Have No Shame (54 page)

“What?” I shot a concerned look at Maggie. “Who else knows?”

“My Aunt Katherine went to the meetin’s. I would go if I could, but you know my husband would have me tied to the porch if he had his way. Now you girls get outta here before somethin’ happens.” Jean came around the counter and put her hand on my shoulder. She whispered in my ear, “Get home and be safe.”

Outside the diner, I grabbed Maggie’s arm and pulled her into the alley. “What if others know? We could be in real danger.”

Maggie held my hands and looked into my eyes in that calming way she had about her. “Pixie, no one knows. We’re fine.”

Suddenly, from across the road, a crowd broke through the trees—black men I didn’t recognize, dressed in tank tops and t-shirts, their muscles glistening in the sun. There must have been thirty of them carrying something at their sides. I grabbed Maggie’s arm. Maggie’s eyes danced wildly up and down the road.

“Wicked smart,” she said under her breath. “It’s the boycotters. ”

“Maggie, let’s go. We gotta go!” I said, pulling her arm toward Mrs. Kane’s car. “Why are they here? They’ll be shot.” I looked all around for the snipers, expecting to hear shots ringing out any second.

“No,” Maggie said, as if in a daze. “They’re brilliant. The police are all on the highway.” Maggie ripped her arm from my grasp and ran toward them, yelling over her shoulder, “Pixie—find Mrs. Kane! Go! Now!”

I ran toward the drugstore, the heft of my baby weighing down each step. By the time I reached the store, Mrs. Kane and nearly every store owner on the block had come outside. There were three trucks full of coloreds coming from the direction of our farm. Alfred was on the bed of the largest truck, along with a mass of other men.

“Good Lord,” Mrs. Kane said. “Come quick, child. We must go!” She hurried toward her car.

“I can’t leave Maggie!” I ran into the street toward the crowd that now held up signs:
Equality Everywhere; Freedom; Racial Dignity; Stop Racial Wars.
I put my hands under my belly and lifted my girth to alleviate the mounting pressure in my groin. “Maggie!” I yelled. The trucks had parked and now there were people everywhere I looked, in the road, marching down Main Street, standing on the sidewalks. I was swept away with the pushing of the crowd.

“Maggie? Maggie?” I yelled again, frantically searching for her through the crowd.

Someone pushed me forward and I stumbled, grabbing onto the man’s belt in front of me. He turned around with angry eyes, then softened when he saw me struggling to stand. He helped me to my feet and asked if I was okay. We moved down Main Street as a loud, determined group. I worried about the police mowing us down with bullets. Maggie’s voice came from the outside of the crowd. I pushed my way toward her.

“Maggie!” I yelled.

“Pixie! Go home!” She yelled through the tangle of arms and legs.

I was lost in a sea of bodies. Angry store owners retreated behind locked doors. A heavy white woman ran into the street and got in the face of the colored men who led the charge.

“Get out of our town! We don’t want you here!” She spat on him and the crowd pushed past her, leaving her screaming into the uncaring air.

Police sirens sounded in the distance. Cars came from the direction of the farms at the far end of town. Whites joined the march. Angry shouts came from the sidewalks, and within the marching crowd came a beat of footsteps on pavement and strong voices, "Equal rights, equal pay, equal freedom. Equal rights, equal pay, equal freedom."

 I found myself swept up in the cadence and the energy of the crowd. I thought of Jackson and tears stung my eyes. Words thrust from my lungs, “Equal rights, equal pay, equal freedom!”

Suddenly a colored man burst from the crowd and sprinted for the diner. He swung the door open and yelled, “Let our people eat! Let our people eat!”

I stared in amazement, waiting for Jean to slam the door shut. Jean came out and stood on the sidewalk, arms crossed, a shock of red lipstick across her smiling lips. Joe’s fleshy body filled the doorway, his face set in a harsh, nasty glare. The colored man continued his chant. “Let our people eat! Let our people eat!” Joe shook his head and wiped his hand on the white body apron he wore, then he walked away, spurring on the man in the doorway. “Equal rights! Equal Freedom!”

The crowd chanted, “Let our people eat!” Sirens blared, growing louder by the second until they were almost upon us. Three squad cars skidded to a halt, blocking Main Street and halting the yelling crowd. “Equal rights, equal pay, equal freedom!”

