Glory Be (4 page)

T
he next night before suppertime, Emma wiped her hands on her apron and stood back to admire her creation. “I hope your new friend likes this chicken spaghetti casserole.”

“All Yankees like spaghetti,” I said. Of course, I didn’t know one single Yankee except Laura. I thought for a minute. “I hope Jesslyn won’t act snotty to us because we’re only eleven,” I said.

“I’ll make sure Jesslyn behaves.” Emma picked up the big silver knife to swirl the last bit of icing onto a sweet-smelling cake.

“She’s not always nice to me these days,” I said. “And she argues with Daddy.”

Emma pointed her knife to the ceiling, as if Jesslyn
could hear. “That girl would argue with a signpost. But your sister’s just growing up. She’ll be back to playing with you in a while, Glory.”

“She wants to move into Mama’s old sewing room. And you heard her fussing at me and Frankie, about his daddy and all,” I said. “Jesslyn claims I don’t know a thing about what’s going on around here this summer.”

Emma raised one eyebrow and shook her head. She reached into the cupboard for the dishes with little blue birds on them. “Extra folks coming and going don’t make this kitchen any cooler. Get on out there and set the table, but be careful with these.” She set the plates down gently. “Your mama’s best china, special for tonight.” Then she opened the refrigerator door and stood there fanning her face with her apron.

I wanted to edge in right next to her to cool off, but I could take a hint. I moved to the dining room just as Jesslyn tromped downstairs with big rollers in her hair. “Are you wearing those to the dinner table?” I tried to ask Jesslyn nicely.

“I’m going to the library after supper. To get a book,” she answered like it was the stupidest question in the entire universe.

To see that boy again
, I thought, when Jesslyn headed
back upstairs to her floor-length mirror. I didn’t say a word, though. I liked knowing secrets, and for now I was working hard at keeping this one.

By the time my sister prissed back downstairs with her hair looking like she’d stepped out of the beauty parlor, Daddy and I were on the front porch swing. When a car stopped at the curb, he put down his newspaper. I waved to Laura, who was taking baby steps over the cracks in the sidewalk. A lady who must be her mama stepped out of the car.

“Hey, y’all. Come meet my daddy, Brother Joe Hemphill. He’s the preacher over at First Fellowship United Church.”

Daddy put out his hand to welcome her. “Laura, pleased to meet you. Is this your mother?”

“I’m happy to meet you, Reverend Hemphill. Miss Bloom has spoken highly of your family.” Laura’s mama talked funny like Laura, but the smile creeping across her face made me think I wouldn’t even mind being sick if she could be my nurse.

“Can you stay for supper?” Daddy asked her.

“I’m late for my meeting,” Mrs. Lampert said. “Thank you. Some other time?” She turned to give Laura a hug before she walked down the sidewalk and
opened her car door. “I’ll pick you up after dinner,” she called back.

“At nine thirty sharp.” Laura glanced down the street one more time, then followed me inside.

“This is my sister, Jesslyn,” I introduced. “And Emma.” Emma nodded Laura’s way.

Jesslyn looked Laura up and down, from her long braid to her heavy brown sandals with black socks. But she didn’t say anything bad. Once in a blue moon, Jesslyn could be nice if she tried.

The way Laura stood off to herself, with her hands folded tight in front of her and her lips pressed close together, it seemed like maybe she wasn’t used to meeting new people. Especially the family of somebody she’d first laid eyes on in the library two days ago. Maybe she just didn’t like Hanging Moss yet.

I aimed to change that.

“Supper’ll be ready soon,” I told Laura. “Wanna see my room?” She nodded and followed me upstairs. I did all the talking. “That’s my mama’s old sewing machine.” I looked inside the room where now it was Emma who made our Halloween costumes and our curtains. “I don’t hardly remember my mama, but Emma made me that quilt in there with reminders of when I was a little girl.”
I kept on walking and talking, hoping Laura would say something pretty soon.

“This is my room, and Jesslyn’s. All that messy stuff’s hers.” I pointed at the jumble of lipsticks and mascara falling off Jesslyn’s dresser. “Don’t know why she minds sharing a room with me, but she does. She claims she’s moving to the sewing room.” I picked up a white boot with a tassel on it and held it up. “Pep squad. She and her friends march around the football field wearing these and twirling batons. Do you have a sister?” I asked.

Laura shook her head. “I don’t have brothers or sisters,” she said. “A big sister would sure be fun.”

