Nobody Said Amen (26 page)

Billings was beginning to look at the road ahead, feeling excited but sad. “I’m going back to Washington and law school. But I’m feeling guilty as hell about leaving.”

Mendelsohn nodded. “You’re not alone. I never felt so bad about wrapping a story and moving on.” Jimmy Mack arrived, slogging through the mud, arm in arm with Eula, soaked to the skin and laughing. It was Eula who broke the news.

“We’re getting married! Mr. Williams is going to do the honors at the church on Sunday after Rennie finishes her teaching at the Sunday School.” She grinned, “Dale, you’re going to be the best man.”

Mendelsohn took Eula in his arms and kissed her. It was a nice finish for his story. Or was it a finish? What the hell was it about this forsaken part of the world that grabbed hold so hard and bothered his sleep? He shook his head to clear it and said, “It calls for a celebration! And Max Miller is taking us all to lunch.”

They drove through the wet to Billy’s Chili. Z embraced Eula and then Jimmy when she heard the news. “Billy, we’re invited to the wedding! We’ll close up after Saturday night. How wonderful!”

“We’ll bring the cake,” Billy said. “Tell your boss, Max, he’s ordering the booze.” He looked out at the drenched and deserted street, pulled down the shade, and locked the door to close the place. “What do you like to eat?”

When they finished the ribs, the greens, and the sweet potato pie, Z brought in the Chianti and the toasts were made. Dale Billings raised his glass.

“To Eula, who must be the bravest or dumbest woman in the world. And to Jimmy, who’s about to find out!”

Z said, “To Eula and James:
Buona fortuna
and a
buono viaggio
for many many happy years! Ciao!”

Mendelsohn clinked his glass with theirs. “This is the unlikeliest courtship I’ve ever witnessed, and I intend to come back and report on the sequel. On behalf of brother Max and your humble servant, we wish you everything good.”

Jimmy took off his dark glasses and kissed his fiancée, a very public act for a very private person. Then he stood up.

“To Eula,” he said, “who’s going to Delta State in the fall and will make us proud, and who’s willing to let me tag along! I’m a lucky guy.”

It was Eula who had the last word. “To my Jimmy. To our Jimmy. We love you.”

By Saturday, the rains had passed, and the whole Delta seemed to breathe deep, watching the steam drifting from the fields. By Sunday, there was no trace in the parched earth that the rains had ever come. Luke haltingly walked the rows with Justin Mack, stooping often to reset the more fragile plants that had been ripped out by the torrents of the past week. Head bowed, Luke continued his desperate vigil, row after parched row, as Willy waited on the step of the porch. She watched as Luke finally left the field with Justin. Together, they stared across the land until the old man turned away, lightly touched Luke’s shoulder, and shuffled toward home. As the light began to fade, Luke made his way to Willy on the porch. He never uttered a sound or raised his head when he settled heavily beside her. It was dark when she gently took his hand and led him into the house. There would be no crop this season.

The wedding celebration for Jimmy and Eula went on through the sun-embroidered afternoon. Rennie Williams and the ladies outdid themselves, for the last time, with platters of chicken, fried catfish, okra, all the fixings, and gallons of iced tea. For the summer volunteers, it was like the Last Supper, something to be savored and remembered. The tenderness and love being expressed was so naked and unashamed that Mendelsohn wondered if he, the Shiloh families, and the volunteers would ever know its like again. Mixed with the laughter were lingering looks and embarrassed embraces of affection, saddened partings with dear friends they had never known when the summer was borning in Oxford. Their backpacks piled high, the volunteers waited for the Trailways bus that would lead them home to the rest of their lives.

Sharon clung to Mendelsohn’s legs, trying to keep him from leaving with the students. “Now, you stop that, honey,” said Rennie, blinking rapidly behind the cracked lenses of her glasses. “Ted’s going away for a while, but he’ll be coming back. Ain’t that so, Ted?”

Mendelsohn nodded, curling the child to his chest. “I’m not leaving yet, baby. And when I do, I’ll be coming back,” He watched the kids he had lived with, survived with, for three months on the black side of Highway 49, and tried to remember what they had been like back in Oxford. Who could have known? And who could have known that there were black Shiloh families like Rennie and Percy Williams who would dare so much to shelter and care for them? They had been strangers to his whole American existence, but would now be a treasured part of who he was. It was only after the bus had inched out into the highway that the wedding party reluctantly began to drift away.

