Let the Circle Be Unbroken (6 page)

“Probably more than we even know,” Mama said.

We heard the car leave, and after a few minutes when
Papa and Mr. Morrison did not return, Little Man went to the front door and opened it.

“Clayton Chester, don’t you go out there!” Mama said, forbidding his leaving with his given name, so seldom used.

Little Man glanced back at Mama, not daring to disobey, but there was fear in his eyes, for since the fire he had been afraid that Papa or Mr. Morrison or Stacey would leave at night and never return.

“But Papa—”

“He’s all right. Mr. Morrison too. Now close the door.”

Little Man obeyed but didn’t move from the door, and as soon as he heard footsteps on the steps swung it open.

Papa’s eyes met Mama’s as he entered and saw Little Man. “Well, thank you, son,” he said. Little Man trembled and Papa took his hand. “Looks like ole man winter’s gone and got you cold. I ’spect you best get your book and come sit over here closer to me and this fire and get yourself warm.”

Little Man hurried to do his bidding. Retrieving his book, he dashed back to Papa’s side, and taking the chair which Papa had pulled close to his own, he opened his book, then looked up at Papa. Papa winked and Little Man smiled. He remained at Papa’s side the rest of the evening.

*   *   *

The days before the trial were long and filled with few thoughts other than what would happen to T.J. At school older students talked of little else. At home Mama and Papa tried to make the boys and me see that, most likely, the trial would change nothing. They did not want us to get our hopes up. Still, though I knew they believed what they told us, I couldn’t help but wish that a miracle would happen and T.J. would go free. After all, the Bible was always talking about miracles. I figured that if Daniel could get out of the
lion’s den alive and Jonah could come up unharmed from the belly of a whale, then surely ole T.J. could get out of going to prison.

T.J. consumed my mind. Each night I prayed long and hard asking God to save him, and once I was asleep, my dreams swept me back to the heat of the August night when T.J. had come pounding on our door and Stacey, Christopher-John, Little Man, and I had sneaked out into the thundering night to walk him home, only to deliver him into the hands of a mob ready to lynch him. Sometimes in those dreams I became T.J. and I awoke with a scream, shaking and unable to dispel the memory of the coarse rope binding my neck. Big Ma would hold me to her and Mama and Papa would come in from the next room, but I would not talk about the dreams. They were too real.

I knew that Mama and Papa were worried about the boys and me. Sometimes I found them, and Big Ma and Mr. Morrison as well, watching us as if trying to read our thoughts. When they talked to us about what we could expect of the trial, about what could happen to T.J., we listened but said very little, for it seemed that everything had already been said. Of all of us, I believed that they worried most about Stacey. He was silent and moody and was always going off alone to the pond or the fields or the pasture. More than once I saw Papa or Mama staring after him when he went, but they said nothing to him. Once Mama had started to follow, but Papa held her back.

“Ain’t nothin’ more we can say to him, sugar. What he gotta do is work it out in his own head how things are. He need us, he’ll come on back and talk.”

Mama had conceded somewhat doubtfully to Papa and had not followed; but I had. I was worried about Stacey too. I knew that he was upset not only because of what was happening
to T.J., but because Mama and Papa were not allowing him to go to the trial. When I caught up with him, I tried to talk to him about it.

“Boy, how come you mopin’ ’round like you are? Don’t it make sense to you how come Papa decided not to go to that trial?”

Stacey didn’t answer.

“And how come they ain’t gonna let you go either?”

Stacey looked at me and turned away. There had been an old man’s sorrow in his eyes, and a deepening frown across his forehead which now seemed always to be there.

“You know,” I said, “what happened to T.J., it ain’t your fault.”

“Ah, I know that. It’s just that . . .”

“What?”

“I just keep thinking that . . . that maybe I should’ve tried more to talk some sense into him—”

“Couldn’t nobody talk any sense into T.J. and you know it!” I exclaimed, not liking to see him this way. “T.J. was a fool, and if the truth was known most likely still is.”

Stacey cast me a disapproving glance as if T.J.’s impending fate made it disrespectful to talk of him this way. But I didn’t care. It was the truth.

Stacey shook his head at my outspokenness, then, dismissed it, and confided: “Little Willie’s talking ’bout going to the trial.”

“Is?”

Stacey nodded. “Clarence too.”

I grew scared. “You—you ain’t thinkin’ ’bout disobeying Papa and trying to go?”

He looked at me, his eyes searching mine to see if he could, trust me. I tried to hide my fear, but it showed through.

“Ah, Little Willie and Clarence, they just talking,” he scoffed with a hurried laugh.

