The Girl on the Outside (11 page)

It was Ida who wiped up spills, kept their clothes clean, and cooked the best meals. It was Ida whose parties were always a success, and Ida who was there to nurse them through illnesses, and to share their trials and triumphs. Only once in twenty years had she refused to come in every day of the week. For that she was fired. A storm of fury swept the house when Sophia's father demanded that her mother call Ida back.

Now as Sophia stood there she looked at her mother, trying to see the woman who had resisted and lost, who finally, in tears had asked Ida to come back.

Just then, Ida turned and flashed a smile. “It's about time y' was up, lady.”

Sophia looked into Ida's black, almond-shaped eyes and at her dark, smooth-skinned face with its chiseled nose and well-shaped mouth.

Why hadn't she seen this exotic beauty in Ida before? Suddenly she realized that she knew nothing at all about this woman who had been in their household ever since she could remember, intimately bound up in her life. Surely Ida must know everything about her. Again she thought of Rod.

How could it be that she had not really seen Rod before? But she had seen him. He was there, to her, in the same way Grit was there. The way the tack room, the reins, and saddle were there—for her use, for her convenience.

Is that the way it was with Ida, too? No. She would not see Ida as one of
them
. She would not be afraid. She stood still, trembling, telling herself straighten up, walk past Ida, sit down at the table, and act natural.

“I didn't sleep at all. I'm exhausted,” she said falling into a chair at the table with her mother.

“Y' might be exhausted, but it sho' ain't from no lack of sleep,” Ida said and laughed.

“You calling me a liar?” Sophia shot back. She saw the surprised look on Ida's face, but she didn't care. She knew there was no cause for the anger rising in her. Still she let it take control. “How'd you know whether or not I slept?”

“Y' was either sleep or playin' a mighty good game at it when I was in y' room this mornin',” Ida said matter-of-factly as she prepared a plate with waffles and bacon for Sophia.

“And what were you doing in my room?” Sophia asked angrily.

“I asked her to get your dress and press it,” her mother said. “Now you behave yourself.”

Ida set the plate before Sophia.

“I refuse to eat waffles without syrup,” Sophia said without looking up.

When Ida placed the syrup on the table, she left the kitchen.

“You don't walk out while I'm talking to you,” Sophia shouted after Ida.

“Sophia!” her mother said.

“Come back here this minute, Ida,” Sophia screamed.

“Sophia, now stop that nonsense,” her mother said softly but firmly, when it was clear Ida was not coming back.

“Who does she think she is, calling me a liar.”

“What is wrong with you? Ida was in no way hostile to you.”

A voice on the radio interrupted the music with a news bulletin:

The superintendent of schools has announced that the nine Negro students scheduled to enroll at Chatman will not report this morning. I repeat … will
not
report.… All other students are expected to attend school as scheduled.

Sophia's anger left her no energy to hail the bulletin as good news. She was so overwhelmed the food turned her stomach, and she pushed away from the table, feeling weak. The stairs were difficult, but she made it to her room determined that if Ida were there she would invite her out.

Alone, she sat on her bed trying to understand what was happening to her. Her world was sharply divided between whites and coloreds. It had always been that way. It was supposed to be that way. “But why didn't I know it?” she asked aloud. Why didn't someone prepare me for all of this?

A knock on the door made her freeze. Her heart pounded and her palms were clammy with sweat. It's Ida. What will I say to her?
Don't let her in
. Finally she answered, “Yes.”

“I brought your dress,” her mother said. “May I come in?”

“Come on.”

The soft white shantung skirt and brown chiffon blouse with large white dots were pressed to perfection. Sophia remembered how she had asked Ida to help her choose a dress for the first day of school. They had chosen that one, and Ida had not forgotten. Suddenly the anger returned in full force. Tossing the garments aside she said, “I'll not wear this today.”

She charged into the closet to make another choice. Everything seemed out of place. The heat compounded her frustration and futility as she rummaged through the clothes. She breathed a sigh of relief when the door closed on her mother's departure.

