Let It Shine (10 page)

After fidgeting her way through service beside her stiff and silent father, Sofie found she was actually looking forward to the after-church meetup. Everyone seemed to be buzzing about the Freedom Rides and what it meant for the movement. She heard a few dissenters, but she hoped that they were a minority. Although she didn’t need the support of the majority for what she had planned.

After Melba announced that the quilting circle had been moved from Tuesday to Wednesday, Sofie stood and cleared her throat. As usual, everyone ignored her, but then she remembered her voice echoing around the gym that morning and used it.

“I’d like to make a request,” she said loudly. Everyone stopped what they were doing and looked at her in surprise. “Many of you are talking about the Freedom Rides today. I would like to join the movement and head down to Mississippi, but I’m afraid I don’t have the funds for a Greyhound ticket. If there are any of you who see the same righteousness in this cause that I do, I would appreciate a donation. I may not be Martin or Malcolm, but I’d like to do my part to help put an end to the fear we live with every day, that one misstep can result in our injury or death just because of the color of our skin. I think these rides can help do that. Thank you.”

She dropped down into her seat. She didn’t know what to expect now; that was the drawback of behaving impulsively.

Sofie noticed Mrs. Pierce stand across the room. “If I may?” The words were polite, but the question was hypothetical. Everyone turned toward the woman’s perfectly modulated voice.

“Now, I’m sure many of you have seen today’s paper. If you haven’t, you should know that our own Sofie Wallis was on the front page, seen staging a sit-in.” Sofie’s face went hot and her mouth went dry. She waited along with the rest of the congregation to see what Mrs. Pierce would say. Her fellow churchgoers were suspiciously quiet.

“The movement for our people’s freedom has been a topic of conversation every Sunday since I was a child. I’ve contributed my time and my money and my tears, and I have no regrets about that. But when I saw Sofie on that front page, looking the spitting image of her mama, I couldn’t help but think, ‘This child is brave! Braver than I’ve ever been.’” Mrs. Pierce’s eyes were glossy and her usually steady voice had taken on a bit of a tremor. “We all remember Delia and how she always spoke her mind. I think…I think she would be very proud of you, girl. I’m proud of you. I’ll cover the cost of the ticket, on one condition.”

“What’s that, Sister Pierce?” someone shouted out, saving Sofie the trouble.

Mrs. Pierce smiled. “After hearing the strength in the request she just made, straight from the diaphragm, I never want to hear her whisper-singing in my choir again.”

Sofie couldn’t stop the happy tears that spilled from her eyes then. She remembered the day her mother had come running from the Freidmans’ kitchen, and how in the brief moment before she began to break up the fight, before she died, Mama had seen Sofie holding her own against the group of boys. All she’d wanted was to do her mother proud, and hearing those words from such an unexpected source was all the more shocking.

“I’ll buy the ticket.” A hand clamped on her shoulder, and Sofie held it with both of hers.

“Daddy?” She looked up to see her father with tears in his eyes that matched her own.

“I just wanted to keep you safe. You’re all I have left.” He sighed. “Delia always said that if I held you too close I could squeeze the life out of you, and that’s what I did, isn’t it?”

His shoulders heaved, and Sofie jumped and hugged him close. “You did what you thought was best,” she said. That didn’t take away the years of hurt, but one thing the movement was teaching her was that to move forward there had to be reconciliation. She didn’t know if she forgave her father yet, but she loved him regardless.

“When are you heading out?” he asked in a hoarse voice.

“There’s a bus leaving tonight.”

“Then let’s go pack your bags. I’ll take you to dinner and you can tell me all about this movement. I still think it’s crazy, but if it’s important to you…” He hugged her even tighter. Sofie couldn’t have asked for a better gift.

Chapter 12

It was only when Sofie had boarded the bus that night, tucking her small travel bag under her uncomfortable seat, that she realized she’d never taken a trip by herself. She’d been so caught up in the end result that she hadn’t paid attention to the fine details, like how frightening it would be to do this alone. The phone had started ringing as she and her father left the house, and Sofie knew without picking up that it was Ivan. She’d let it ring. She remembered the way he’d sounded when they spoke on the phone—quiet, intimate—and felt the foolish urge to cry. She didn’t know how or why she had let him get to her, especially when others had been trying to line her up as a ready-made wife since she’d turned eighteen.

