Let the Circle Be Unbroken (34 page)

None of us spoke and he said, “You think I don’t know how y’all feel?”

We looked at him without answering.

“Got a great big empty spot that aches all the time and can’t nothing fill it ’cept for Stacey to come home? Well, I know it ’cause I got it myself. We all got it. We all part of one body in this family, and with Stacey gone, we just ain’t whole. I know that. But till he do come back, we just gonna have to keep on being strong and we gonna have to support each other and stick together in this thing, ’cause we all going through the same hurt and worry.”

“But, Papa,” I said, “what if we don’t hear from Stacey?”

Papa hesitated, as if he did not want to answer my question. “Just gonna have to have faith, Cassie . . . that’s all I can say. Faith Stacey’s all right and faith he’s gonna come home. Lord willing, that’s the way it’ll be. Now it’s gonna be hard livin’ without him till he do come back, but we just gonna have to try. Gonna have to try hard.”

I had never heard Papa sound so tired. “Papa, don’t you think you oughta get some sleep? You said you didn’t sleep so good last night.”

“I will, Cassie girl, I will.” But he didn’t move from the porch. He stood there for some time sharing the aching pain of loneliness with us, and when he finally did go, it was not into the house, but across the lawn to the road, where he went into the forest alone.

That night, I cried.

“Maybe he’s dead,” said Mary Lou Wellever. “Maybe they’re both dead.”

I laid into Mary Lou with all I had, hitting her so ferociously that she fell whimpering upon the ground, her thin arms over her face to protect herself from my fury. Son-Boy and Maynard tried to pull me off.

“Cassie, ya gonna hurt her bad, ya keep it up!” hollered Maynard as I beat at her cowering form.

“He ain’t dead, ya hear me? He ain’t! So you keep your filthy mouth to yourself!”

“Let her go, Cassie!” Son-Boy yelled, taking hold of my arm. “Cassie!”

Maynard grabbed my other arm, and together he and Son-Boy pulled me away. Mary Lou continued to cringe on the ground, too paralyzed with fear to move. As tears slipped down my cheeks, I shrieked wildly at her, trying to get at her again, but Maynard and Son-Boy’s hold was too strong.

“Cassie Logan!”

I looked up just as Miss Daisy Crocker stepped from the crowd and grabbed my arm. Son-Boy and Maynard released me with a helpless shrug, then looked on sympathetically as Miss Crocker led me away. I hollered back at Mary Lou one last time. Miss Crocker gave me a jerk. “Now, that’s enough of that,” she said.

She led me to her empty classroom, ordered me to sit, and left. I waited for her return trembling with anger and fear, a fear not of Miss Crocker or anything she could do, but of Mary Lou’s words. It was mid-November and Stacey had been gone nearly eight weeks now. In all that time, there had been no word of him, no word from him or Moe, and inside me I was scared all the time as the knot of fear swelled with the passing days, eating at my ebbing faith that he was all right.

A few minutes later when Miss Crocker returned, Suzella was with her. “Now I know that life is not easy for you right now, Cassie,” said Miss Crocker in her familiar, brusque way, “but even when times are hard, we cannot go around taking out our frustrations on others. That’s just not the Christian way. Suzella, now I want you to talk to her, and afterward I’ll take her to see Mr. Wellever. Sorrow or not, we just cannot tolerate fighting here at Great Faith.”

Suzella agreed wholeheartedly with Miss Crocker, and then said if Miss Crocker didn’t mind, she would like to talk to me alone. Miss Crocker looked somewhat askance at both of us, as if we were taking advantage of her sympathetic
gesture, and agreed. “But only a few minutes. Class will be starting promptly at one, and I want Mr. Wellever to see her before then.”

After she had gone, Suzella sat sideways at the desk in front of me, her eyes on me, but for a while saying nothing. Finally she spoke. “Well, what were you fighting about?”

“Didn’t she tell ya?” I asked, still angry.

“She said she thought it was something about Stacey. Was it?”

“That devilish Mary Lou! Said he was dead!”

Suzella was silent a long time. Then she stood. “Come on.”

“Where?”

“Outside. I want to go for a walk.”

“But Miz Crocker told you—”

“I’ll worry about Miss Crocker.”

“Mr. Wellever too?”

“Him too. Come on.” She walked out, not waiting to see if I would follow. I waited several moments, thinking on it, and went after her. Suzella was headed for the trail leading into the forest. “You know, Cassie,” she said when I had caught up, “I know you might not think so, but there are some ways we’re alike.”