I caught sight of Maggie pushing her way through the crowd. I recognized Albert and young Thomas Green’s swollen face a few feet from where I stood. They chanted and sweat, their eyes serious, unwavering. Thomas limped against a wooden crutch, one arm in a cast. The veins in Albert’s neck swelled thick like snakes as he yelled in unison with the group. He turned my way and caught my stare.
Jackson
.

Marching toward us was a group of white-capped klansmen carrying thick sticks. One carried a fiery torch. “Niggers, go home! Niggers, go home!”

I stood, slack jawed, watching the group of them stomp down Main Street, the white drapes they wore flapping in the breeze. Eye holes cut in pointy, white hats that rose far above their heads and covered them clear to their chests.
Mama was right
. Would they kill us all? I scanned the crowd quickly—there was no sign of Maggie. I had to get out of there. I looked for Mrs. Kane, but she, too, had been swallowed by the chaos. How did things go so wrong? I was pushed along with the boycotters toward the KKK, their angry words booming louder, above the din of the crowd.

The police stepped from the cars, their nightsticks slapping hard against their palms. Officer Chandler planted his legs hip width apart. “Y’all break it up now, ya’ hear?”

“Niggers, go home!” the KKK chanted.

The crowd continued, “Equal rights, equal pay, equal freedom!”

I spotted Maggie pushing through the front of the crowd. She crossed her arms and nudged her chin up. I knew that stance. Maggie stood eye-to-eye with Officer Chandler.

“This is a peaceful movement. We aren’t hurtin’ anyone. We’re makin’ a statement,” Maggie shouted.

“Step aside, Maggie. This doesn’t concern you,” Officer Chandler commanded.

“Yes, it does,” she said. Maggie turned toward the people ogling from the sidewalk and yelled, “This concerns you!” She pointed at two women coming out of the furniture store and gawking at her. “And you, and you!” Maggie pointed at a white man, then another, standing angrily and sneering at the crowd. “This is our town, and you should all be ashamed.”

One of the klansmen moved toward Maggie, his large white fist—the only visible piece of his skin—clasped around a thick stick. Officer Chandler held his arm out, protecting her. The klansmen moved around the police car and pushed a short, stout, colored picketer. Suddenly there was a rumble of white caps and colored men. Blurs of white sheet flew against flashes of black, spots of red appearing on the sheets as men were beaten to the ground. I was pushed to and fro, stumbling to remain upright. Someone grabbed my arm and pulled me back away from the fighting and into the depths of the group. I heard Maggie’s voice rising and falling in an argument with Officer Chandler, as the police moved in on the crowd, pushing them back down Main Street the way they’d come.

Several cars raced into town, screeching to a halt. People piled out of the cars and shouting ensued. Blacks, whites, old, young, men, and women, there were more people than I’d ever seen on Main Street. I pushed toward the front of the crowd, yelling for Maggie. A sharp pain raced through my lower back and I cried out in pain. The police formed a line and were pushing the crowd back, the KKK yelled angry barbs, "Coons, go home! Niggers, retreat!"

The raging pack of klansmen set their sights on a group of colored men, staring them down through the eyeholes in their ridiculous—and ominious—caps. Suddenly there was a swarm of fists, arms and legs upended, and a rumble on the ground. It was hard to decipher where one white-caped man ended and the next began. I had to look away. The police ignored the beatings, fueling the rage of the group that swarmed the streets. A shot rang out, followed by a hush of the crowd. Then, as if the clouds had suddenly burst upon us, another shot rang out and the coloreds barreled into the police, taking them down and mauling the KKK.

I caught my breath and felt a strong hand pull me toward the sidewalk. I was being pulled and dragged, disoriented as I passed shouting people, punches flying in all directions. Someone kicked me in the side and I screamed, careening forward toward whoever was pulling me away. I clamored along the ground until we were away from the crowd, and I looked up to find Patricia’s terrified eyes, wide-set and serious.

“Get up! Get up!” she hissed.

I stumbled to my feet and she pulled me along, pressure mounting in my belly, each step a painful, determined force. She pulled me deep into the woods toward Division Street.

“Maggie!” I yelled through my tears.

“I can’t help her, but I can help you,” she said, and put her shoulder under my arm, bearing most of my weight as she hurried me away from the fighting. Shouts and cries drifted away behind us, two more shots rang out.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry about Jackson,” I said.

“Quiet,” she said.

