The Lions of Little Rock (24 page)

49

GOD BLESS DAVID

It was a pretty farmhouse, with old furniture, but neat and tidy. I walked into the kitchen. There was a phone on the wall.

I picked up the receiver and dialed Liz. She answered on the first ring.

“It's me,” I said. My voice shook so much, I wasn't sure she'd recognize me.

“Marlee?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, thank God! Are you okay?”

“I think so.” I was dripping water all over a clean white rug.

“I just about died when Red drove off.”

“He decided to go fishing,” I said.

“Fishing? Where are you?”

“I don't know.” I looked around as if I expected to see a street sign in the kitchen. “What happened to the dynamite?”

“I left it by the back door of the police station with a note saying I'd found it in the woods. I don't think anyone saw me.”

“Thank goodness,” I sighed.

“Where are you?” Liz repeated. She sounded like she was about to cry.

“I don't know!” I was the one who was lost. There was a pile of mail on the otherwise neat table. I picked up a piece. “I'm at forty-three Salamander Road.”

“Where's that?” asked Liz.

“Do you have a map?”

She did.

“Start at the zoo. We went left, then right, then straight for a long time.” Thank goodness I'd paid attention. “And finally another right.”

“I see it,” said Liz, “but it's a long road. How will I know where . . .”

I had an idea. I picked up a piece of mail and rummaged in my purse for a pen. It was three fifteen
P.M.
when Red drove off. I knew that because I'd heard the church bells. And it was three forty-five when we arrived. So that was thirty minutes. Red had said the car only went twenty-five miles per hour, and he was late, so he'd probably been driving that fast the whole way. I made a few notes on the piece of paper. Thirty minutes was half of one hour, and half of 25 miles was 12.5.

God bless math. “I'm about twelve miles down the road,” I said.

“How—”

“Just find someone to come and get me.”

“Who?” Liz moaned.

My brain felt thick and slow. If I called Mother or Daddy, I'd be going to Pine Bluff for sure, no matter how many pretty speeches Mother made about taking a stand. Maybe David would come. He didn't have a car, but perhaps he could borrow one.

“Call my brother,” I said, and gave her the number. “Tell him it's an emergency and to please come now.”

I heard the front door open and steps in the living room. A moment later a figure appeared in the doorway of the kitchen. “Who are you?”

Startled, I hung up the phone.

It was an old lady, with a faded dress and worn hands.

I burst into tears. I swear it wasn't calculated, but apparently it was just the right thing to do. I must have looked pretty pitiful, because instead of getting mad, she turned concerned. “It's all right, sweetie,” she said. “Just tell me what's wrong.”

“I got lost in the woods,” I mumbled. That much was true. “I was fishing with my daddy, and I wandered off and . . .” A fresh batch of tears. I wasn't quite sure if I was acting or not anymore. “I knocked, but no one answered and . . .”

“There, there,” she said. “Calm down.” She patted my back like I was a puppy. I slowly stopped crying.

“I have a granddaughter your age,” she said. “Let me go see if I can find you something dry to wear.”

I was still sniffling but felt better. Maybe she'd even offer to drive me home. I could call Liz back and . . . I turned over the piece of paper I'd used to get the address. It was a CROSS flyer.

I stood up and ran. Out the front door and down the street. Ran and ran and ran. I figured out pretty quickly that was a stupid thing to do. It was still raining. And it wasn't like being a CROSS supporter made her a wicked witch who ate children or anything.

It wasn't exactly cold, but my skirt was soaked through, and my feet were wet. I hate wet shoes. They squish and squash, and twelve miles was a long way to walk in squishy shoes. David probably wouldn't be able to come. No, Liz would have to call my parents, and I'd be in Pine Bluff before I could even say good-bye. Well, at least we had gotten rid of the dynamite.

Except for the two sticks I'd left in the trunk. In my rush to get away from the car, I'd forgotten completely about them. All this had been for nothing. Red still had some dynamite, and I'd lost the nicest birthday present I'd ever received from my mother. Probably the last present I'd ever get once she found out what I'd done.

I went on like that, feeling sorry for myself, till I saw a car coming down the road. I thought about jumping in the woods to hide, but frankly, I was just too tired. As it came closer, the car slowed down. I could see a young man behind the wheel, grinning at me.

“Hey, Marlee,” David said as he rolled up beside me. “Fancy meeting you here.”

“Thanks for coming,” I said.

“Course I'd come,” said David. “You're my sister.”

I got in the car, and we started home. “Try not to get mud on the seat,” said David. “I had to borrow the car from my professor.”

I peeled off my wet shoes and socks, and a wave of relief swept over me, like wet feet had been the worst of my problems.

“So,” said David.

“So,” I repeated.

“How about a deal,” he said. “I won't tell Mother and Daddy, if you tell me the whole story.”

“Okay,” I said, and started talking. David was a good listener. He didn't interrupt once, but I could tell he was upset, because by the time I got to the end, his trademark grin was nowhere in sight.

