A Thousand Never Evers (23 page)

All afternoon, Mama, Elias, Uncle Bump, and me sit round that kitchen table making our plans and hashing over every detail of the trial. Even though parts of our talk are nothing but ugly, I’m warmed up the way all of us are at long last together.

Mama sets a bowl of purple hull peas in the middle of the table. We’re all reaching in, helping ourselves, when she says, “Who knows where the next bushel will come from?” She grabs a fistful of peas and rolls them down her tongue like bowling balls. “That Mudge, he’s crooked as a barrel of fishhooks,” she says.

Then Mama really lets loose. “Sure that man hid you, Elias. Sure he saved you from that barking hound when you was hiding in the Corner Store freezer, but don’t be fooled. I bet if you got close enough to him, you wouldn’t hear no
thump, thump
beneath that pinstripe suit. Just the
kaching, kaching
of his cash register. If he didn’t have a good use for you, he would’ve let you die in that freezer while that hound barked outside it till kingdom come. Mr. Mudge knew if he sent you down to work his stockroom in Muscadine County—”

I reckon someone knocked my head against the floorboard.

“Mr. Mudge hid you?” I ask.

Elias glares at Mama.

“Sure did, that man,” Mama says. “Took your brother out the Corner Store freezer, defrosted him, and put him to work as nothing but an indentured servant. That’s right. An indentured servant! Your brother lived and breathed in that Muscadine County stockroom, day and night, eating only from Mr. Mudge’s extra supply, no cornbread, no nothin’. The only company he kept was his Bible. And go on, tell her,” Mama says.

Here Mr. Mudge saved my brother’s life, and what did I do? I turned him in. Now I can’t help it. I’m bawling a river.

My brother’s mouth hangs open. And one thing’s clear: Elias didn’t want Mama to say a word.

“See, Mama?” Elias says. “Look what you did!”

Elias says he wasn’t going to tell me because he didn’t want me to feel bad. He says turning up the evidence was the right thing to do, the only way to save Uncle Bump.

But I’m not so sure.

“She’s grown-up now,” Mama tells Elias. She throws another set of peas down her throat. “Don’t go feeling too bad for her.”

As usual, Uncle Bump watches us, takes it all in.

Then Mama turns to me. “Addie Ann Pickett, you’re a regular hero,” she says. “Don’t you forget it. You saved your uncle’s life. That Mr. Mudge! Your brother gave him the message to deliver to us so we wouldn’t worry, so we’d know he was alive. Did we ever see that note? Nope.” Her eyes narrow.

“Mama,” Elias says real gentle, “Mr. Mudge likely took the note so I wouldn’t worry about y’all worrying about me. Didn’t think of it at the time but now I reckon he had no intention to deliver it, because if the wrong person got hold of it, he’d get charged with harboring a fugitive.”

“Whatever that means,” Mama says.

Then she turns back to me. “It was early afternoon, day of the garden picking. Your brother happened to overhear Mr. Mudge talking to a truck driver who came to fill the Muscadine County stockroom. The driver had just made a delivery to the Corner Store here in Kuckachoo, where he got an earful ’bout the whole mess. When the driver got to the new shop, he passed on the news ’bout the butter bean fiasco, how Bump Dawson was to blame for everything.

“Soon as the driver unloaded his goods, Mr. Mudge took off in his truck. Now we all know he was hightailing it back to Kuckachoo to bury the seed sacks. Meantime, your brother placed a call to the NAACP from the shop phone. Said we needed a lawyer. Then he stole some coins out of the register and caught the first bus down the highway.”

“I didn’t steal, Mama,” Elias says.

“You didn’t steal
enough
!” Mama says back. “So far as I’m concerned, that man owes you a whole drawerful of money.”

“At least he bought Elias new sneakers,” I say.

But that sends Mama wild. “Yeah!” she says. “New sneakers so your brother could work himself to the bone in his stockroom!”

Elias shakes his head like Mama doesn’t understand anything.

“Course, your brother couldn’t take the bus straight into Kuckachoo in broad daylight, so those sneakers came in mighty handy when he got off all the way over in Laknahatchie County and came running home through fields and back roads. Seventeen miles on foot! Could’ve been shot dead on the way too! That Mudge knew full well…”

Mama’s worked herself into a dither, so I put my hand on hers. And I can feel by the way her fingers soften under mine, I do it at the exact right time, just like someone fetching would. “It’s okay,” I tell her. “We’re all here. We’re still a family.”

“You’re right about that,” Uncle Bump says.

“You are,” Mama agrees.

But Elias stares past us. He’s got that distant look in his eyes, the same look he had after Medgar Evers died.

CHAPTER 34

November 3, 1963

I know Elias would be proud to see me walking down Magnolia Row beside Delilah, my shoulders thrown back just like hers. Now that the whole truth has come out about the will, there’s a meeting at Old Man Adams’s place to figure out what to plant on the land. They put this meeting on a Sunday afternoon so none of us have to miss school or work.