“It
used
to be fun,” I said.

When Laura picked up
The Secret of the Old Clock
from my row of books, she turned the pages so carefully I couldn’t help but wonder if she planned to hide in my room reading all night. I needed to quick-like make her glad to be here. I took the Buster Brown shoe box from under my bed and slowly untied the purple ribbon. “Wanna see my Junk Poker box?”

“What’s Junk Poker?”

“A card game. Jesslyn and I made it up when we were little. We bet against each other with the stuff
in our boxes.” I spread my treasures on the bedspread. I tossed a jacks ball up and down, waiting for Laura to say something. But she’d barely glanced up from
The Secret of the Old Clock
.

“Folks over at the church, they don’t exactly approve of cards. So Jesslyn and me, we’ve kept Junk Poker a secret from our daddy.”

“My grandpa plays cards,” she said. “He taught me games.” When Laura finally put down the book, she moved next to me and picked up one of the conch shells. That got her talking.

“They say you can hear the waves crashing in there.”

“You’re holding my favorite,” I told her. “I’m never betting that shell.”

“My mother promised we’d be going to the beach this summer, but we ended up coming here to Hanging Moss instead.” Laura held my shell up to her ear. “Some days, wouldn’t you like to disappear into the ocean inside?”

“The beach would’ve been more fun than this hot place. No water near here except the Pee Pool and the Community Pool. My friend Frankie swears that’s about to close down.” I sighed.

After a minute, Laura leaned back on the big pillows
lined up on my bed. “My mother keeps reminding me we’re here to help,” she said. “But staying the summer in a place where you don’t know anyone and there’s really nothing to do?” Laura’s voice trailed off and she hugged the shell closer to her.

“You know
me
now,” I said. Then I spied my record box filled with my new 45s, and I grabbed it off the shelf. “Hey, Laura. Ever heard of the Beatles?”

She put down the shell and scooted to the edge of my bed. “I love the Beatles! Did you see them on TV? Which one’s your favorite?”

And after that, until Emma called us down to supper, all we did was sing along with my records, pretending we were John and Paul. All we talked about was how much better the Beatles sang than Elvis.

When Laura handed my shell back, I packed my treasures in the Buster Brown shoe box and hid it under my bed. I cut off the record player and put away my Beatles records.

Downstairs, Laura sat next to me at the dining room table, across from Jesslyn. Daddy took his chair last and bowed his head. “Bless this food, Lord, and those who have prepared it for us today,” he prayed. “Watch over Laura and her mama and all the visitors here in Hanging
Moss. Thank you for your bountiful goodness. Amen.”

It was finally time to eat.

From where I sat, I had a clear view of Emma in the kitchen. Pretty soon, she untied her apron and smoothed out her white uniform. When she brought the blue china casserole dish into the dining room and offered it to Laura, then to me, she looked like the ladies in the school cafeteria who watched every bite we took. Emma finished serving the spaghetti, then moved into the kitchen, but she was hovering, listening, right inside the door.

Daddy beamed around the table, tucked his big white napkin under his chin. Right off, he said, “I hope you like it here, Laura. If you haven’t had a chance to go to the pool, or over to Fireman’s Park, maybe you’d like to go with Glory one day.”

Laura picked up her napkin and spread it in her lap over her skirt. She took one little bite at a time, chewed with her mouth closed.

Jesslyn broke her piece of hot bread in two. “Glory says your mother’s a nurse.”

“My mother works at the Freedom Clinic.” Laura sat up straight. “It’s for Negro people who don’t have doctors.” She scooted mushrooms from the spaghetti sauce
off to one side of her plate, twirled a noodle, picked at a bite of chicken.

Any minute now, I expected Emma to call out, “Laura Lampert, stop playing with your food!” like she’d do if that was me twirling and scooting. But Emma didn’t say a word. She stood real still with her hands pushed hard in her pockets.

“Miss Bloom says Laura’s mother’s here to help poor people, and that clinic’s helping our town,” I announced. I looked at Jesslyn, then back at my daddy.

“It’s good that you and your mother gave up your summer for those in need, isn’t it, girls?” he said. “Do you have family back in Ohio?” he asked Laura.

“Just my grandma and grandpa,” she answered. She kept her eyes on the napkin in her lap. “They’re worried,” she said quietly. “They didn’t want us to come.”

I put down my fork and stopped chewing. “Why not?”

Jesslyn ignored me and looked right at Laura. “Have you been reading about the civil rights workers in the paper?”