I stared at him suspiciously. “You sure?”

“Don’t worry. Ain’t none of us goin’ nowhere.”

But I did worry, and on the morning of the trial I found that all my fears had been justified. As Stacey, Christopher-John, Little Man, and I approached the second crossroads on the way to school, Moe and Clarence were waiting.

“We got us a way in,” Clarence announced as soon as we were within earshot.

Immediately I pounced on him. “A way into where?”

Clarence, looking somewhat uneasy, hooked his arm into Stacey’s and stepped with him and Moe to the side of the road. Christopher-John, Little Man, and I stepped right behind them.

“Aunt Callie Jackson’s sending Joe into Strawberry for somethin’ or ’nother.”

Stacey looked up the road. “You ask him ’bout taking us?”

“Yeah. He said okay.”

“You tell him how come we wanna go?”

Clarence shook his head. “Said we had some errands—we’ll tell him later. He waiting, so we’d better go.”

“We’d!” I exclaimed. “Stacey ain’t goin’ nowheres!”

Stacey ignored me. “Moe, you going?”

Moe shrugged. “Like I said, you go, I’ll go.”

“Stacey, you know you can’t go! Papa gonna wear you out, you go—”

“Go where?” Little Man inquired.

“Cassie, I don’t go, I most likely ain’t never gonna see T.J. again.”

“Go where?” Little Man repeated.

“Well, that ain’t no great loss!” I cried, too afraid for Stacey’s safety at the moment to concern myself with T.J.’s
future. “You gettin’ into trouble ain’t gonna help him none.”

“Look, Stacey, we gonna have to go, ’cause Joe ain’t likely to wait too long,” urged Clarence.

“Where’s he waiting?”

“Down past the school.”

Stacey glanced down toward Great Faith. “What ’bout Little Willie? What’s he gonna do?”

“Haven’t seen him yet,” admitted Clarence. “But he was talkin’ like he’d go if we found a way to get into town.”

“It’s near eight o’clock already,” said Stacey. “We ain’t likely to get there now ’fore noon, and even if the trial’s still goin’ on, we ain’t gonna get back till after school’s out.”

Moe nodded, acknowledging the precarious timetable. Stacey and Clarence looked at him and at each other, each aware of the fate which would be awaiting them upon their return. It was Stacey who made the decision. “All right, let’s get Little Willie.”

“Where y’all going?” Little Man demanded once more.

“They think they going to Strawberry,” I told him.

Christopher-John’s eyes widened. “Strawberry! Stacey, you can’t go do that! Papa said—”

“I know what Papa said, but this here is somethin’ I gotta do. I’ll get my whippin’ when I come back, but I’m gonna have to go—done made up my mind to that.”

“Well, you just better unmake it,” I advised.

Stacey glared at me, but with no time to argue the point started down the road toward school between Moe and Clarence. As Christopher-John, Little Man, and I ran along behind them, I pleaded with Stacey, cajoled him, and threatened him with every dire consequence I could think of, but none of my talk changed his mind. When we reached Great Faith, he stopped.

“Now, y’all gonna have to let me do this my way. When
school’s out, y’all go on home and tell Papa what I done—”

“What!”

“Tell him what I done so’s y’all won’t get into trouble. I’ll be all right.” And with that, he walked up the lawn with Moe and Clarence in search of Little Willie. Christopher-John, Little Man, and I watched him go.

“Cassie, Stacey, he gonna be all right?” worried Christopher-John. “I don’t like him goin’ all the way to that place by hisself.”

“Me neither,” admitted Little Man.

I made no comment as I watched Stacey, already nearing the middle-grades building. In a few minutes he would be back again and on his way to Strawberry. I figured if I lit out running for home, Papa riding our mare, Lady, could overtake Stacey before he got there. But only part of me wanted to do that. The other part wanted to jump on that wagon and go with him, not only to make sure he remained safe, but to see firsthand what was to become of T.J. I knew that Stacey would never allow me to go, but if he went, I knew good and well that I was going too. After all, a whipping could last for only so long, and a day like this perhaps would never come again.

I made up my mind. “I’m gonna go with him,” I said. “Y’all go on up to school.”

“Unh-unh,” defied Little Man. “Y’all goin’, I’m goin’.”

“All y’all crazy!” Christopher-John declared. “Y’all know we can’t be goin’ all the way to Strawberry by ourselves!”

“Look, y’all just stay here. I gotta get on that wagon ’fore Stacey comes.”