She brought me through the woods and we came out across the road from Division Street.

“Hurry now,” she said, and urged me to walk toward her house.

“I can’t.” Every step felt as though my baby would fall right out of my body. “It hurts.”

“It’s gonna hurt a lot more if they catch us. Now think of your mama and get your ass movin’, child.”

We stumbled across the road. Tinsel ran up beside me and turned his wide eyes up to his mother.

“She okay?” he asked, his little arms flailing up and pointing at my chest.

I concentrated on breathing, keeping myself moving forward.

Patricia didn’t answer, just huffed as she helped me toward the house.

Tinsel prodded. “She gonna get us killed? She gonna have dat baby?”

“Tell Arma to boil water,” she snapped. “Now!”

Tinsel ran the last fifty feet toward the house.

Eight children huddled around the kitchen table, and three women stood by the sink. Worried eyes ran over me, whispers spoken behind close hands as I was led through the tiny kitchen and laid on a mattress in the smallest bedroom I’d ever seen. The walls, adorned with five pictures of young children, nearly touched the sides of the double bed. My eyes were drawn to a picture of a young boy whose kind eyes I’d recognize in the dark.
Jackson
. A deep pain began in my back and slipped across my belly like two giant hands, squeezing as strong as they could. I wrapped my arms around my stomach and pushed against it.

Patricia rushed from the room, immediately attacked by harsh whispers and strong inquisitions.
Who’s that? Why’s she here? Dangerous! Too big a chance.
I couldn’t take my eyes off of Jackson’s face. I cried out as every muscle pulled together, squeezing my baby within me. Patricia rushed back to my bedside carrying a pot of steaming water and towels.

I lifted my head and saw sixteen eyes, wide and curious, in the doorway.

“Get back!” Patricia swatted at them, pushing the door partway closed. She skillfully pulled my legs apart and said, “You’re gonna have this child, and you need to pay attention now.”

I couldn’t look at her. The pain ran so deep and debilitating that I clenched the bedside and grit my teeth, straining the muscles in my arms until they rocked my shoulders. “It’s too early!” I cried, shaking my head from side to side.

“Child, you don’t decide when this baby comes. This baby is gonna come whether you like it or not, and I’ll tell you, you’d better give in to it or it’s gonna rip you apart.”

 I blew fast hard breaths through my teeth. “What about Maggie? My mama?”

“I ain’t leavin’ your side. Not with my son lookin’ down on me.” She felt my belly like she’d done it a hundred times before. “Your baby’s just about ready. Don’t think my boy don’t tell me things. I know all ‘bout you two.” She looked up at the picture of young Jackson, and swallowed hard. “He loves you...he loved you. So, I love you. It’s the way it works with kin.”

Another hard contraction gripped my body.

“Breathe, child, breathe. You gotta get air to that baby. That’s right,” she said. “Breathe in, and out, in and out.”

“It hurts too much. I gotta get this baby out,” I cried.

“Not yet, darlin’. You just let this baby come when it’s ready. Don’t force it.”

“It’s too early. Somethin’s wrong. I’m not due for another month.”

The front door opened and there was a flurry of voices.
Maggie
.

“Maggie!” I yelled, then clenched with another contraction. “Maggie,” I said through clenched teeth. “Help me.”

Maggie came into the tiny room and climbed around me to the other side of the bed. She sat next to me. “Breathe, Pixie, breathe. That’s a girl. In and out.”

She thanked Patricia, who made a
what-else-was-I-to-do
face.

“It hurts so much,” I whined through the pain.

“I know, Pixie. Think of somethin’ good. Think of the barn, and the fun we’ve had. Think of your weddin’ day.”

I glared at her.

“Oh, right, no don’t think of that.” Maggie looked at the photos on the wall, and I watched as she swallowed hard, like she was willing tears away. “Is that Jackson?” she asked.

Patricia nodded.

“He was a good man.”

“Don’t count him as gone yet. Not ‘til we find him.”

Maggie nodded, and then brushed my hair from my sweaty forehead.

“Jimmy Lee’s out there with his uncle. They’re right alongside the Klan. They’re not wearin’ white robes, but they’re givin’ ‘em orders. The police have gone haywire.”

“That ain’t no peaceful march, that’s for damn sure,” Patricia said.

My belly squeezed and I grabbed Maggie’s hand so hard she yelped.

“Can’t we do anything for her?” Maggie asked.