The police cruiser was idling at the curb outside the churchyard. Leaning against the hood, Lonergan and Butler watched the crowd of townsfolk disperse, and remained silent until Jimmy, Eula, and Mendelsohn approached. Lonergan flipped his cigarette away and stepped in front of them.

“Mayor Burroughs sends his congratulations, Mack. Hopes you’ll have a happy life together. He told me you’re going to be working with the Washington people that are coming soon. Said you shouldn’t hesitate to call on him if there’s anything he can do to help.”

Eula’s hand tightened on Jimmy’s arm and her eyes widened, but she said nothing. Jimmy nodded. “Yeah. Well, tell Mayor Burroughs thanks, and I’ll be in touch . . .” His eyes flicked from Lonergan to Deputy Butler and held for a beat. “If this Negro needs him.”

When the police car pulled away from the curb, Jimmy grinned. “Just gave myself a wedding present, Mendelsohn.”

Ted grinned. “I’m sure you’ll enjoy it. Something to remember.”

Eula watched the police cruiser move down the highway. Her voice was pensive. “Something for Lonergan and Butler to remember, too.”

Jimmy turned to Mendelsohn. “I have to meet the HUD people in Jackson tomorrow. You want to ride down with me? I want to pick your brain. You’re my man in Washington, Ted. You know these kind of guys.”

Ted cocked his head and smiled. “You’ve got nothing to be nervous about. This is your turf, kid. You’ve earned it. You know more about this corner of the world than they do. But I can’t, Jimmy. Max is waiting on my wrap of Cheney’s funeral in Meridian before sending me to interview Mandela in Cape Town.” He shook his head, his eyes desolate. “All of this, this whole toxic, incredible summer, all—” His voice broke. “It’s just another story to Max. And when I get to see Mandela and write about the horrific apartheid in South Africa, all of it will be just another story for Max.” He shook his head, angry and frustrated. “And it’s not Max I’m frightened of. It’s me. I feel like the world is skidding past me, and all I can do is take notes”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself. You’ve been a lifeline for us, and a megaphone. We can’t do that ourselves.”

Ted blinked hard and searched Jimmy’s face. “I’ve gotten a hell of a lot more than I gave. I’ve gotten to know you, and Eula, and the Claybournes, and Rennie Williams, all the people I’ve come to know and care for in this American wilderness. Victims, heroes, and too many of them damaged or dead like Mickey and Andy and James.” He shrugged and cleared his throat. “But it’s just another story for Max, soon to be yesterday’s newspaper.”

Reverend Gladsome Neeley had seen Willy Claybourne at the Johnny Reb Day parade when he’d finished his invocation on the town green. It was the only such parade in the Delta, so folks showed up from all the cotton towns halfway to Jackson. She was there with her boys, Alex and Benny; the reverend had christened them both. Willy’s blond hair was tucked beneath a lavender sun hat that softly shadowed her face. No way to miss Wilson Claybourne. She moved with the quiet assurance of a beautiful woman who had always been beautiful. Gladsome and Willy had been friends since she had moved in with the Kilbrew family and started at Shiloh High. His mother had encouraged their friendship. “That child has seen more grief than a good Christian should ever know about, Glad. Be a good friend.” And his father had welcomed her into the Bible studies class at the church, knowing full well the girl had never been in a church before.

For the shy Gladsome, Willy had been his first real crush. When she found Luke Claybourne, it had been a terrible disappointment for him. Being 18, Gladsome bemoaned his luck and went off to the University of Virginia and then Yale Divinity School. The friendship with Willy had revived when he was summoned by his father to take over as his assistant pastor. One of his first duties upon succeeding his father at the pulpit was to marry Lucas and Willy Claybourne. Luke went to church only for weddings, christenings, and funerals, and never did understand Willy’s Sunday ritual of attendance. But for Willy, who longed for the ordinariness of a childhood that had been denied her, Sunday church filled some of that emptiness.

When the plantation had been lost, Luke seemed to be nearly drowning in frustration and guilt. Willy’s need for something or someone to sustain her led her to seek Gladsome’s counsel.

“I’ve never felt so helpless, Glad. I watch Luke leave for Parchman Penitentiary in the morning, and I think: I made him do that. And I weep once Alex goes off to school.”