I ran down the road. Little Man was right behind me and Christopher-John, coming at a slower, pudgier pace, behind him. For a moment I faltered, wondering if I should turn
back because of them, then ran on telling myself that they would be all right. When the wagon came into view, I stopped. I didn’t see Joe, but sitting on the front seat turned sideways so that he saw us coming was Wordell Lees. Little Man, Christopher-John, and I glanced at each other, apprehensive about our proposed adventure and about approaching a figure as mysterious as Wordell. But there was no time to think about Wordell’s peculiarities now. There was a tarpaulin on the wagon. If we were going anywhere, we had to get under it before the others came.

“What you gonna say to him?” whispered Little Man.

I shrugged, not knowing, and went on. Little Man and Christopher-John came slowly behind. At the rear of the wagon I nodded at Wordell. He did not nod back. Deciding that there was no time to say anything but the truth, I blurted out: “You mind if we get under this here thing so’s we can ride into town with y’all? Stacey, he’s goin’ too, but he don’t want us to go, but we gotta go if he go, but he can’t know ’bout it till we get on down the road toward town so’s he can’t send us back. That be all right with you?”

Wordell stared at us, his sandy eyes unreadable; then he looked away into the woods as if it were no business of his. If the gesture was not one of permission, it was not denial either, and wasting no more time, I hurried into the wagon and under the tarpaulin. Little Man quickly followed my lead, but Christopher-John stood unmoving, staring up at us as if this time we really had gone mad.

“Ain’t y’all even thought ’bout what Papa gonna do when he find out? And Mama and Big Ma, they’s gonna be so worried—”

“We’ll be back by the time we usually get home. Now shut up and get up here if you going. You ain’t going, then get on back to school ’fore Stacey sees you.”

Christopher-John glowered angrily up at me, his face an anguish of indecision. I knew that he did not want to go, but I also knew that if the rest of us were committed to going, he would not be left behind.

“Well?” I demanded. “What you gonna do?”

Grumbling, he got into the wagon.

“How far is it, Cassie?” Little Man asked, filled with curiosity about this town he’d never seen.

“Twenty-two miles or so.”

“We gonna have to ride all the way there under this thing?”

“No—jus’ far ’nough so’s they can’t send us back. Now y’all both be quiet and don’t move and don’t say nothing till I tell ya.”

“We gonna sho’ ’nough get a whippin’. . . .”

*   *   *

The road to Strawberry was rough and the wagon bed hard. As far as I could figure, we endured almost an hour under the tarpaulin before being discovered. At first I was afraid that Little Man or Christopher-John—especially Christopher-John—would give us away during the first minutes. When neither of them did, I began to wonder how two little boys who were usually so restless could remain so still. Eventually I found out as the sound of soft snoring disrupted the quiet which had settled over the wagon. Immediately, the tarpaulin was thrown back and we faced the shock and then the wrath of the four older boys.

“Y’all know what kinda trouble I’m in now!” Stacey fumed. “Me going to Strawberry by myself, Papa would’ve whipped me, but he’d’ve understood. But y’all comin’ along, he ain’t gonna understand that! Don’t y’all know I’m responsible for y’all?”

“Then you should’ve stayed at school,” I responded, feeling
stiff from having had to lie so still and not at all like soothing his disturbed conscience.

He stared at me with fierce hostility, then turned gloomily back to the road. Everyone waited for him to say something. “Joe!” he called at last. “You gonna hafta go back.”

“Ah, Stacey, what they gonna get into?” questioned Little Willie. “Look, you gonna get a whipping anyways you look at it, so why don’t we go on in like we planned so’s we can be with T.J. and come on back ’fore your folks get a chance to be worried. We’ll all watch out for ’em.”

Stacey looked away, trying to make up his mind. I started to say something, but decided I’d better not.

“Things go for T.J. the way folks say,” Moe said softly, “we probably feel a lot worse than a whippin’, we don’t go.”

Moe’s statement settled it and we remained in the wagon.

By noon we were rolling down the main street of Strawberry. Christopher-John and Little Man stared out at it with bright, curious eyes, but the rest of us, having been there before, glanced around dully in a hurry to get on to the trial. Nothing much about Strawberry had changed since I’d first seen it a year ago. The verandas still sagged and the buildings still stared grayly out at the three-block asphalt road which, along with the spindly row of electrical poles lining it, brought the only touches of modernity to the place. The street, however, was strangely deserted. When I had come the one time before, it had been market day and the streets had been filled with country people and townspeople alike, sauntering along the sidewalks and in and out of the shops. Now the doors to the shops were closed, and the few people whom we did see seemed to be in a hurry to get someplace else.