Have No Shame (57 page)

“Whaddaya want, Jimmy Lee?” Jackson asked.

Jimmy Lee stared at him. “My wife,” he said.

I held my breath.

“She’s not here. Why don’t you go home and wait for her?”

Jimmy Lee took a step toward Jackson. Jackson didn’t move.

“You think I’m stupid, nigger? I know she and her stupid-ass mother are here. Parked right over at the church.” He took another few steps, until he was just a foot from Jackson. Jimmy Lee crossed his arms and looked down his nose at Jackson. “Get out here, Alison, or I’ll kill this nigger.”

Mama shook her head and mouthed, “Don’t you move.”

“You know I’ll do it, and that Negro baby, too,” Jimmy Lee threatened.

I started for the door. Mama grabbed my arm. “Alison.”

“He’s not gonna hurt me, but he’ll hurt them,” I said with little faith in my own words.

I pushed nervously through the screen door and stood on the porch.

Jimmy Lee started for me. “You little bitch.”

“Hey!” Jackson said and took a step between us. My injured sentry.

“Jackson, don’t!” I ran down the steps and stood beside him. “He’s not worth it.” I stood between Jackson and Jimmy Lee. “I don’t want no trouble, Jimmy Lee. I made a mistake by marryin’ you, and I’m sorry for that, but—”

He grabbed my arm and started for the truck.

“Let go of me!” I shrieked, punching and kicking uselessly.

Jackson ran into the street. Mama was on his heels. My father’s truck raced down the road, slamming to a halt behind Jimmy Lee’s truck. Maggie and Jake flew out of the truck and ran toward us. My father stepped out from behind his door.

“Let her go!” Maggie yelled.

“Jimmy Lee, what the hell are you doin’?” Jake approached him and Jimmy Lee yanked me away, clutching my arm so tight I thought it might snap.

“You let her go now, Jimmy Lee.” My father’s voice left no room for negotiation. He raised the shotgun he carried at his side.

Maggie grabbed my free arm.

Jimmy Lee pulled me away from her as Jackson closed in on him.

“Step back, Jackson,” Daddy said. He had Jimmy Lee in his scope, his finger on the trigger.

“Daddy,” Jake said. “That’ll make you no better than him.”

“Shut up, Jake,” Daddy said.

“You won’t kill me,” Jimmy Lee said. “You don’t like niggers any more than I do.”

My father didn’t hesitate for a second. His voice was calm and fierce. “But I love my daughter.” He lifted his trigger finger, then placed it on the trigger once again, the way he did when he was hunting, right before he pulled one off. “And whoever my daughter loves, I love, and she don’t love you no more.” He took a step closer to Jimmy Lee, the barrel of the gun inches from his cheek. “The way I see it, you’ve killed a man for less than what you’re doin’ right now. There ain’t no way I’ll do time. We all see you manhandlin’ my daughter, and don’t think I won’t press charges against you for beatin’ her until she hemorrhaged.”

“I didn’t do that,” Jimmy Lee protested.

“Didn’t you? I saw it, and I remember it clear as day.” Patricia stood on the front porch, Joshua in her arms, a dark bruise of proof on her cheek.

“A nigger’s word against mine?” he laughed.

“Somethin’ tells me you got more than one nigga’ after you,” Daddy said.

Jimmy Lee shifted his eyes to my father, squinting a threat in his direction and squeezing my arm ‘til I yelped. Daddy kept his gun trained on Jimmy Lee.

“Y’all are a bunch of nigger lovers.” He pushed me away.

Maggie clamored forward and pulled me into her arms.

 “You better watch your backs,” his voice quaked as he moved backward toward his truck. “My uncle’ll kill you niggers, and you, too.” He pointed to Daddy. “My uncle’ll make sure you don’t ever earn another penny.”

My father kept the gun trained on Jimmy Lee’s truck until it turned the corner and drove out of sight.

I clung to Maggie. “Daddy?”

“I had to tell him,” Maggie spoke with an urgency that shook me. “When I thought about you and Mama comin’ here alone, I got really scared. I’m sorry, Pix.”

“Sorry? You saved Jackson’s life, and probably mine, too.” I turned to thank Daddy and saw that he had the gun trained on Jackson, who stood with his hands up, the whites of his eyes as large as gumballs. “Daddy! What are you doin’?”

I ran in front of Jackson and held out my arms, shielding him from Daddy’s gun.

“Step back, Alison,” he said, narrowing his eyes.

“No, Daddy. I won’t.” I watched Daddy’s eyes. I swear I saw something more than anger there—sadness? Loss of his daughter? I didn’t care. “I love him, Daddy. I love him with all my heart.” I pointed to Joshua, swaddled close to Patricia’s chest. “That’s your grandson, whether you like it or not. He exists, and I love him, too.”

“Step away now,” he commanded.

I remained where I was, my legs trembling like leaves in the wind.

“Alison Jean, your place is—”

“My
place
is wherever Jackson and Joshua are. I love you, Daddy, and I know I hurt you, and I’m sorry, but I love him, and if you love me, you’ll let us be.”

His shoulders dropped, just a smidgen.

“Please, Daddy?” I begged.

Mama moved next to Daddy and touched his tense shoulder. “Ralph,” she whispered. “She’s your daughter. You can’t keep pushin’ all of your children away. The world is changin’, and they have a right to change, too.”

