Let the Circle Be Unbroken (38 page)

I made up my mind.

Leaving the pallet, I crossed over to the door and went into Mama and Papa’s room, where the adults still sat before the low-burning fire. They looked up at my entrance and Mama said, “Cassie, what’re you doing up?”

“I been thinkin’—”

“Oh?”

“Been thinkin’ ’bout Miz Lee Annie and her goin’ to register. . . . I wanna go with her.”

Mama glanced at Papa, then back at me. “Why, Cassie?”

I frowned, trying to think of the best way to say what I was feeling. “Well, I figure me and Miz Lee Annie, we been in this constitution-reading business together since she got them books of hers. And she done told me ’bout her papa and all and how powerful much she wanna vote . . . well, I jus’ figure I oughta be goin’ with her.” I hesitated, then added, “’Sides, I’m kinda interested in the law and all.”

Big Ma muttered something I could not hear and shook her head. Everyone else was silent, looking at me. Finally Papa said, “Cassie, sugar, that’s right admirable, your way of thinkin’, but what Miz Lee Annie’s ’bout to do is a dangerous thing. Your mama and me, we don’t even know if we goin’ yet.”

“Well, Papa, you decide on goin’, can I go?”

Papa rubbed his hand over his head, taking several moments before he answered. “That’s gonna call for some serious thinking, Cassie.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Best now you be gettin’ on back to bed.”

I said good night again and went into my room. But I didn’t go to my pallet. Instead I curled up in the rocker in
front of the bedroom fireplace and listened to the talk on the other side of the wall.

“Y’all ain’t gonna give no thought to this, are ya?” Uncle Hammer said before I was even settled. “It’d be crazy for any of us to go and pure foolishness to take Cassie.”

“Lord, jus’ the thought of what could happen,” Big Ma said. “Gives me pure fright . . .”

“I know,” said Mama softly. “Still—”

“Still what?” questioned Uncle Hammer. “You jus’ heard Mr. Morrison here tellin’ us ’bout that lynching up ’round Tupelo jus’ a year ’fore he come here, and that was ’bout some Negro trying to vote. This whole idea is crazy and it’ll jus’ end in trouble.”

“Maybe. But you know how smart Cassie is. This thing she’s wanting to do, it could be something she
needs
to see.”

“Mary!” Big Ma exclaimed. “You ain’t thinkin’—”

“I don’t know, Mama. David . . . I’ve just got a feeling. I’m just as scared as anybody about walking up to that registrar’s office talking about voting. But I’ve got this feeling. Cassie’s seen so much . . . learned so much about what it means to be black in these past few years. She’s nearly witnessed a lynching. She’s seen a boy sentenced to death. . . . This thing Mrs. Lee Annie wants to do, it’s foolish perhaps, but it’s something to be proud of too. If Cassie witnessed it, it could just mean a lot to her one day.”

“Lord . . .” Big Ma mumbled.

“David, what you got to say ’bout all this?” Uncle Hammer demanded.

Papa let out a troubled sigh, but didn’t answer right away. When he did speak, I leaned forward, anxiously waiting to hear. “’Bout Miz Lee Annie goin’ to register, there ain’t nothin’ I can do ’bout that. ’bout any of us goin’, I’m gonna have to think it through—”

“And ’bout Cassie?”

There was a long silence.

“I don’t know yet, Hammer,” Papa said at last. “Right now I jus’ don’t know. . . .”

*   *   *

On the third day after Christmas a car pulled into the driveway, and unexpectedly Cousin Bud stepped out. Led by Mama, we rushed outside to greet him, and a few minutes later he was seated in front of the fire with Suzella across from him. Suzella seemed glad enough to see her father, but she was very quiet, watching him, waiting, as if she knew why he had come.

“David home?” Cousin Bud asked, turning to Mama. “Mr. Morrison?”

“They went over to Smellings Creek on some business. Hammer’s with them. They should be back shortly.”

Cousin Bud looked uneasy. “You say Hammer’s here? Well, then, I won’t be staying. Ya know, him and me, we don’t much see eye to eye.”

“Don’t worry about Hammer,” Mama said.

Cousin Bud smiled, somewhat embarrassed, then we started talking of all that had happened in our lives. He shook his head sadly as we talked about Stacey, and looked at me in genuine concern as he learned more about my illness. For more than an hour he sat by the fire with us. Then suddenly he stood, saying he wanted to stretch his legs after the long drive, and asked Mama to go walking with him. Mama looked a bit puzzled when he did not extend the invitation to Suzella; after all, Cousin Bud had not seen his daughter in more than six months.