“Jeez Louise, Marlee!” he said when I was done. “What were you thinking?”

“You promised not to tell,” I reminded him.

“I did,” sighed David. “But you've got to promise me never to do anything like that ever again.”

“Gladly,” I said.

He shook his head. “It's always the quiet ones who are the craziest.” But he was grinning again, and I knew he was teasing. I leaned up against him like I used to do when I was four and he was ten and he was reading me a book. And even though I was worried about what was going to happen next, I felt happier than I had for a long time.

50

WORRIES

I was lucky. Really, really lucky. When David dropped me off at home, Mother was still sleeping. Daddy had left a note for me, saying he'd gone down to STOP headquarters. I called Liz to let her know I was home, ate a sandwich and went to bed. I was so tired, I didn't even have any dreams. It was wonderful.

The next Monday at school, JT cornered me again. “How'd you do it?”

“Do what?” I asked.

“Red was furious. When he came back from fishing, his trunk was open and the dynamite was gone. He thinks you did it.”

“Why me?”

“Because you didn't want him to take it in the first place!”

I put my hands on my hips. “JT, how could I have done it? I don't have a key to his trunk.” I was a better liar than I thought.

JT shrugged. “I can't figure out how you followed him to the middle of nowhere.”

“That's because I didn't follow him.” That was sort of true. I'd gone with him instead.

“Why,” asked JT, “if you went to all the trouble to steal the rest—why didn't you take the last two sticks?”

“I didn't mean to leave—”

JT grinned at me. Okay, so he wasn't stupid. And, clearly, I was.

“So it was you,” he said.

“JT, you can't tell—”

“Of course not. You'd look really awful with a black eye. But Red is pretty angry and looking for someone to blame. And he and my dad have been talking a lot about Birmingham.”

“Why are they talking about Alabama?”

“Colored folks are starting to move into the white neighborhoods there, and well, there've been a lot of bombings. In one part of town there have been so many explosions, they call it Dynamite Hill.”

“That's awful!”

“That's what I thought. But Red and Daddy were laughing about it, like it was some big joke. ‘Ought to do that here,' said Daddy. ‘That'll solve our school problems real fast.' Mother said they were only kidding, but . . .”

JT glanced around. No one was paying any attention to us.

“Remember last year, when there were those bomb threats at Central?”

“Yeah.” Judy had told me about them on more than one occasion.

“Well, Red called in at least one of them. I know. I was home sick, but Red didn't know that, and I heard him make the call.”

I said nothing.

“I never told anyone.”

“Do you think he'd bomb my house?” I asked.

JT considered that, and the longer he considered it, the more nervous I got. “I don't think he'd bomb a white girl,” he said finally. “But Liz is colored.”

“He doesn't know what she looks like.”

“Not yet,” said JT. “But look at this.” He pulled out our yearbook, which we'd gotten in homeroom that morning. I hadn't even looked through it yet. He flipped to a page in the back.

It was a picture of the cheerleaders at a football game. In one corner, sitting on the bleachers, Liz and I were clearly visible.

“Red hasn't seen this yet, has he?”

JT shook his head. “I'll hide my yearbook, but a lot of people have copies.”

“Thanks for the warning,” I said.

He shrugged. “It was kind of fun to see Red so mad.” He swaggered off like a cowboy, but this time, I was pretty darn sure it was an act, like David's happy grin. And I hoped that JT wouldn't turn up at school the next day with another black eye.

I warned Liz about the photo, but there wasn't much she could do. Someone was already keeping watch at her house every night. There was now less than a week before the election on May 25, and I was a nervous wreck. I spent hours staring out our front window, watching for Red's old gray Chrysler Windsor.

Every morning as I sat in the car with Daddy on the short ride to school, I tried to decide if I should tell him about the trunk. I wanted to get it off my chest, wanted him to reassure me that two sticks were nothing, no real harm could be done. But every time I opened my mouth to tell him, I stopped. What would it change? The police had done all they could. I would be sent to Pine Bluff. And it seemed like
not
being able to keep a lookout for Red would be even worse.

But I got quiet again. Like a turtle, I pulled back into my shell, conserving my courage and my words until I really needed them. At least that's what I told myself. I hoped it wasn't just an excuse for being quiet and afraid.

51

STOPPING BY BETTY JEAN'S

It was Sunday, May 24, 1959, the day before the election. Mother and I had spent all afternoon mimeographing a sample ballot. My arms were sore from turning the crank, and I had purple ink all over my hands, but we needed the copies. See, the election was a little confusing. We wanted people to vote AGAINST the recall of Lamb, Matson and Tucker (because they were the moderate board members STOP wanted to keep) and FOR the recall of McKinley, Rowland and Laster (because they were the ones we wanted to get rid of). If we could get rid of the segregationists, new school board members would be appointed. Since the school board determined the opening date for the schools, if we could get the governor's men off of it, the schools could reopen. STOP was going to hand out the ballots at the polls to make sure no one voted for the wrong person by accident.

