction, #People & Places, #United States, #General, #Fiction

Let the Circle Be Unbroken (3 page)

BOOK: Let the Circle Be Unbroken
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“And we whippin’ the pants off ’em too, Papa,” boasted Little Man.

“That a fact?”

“Yes, sir!” grinned Christopher-John, still jubilant over having claimed one of Son-Boy’s marbles for his own.

“Well, I think y’all best give Son-Boy and Don Lee’s marbles back to them.”

“But, Papa,” I protested, “we won ’em fair!”

Papa motioned toward the marbles. “Son-Boy, you and Don Lee take your marbles.”

Christopher-John, Little. Man, and I regarded Papa with dismay as Son-Boy and Don Lee joyfully scooped up the marbles which rightfully belonged to us.

“What ’bout them?” Papa asked concerning the three remaining marbles on the ground.

“They’re ours,” I answered.

“Then give ’em here.”

I gathered up the marbles and gave all of them, including the one in my hand, to Papa, who deposited them in his coat pocket. “All right, go get in the wagon. We going now.”

Once we had said good-bye to Mrs. Lee Annie and the Ellises and had started home again, Papa said, “I don’t want y’all playing marbles no more.”

Little Man, Christopher-John, and I stared aghast at Papa. Stacey, however, showed no concern. Since he now considered himself above such childish games as marble playing, he no doubt felt the edict didn’t affect him one way or the other.

“I seen it lead too many times to gambling, and that gambling’s like a sickness, a terrible thing. Can destroy a person. Anytime you take possession of somebody else’s things through a game, there’s usually gonna be hard feelings. Now, that marble shooting might go on perfectly all right for a while, then one day somebody’ll get mad ’bout losing, or cheating, or something, and there’ll be trouble. Then again somebody’ll decide winning marbles ain’t enough, and they’ll start betting money and you into gambling.”

“But, Papa,” I protested, “we wasn’t doin’ nothin’ wrong.”

“Not now, Cassie girl, and I don’t want you to either. That’s why I want y’all to leave this marble playing alone. There’s plenty of other games to play.”

“But Papa—”

“There ain’t no changing my mind about it, so you just might as well make up yours to the fact you’ve played your last game of marbles. You decide otherwise, you know what I’m gonna have to do, don’t you?”

“Yessir,” all three of us murmured with a noticeable lack of enthusiasm. Although I knew perfectly well that Papa
would whip us good if he found out we’d been shooting marbles again, the whole thing made no sense to me. We hadn’t been gambling and I for one had no intention of doing so. There was nothing I loved more than a good game of marbles. And I was good at playing them too, better than most anybody, including Son-Boy. I hated the thought of giving up the game, but I knew as well as Christopher-John and Little Man did that Papa had meant what he’d indicated about the whipping. There were no if’s, and’s, or but’s about that.

*   *   *

It was Son-Boy who started it all. There I was sitting in Sunday school with my Bible verse firmly planted upon my lips when he pulled out the emerald-blue marble and started flashing it to all the boys and girls securely hidden by the first row of students. Rolling it between his thumb and forefinger, he had every marble addict present drooling over his prize. But true to his word, he allowed no one to touch it but himself. Finally, unable to stand it any longer, I whispered to Little Man beside me, “I’m gonna get that thing.”

Christopher-John, sitting on the other side of Little Man, turned toward me horrified. “C-Cassie, you can’t! You know what Papa said!”

“I gotta have it.”

“I betcha you gonna have a whippin’ too,” predicted Little Man.

“Maybe so, Papa find out, but I gotta figure out a way for Son-Boy to let go of that marble. Maybe—”

“Cassie?”

It was Mrs. Lettie Love, the elementary Sunday school teacher.

I stood quickly. “Yes’m?”

“You learn your Bible verse for the week?”

“Yes’m. ‘Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor’s house or anything that is thy neighbor’s,’ “I said dutifully without a moment’s guilt.

Mrs. Love smiled, happy that one of her students had learned her verse so well. I sat down smiling too as I stared down the row at Son-Boy. He might as well get in his last few minutes of glory with that marble, because I planned for it to be mine within the hour.

Immediately after Sunday school Little Man and I found Maynard Wiggins and Henry Johnson, who had kept marbles jiggling in their pockets since school had begun, and put a proposition to them. If they would put up their marbles against Son-Boy’s ten, I would do the shooting with the promise that if I began to miss, Maynard or Henry could take over to recoup their losses. If I won, they would each be richer by the number of marbles they’d put up. If I lost, then that was just the chance we took. All I wanted from the deal was Son-Boy’s emerald-blue.