“All right, Bud,” she said, and the two of them went out.

When Mama returned alone, Suzella seemed not at all surprised to learn that Cousin Bud was waiting to talk to her
down by the pond. She simply nodded, put on her coat, and went out. Then Mama told us why Cousin Bud had come. He and Suzella’s mother were getting a divorce and Cousin Bud was here to take Suzella home.

Christopher-John, Little Man, and I stared at Mama and said nothing. Suzella had come to mean a lot to Christopher-John and Little Man, and at that moment I realized she had come to mean a lot to me too. Since Stacey had gone, I hadn’t even thought about her leaving.

“When they goin’?” Big Ma quietly asked.

“Bud wanted to leave tonight because of Hammer being here, but I talked him into staying until tomorrow. I figure Suzella’ll need at least that much time to pack and say goodbye to folks.”

Outside we heard a car pull into the drive and Christopher-John said, “Papa and them’s back.”

Big Ma got up and walked slowly across the room. “’Spect I’d best get them dresses Suzella done washed and iron ’em up for her ’fore I start supper.” She stopped at the dining room door and looked around. “Lord, I’m gonna sho’ miss that child . . . sho is. . . .” Then she turned and went into the kitchen.

A short while later, Suzella was packing. “You know, I don’t really want to go,” she said as she pulled her dresses from the chiffonier. “This seems more like home now than New York.” She looked around the room and was thoughtful.

I folded a sweater for her and carefully placed it in the suitcase. “I’m sorry ’bout your folks. ’bout them gettin’ a divorce and all.”

Suzella shook her head. “I’m not, not really. I knew it was coming.”

“Which one you gonna stay with?”

She didn’t look at me. “My mother.”

I didn’t say anything.

She glanced at me, her look somewhat guilty, and continued to pack. “It’ll be easier for me, Cassie, if I stay with my mother.”

“I guess.” I shrugged. “You wantin’ to be white so bad.”

“Cassie . . . please don’t start that.”

I sighed. “I wish you could stay.”

“Thought you couldn’t wait for me to leave,” she laughed.

“Well . . . you kinda grew on me.”

“You kind of grew on me too. All of you. I only wish . . .” She didn’t finish.

“What?”

Noisily she wrapped a shoe in newspaper to cover the cracking of her voice. “That Stacey had gotten back before I left.” She stopped and met my eyes. “When he comes back again, give him a big hug for me and tell him . . . tell him I really missed him.”

I handed her the other shoe. “I promise,” I said, looking away. Then, feeling a new loneliness at the thought of her leaving too, I went around the bed and hugged her tightly, something I had thought I would never do. When everything was packed, we joined Christopher-John and Little Man sitting on the front porch.

“Suzella, ain’t there no way you can stay?” said Christopher-John.

“You heard Mama,” I said sullenly. “She can’t stay.”

“I know,” he admitted.

“But I wish I could.”

Little Man looked around at her. “We gonna miss you, Suzella,” he said and quickly looked away again.

Suzella bit her lower lip and wiped at her eyes. Then she
stooped down between them and put an arm around each one. “I’ll be back though,” she promised. “Stacey and I, we’ll both be back.”

Christopher-John rubbed the back of his hand across his nose and nodded to the road. “Truck coming,” he announced in a husky voice.

A few moments later a truck turned into the driveway. Mr. Tate Sutton and Charlie Simms got out. Jeremy was with them. Christopher-John hopped up immediately and ran inside. “Papa, there’s some white men out here,” he said. By the time Mr. Sutton, Mr. Simms, and Jeremy got to the steps, Papa and Uncle Hammer were on the porch; Christopher-John slipped back out behind them. Jeremy nodded at us, and Mr. Sutton said, “David. Hammer.”

Papa and Uncle Hammer nodded their greeting; an awkward silence followed. Then Mr. Sutton, who obviously had been elected to do the talking, spoke up. “I s’pose y’all done heard the union’s getting started up again.”

“Union?” Papa said, as if he had never heard the word.

Mr. Sutton nodded. “That’s right. One Morris Wheeler got started.”

Papa was silent, feigning ignorance. Uncle Hammer stood several feet behind him, leaning against the house, allowing Papa to do the talking.

“One got ended when Morris Wheeler got burnt out. . . . They say he’s back, by the way. You had heard that, hadn’t you?”

“I can’t say that I have.”

“You jus’ don’t know nothin’, now, do you?” said Mr. Simms, a sour look on his face.

