Flowers in the Snow (13 page)

It had all happened so fast it wasn’t until the second song Stan and Betty had danced to that she realized she’d forgotten to look for Winnie.

“Have you seen any of the chaperones?” Betty asked as the music changed to a faster tune, and they broke away from each other.

“A few, but are you looking to find them or avoid them? I’m very interested in your answer.” Stan raised a brow at her, and she blushed at his teasing.

“I, um, one of the chaperones was a teacher of mine. I just wanted to say hello. Oh, there she is,” Betty said, seeing Winnie’s bright smile from across the room. “Would you excuse me for a minute?”

“Why don’t I go with you?” Stan offered, resting his hand on the small of her back.

“I’d like that,” Betty cooed as she crossed the room, trying to ignore all the eyes on them. “Hello,” she said to Winnie as she busied herself getting a glass of punch.

“Having fun?” Winnie asked, brushing some lint off her pastel pink church dress.

“More than I thought I would,” Betty answered with a giggle as she nodded her head toward Stan. “This is Simpson’s brother, Stan.”

“Nice to meet you,” Stan said with a nod of his head. “You both know my brother?”

“Well we, um . . .” Betty stuttered. As Winnie opened her mouth, presumably to save the day, a loud thundering boom shook them all.

“What was that?” Betty asked, clutching Stan’s arm.

“I don’t know but it sounded close by. We should get out of here, I think.” Stan laced his fingers with Betty’s and tried to lead her away.

“What about Simpson? Winnie have you seen him?” Betty searched the room for her friend, but as people began to panic she lost her bearings.

“He can take care of himself. He’ll be fine. That sounded like an explosion. Look, there’s some smoke out there.” Stan pointed out the front window of the gymnasium. “Something’s going down. We should go.”

“He’s right,” Winnie agreed, patting Betty’s shoulder. “Go straight home. I’ll find out what’s going on, and if I see Simpson, I’ll send him home too. Just go on.”

“I don’t think you should,” Betty cried out over the raising voices of the nervous kids around her. “I think it might be something bad. You should go home too.”

“I can’t. It’s my job to be here and keep everyone safe. It’ll be fine. Just head home.” Winnie disappeared into the crowd and headed for the door to investigate.

“Betty,” Simpson called, slamming into both of them. “There you are. Stan take her straight home for me. Someone set Mr. Kape’s car on fire, and it blew up. There’s a crowd out there, and they’re pissed off.”

“White hoods?” Stan asked, grabbing Simpson’s shoulder before he could leave again.

“Loads of ’em.”

“Winnie’s out there. We can’t leave her. We have to do something,” Betty cried, imploring Simpson’s help.

“I will,” Simpson assured her as he pushed his way back through the crowd.

“I’m not leaving until I know they are both safe. They’re my friends.” Betty pulled herself free of Stan and started following Simpson outside.

“You’re where he disappears to? It’s her too, that teacher. That’s where he spends his time when I can’t find him?” Stan asked, racing to keep up with her.

“Yes,” Betty admitted. “They’re out for blood. Winnie doesn’t deserve that. We have to help.”

“Betty, wait,” Stan said, snatching her arm up again. “Both our daddies are out there right now. Every angry white guy in town is probably gathering. I know you don’t want anything to happen, but there’s nothing we can do. Not now.”

“I’m tired of hearing that. I’ve been biting my tongue for the last five years. I’m not letting anyone touch her.” Betty yanked free again and pushed her way outside.

Standing in a perfect square around a burning cross were about thirty people in white hoods. They ranged in size from small boys to grown men, all holding flaming torches over their heads. As more kids spilled out of the school, the rumbling of their voices fell silent. Everyone stared at the Klan members just waiting for something to happen. And then it did.

One of the men broke ranks and stepped toward the crowd. Mr. Kape, whose car had just exploded, stood at the head of the crowd of kids looking as though he was trying to protect them. But Betty knew these white kids weren’t likely in danger; it was the teacher who should be hiding behind them.

“We’ve been quiet too long,” the man behind the white hood said loudly, projecting his voice for all to hear. “We’ve allowed our schools to be taken over. We’ve allowed our jobs to be stolen. Our bloodline is being muddied, and we’re putting an end to it. We’ll be quiet no more.” The man raised his torch high, and the crowd of other men behind him all cheered so loud that Betty jumped, clutching Stan’s arm again. “What are they gonna do?” she whispered, but Stan didn’t answer. Either he didn’t know or he didn’t have the courage to say.

Mr. Kape raised his hands as if to show he wasn’t intending to fight. “There are kids here. Your kids. They don’t need to see this. Send them all home.”

“You don’t tell us what to do. You see, that’s the problem. You think you get the run of the place now. We give you a little, and you want to take the whole damn thing.” The hooded man swiped his torch in Mr. Kape’s direction, sending him jumping backward, stretching his arms out to protect the children behind him.

“Go on home kids, all y’all go home,” Winnie commanded, shooing children who were frozen like statues away. Many did leave. They ran toward the road. But some stayed. Betty knew some wanted to see the show. Their fathers were standing in a square wearing robes, and they didn’t want to miss what would happen next.

“Shut up,” the hooded man shouted at Winnie as he raised his hand and slapped her across the face. Winnie stumbled backward but stayed on her feet.

“No,” shouted Betty but Stan quickly grabbed her waist to keep her from running forward.

“Quiet Betty. Please don’t say anything. If you’re really her friend, and she’s yours, then she’d want you to stay safe,” Stan begged.

Mr. Kape jumped to Winnie’s side and steadied her. “I’m fine,” she announced as she straightened herself up. “What do y’all want? What are you intending to do here?” she asked, looking more confident than she should.

“We’ve made you feel far too welcome in this school over the years. Tonight, we’re gonna make sure you never come back,” a second man in a hood said as he stepped forward, a torch in one hand and a brick in the other.

“We should go back inside, find the phone, and call the police,” Betty said, frantically trying to catch her breath.

“The police are here, Betty. They’re just in different uniforms tonight,” Stan sputtered sadly.

“This old truck too,” one young Klan member yelled as he pointed at the parked vehicle belonging to one of the other colored teachers. With that some men charged forward and smashed the glass. Others dumped gasoline inside then tossed their torches.

“Maybe that’s it. Maybe they’ll just burn stuff tonight.” Betty hoped as she leaned in closer to Stan. “Maybe that’s it.”

“Round them all up. You know which ones they are. You know how they sympathize and try to help them. Round them up and bring them here,” the first man in the hood demanded, sending the rest of the men into motion.

“They won’t bother you,” Stan assured her as he pulled her backward. “Your daddy and my daddy are here. They’ll leave us alone.”

Betty wanted to shout that she didn’t care. She wanted to be defiant and brave, but all she could feel was relief that Stan was probably right. She watched Winnie retreat as the men moved toward her, torches in hand.

“Stop,” she heard Simpson shout as he stood between Winnie and the mob. “Leave her alone. You’re not going to beat a woman are you? Right out here in front of all these kids?”

“Get out of the way, boy. Man, woman, or child—we’re done discriminating. If they try to infiltrate our way of life we will knock them back to theirs. Get the ropes boys, we’re gonna drag them back to their side of town.”

“Run, Winnie,” Simpson said flatly. “Get home. