The Year of Jubilee, page 7
9
RED HOOD
The next morning, I threw off the tangle of sheets and wiped beads of sweat from my forehead as I heard Daddy’s voice: “Sissy, Isaac, Grace—time to get up.”
We all rolled out like soldiers into the hallway; his voice had an “I mean business” quality. I was nervous his mood would turn even worse. Virginia was nowhere in sight. A large pot of oatmeal sat ready on the stove. He asked us to dress quickly, eat, and come meet him on the porch. We did as we were told.
Sissy, who was the last to get dressed, appeared in the kitchen, ate her oatmeal, and ignored us as usual. We felt a little lower than dirt around her. It was a gift she had. Isaac wasn’t eating much.
“Aren’t you gonna eat your oatmeal, Isaac?”
“I don’t feel hungry.”
I put the back of my hand on his forehead the way Daddy sometimes did. It didn’t feel any warmer than mine, but it was already so dang hot it was hard to tell. I was sure he felt nervous like I did, though it didn’t seem to affect my appetite.
When we finished eating, we washed our bowls and left them on a towel to dry on the counter. Daddy was sitting on the front step sharpening a pencil with his pocketknife. Rojo hovered close by, pecking at an ant that was desperately trying to outrun his beak.
“Everybody ready?” Daddy said without ever turning around.
“Yes, sir.”
In a shaky voice, I gathered the courage to ask what we all wanted to know. “Where are we going?”
“There’s a demonstration in town.”
“What kind of demonstration?” Isaac asked.
“That’s what we’re gonna go find out.”
We walked to town, and by the time we arrived on Main Street, lots of folks were lined up on the sidewalks. Obviously, word had spread. Standing beneath the shade of awnings, we waited in front of Betty’s Beauty Shack, the early morning heat scorching the tops of our heads.
Daddy craned his head, looking for someone.
City Hall stood in the center of the town square where Main Street ran into a roundabout, with a small police station on one side and the firehouse on the other. There were businesses on each side of Main Street. The Bijou Theatre, Green Parrot Café, Nickel Thrift, and the post office were on one side. Handy Hardware, Puckett’s Grocery, Betty’s Beauty Shack, Edland’s General Store, and the barbershop were on the other. A few blocks away, I saw Hutch and his family walking past the offices of KY Coal. His wife and two kids created a tight chain—the girl I’d seen a few days ago and her little brother, who was even smaller than Isaac. The kids stared at the ground, but Hutch and his wife, who had worn a yellow flowered dress and white and yellow hat, moved with their heads high, their eyes staring straight ahead. They walked with purpose to the front of Nickel Thrift and stopped.
Daddy reached back to hold hands with me and Isaac and made eye contact with Sissy, then crossed the street to where Hutch and his family were standing. Sissy followed close behind, letting out a sigh of frustration every now and then.
“Good morning, Hutch.” Daddy gave a polite nod to Hutch’s wife.
Hutch’s voice came out rough and shaky. “This is my wife, Hazel. Hazel, this is John, who I told you about before.” She gave a small nod to him and smiled at Isaac and me. Sissy ignored all of us. Hutch squinted against the sun and asked, “You sure about this, John?”
Daddy nodded. “Yes, I’m sure.”
We claimed our spot only a few feet away from Hutch and his family. I wondered what Hutch meant by his question and then realized we were the only whites on this side of the street. I felt the fear creep up my spine.
Looking behind us, Isaac’s eyes grew large, his mouth falling open. “Daddy, Grace, look!”
A sea of brown faces marched toward us. There must have been more than a hundred people. Children held tight to their parents’ hands. They hummed a tune in time with the sound of their footfalls, and it sent a chill down my arms.
Suddenly the argument Virginia and Daddy had the night before made sense. We were choosing a side, but against who? We squeezed in like sardines, shoulder to shoulder on our side of the street, stretching back past the post office and the Bijou. I stood on my tiptoes to watch as they kept coming.