Jeremy shot his father a disapproving glance. Mr. Sutton rushed on, not giving Papa time to answer. “Well, we come
now ’cause we know things only gonna get worse. Can’t figure on nothin’ much gettin’ better after what happened over at the Walker place yesterday—”

“Maybe he don’t know ’bout that neither,” interrupted Mr. Simms with a sarcastic snarl.

Mr. Sutton looked irritably over his shoulder at Mr. Simms, then returned his attention to Papa. “The Walkers putting twelve of their families off the land—white and colored.”

“Mostly white—”

“Say they can’t make no money with a quarter of the land fallow. Say the families have to go ’fore the week’s out. We figure the Walkers can do that, then so can Mr. Granger, Mr. Montier, Mr. Harrison, anybody. So some of us been talkin’ and we figure it’s time to get the union back on its feet.” He paused, looking embarrassed. “Come too ’cause we figure maybe Mr. Wheeler was right ’bout colored farmers . . . ’bout colored farmers being a part of it.”

“I see,” Papa said.

“Hope you do,” said Mr. Sutton. “You get the colored in this thing and we can get to moving with it. Do some standing up for ourselves. Keep this kinda thing from happening to the rest of us.”

Papa stood in silence; Mr. Sutton and Mr. Simms and Jeremy waited. Then Papa said, “I ’spect y’all wanna get the union goin’, then you best talk to the folks sharecropping on plantation land.”

“We figures to do that,” said Mr. Sutton. “But we also figured Mr. Wheeler mos’ likely started with you, best we do the same.”

Papa did not confirm having ever spoken to Mr. Wheeler and Mr. Sutton did not press him about it, but he did try to get Papa to commit himself to talking to other black farmers
in the community. Papa, however, committed himself to nothing, including ever having even heard of the union. Finally Mr. Sutton gave up and started away. “We gonna have us a meeting come another week,” he said in a parting attempt to gain Papa’s alliance. “You remember that.”

“Come on, Tate,” Mr. Simms ordered brusquely. “I never did like the idea of beggin’ no nigger—”

Mr. Sutton shook his head and walked back to the car, with Mr. Simms following. Jeremy turned to go with them, then stopped and looked back at us. “Any word?” he asked.

I shook my head. “No word.”

Jeremy’s lips parted as if he wanted to say more, but he left without speaking again, probably not even realizing his eyes had said it all.

Uncle Hammer and Papa watched the truck pull away, then went back into the house. A few minutes later Cousin Bud came out and said that if Suzella still wanted to say good-bye to Mrs. Lee Annie, we had better get started. Christopher-John, Little Man, and I decided to go with them.

At Mrs. Lee Annie’s, Russell said, “You know, I was kinda planning on trying to get you to talk to me a little bit.” He teased a smile from Suzella. “’Fraid I don’t have no chocolates though.”

“You don’t need any.”

“You encouraging me then?”

Suzella seemed embarrassed. “Where’s Wordell? I was hoping I’d get a chance to see him.”

“No telling. But I’ll tell him you said good-bye.”

“I didn’t really get to know him.”

“Few people do.”

“But I like him.”

“I’m glad.”

“By the way, Cassie,” Russell said, turning my way, “tell your folks that if they decide to go on into Strawberry with Mama Lee next week, then we’d be obliged to go with them. Cousin Page won’t let us take the wagon. Cousin Leora say she’ll be going and I’ll be going. Y’all don’t go, then tell your papa I’ll be speaking to him ’bout borrowing the wagon.”

“All right,” I said.

“Well, here we is,” announced Mrs. Lee Annie proudly as she stepped back from her cabinets, where she had been searching the last several minutes. She had a jar in each hand. “Got some pickled beets for ya and some crackling. Wants ya to have some of these here pickled cucumbers, onions, and tomato preserves too, ya liked ’em so much.”

Suzella smiled and shook her head, speechless. Russell nudged her. “Ain’t she something?”

“Oh, yes,” Suzella agreed, looking into his eyes. “Something mighty fine.”

For a moment their eyes were fixed on each other. Then Russell said: “You wanna see Wordell ’fore you go, I got an idea where he went off to. You want, we can go check.”

Suzella glanced over at Cousin Bud, engaged in hearty conversation with Mrs. Lee Annie, and got up. Half an hour later when Cousin Bud decided it was time to go and Suzella and Russell hadn’t come back, I was sent to get them. As I ran outside I saw them coming up the trail from the Little RosaLee. I was about to call out to them when to my surprise Russell turned Suzella to him and kissed her. Suzella allowed the kiss, then looking confused pulled from him and ran back to the house.

“Cousin Bud said he’s ready to go,” I told her as she hurried past me. Hardly looking at me, she nodded and went inside.