I stared at her. “What’s that?”

“What we love, we love very deeply. I understand why you jumped on Mary Lou.”

“Would you have?”

She looked back at me and was honest. “I don’t think so. Maybe I would’ve liked to, but I don’t think I would’ve. It’s just not me.” We walked in silence until she spoke again. “I’ve wished a lot of times, though, I were more . . . more hot-tempered and could just say what I think.”

“You’d just be getting yourself into trouble. You jus’ keep
staying near to perfect like you are and you’ll do better,” I advised.

Suzella stopped and laughed. “Near to perfect?”

“That’s what you try to be, ain’t it?”

“Not really.”

“Seem that way.”

“Well, maybe I do . . . sometimes.”

“That’s what I thought.”

She looked away, then back at me. “Maybe I should try being more like you,” she teased.

“Maybe,” I said and the two of us walked on.

We came to the fallen tree where I had played my last game of marbles. It seemed so long ago. We sat down and talked, mostly about Stacey.

“I swear to God, Suzella, he ever come back, I won’t ever do anything to make him mad again. He wanna go off by himself, I’ll let him be. He wanna keep changing, he can do that too. I won’t say nothin’. He wanna— What you laughing ’bout?”

“Because you couldn’t do it, Cassie.”

“Yes, I could.”

She shook her head. “It wouldn’t be like you. Besides, as much as you might get on his nerves sometimes, Stacey would want you to be you.” Her eyes twinkled. “He wouldn’t know you otherwise.”

When the bell rang, we did not go back. There was no rush, Suzella said.

“You gonna get in trouble.”

“You want to go back then?”

“No,” I decided. “’Sides, I think trouble’ll look good on you for a change.”

She laughed. “Not too good, I hope.”

After school Christopher-John, Little Man, and I sat with
Little Willie and a group of other friends by the well waiting for Suzella, who was still inside explaining to both Mr. Wellever and Miss Crocker why she had been late for her class. I had already gotten a stern lecture from Mr. Wellever for fighting with Mary Lou and had been dismissed. But they had kept Suzella.

“Ain’t heard nothin’? Not a word?” questioned Little Willie, as he did practically every day even though he knew we would have told him if we had.

“I still can’t get over them leavin’ in the first place,” said Clarence.

Don Shorter leaned against the well. “Wish they’d’ve let me in on it. I’d’ve gone with ’em.”

Clarence looked over at him. “Wouldja?”

“Sure. Me and Ron.”

“Well, when they get back,” said Little Willie, “I’m gonna sho’ get on them. Not even sayin’ nothin’ to me ’bout this thing.”

“Umph!” Ron said. “They must be havin’ some kinda good time.”

Little Willie looked at him as if he were crazy. “Working the cane fields?”

“Naw, that ain’t what I meant. Meant off seeing the country. Taking care of themselves.”

“Oh.” Little Willie did not sound convinced. There was silence around the well. Then, with a shake of his head, he mumbled, “Shoot! Wish they’d come on back. I miss them scounds!”

“Well, least one thing,” said Don.

“What’s that?”

“They ain’t gotta be bothered with no Stuart Walker where they are.” He nodded toward a car coming onto the school grounds. “Look there.”

The black Hudson pulled in front of the well and Stuart stepped out. He looked out over the car’s hood at us, taking his time before speaking. He knew he already had our attention. Finally, he said, “Y’all younguns know a nigger by the name of Dubé Cross?”

Dubé, who had been sitting quietly on the ground with his back against the well, looked up in surprise. Fear welled in his eyes and he said nothing. But our eyes had automatically shifted to him when his name was mentioned, and now Stuart looked at him too.

“You, boy, what’s your name?”

“M-me, suh?”

Stuart waited, saying nothing else.

Dubé leapt to his feet. “D-D-Dubé, M-Mr. W-W-Walker, sir. Dubé C-Cross.”

Stuart studied him. “Heard you was helping them union men when they was here.”

Dubé trembled. He kept his eyes on the ground and did not look at Stuart.

“Heard now that Morris Wheeler been seen near this way over by Pine Wood Ridge. You seen him?”

Dubé glanced up, his eyes pleading with Stuart. He tried to speak, but he was so terrified by Stuart’s presence that he was unable to make anything but a sputtering sound that did not turn into words.

“He don’t speak so good,” I said, not liking to see him like this. “He can’t answer you.”