We were making some extra copies for Betty Jean and Pastor George and were going to drop them off before dinner. The thought of going to Betty Jean's cheered me up a bit. I'd never been to her house before, but I was pretty sure Liz would be there. She was as excited about the election as I was. I cranked out the last few copies, washed my hands to try to get rid of the mimeograph ink (it didn't work), and Mother and I jumped into the car.

Betty Jean's house was small and white, with neat flower beds in the front. It was only two blocks down from where we'd seen Red egging that house last Halloween. Mother parked on the curb, and we went inside.

Pastor George smiled real wide when he saw us. “Mrs. Nisbett,” he said, “always a pleasure.”

Mother smiled.

“And Marlee,” he said. “Any more secret messages?”

I blushed. “No. Only some sample ballots.”

“Thank you,” he said as he took them from me. “Wouldn't want anyone accidentally voting for the wrong person.”

Betty Jean poked her head out of the door. “Marlee, Liz and Curtis are in the living room, if you'd like to say hello.”

I ran off before Mother could say we had to go home and make dinner. Curtis was putting the finishing touches on a bunch of signs. Liz sat next to him. As I watched, he leaned over and put a drop of paint on her nose. She giggled. It sounded unlike Liz.

She liked him. He liked her. I was just the third wheel in the room. I was going to lose her, just like I'd lost Judy to that awful Robert Laurence. I almost turned and went back outside, but then Mother appeared behind me and said, “Let me finally meet this famous Liz.”

When she said that, Liz looked up, and a grin broke over her face. “Marlee!” She ran to give me a hug. I felt bad for ever doubting her.

“This is my mother,” I said quietly. “Mother, this is my friend Liz.”

Liz and Mother shook hands and looked each other over. Liz was almost as tall as Mother and looked her straight in the eye. Mother smiled and clasped Liz's hands in both of hers and said with real warmth in her voice, “It's a pleasure to meet you.”

“You've got quite the daughter,” Liz said.

Mother laughed. “Don't I know.”

Then Curtis stood up and walked toward us, and Liz said, “This is my friend Curtis.” And she blushed.

Curtis glanced at me, and we both said, “We've met.” We all laughed, and he shook Mother's hand. I remembered how Judy had come back, even if I'd lost her for a bit, and Liz seemed so happy, how could I be sad? I turned to look out the front window so no one could see the jumble of emotions on my face.

That's when I saw the old gray Chrysler Windsor drive by.

I blinked and the car was gone. Had I imagined it? Mother was sitting on the couch, and Betty Jean had brought in sweet tea and oatmeal muffins. Liz was talking, and Mother and Curtis and Betty Jean were laughing at something she'd said, and everything seemed so normal. Just when I was sure I'd imagined it, the car drove by again, very slowly, then turned the corner.

I had to say something. I had to do something. But it was a common car, and it would be awfully embarrassing if I was wrong. On the other hand, what if Red had followed us here? Hurting Betty Jean would be the perfect way to get back at me. Maybe he knew Liz was here too. If it really was Red . . . The car drove past the house for the third time, and I could see a dent in the trunk.

I jumped off the couch, causing Mother to spill tea all over her dress. “Marlee!”

“Get out,” I yelled, pulling her off the couch. “Now.”

“What is it?” asked Betty Jean.

“Go,” I said.

I guess they heard something in my voice, because Liz grabbed Curtis's arm, and Betty Jean pushed them both into the kitchen, where Pastor George was talking on the phone.

“Outside,” I said.

I thought he was going to argue, but he took one look at my face and hung up the phone. A few seconds later, we were all huddled on the back stoop.

We waited, frozen, for a long moment. Nothing happened.

“Marlee,” said Pastor George finally, and he only sounded the tiniest bit irritated, “could you please tell me what's going on?”

“I saw Red's car drive by.”

Mother got a little paler, but she didn't move. Liz clutched Curtis's hand.

“I see,” said Pastor George. “Red is the boy with the dynamite, yes?”

I nodded. “He has a gray Chrysler Windsor.”

“I'll go look,” he said.

As soon as he was gone, the whole thing seemed ridiculous. Red wasn't really going to bomb anyone. Boys love to talk, Daddy always said. Nothing was going to happen, certainly not to my friends. Lots of people owned dark gray Chrysler Windsors. It was probably a neighbor, waiting to pick someone up, and driving around the block while he waited. I'd panicked, panicked like a fool. Had I even seen a dark gray Chrysler Windsor? A lot of cars look similar.

Pastor George came back. “I don't see anyone there.”

“Marlee's been a bit on edge lately,” said Mother finally.

My face burned red, and I willed myself not to cry.

“Well,” said Liz, letting go of Curtis's hand and winding her arm through mine. “Better safe than sorry.”

Betty Jean opened the back door and held it open, gesturing for her husband to go inside. But then we suddenly heard a car pull up in front of the house.

We all froze.

There was a crash and the sound of breaking glass.

A screech of wheels, driving off.

And then, an explosion.