My father turned to look at her, and the way he squinted and clenched his jaw, I worried he’d just explode, that we’d pushed him too far. To my surprise, he lowered the gun. There was a collective sigh of relief as Daddy turned to look at Maggie, then at me. I was so scared of losing him, and in that moment I felt, more than saw, the transition from my being Daddy’s little girl to something else, something less, maybe.

“Thank you, Daddy,” I said, hoping for something more.

He swung the shotgun up the second I stepped away from Jackson, set him in his sight again, and said, “If you ever hurt my daughter I will not hesitate to kill you.”

“Yes, sir,” Jackson said in a respectful tone. “Sir, I love your daughter and our son with all of my heart and soul. I’d willin’ly give my life for her, but with all due respect, sir, I would rather live, and we can’t do that here. Not now, and maybe not ever.”

“What?” I knew he was right. We couldn’t live together here. The Lovings fled the south and we would have to, also. My heart stung so badly, I felt as if it was being squeezed in a giant fist.

Jackson shook his head. “Alison, we’d fear for our lives, for Joshua’s life, every minute of every day. I think movin’ to New York, where I have a job, where interracial couples might not be the norm, but they exist without the fear of bein’ killed, would be our safest move.”

New York? So far away from Mama and Daddy?

“Joshua needs to be raised in a safe, lovin’ environment,” he continued. “We have the love, but here,” he pointed in the direction of Main Street, “we have no safety. Not yet.”

“You’re takin’ my daughter away?” My father said, lifting his gun once more.

Mama set her hand gently on the top of the gun and pushed it down until it was pointed at the ground. “Ralph,” she whispered.

My father’s eyes shot darts in her direction, then softened. He wiped his face with his free hand, then stared into the field, his silence magnified the tension that hung around us. With the slightest nod of his head, he conceded.

After a month of living in New York, I’m still getting used to being in public with Jackson and Joshua without being gobbled up with fear for our safety. Sure, we still received the chin-snub from many, even some harsh comments, but a chin-snub and comments were a lot easier to take when you had friends like Darla, Bear, and Marlo, and a sister like Maggie, who snubbed and commented right back.

Although Daddy didn’t allow Jake to apply to Mississippi State when he’d found the application on Jake’s desk, he eventually agreed to allow him to take an art class at the community college. Maybe Maggie was right all along, and Daddy simply didn’t want to let Jake leave town.

Each time I called home, I yearned to speak to Daddy. It just about killed me each time that he refused to come to the phone. He told Mama to tell me he loved me, but he had yet to speak to me himself. I prayed every night that he might come around and allow us to find each other once again. I missed him, but when I look at my baby’s face, and I see the love he holds in his father’s eyes, I know I did the right thing, and I have no shame about my decision or those I love.

Jackson walked through the door of our tiny apartment and asked how my day was. It was a day like any other. I woke up next to the man I loved, nursed the baby I adored, and spent the entire day with our son, just waiting for his daddy to come home—on time, sober, and hungry to spend time with us.

“Perfect,” I answered.

While it was a joy to research this story, it was also very painful to hear about the realities of segregation from those who lived through it. I could not have written this book without the insight from Maxine Johnson, who was generous enough to share her family’s history. Details were also gathered from Joe Easter, Mary Easter, Sandy Barnes, and my good friends, G.E. Johnson and Emerald Barnes. Without such friends, the southern way of life and dialect could not have been so well depicted. I know that it is hard to imagine that in the late sixties there were small southern towns that were so far removed from the integration that was happening at that time in larger cities, but what I have conveyed is as true to the stories I was told as I was able to write.

As an author, I write stories for my readers, but my stories would not shine without the thoughtful, diligent, and professional efforts of my editors and proofreaders, who are kind and patient beyond words. Warm hugs of gratitude and respect to Kristen Weber, Colleen Albert, and Dale
 
Cassidy.

A hearty thank you to Stephen and Sandra Foster, Patricia Fordyce, Kathleen Shoop, Kian Vencill, Tammy Dewhirst, and everyone else who took the time to help me through the specifics of my story and my drafts. Thank you to all of my wonderful beta readers. I could not have made it through the toughest days of writing without my World Literary Café staff, each of whom are there hashing out storylines and supporting each other daily. Thank you, Stacy, Amy, Bonnie, Gerria, Emerald, Clare (my formatting genius), Natasha, Christine, and Wendy. And to my sisters on the Women’s Nest who cheer me on, thank you.

Lastly, thank you to my mother, my husband Les, and our children. I love you all and appreciate your support.

Melissa Foster is the award-winning author of four International bestselling novels. She is a community builder for the Alliance of Independent Authors and a touchstone in the indie publishing arena. When she’s not writing, Melissa teaches authors how to navigate the book-marketing world, build their platforms, and leverage the power of social media, through her author-training programs on
 
Fostering Success. Melissa is also the founder of the
 
World Literary Café, and the Women’s Nest, a social and support community for women. She has been published in Calgary’s Child Magazine, the Huffington Post, and Women Business Owners magazine. 

Melissa hosts an annual Aspiring Authors contest for children and has painted and donated several murals to The Hospital for Sick Children in Washington, DC. Melissa lives in Maryland with her family.

Melissa welcomes an invitation to your book club, meeting, or event.

Find Melissa's other books at Amazon.

www.MelissaFoster.com