“There will be better days, Willy. You and Luke are going to make it. You are there for each other.”

Her response was sodden. “I’ve never felt so alone.”

“Willy, you never were raised in the church, never known Jesus as part of your life. Church has been something social for you, like the Shiloh Club, like the PTA, just a place to be part of the community. Now you’ve been stripped of so much that was material. And you feel naked, but you’re not, Willy. Starting from now, you have a friend in Jesus. Every day.”

“How do I find Him, Glad?”

He had taken her hand and knelt. She blinked away the tears and knelt beside him. “Pray with me, Willy.”

When the student volunteers of Freedom Summer had arrived in Shiloh in June of 1964, Oscar Kilbrew was alarmed. He urged Rev. Neeley to convene an urgent meeting with the church Elders. Gladsome, noting the agitation in his caller, had readily consented, but asked his wife, Martha, to take notes and listen. He sensed it would not be an easy meeting. It was to take place at the elderly Kilbrew’s home.

Oscar, who had been a parishioner when Gladsome’s father was still the minister, nodded curtly to Gladsome and Martha as they entered his living room. “Good Evening, Martha, Gladsome. Since we’ve all known each other for a long time, I think it’s good if we have a frank exchange of views about this worrisome invasion of our town.”

Gladsome nodded. “I certainly agree, Oscar. It is worrisome.”

Kilbrew said, “If it’s worrisome, then everyone in town has got to do his part to deal with it. Do you agree?”

The minister sensed a tightening of tone in Kilbrew’s voice, and a nervous shifting among the five Elders. “Of course. The whole country is watching Magnolia County this summer, and Shiloh in particular. How we stand the spotlight will be a measure of our character.”

Kilbrew frowned. “Frankly, Gladsome, I think our problem may not be character as much as patriotism, fealty to our country and to our Mississippi.”

Neeley’s eyes widened. “What in the world are you suggesting, Mr. Kilbrew? That your minister is not patriotic?” His voice was so strident that Martha looked up hurriedly from her note taking. She could see the throbbing vein in her husband’s neck and the unusual flush on his face. His voice dropped. “I am certain you are not implying that. What is it you wish to discuss with me and the Elders?”

Kilbrew said, levelly, “I am questioning your judgment, not your patriotism, Reverend Neeley. I leave it to others to judge what is patriotic in these terrible times. My son, who runs the garage, has told me that a colored who works for him, and lives in the Sanctified Quarter, reports that a radical minister who is counseling these local Communists is planning to come to services on Sunday. At their meeting, the minister told the group that he had known you at the Divinity School at Yale and was certain that there would be no problem attending our Sunday services. He showed the group a picture of a rally at Yale celebrating the Brown v. Board of Education decision in 1955. You were on the podium.”

The room became still. Pale, Martha halted her writing and stared at her husband. Kilbrew’s voice broke the silence. “That was you?”

“It was, Mr. Kilbrew. The whole Divinity School felt it was an advance for our country toward solving racial segregation. I do believe that. It’s the law of the land, sir.”

“You believe that racial segregation should be abolished?”

Gladsome met his furious gaze. “I believe that every society must work to make the world that Jesus offered us. None of us are perfect. But it’s part of our task as Christians to help bring that world. I do not apologize for being on that podium.”

Kilbrew was on his feet now and the other Elders rose behind him. “Those radicals are not coming to our church. Not this Sunday. Not any Sunday. The minute they sit in our church, your contract will be nullified. You understand that?”

Gladsome stood and faced them. “This church is not your church, Oscar. And it is not my church. This is the Lord’s church, and as long as I am minister of His church it will be a welcome place for anyone coming to pray here.” He beckoned to the shaken Martha and when she joined him, he nodded to the Elders. “Good evening, gentlemen. I think we are done here.”

On Sunday, as Gladsome stood at the top of the steps welcoming his parishioners, he saw a knot of people cross the highway and start up the walk approaching the church. A white man in a suit, wearing a clerical collar, led four young black men and women and two white student volunteers to the base of the steps. The man waved and called, “It’s Bill Farley, Reverend Neeley! I haven’t seen you since New Haven. You have a pretty town, but it’s a whole lot warmer here than in Connecticut. If you don’t mind our perspiration, my friends and I have come to pray with you.”