She craved Ivan’s presence, but she told herself that she could never miss anyone more than her mother, and she’d lived through that. Barely. Getting over Ivan would be easy in comparison, even if the pain in her chest indicated otherwise.

Sofie slept more deeply than was probably wise on public transportation, and woke to the sun shining across fields of Carolina tobacco. Her throat tightened at the beauty of the sight, and at the fading dream of her mother sitting beside her through the night as the bus rolled over state lines.

The trip was uneventful, and as other young people with the same intention boarded at various stops, she learned that the police had changed their tactics; allowing mobs to beat the riders was no longer an option thanks to the news media. The trip was relatively safe now, according to them, and there was no need to guess what was waiting ahead of them. “They’re sending everyone to the farm. Parchman Farm,” a theology student from Georgia said when he’d settled into the seat across from her. “Still illegal, but they struck up some deal with Bobby Kennedy to make sure we don’t get our heads caved in. It only took one of his men ending up in the hospital before they cared enough to do that.”

Sofie had heard enough blues songs to know that Parchman was the most reviled prison in the country, but when they finally pulled into the Greyhound station in Jackson singing “We Shall Overcome,” she felt no fear. She marched out with the other riders and headed straight for the Whites Only waiting room.

“We are not afraid, we are not afraid, we are not afraid, toda-aa-ay!” She pushed the words out into the cloudless spring sky, her voice dwarfing all the others, even as the police officers stepped in front of them. Through the dirt-specked glass, Sofie could see men milling about in the waiting room, the same ugly look on their faces that she’d seen in the Special K diner.

The officers wore riot helmets, and their blue uniform shirts had stains where they’d been sweat through and then dried again. Sofie kept singing, and her voice didn’t falter, but a little seed of fear sprouted in her when one of the officers pulled out his billy club and took a step forward. His eyes locked on Sofie—perhaps drawn by her voice—and he was on her in two steps.

He grabbed her roughly by the collar of the jacket she wore over her simple dress. She heard the stitching she had worked so hard on rip and then she was flying this way and that. “You think you can just come marching in here singing a happy little tune and change things?” The visor of his helmet was up and his sweaty pink face was much too close to hers. He pushed her back and then gave her an extra shove with the edge of his baton, sending her against the glass door of the waiting room. “We treat our niggers good here. You ain’t doing nothing but causing trouble.”

Sofie didn’t have time to process the madness of the man’s words. The door began to shake behind her. She could hear the taunts and leers of the men who had been waiting to greet the riders with violence, but she didn’t hear the singing of her friends any longer. A shove from the door pushed her to her knees, and the burning scrape of jagged concrete surprised her into the truth. The other students had been wrong; these men were going to hurt her, Bobby Kennedy be damned.

Sofie looked up at the officer, at the hatred in his eyes that she would never comprehend. “I’m not your nigger or anyone else’s,” she said. “And if you think I’m causing trouble now, I’ll have you know I’m just getting started.”

The officer lifted his baton, but Sofie didn’t look away. Her heart was pounding so hard that she could barely hear the men egging the officer on.

“Bill, what the hell are you doing? Get that girl in the goddamned wagon before a reporter shows up!” The officer lowered his baton at the command and grabbed Sofie roughly by the arm.

“Have fun at Parchman, Sweetie,” he growled as he pushed her into the wagon. “Ain’t no cameras there to keep you safe.”

“Sofie!” Michael pulled her inside, and she felt like a lost lamb returning to the fold. “You’re shaking. We turned around and you were gone. What happened?”

A woman next to her held her hand for a moment, and Sofie took a deep breath.

“I’m fine.”

The wagon was hot, and they sat baking for what seemed like an eternity compared to the long bus ride. They sang We Shall Overcome again, and that song changed to a church hymn, and then the national anthem, and then someone quickly taught them a call-and-respond song made especially for the protests. The singing fortified something in Sofie and her newfound compatriots. Their voices together became something more than just sound, but a physical force beating back the negativity around them. Sofie stank, and she needed a shower and coffee and for her First Amendment rights to be respected, but she closed her eyes and sang like it was the only thing that mattered.

“Can we take ‘em over, Bill?” Sofie heard one of the officers ask.