As we were making our plans, Joe McCalister wandered over carrying Son-Boy’s sister’s baby. Joe was a short, bandylegged man with a face that could have been twenty or forty. There was just no telling what age he was by looking at him. Big Ma said that was because he didn’t have any worries to speak of, and folks with no worries didn’t show their age much.

“What y’all younguns up to?” he asked.

“Nothin’, Joe,” I said. Everybody called him Joe.

“Y’all see this child here,” he said, indicating Doris Anne, who was almost two years old. “She sho’ like ole Joe.”

“That’s nice,” I said, just wanting him to go so we could get on with the business at hand.

“Her mama always askin’ me to look out for her. Her papa too. They know ole Joe take good care of her.”

“Yeah . . . well . . . ain’t that her mama callin’ for her now?” asked Henry.

Joe stood still, cocking his head toward the church. “Didn’t hear nothin’,” he said.

“Thought I did,” said Henry.

“I better go check.”

“Yeah, maybe you better.”

Joe walked off a little way, then stopped. “Gots to ring that bell come church time. They ’pends on me for that, ya know.”

“Yeah, that’s nice, Joe,” I said.

“Now,” said Maynard as soon as Joe had gone on his way, “Son-Boy ain’t gonna hardly put up that emerald-blue.”

“Yes he will,” I said with confidence.

“How you know?” questioned Henry. “And how you know he gonna wanna play anyhow?”

“’Cause he greedy, that’s why! Look, y’all gonna give me your marbles or not? We only got half an hour to church time.”

Maynard and Henry went off for a short conference, then came back agreed that they would risk their fortunes on me. We decided that it would be best for them to make the arrangements with Son-Boy. As they hurried off, I hollered after them, “Tell him he’s gotta play all ten. It won’t be no good ’less he play all of ’em . . . and don’t say nothin’ ’bout playing that emerald-blue. You do, he probably won’t play.”

Christopher-John, who had stood disapprovingly apart from these troubling proceedings, hurried over and tried to make me see the folly of my ways. “Cassie, Papa gonna skin you alive sure, he find out—ya know that? What’s the matter with you, anyway? You gone crazy?”

He certainly had a point; but not even the thought of Papa’s belt could turn me from the course I had set for
myself. That emerald-blue had a nasty hold on me, and if I could just get my hands on it, I promised myself and God that I’d never shoot marbles again. And perhaps, if luck was with me, Papa would never even have to know I’d disobeyed him.

Soon Maynard and Henry returned. The deal was set. We would meet Son-Boy down by the fallen tree about five minutes deep into the woods.

“What!” exclaimed Little Man, not too pleased about the chosen site. To reach the fallen tree we had to scurry through some pretty heavy growth, and chances of a stain were great. Little Man was a most particular boy when it came to his clothes, his school materials, his anything. He frowned down at his immaculate jacket, pants and shoes, then at Henry and Maynard, and demanded, “Couldn’t y’all find no place better’n that?”

“Can’t play no closer to the church,” replied Maynard. “Y’all goin’ or not?”

“Yeah, we goin’,” I said, hurrying toward the middle-grades class building. The path leading into the woods was behind it.

Little Man, deciding that too much was at stake to remain behind, followed with Maynard and Henry. Christopher-John pulled up the rear shouting warnings that not only was Papa going to get us but God too.

“Why don’t you jus’ go on back and stop bothering me?” I told him when we reached the fallen tree where Son-Boy and Don Lee, along with Curtis Henderson, were already gathered.

“Y’all come too!”

“Not till I get that emerald-blue,” I whispered.

Pushing my coat out of the way, I dug into my dress pocket, the only useful feature in an uncomfortable garment,
and pulled out the marbles Maynard and Henry had placed in my keeping. Then I settled down on my haunches trying to keep my dress from dragging in the dirt.

The battle began.

Luck was with Son-Boy. He got first shot, then immediately captured three of our men. Nervously, I made my shot and missed.

“Cassie!” cried Maynard, as he and Henry scowled down at their rapidly dwindling marbles. Their faith in me was quickly ebbing.

Son-Boy laughed. “Didn’t y’all know couldn’t no girl be good as me?” He shot again, but this time his shot marble hit nothing.

“Serve ya right,” judged Little Man.

I went for my turn feeling the perspiration trickling down my arms despite the chilliness of the day. But before I could shoot, Maynard grabbed my arm. “Better let me shoot,” he decided.