Of course, Flapjack’s right here, weaving round my ankles. I wish the rest of my family could come to the big house too. But Mama doesn’t want any part of this garden, so she’s staying home to rest. She says it’ll take her a year to recover from the trial. It’s a good thing First Baptist has taken up a collection for us, because she hasn’t even gone out to look for work yet. And Elias and Uncle Bump left for Hattiesburg last week, so they’re not here either. Before they went, Mama gave Uncle Bump back his gold pocket watch to sell for cash so he can start over.

I’ve sworn to Mama I won’t tell anyone where they’ve gone, but Mama didn’t have to make me swear. On the Negro side of town, we all know my brother’s heart is beating stronger than ever. Lately, whenever Bessie sees me, she winks like we’re sharing the best secret in the world. But across the tracks, white folks are bumfuzzled. They’re gossiping he might be alive. And me? I can’t do anything better than pretend the rumor’s nothing but a fool’s wish soaked with my tears.

So even though I’m here without Mama, Elias, or Uncle Bump, I’m still full of celebration, because at long last this garden’s ours to share. And while I head down Magnolia Row, Delilah can’t stop saying how fetching I look. I’m wearing the gift she gave me. “Turn round,” she tells me again, and again I spin so she can see the yellow iris that runs down the back of my orange dress.

Then Delilah spots Cool Breeze in the mix of neighbors crossing town. “Come on, slowpoke!” she yells, and I run after her.

We never do catch up to him, but that’s okay, because I’ve been seeing plenty of Cool Breeze. I’ve even had the chance to study his dimples close-up. That’s because ever since my books burned up in the fire, Bernice shares hers with me at school, and Cool Breeze shares with me at home. So every single night, we do reading and math together at his house. Too bad about the electricity coming back on, because truth be told, I don’t mind sitting beside him in the lantern light.

Since our books are left over from the white schools, sometimes the pages are missing right in the middle of the assignment. When that happens, first I get mad to think we’ve got to use hand-me-downs, but then I get glad, because Cool Breeze and me don’t have anything to do but talk. And now that Cool Breeze knows all about my daddy, he’s started to tell me about his. But trust me, Delilah comes round plenty to make sure we’re not learning anything we’re not supposed to.

Now Delilah and me walk round the side of the big house. I near about keel over when I see my neighbors pass by the side door and stream through the front. The
front
door! Well, if I do faint, at least I’ll look like the sunshine, lying here on the lawn with my orange dress spread right round me in a circle.

I bend down to kiss Flapjack goodbye. Then Delilah and me push on inside. Despite all my time working here, before this very instant I never did notice how pretty the entry looks with the marble pillars on the inside. I mean, sure I saw the pillars, but I never saw them like this. I look up at the blue, yellow, and red specks dancing in the middle of the staircase. The banisters need dusting something awful.

Delilah stands beside me, her eyes popping out of her head, because once and for all she sees for herself what I’ve been telling her this whole time was the no-doubt-about-it, one-hundred-percent, honest-to-goodness truth. She stares at the deep red carpet, the silver vase in the glass cabinet, the frilly white curtains in the living room.

“That’s where Uncle Bump and me watched the shows,” I say, and point to the empty space where the television used to be. And I reckon the folks from Ole Miss took the leather sofa for the university library, since it’s missing too. But even with so much furniture gone, Delilah’s impressed. I leave her staring at the empty living room because I can’t wait to see the kitchen.

When I get there, I find Elmira leaning over the sink, shaking her head one way and the other.

“Elmira,” I say.

She turns to me, her eyes wet. “It feels so empty,” she says.

And even though there’s more people in the house than there were for Old Man Adams’s Christmas party, I know just what she means.

“That Mudge,” she says. “He’ll pay his dues.”

From the twinkle in Elmira’s eye, I reckon she’s already cast a spell.

Elmira’s not the only one still sour Mr. Mudge never had to show his face in court. We all are. The judge said there wasn’t enough evidence against him for a trial. He said someone likely planted those butter bean sacks in the forest near Mr. Mudge’s house to frame him. Wouldn’t you know it, now Mr. Mudge is supplying free seeds, seedlings, and equipment for the new garden, including the use of his brand-new tractor. So one thing’s clear: Mr. Mudge wants to make extra-sure he’s not dragged into court later.

“Here the innocent are run out of town and the criminal flies free as a sparrow,” Elmira says. “On the bright side, soon as our community garden comes up right, folks is gonna buy even less from the Corner Store.”

And I reckon Elmira’s right. Some folks would rather rely on anyone
but
Mr. Mudge to fill their bellies. Even though we’re going to grow our own vegetables, unless we take the bus all the way to Franklindale, we’ll still have to get eggs, flour, bread, and honey at the Corner Store. And even if we do ride all the way to Franklindale, we still can’t get Mr. Mudge’s famous chocolate chip cookies there.