“Get these assholes out of here,” the officer who had attacked her replied. “I’m gonna have that shit music stuck in my head all night.”

The door to the wagon closed and Sofie felt an inkling of real panic wiggling her belly. That officer had been right—they would have no protections at Parchman. It was where they sent people to rot. What if she never got out? What if this had all been a terrible mistake?

Her breath came in a shallow, ragged gasp, and she wanted to push the door to allow fresh air to enter. The realization that she couldn’t sent her further into a panic. She jumped to her feet.

“It’s okay, sister,” Michael, the theological student, said. “We’re here with you. God is here with us and cloaking us in His mercy. But it would also help if you sat down and took a deep breath.”

Sofie tried to fight the animal instinct to kick and claw at the door, but then, as if God had, indeed, had mercy on her, it swung open. Sofie’s panic fled, chased away by pure shock that gave her gooseflesh even in the sweltering wagon.

“Ivan!”

He stood there looking quite unconcerned with the police officer who was pulling him by the collar of his suit. That he was dressed so finely, in a crisp three-piece suit complete with a vest, was almost as surprising as his presence.

“Were you avoiding my calls? I tried to tell you I was coming. I
just
missed that Greyhound last night,” he said. “Probably better that I had to take the Trailways, though. Staying true to the cause might have been a little difficult sitting next to you on a dark bus.”

“Oh dear Lord,” Sofie said, covering her eyes with her hands and dropping back into her seat. She peeped through her fingers to see Ivan crawl inside and sit on the floor at her feet, and then the door slammed shut.

“Hello, everyone,” he said, grinning that grin of his, and the apprehension in the bus melted away.

“Welcome to the Parchman express,” Michael said, reaching over to clap him on the shoulder. “You ready for the chain gang, brother?”

“Breaking rocks is a great way for a boxer to stay in shape,” Ivan said. “I’ll look at it as a state-funded bodybuilding club.”

Sofie stared at him as they bumped along, not quite knowing what to say.

“What happened to your knee?” he asked, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket and pressing at the bleeding abrasion.

“Officer Bill,” she replied.

His expression clouded at that. “Definitely good that I was on the Trailways then.”

Sofie wanted to reach out and touch him, but she was worried he would vanish if she did. He couldn’t really be there with her, could he?

“What about your match? I hope you didn’t come out of guilt.” She’d never been happier to see someone, but she didn’t want to be the impetus for his decision. A thought struck her, and she crossed her arms over her chest. “Or because you thought I couldn’t do this by myself.”

Ivan sighed and draped his hands over his legs. “I came because you were right. I wanted to help, and waiting until after I’d knocked some guy’s lights out wasn’t the way to do it. So I called Calvin and told him why I had to forfeit. Of course, he didn’t want to win like that, so we agreed to reschedule. We talked for a long time, actually—I wouldn’t be surprised if he was making the ride too.”

He took a deep breath. “And because I knew I would miss you too much,” he said in a low voice. He took her hand and kissed the back of it, a chaste motion, like something she read in her Arthurian legends. Now she knew why Guinevere had fallen.

He was looking at her with that intense gaze, the one that made Sofie feel both vulnerable and protected at once. She didn’t look away even as the wagon bumped along on the rutted country road. She’d made the journey down by herself, and she knew she could do it alone. But Ivan sitting beside her felt as right as the decision to come itself.

“Well, if I have to be thrown in the worst prison in the US, I’m glad it’s with you,” she said. The bus stopped and idled at the gates. Sofie knew that she and the other riders had a hard few weeks ahead of them, but her hand was in Ivan’s, and together they could do anything.

Chapter 13

Three weeks later

Sofie was too thin. Ivan ran his hand over her ribcage and the dip of her belly as she slept deeply beside him in the lumpy motel bed. They’d have to leave soon to continue the second leg of their journey home from Mississippi, but she needed her rest after the ordeal they’d been through. Being placed in separate cells with the other Freedom Riders had given them some level of safety, but many of the guards had tried to break them. Food had been scant and, when it arrived, nearly inedible. Mattresses and toothbrushes and privacy had been taken away as punishment for the songs they sang constantly to keep themselves motivated. As more and more young people from across the country joined the ride, the cells were filled to many times over their capacities, which was the only reason Ivan and Sofie had been released.