I snatched my arm from his grasp and, before he or Henry could object, shot and connected. After that, the game was mine. I sent the last of Son-Boy’s marbles hurtling into our hands, then sat back on my ankles and stared across at Son-Boy, who looked as if he did not quite realize he had just been wiped out. Meanwhile, Little Man, Maynard, Henry, and yes, Christopher-John, too, were whooping it up at our victory.

“Would y’all shut up!” I demanded. It was almost time for the bell to ring and there was still the matter of the emerald-blue. Immediately, everyone hushed.

“Look here, Son-Boy,” I said, “to tell you the truth, I hate to see you wiped out like this. I mean, seeing Russell just give you them marbles.”

I grew thoughtfully quiet as Son-Boy’s face began to show signs of hope at my sympathetic attitude.

“I tell you what,” I said when I felt he was appropriately hopeful enough to hear my next statement. “If you want, we’ll give you a chance to win all your marbles back, plus ours, with one shot—”

“Now hold on just a minute there, Cassie!” cried Maynard with Henry backing him up. Already they were dividing the marbles and had forgotten that I still did not have what I had come after.

I cut my eyes at them, copying the look Papa gave people when he was angry or deadly serious. Both Maynard and Henry grew silent.

“But—but I ain’t got nothin’ to shoot ’gainst,” said Son-Boy.

“You got your emerald-blue.”

Son-Boy’s lower jaw dropped.

“You win,” I propositioned, “you get to keep it. Not only that, but you’ll have twenty other marbles jiggling in your pocket. What we’ll do is both shoot for the emerald-blue. First one knocks it beyond the outer circle gets it.” I inhaled deeply as I made my final ploy. “I’ll even let you go first.”

Little Man and Christopher-John looked at me in pure disbelief; Henry and Maynard just looked sick.

Son-Boy considered.

All was quiet.

He pulled the emerald-blue from his pocket and whirled it around in his palm.

The emerald-blue was almost mine, yet I couldn’t help but feel sorry for Son-Boy. In a few minutes he had lost almost all of his treasure, and if he was the boy I thought he was, he would risk the rest of it to try and get it back.
But if he’d just use his head, he could keep the most precious part; the rest of the marbles were nothing compared to what he held in his hand. I decided that if Son-Boy played the emerald-blue, he was a fool.

“Okay,” he said, placing the marble on the line of the inner circle.

Papa had been right. If gambling was anything like shooting marbles, then it was a sickness. But then, I hadn’t totally used good sense either—risking one of Papa’s no-nonsense whippings for a piece of glass. Maybe I was as big a fool as Son-Boy.

“Go on,” I said. “Shoot.”

Son-Boy nervously licked his lips and shot.

He missed.

I didn’t.

“Ya done it, Cassie! Ya done it!” cried Little Man and Christopher-John, slapping me on my shoulders as I reached out to claim my prize.

Tenderly caressing the emerald-blue between my fingers, I held it toward the sun. It was a beautiful thing.

“We’d better get back,” Christopher-John reminded us. “That bell’s gonna start ringing.”

We all jumped up, dusting each other off. Only Little Man had no need to dust; he’d seen to that.

Son-Boy, his face long, glanced at me and the emerald-blue with sad, vacant eyes and hurried on with Don Lee. I hadn’t liked the feeling of that look. Son-Boy was my friend. Nevertheless, with the marble cradled possessively in my hand, I didn’t have time to think about Son-Boy now. I couldn’t help it if he was a fool. I hurried with Little Man and Christopher-John after Henry and Maynard, and we emerged from the forest happily assessing our victory.

It was then that our luck ran out. Standing near the middle-grades class building was Papa.

I looked at Christopher-John and Little Man. They looked at me. Then all of us looked at Papa.

“Come on over,” he said.

Papa’s eyes searched us slowly once we were standing before him, then he nodded toward my fist tightly clenching the marble. “You got there what I think you got?”

I swallowed hard, twice, trying to wet my throat. Papa’s eyes were steadfast. “Y-yes, sir.” There was no use denying it. I only wondered how he had known.

“Uh-huh,” said Papa. “Well, then, I s’pose you’d best be giving it back to whoever you got it from, don’t you?”

“Yes, sir, Papa.”

“Now, let’s get on back to church. Service’s ’bout ready to start.”

Papa didn’t mention anything about a whipping, but then again he didn’t need to. What Papa promised, Papa gave. And one other thing was certain too: Our marble playing days were now over.

BOOK: Let the Circle Be Unbroken
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