“My mother says we mustn’t read the newspapers here,” Laura said. “They’ve been making up hateful things about her friends causing trouble.”

“I’ve read letters to the editor of the
Hanging Moss
Tribune
saying they should stay up North where they belong,” Jesslyn said. “Not everybody agrees with the newspaper, though.”

“Who writes letters like that?” I asked. “Frankie’s daddy’s not too happy about what’s going on. You reckon he writes to the newspaper?”

“A lot of folks are pleased about the Freedom Clinic your mama’s running,” Daddy said. “You’ll see. People will come around.”

“Why would anybody not like a clinic that helps poor people?” I asked. Most I’d read in our newspaper was what was playing at the picture show. Sometimes Frankie would make fun of the paper’s Society Page, silly stuff about parties and who’s visiting in Hanging Moss. I’d never read letters about people from up North here to make trouble.

“You’re too young to read letters to the newspaper editor, Glory.” Jesslyn stuck her nose up in the air. She took a sip of her iced tea, then smiled with her lips closed. “When you’re old enough, you’ll realize what was going on here this summer.”

“I
am
old enough. And it’s not like you know everything. What are you doing to help those in need, like Daddy says?”

Jesslyn had stopped being nice and was back up on her high horse again. My big sister could be so aggravating! I wanted to kick her under the table, hard. But when I glanced over at Laura, she was looking back and forth from me to Jesslyn, and twisting her napkin in her lap with both hands.

Right then I decided to be nice to Jesslyn.

“I got an idea. Miss Bloom asked me and Laura to do a special story time when the library has their thank-you celebration after the Fourth of July.” I smiled real big at Laura, then back at my sister. “Maybe you could help us, Jesslyn? Miss Bloom’s inviting Laura’s mama and her friends, too. All those Yankees, coming to our library!”

Daddy looked like he might be about to say something, then changed his mind. Jesslyn stopped her fork midway to her mouth. They got all quiet. Maybe what I said about the library worried them.

Just then Emma stepped into the dining room holding her red velvet cake, and Jesslyn looked up at the clock ticking away on the buffet. “May I be excused?” she asked. “I’m late for meeting Mary Louise at the library.” She pushed her chair back from the table. “Nice to have you for supper, Laura,” she said, and she smiled at my friend but not at me, of course.

When we’d finished our cake, Emma appeared at the table to brush crumbs off the linen tablecloth. “Thank you for the delicious dinner,” Laura said after she’d eaten every last bite of her cake. Maybe my new friend had found something to like here in Hanging Moss after all.

When Daddy headed back to the living room, I folded my napkin and stood up. “We’ll clear the plates,” I told Emma.

“You girls go on outside. Frankie will be here to play before you know it.” She stopped brushing crumbs and looked right at me. “You be careful of his brother, Glory. That boy has a bad mean streak about him.” Then the swinging door creaked shut, and the bright white of Emma’s uniform skirt disappeared into the kitchen.

A
fter supper, Laura and me sat on the back steps listening to the crickets start up. You could about catch a lightning bug by holding your hand out. Before we knew it, we were slapping mosquitoes and I had to turn on the stoop light to see real good.

“My friend Frankie’s coming by to play. But I think he’s mad at me,” I said, as if Laura cared. I looked up at the porch light shining on the backyard. “I just hope he shows up before it gets too dark to play Kick the Can.”

Laura stared at me like I was talking Pig Latin. “Kick the Can?” She shook her head. “Do you ever play jacks with your friend?”

“Outside at night,” I told her, “we play Kick the Can or baseball.”

“I’m not allowed to play outside at night. I live in an apartment, in a city.” Laura smiled. “Once, my grandfather took me to an Indians game. Just me and Grandpa. Back in Ohio.”

I jumped off the step and showed Laura the spot where we’d worn down the grass for home plate. Then I pointed to the big pecan tree. “See that tree? That’s first base. And the water faucet, that high one sticking up out of the ground back there? That’s second.” I ran from the pecan tree to the faucet and stopped to catch my breath. “Third base is the steps where you’re sitting.” I raced to tag the steps and slid home just as Frankie and J.T. showed up.

“Hey, Glory. What’re you doing?” Frankie fiddled with the whistle hanging from the lanyard around his neck.

“I’m teaching my friend how we play baseball here in Hanging Moss.” I dusted the dirt off my shorts. “This is Frankie,” I said to Laura. “And that’s his brother, J.T.”