Stuart’s glance slid my way. “Well, you seem to do all right. Got plenty of mouth on you.” He grinned; I didn’t like the feel of it. Christopher-John and Little Man moved in front of, me and Stuart laughed. His eyes lingered a moment longer, then he turned his attention back to Dubé. “Well, boy, I’m waitin’ here.”

Dubé kept trying, but it was no use. He couldn’t speak. Finally, in desperation, he shook his head.

“You tellin’ me the truth, boy?”

Dubé nodded.

Stuart stared at Dubé; Dubé stared at the ground. “You hear from him or any other of them union men, I wanna know ’bout it. You hear me, boy?”

Dubé nodded, not looking up.

“That go the same for all of y’all. There ain’t gonna be no union down in here, so y’all tell that to your folks. No union!”

His eyes circled the group and he started to get into the car. Then he saw Suzella. She was coming out of her class building with Miss Crocker and Mr. Wellever; all three were smiling. Stuart waited for her to leave them and head our way, and when she finally saw him, he smiled icily, tipped his hat, and then left. Suzella stared after him, then hurried over. “What did he want?” she asked.

“Nothin’ ’bout you,” I said and turned quickly to Dubé, who had fallen to his knees, trembling with his fear. “Dubé, you all right?”

Dubé took several deep breaths and nodded.

“Man, you seen them union fellas?” asked Little Willie.

Dubé shook his head and after one more deep breath said, “B-b-but I-I-I do, I-I ain’t t-t-tellin’ him nothin’. N-not one dddd-devilish thing.”

*   *   *

At supper, Papa mentioned that hiring had begun again at the hospital. “Maybe I’ll go over and see if I can’t get on,” he said, trying to bring conversation back to our daily meals.

“It’s a little late for that, don’t you think? When you should have been working here, you weren’t.”

“Mary, don’t start in on me now.”

“It’s just the truth.”

Papa ate his food in silence and before he was finished left the table. Mr. Morrison went after him.

“You can’t keep blaming him, Mary,” Big Ma chided when they both were gone. “You know he’s blaming himself. This thing, it’s eating him up inside.”

“It’s eating me up inside too,” Mama said and began to clear the table.

My eyes met Christopher-John’s and Little Man’s, confirming what we all felt. Nothing was the same anymore. Since Stacey had left, there was no more laughter in the house, and the warmth between Mama and Papa which we had always taken for granted seemed to have gone with Stacey. Breakfast and supper passed with little talk, evenings were strained, and although both Mama and Papa attempted to soothe our fears and keep life without Stacey as normal as possible, the tension between them bothered us almost as much as Stacey’s absence.

After supper, Little Man and Christopher-John went off to find Papa; I started the dishes. “Mama,” I said as she scraped the leftovers from our plates into one dish for the hogs, “don’t you love him anymore?”

Mama stopped and stared at me, a frown lining her brow. “What?”

“Papa. Don’t you love him anymore?”

“Of course . . . what makes you ask a thing like that?” “The way you are with him. . . . Mama, it ain’t Papa’s fault ’bout Stacey. It’s Stacey’s own doing.”

Mama turned away and began to scrape again.

“Mama, you can’t blame him.”

“Cassie, what’s between your papa and me is something we’ll have to work out, and it’s something I don’t wish to discuss with you.”

“But, Mama—”

“Just wash the dishes, Cassie,” she said and left.

Christopher-John and Little Man returned a few minutes later. “Papa, he said for us to come on back,” Little Man explained. “He with Mr. Morrison in the cabin.”

Through the evening, we kept waiting for Papa and Mr. Morrison to return to the house. As our bedtime neared and passed and they did not come back, Mama ordered us to bed. We protested, but Mama was firm and would not even let us go across the garden to say good night. Once I was in bed, I tried to stay awake, listening for Papa, but I fell asleep without hearing him come in.

*   *   *

“Hey, Son-Boy! You seen Wordell?” I hollered as I dashed off Mrs. Lee Annie’s front porch after a Saturday-morning reading session. Son-Boy sat on his own porch with his legs astraddle the rail and his head forward resting against a post. Without looking up, he shrugged. I went over. “What’s the matter with you?”

This time Son-Boy pulled back from the post and looked at me. “Feel a bit sick on the stomach, that’s all.”

“I’m sorry. You tell your mama?”

Son-Boy frowned. “And have her give me some of that ole bad-tasting castor oil of hers and put me to bed? No, thank ya, ma’am!”

I shrugged. “All right then. What you say ’bout Wordell?”