Across the street, people leaned against the front window of Handy Hardware, shooting loathing glances our way. It was unimaginable that we had not chosen the white side of the street. Taylor and Emoline Bluin gawked at us as Cordelia whispered in the ear of another woman, both of them shaking their heads in disapproval. Emoline shot daggers in my direction but dropped her hand low and gave a small wave to Isaac. He waved back.
“Isaac!”
“She waved. I had to wave back.”
“No, you didn’t!”
Daddy bent down and whispered, “Kids, settle down.”
I saw other people from our church standing close to the Bluins. I was sad to see Mr. James, the school principal, join the growing crowd of white faces.
A man called out, “Hey, John Mockingbird, do you got more than Injun in yo’ woodpile?” The group of men around him burst into laughter.
Daddy clenched his jaw. Everyone stared at us.
My fleeting moment of pride for not sharing the same side of the street as Emoline melted into a sweaty fear. I looked up at Daddy and slipped my arm through his.
Taylor Bluin motioned for Sissy to come over. I muttered a small curse under my breath when she broke ranks and silently crossed the street, glancing back at Daddy for a moment. Isaac and I looked at each other and then up at him.
The words were out before I could stop them. “That little traitor.”
Isaac poked me in the ribs with his elbow. I was embarrassed that I had said it out loud.
Daddy squeezed my hand, then spoke softly so I could hear. “It’s her choice. Y’all have a choice just like she does.” I gripped his hand and clung to him like I was glued to his legs.
A voice like butter on a hot biscuit filled the air behind us.
“Would y’all have room for one more?”
Miss Adams looked as good as she smelled in a lavender-colored dress.
“Hey, Miss Adams.”
“Well, hello, Grace. And this must be Isaac, who I’ve heard so much about.”
Isaac nodded politely but averted his eyes, turning shy. I had forgotten how beautiful Miss Adams was.
She turned around and extended her gloved hand, “Hello, Hutch, Miss Hazel, Yully, Eustace.”
Hutch removed his hat and smiled. Hutch’s wife spoke up. “I sure do loves that color on you.”
Miss Adams reached back, squeezed her hand, and silently mouthed, “Thank you.”
I introduced her to Daddy as well. He tipped his head in her direction. Dr. Clarke appeared at the corner and pushed through the crowd to stand between Hutch and Miss Adams.
She gave Dr. Clarke a fetching smile, which he returned.
The sweat, tension, and humidity were running down our faces. I wiped my forehead on the sleeve of my shirt.
Miss Adams seemed more chipper than normal, almost giddy as she chatted to Dr. Clarke, who listened quietly. Behind us the sound of marching and loud voices erupted at the head of Main Street. There were about fifty sheets and hoods in all. They carried crosses and handmade signs that read White Is Right and Segregation Now Segregation Forever.
The hoods they all wore came to a sharp point at the very top and had two round circles cut out of the face, making their eyes look, in contrast, like narrow slits. They were an eerie sight. The blast of an engine revving up and a horn blaring made me jump. An old truck carried three men in sheets and hoods who held the rebel flag and the Kentucky flag in the back of the truck bed. The one in the middle wore an identical robe and hood, except it was red.
Daddy looked down, noticing us looking at the red-robed Klansman. “He wears a different color to show his superior rank. That is the robe of an Exalted Cyclops, which means he’s the head of the local chapter.”
Isaac and I were wide-eyed, fascinated and terrified by it all. But we felt safe standing beside Daddy.
The Klansmen drove their trucks to city hall and parked. A small platform held a podium with a microphone and a large speaker. This was where the mayor spoke before the lighting of the Christmas tree. Sheriff Teeton stood ramrod straight with a few other officers. His hand was resting on his holster.
I remembered Daddy telling me that you could tell the identity of the Klansmen by their shoes, and what blamed idiot wouldn’t change the shoes they walked around in every day if they didn’t want to get found out? I paid close attention to their shoes and recognized three pairs. A pair of old brown dusty cowboy boots with silver tips that I had seen in Daddy’s shop. Next, the bright-red boots I had seen propped up on top of the barrel at Handy Hardware. He must have chosen his red boots to match his red robe. And finally, a pair of black patent leather men’s shoes, nice and polished. I had seen those many times pushing into the plush baby-blue carpet on Sunday mornings. The fact that he was not standing with his family seemed to be a sure confirmation who it was.