I pressed my lips hard so I wouldn’t introduce J.T. with what I really thought of him — Frankie’s fat, ugly brother.

J.T. looked at Laura’s brown sandals. He said, “You plan to run far in them clodhoppers?” J.T.’s about two times as tall as Frankie and ten times as mean.

“I could play in my socks.” Laura started unbuckling her sandals.

J.T. laughed a snorty sound out of his nose. “You’re wearing socks? In the summer? Black socks? What’s the matter with you, Yankee?”

“Mind your own business, J.T.” I untied my red sneakers. “I’m playing barefooted, Laura. That’s the easiest. How ’bout you, Frankie?”

J.T. jabbed his scary half finger at Frankie. “Remember what Daddy told you, little brother.”

Laura was barefooted by now, just like me. She’d dropped her shoes and those dumb black socks in a pile and stood up, ready to play.

“You wanna bat, Frankie?” I asked. But Frankie hadn’t budged. “What’s the matter? Just ’cause your brother doesn’t want to play, you’re leaving?” He stood there looking at J.T. like maybe his brother had something halfway sensible to say for once.

J.T. leaned down and kicked at something on the ground. He nodded at Frankie and glanced toward the step where me and Laura had lined up our shoes. Then he stuffed his hand in his pocket and started to walk away. “Let’s go.” He stopped and turned, waiting with his eyes set hard on his brother. “You comin’?”

Frankie looked at me, then Laura. “I can’t stay.” He moved closer. “My brother’ll tattle to Daddy that I was playing baseball with a Yankee,” he said to me. He rubbed his arm at the place where J.T. usually whacked him every time he opened his mouth. “Or worse.”

“Why’re you always doing everything he tells you?” I asked. “J.T. is not your daddy.” For the life of me, I don’t know why Frankie worships the ground his big brother walks on.

“My little brother ain’t supposed to play with no Yankees, here to cause trouble and mess up our town.” J.T. narrowed his eyes at Laura. “Wish you’d go back to where you came from.” Then he spit a gob in the dirt next to Laura’s bare feet. She jumped back, trying to get away from J.T.’s spit and his ugly words. “You need to get out of Hanging Moss, go where you’re wanted, if there
is
any such place,” he said, before strutting off toward his house.

“J.T. Smith, you stay away from me and my friend!” I hollered out, clenching my fists tight. “Stay away from my house and don’t ever come back!” I turned to Frankie. “Why does he have to act so ugly?”

Laura moved nearer to me, reaching out for my hand, like she hoped I could save her from J.T. and his
spit. “What happened to his finger?” she whispered.

“Top of it got blown off by a firecracker, a cherry bomb, two Fourth of Julys ago,” I told her. “You’d think his brain got blown off. J.T. is dumb as a box of rocks.”

“I don’t like the way he talks.” Laura pulled me closer to the back door, farther from Frankie. “And his finger is scary.”

“Sometimes he tries to scare off little kids,” I said. “Tells them he has his bloody finger in his pants pocket.”

“Even with half a finger, my brother can do anything he wants to,” Frankie said. He was taking up for his brother now. Seemed to be forgetting the punches, all the yelling. “He’s the star of the football team, just like my daddy was,” he said, sticking his chest out.

“That’s about all your brother knows how to do,” I said. “Play football and act mean.”

“Frankie. You coming or not?” J.T. hollered from halfway down the block.

“I gotta go.” Frankie’s chest dropped. He kicked once at home base, then headed off down the street.

“Yeah, follow your stupid brother on home. We don’t want you playing with us anyhow,” I yelled after Frankie. “And I hope J.T.’s other finger gets blown off.”

I’d lost my hankering for baseball. Besides, it wasn’t
any fun with just me and Laura. “Let’s just forget playing at night.”

Laura looked relieved.

We sat on the back steps for a few more minutes, watching fireflies light on our hands.

“It’s dark. We’d better go out front to wait for your mama.” I handed her sandals over and grabbed my sneakers.

“Let’s meet at the the park tomorrow. We can play jacks together. Or talk about Nancy Drew books,” Laura said. “Or the Beatles! I’ll be there early.”

Before the back door had hardly slammed behind us, already I was glad I wouldn’t be waiting for Frankie at Fireman’s Park to make our lanyards and candles and bead bracelets at ten o’clock sharp, like we’d been doing every Friday morning since summer began. Now, I had somebody new to be a friend to.