It was now seven-thirty. Five outfits were scattered over the room and still she couldn't decide on one. Why am I acting this way, she asked herself as she picked up the outfit Ida had pressed. It was, by far, the nicest. Why not wear it? No, she told herself, flinging the skirt aside.
Ida must not be in control of my life. No longer will I be dependent on her
.

Finally, she settled upon a multicolored, striped cotton dress and rushed into the shower.

Later, as she hurriedly put on the dress, she remembered, to her dismay, it was much too long and too big. Cinching a belt tightly at her waist, she glanced at herself in the mirror. She hated the way she looked, but now she had no time to change.

As she did her hair, the phone rang. She thought of Arnold and grimaced.

“It's for you,” her mother called.

Terribly excited, she almost tripped over her feet as she bounded down the stairs. It was Marsha. To avoid missing one another, they agreed to meet in the gym at first period.

Hurt and disappointed, she dashed up to her room. The face that looked back at her from the mirror did not invite a pleasant smile, but Sophia tried. It was no use. She concluded that if the way she looked and felt was any indication of what her day would be, she was doomed.

Sophia held her purse and notebook on her lap, as her mother maneuvered through the unusually crowded streets. Cars from out of state, mostly Louisiana and Mississippi, were everywhere. The heat was stifling and the glare from the bright sun hurt Sophia's eyes. Wet with sweat, she felt weak, not only from the heat but also from not having eaten. Yet the choking fullness, the lump in her throat, refused to go away.

Her mother kept her eye on traffic, looking calm and poised. The unbothered manner made Sophia uneasy; she wanted to scream at her mother, “Help me!” Instead she said, “I wish I never had to go to Chatman again.”

“I know how you feel, dear. But I wish you wouldn't worry so.”

That response gave Sophia courage. She detected no pity in her mother's attitude, but a feeling of alliance. She had expected some chastisement and was surprised but grateful that her mother understood.

“How can I help worrying?” she said, not looking at her mother.

“Your father is doing all he can to help the governor, legally, to avoid this.”

“But what can be done?”

“Be patient, dear, at least until the judge announces his decision today. I have hope. I don't think he'd dare undo our way of life.”

Her mother's words made her happy. There was still hope. And maybe the soldiers were there to protect them as Burt had said. Actually, who were the outsiders? She wished she could be sure.

By the time they came within two blocks of Chatman, traffic had slowed to a crawl. The heat in the car was unbearable. Sophia decided to walk. She was amazed by the crowds on the street leading to the school. Sophia had never seen so many people, even on days of the most popular school events.

Newsmen pushed in the crowd. National television crews, with cameras in hand, were all over the place. The crowd was tense but mostly quiet. As Sophia neared the building, she saw the soldiers spread in a line covering the front, their bayoneted rifles by their sides. Her heartbeat quickened and she flushed with anger.

A tap on her shoulder forced Sophia around. It was Burt. Beside him was a young man with a light, reddish-brown beard. His brown eyes twinkled as he smiled at Sophia.

Burt introduced her. She noticed the name, Per Laursen, Denmark News Service, on the badge the young man wore. When Burt announced the name, Sophia smiled and said, “Welcome to Mossville.”

“Thanks,” he said. “Knowing your brother, I guess it's safe to assume you're in accord with Negroes coming to your school.”

Sophia looked at Burt. The beaming smile on his face when he had introduced her as his sister was still there. She wanted him to remain as proud of her as he seemed, standing beside this newsman from a foreign country. For the first time ever she felt ashamed of what she thought about Negroes coming to Chatman. But she would not lie. She gave a little laugh. “My brother always told me good newsmen
never
assume. They search for and find the facts.”

“Give me the facts, Sophia,” Per said, laughing.

“Ask my brother,” she said and darted through the crowd into the well-guarded building.

Compared to the crowd outside, the building seemed deserted. Sophia suddenly felt sad and alone. What if the white students didn't come? She made her way toward the gym to meet Marsha. She recognized no one about. Where was everybody? She thought of that crowd outside, of Burt and his foreign friend.