Red Boots hopped out of the back of the truck onto the platform. He strode to the microphone. I tried peering into the eyes of the other Klansmen who stood around him. Red Boots tapped on the mic several times before he leaned in to speak. His voice was nasal and thin, but he tried to make his presence more powerful by using sweeping hand gestures as he spoke.
“As y’all know, there’s a lot of trouble going on. People thinking that things is gonna change . . . like we been hearing about down in ’Bama . . .”
He paused to let the smattering of shouts from the other white sheets ring in the air.
“That ain’t the way it’s gonna be here.” More approval from the eye slits. “We are assembling here to inform you that things are staying the way they always have, and there are plenty of good Christian folks here that agree with me!”
More noise from the white sheets and the white side of the street.
“Yeah!”
“That’s right, brother.”
“Amen!”
“Just remember who owns yo’ houses and gives ye yo’ jobs. All that can go away. This is a reminder to ye not to get any big ideas up in yo’ heads.”
One white sheet served as a kind of cheerleader, lifting his arms in the air to rev up the other white sheets.
“Y’all best remember yo’ place, or we’ll have to remind ye where it is!”
Some hisses and shouts and boos erupted from the brown faces behind us.
Red Boots shouted at them, “Now shut that up, you hear me? Y’all are lucky to even be living here.”
He stopped to accept the applause and cheers from his followers in the white hoods. I wondered if the stoic faces of Mr. Handy and a few of the other shop owners meant they were uncomfortable with what the Klan was doing but too nervous to openly rebuke them. Or maybe it was a quiet show of solidarity with the Klan. It was hard to tell.
“Excuse me!” A refined voice rose above the crowd. “Excuse me!”
The sharp blast cut through the noise, and the crowd fell silent.
“Excuse me, but this isn’t just your town. As far as I can tell, these folks pay taxes just like you.”
There were grunts and gasps from the crowd. Not only because of what had been said, but because of who had said it. Miss Adams. A woman. Smart-mouthing the Klan leader. I was having a flashback to the last day of class. But this was borderline insane.
“What’s yer name? I don’t believe I know you.”
I heard Mr. Hutch whisper behind her. “Miss Adams, you better hush now; just let it alone.”
But she kept going. “My name has nothing to do with this. It is unconstitutional for you to deny any citizens their rights as taxpayers. These are good, decent folk; they have rights. A right to speak up, a right to vote! A right to attend our white schools and be treated in hospitals. What makes you think you’re big enough to take away those rights? Do you think you are more powerful than the president? After all, these are his orders.”
My mouth dropped open. Miss Adams held nothing back. Being witness to such a tongue-lashing was unnerving. I took a step away from her and hid behind Daddy.
Red Boots glared directly at her. His followers yelled.
“Woman, keep your mouth shut!”
“Are you crazy or just stupid?”
Red Boots spoke again. “I don’t give a rat’s behind what that Commie president says.”
A small rumble of approval came from his hooded followers.
“Whoever you are, you’d be wise to keep your yapping mouth shut.”
I looked over to see the principal of the school sneering at Miss Adams. Why couldn’t she just stay quiet?
Sheriff Teeton walked to the podium and took the mic from Red Boots, then, facing him and the other hoods, said, “All right, you’ve made your point and exercised your right to assemble.”
Red Boots raised his arms high in the air and the white sheets did the same. They burst into a rally cry: “White Pow-er! White Pow-er!”
The sheriff capped his hand over the microphone. A piercing shriek echoed out of the square black speaker. Red Boots clamped both hands over his ears. This effectively silenced him and the audience so the sheriff could be heard.
He brought his mouth close to the microphone. “This demonstration is now over. Everybody go home or go back to work. And if any of you are thinking of starting some trouble, me and my deputies are armed and ready. We don’t want no trouble, so just go on home now.”