I take Elmira’s hand, pull her through the big house dining room, past the empty space in the ceiling where the chandelier used to hang. Once we get to the living room, it’s real awkward because the reverend and the mayor have set up folding chairs, but there aren’t any signs for seating coloreds and whites like there are in the courthouse.

So after some milling about and bumping into one another, things sort out in the regular way. The white folks sit down up front, then some Negro folks sit down behind them. And since there aren’t enough chairs, plenty of us stand in back too. Why we marched in the front door of the big house but can’t take seats up front, I’m fresh out of ideas.

The white preacher stands beside Reverend Walker. Both men wear black suits and somber faces. “Let us bow our heads in prayer,” Reverend Walker says.

Several gentlemen take off their caps.

“Lord,” Reverend Walker says, “we ask you to spring a well of peace inside these walls as we begin a journey. A journey to plan for the garden the way Old Man Adams intended.”

I hear a little boy laugh.

At once I know I was a fool to think Mrs. Tate would stay home with her son today. Why would she miss the most important Garden Club meeting of all? But now there she is, in the third row, her husband by her side. The second I spot Ralphie on Mrs. Tate’s lap, my lip quivers. I hold up my hand to cover it. From here, I can only see the shine of his black hair and the curve of his back as he leans into his mama’s chest.

“Give us strength, Lord, as we commence the first meeting of the All-Kuckachoo Garden Club,” the white preacher says.

Plenty of folks shake their heads when the preacher says “All-Kuckachoo,” but everyone says “amen” anyhow, and things get under way.

“With the will in our possession,” says Reverend Walker, “it’s nothing but a fact that all Kuckachookians will eat from this garden come the spring picking.”

“And we’ll have half what we ought to,” shouts Mrs. Worth from the front row.

“In the garden of the Lord, there’s more than enough for us all!” Reverend Walker says.

“Amen!” yells Mrs. Montgomery.

Next, the white preacher asks folks what should be planted this time round. For a minute, everyone’s quiet.

Then Mrs. Tate calls out, “I like carrots, myself. If I recall, there are four hundred seventeen rows. I’d like to see at least seventy rows of carrots. They’re good for the little ones’ eyes and skin.”

“Corn!” cries Elmira.

Everyone groans. No doubt they’re thinking of the corn that bordered the garden and protected the butter bean criminal from view.

“Not Indian corn!” Elmira says. “Sweet corn. I can cook up a mighty good soup, plus I can make a lotion from the husks.”

“Four hundred rows of corncob then,” says Mrs. Montgomery.

Mrs. Worth turns in her seat. “Twenty rows of corncob will be more than plenty.”

And right here, the All-Kuckachoo Garden Club gets off to a roaring start. People talk over and under and all round each other.

Sometime during the yelling about the rows, Ralphie stands on his mama’s lap. Now I can see his little face. His wide eyes. His pinch-of-sugar nose. He looks round at the people while my heart leaps out of my chest and runs over all these folks to that little boy.

Then Ralphie smiles. And I reckon he sees me. He does!

I blow him a kiss.

As soon as I do, that boy stretches out his arms straight toward me. But when he can’t reach me all the way back here, his cheeks redden like apples. He tries to jump off his mama’s lap but Mrs. Tate holds him firm.

Now Ralphie lets out a piercing wail.

Mrs. Tate doesn’t realize I’m to blame for her son’s sudden tantrum. She excuses herself and takes her fussing boy outside. The second she leaves out the front door, I can’t help but cry.

Elmira turns to me. “It’s okay ’bout the corncob, honey. I’ll find ’em some other place.”

My nose runs too.

“Don’t go ruinin’ yourself about the rows. You look too pretty in that dress,” she says.

But all this fighting about the rows is nothing compared to the fight going on inside me, the fight to stay here with these people when all I want to do is run outside after Ralphie.

I slip away from Elmira, away from everyone, into the kitchen. I’m leaning over the drying rack, trying to find a way to stop the pain in my chest, when I see Mrs. Tate through the window.

She’s holding Ralphie out in front of her while he kicks his legs real mad.

I’m not sure how long I stand staring, my face against the glass, when the next thing I know, Mrs. Tate turns to me. It’s like we see into each other’s eyes at the exact same second in time, and that second gets stuck, and for some reason, I don’t look down.

Our eyes, they hold on to each other’s.

Then lickety-split, Mrs. Tate waves her hand like I should come on outside.

I unlock the door. Before I know it, I’m in the yard of the big house, near the rows and rows that all them folks inside are hollering about.

“Ralphie misses you,” Mrs. Tate says. “Hold him.” She pushes her son into my arms.

Ralphie, he’s warmer than rain. I sing in his petal ear,
“He’s got the whole world…”
Slow, real slow, his scream settles into a moan. Then I hold up my finger, and soft as cotton, he wraps his hand round mine.