The shame she had felt when asked the question rose in her again. It was quickly replaced by anger.
Why should I be ashamed of not wanting them here?
Suddenly she saw Ida's face as it had been when Ida placed the syrup on the table. What was in that face? She tried to recall but could not. And what had Rod felt when Grit almost ran him down? Were they angry, hurt, humiliated? Rod had said nothing, as if the incident had never happened. Ida had only left the room.

Suddenly she was overwhelmed with the now-familiar feeling. She didn't know if it was shame or fear. The choking she had felt in the car returned.

Then her mother's words came to her. “Your father is doing all he can … the judge announces his decision … he'd dare not undo our way of life.” She adjusted her purse and notebook in her arms and hurried to meet Marsha.

Registration booths, familiar faces of teachers, and the hustle and bustle of students trying to get their favorite classes aroused Sophia's enthusiasm. Here was the true spirit of Chatman and the beginning of a new school year.

Teachers, positioned behind signs bearing their specialities, greeted Sophia and she began to feel that headiness that comes to seniors who are treated with a certain respect. But where were Marsha and all the others? The crowd of students was thin, indeed.

Nevertheless, she had to fill her class card, so she began the rounds. She was glad to be there early for she had no problems getting classes she wanted. How exciting to have Mr. Seaton, the drama teacher, express pleasure at having her register for his class. Maybe the year would be fun after all.

By eleven o'clock the crowd in the gym had thinned further. Sophia had all of her classes secured and was impatient because none of her friends were around. Finally, she decided to go home.

The crowd outside was still thick, and tension had mounted. Sophia was surprised to hear people grumbling that Negroes were inside and white students had been told not to come. Could that rumor explain why Marsha had not shown?

The crowd pushed and shoved. Newspeople were jostled and booed. The Guard was hassled. Uneasiness gripped Sophia as she waded through the crowd. She scanned faces looking for Burt, but she did not see him.

Finally, on the edge of the crowd, she decided to go to the corner drugstore to have a bite to eat. Just as she stepped off the walk to cross the street, she saw Arnold standing near the store's entrance. Her heart beat wildly and her first thought was to run in another direction. But before she could move, he had waved and was coming toward her.

A rush of heat started in her stomach and moved up spreading to the top of her head. Suddenly she was aware of herself and how she must look; dress too long and big, face red under the freckles. Why hadn't she worn the outfit Ida had pressed for her? She wished she could disappear. Then Arnold was there in front of her.

“Hello, Sophia,” he said.

The familiar ring of his voice and the warm smile tied her tongue. She stood looking at him. He seemed not to notice her inability to speak.

“I called several times yesterday. Did you go away with your family some place?”

She finally found her voice. “No … we didn't go away at all.”

“Sophia, I called at noon, again at three and at six. No one was home.”

“Oh, yeah, I took Grit out and then I went skating.”

“And I thought you'd be missing me. I'm leaving Thursday, you know. I want to talk to you!”

For a moment she panicked. Then warmth returned and she could feel calm settling over her. He had called three times; had wanted to see her.

She looked up, needing to say how much she had missed him. How unhappy she had been because she had been rude to him. But the words would not come. So, she took his hand and said, “I did miss you, and I want to talk to you, too.”

Together they entered the store on the corner.

Chapter 13

Sophia was holding on to Arnold's hand. The strong smell of corn liquor, tobacco, and stale body sweat, mixed with that of frying food and the heat, made her stomach turn.

All eyes were on her as a female when she entered. Her quick glance took in the tense, angry men who looked like those she had seen riding up and down streets around town. Sophia flushed, feeling uneasy.

Arnold steered her to a small booth where she finally placed an order. They did not talk, Sophia sensing that Arnold was as ill-at-ease as she with this crowd in their work overalls and wide soft-brimmed hats, some of felt, most of straw. The quiet of the place also bothered Sophia. She felt that she was bound together with these strangers in an act of waiting. But waiting for what? She shyly glanced around. There were no answers in those faces. But suddenly she knew that those men were all of one mind, one will, and given a signal they would jump to any action, good or evil. She shuddered.