We all knew that lawmen in Kentucky were not to be trifled with. Daddy said most of them could shoot the whiskers off a squirrel a hundred yards away. The Klan marched their way back up the street. Red Boots and his herd honked their truck horns, waving the rebel flag high in the air. Daddy looked back at Hutch and they shook hands, saying nothing.
“Hey, Miss Grace,” came a low, raspy voice from behind me.
I turned to see Miss Pearl and a teenage boy standing beside her.
“This here’s my grandson Theo. Theo, this is Miss Grace. I think y’all are close in age.”
“Hi,” I said and extended my hand, which he took in his. It was warm and soft. His skin was like coffee with too much cream and his eyes looked like green marbles. I couldn’t deny that he made me feel a little weak in the knees. I shook it off and turned my attention back to Miss Pearl.
“Theo is gonna be helping me with the peach stand this summer.”
“Oh, that’s great. I’m hoping to get a summer job too.”
“Good for you, Miss Grace. Make you some spending money! Well, I sure do appreciate you and Mr. John being here. And is that yo’ little brother?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Daddy and Isaac stood talking with Dr. Clarke a few feet away.
She took my hand in hers and squeezed it tight. “Come see us now. We be moving from the school since there ain’t no traffic in summer. We’re moving out by the old trailer park.”
“Okay.”
She put her small pudgy hand on my face. “You have a good day.”
Her smile made me feel like there was hope in the world, even with the terrible thing we had just witnessed. Theo lifted a hand to wave goodbye. I did the same and had to pry my eyes away from his.
I turned to see Miss Adams shaking my father’s hand. I went back to his side just in time to hear him say, “Ma’am, I have no right to give you advice, but you might want to consider going to visit your family or making yourself scarce for a few days.”
Her charming smile wilted and she bit her bottom lip. The smooth skin between her brows squeezed into an S shape.
Daddy rescued her from the awkward moment with a question. “If you don’t mind me asking, have you had dealings with the Klan before? You seemed mighty sure of yourself.”
Finding her words as quickly as she’d lost them, Miss Adams answered, “Enough to know that the lot of them are buffoons.”
Daddy nodded in agreement.
“Mr. Mockingbird, I stand by what I said. What happened here today is wrong; of that I am sure.”
“I’m sure right along with you, but it doesn’t change that these people are dangerous. Grace thinks the world of you—just want you to be . . . cautious.”
Miss Adams bristled against his fatherly advice. “I have spent enough of my life being a silent witness to the injustice imposed on the innocent. I will no longer be that person.”
Daddy considered what she said. “But if your rebuke makes things worse for the innocent you are trying to defend, is that really helping?”
She seemed caught off guard by this. I thought he made a good point. Her turn—“‘Evil men flourish when good men are silent.’ Ever heard that?” She held his gaze. “Mr. Mockingbird, bringing your family to stand with our Negro citizens took courage, and I admire you for it, but it’s going to take a lot more than standing silently to see real change.”
Daddy peered at her quizzically. “I didn’t mean to insult you, Miss Adams. Just asking an honest question—which, by the way, you didn’t answer.” He smiled, which melted her icy stare.
Her eyes softened and she smiled back. He offered her a truce—a handshake. She extended her beautiful, dainty fingers and shook his rough mechanic’s hand.
He turned back to us. “Come on, kids. Time to go.”
I tried to meet Miss Adams’s eyes, but she had already turned to walk away. I hoped she wouldn’t hold what Daddy said against me. Besides Daddy, she was my favorite grown-up.
Daddy looked weary. He reached for my hand and Isaac’s, and we walked back toward the house. Sissy lingered with Taylor. I waved at her to come with us, but she shook her head and turned back to him.
Isaac and I held our questions as we walked home. We could both feel the weight of what had just happened. All I had to do was think about Hutch standing in the doorway of the hardware store with his little girl to understand why Daddy would risk standing on the Negro side of the street. As much of a coward as I was, even I couldn’t have stood on the other side. How could Sissy have done such a thing? I enjoyed my temporary feeling of superiority over her.
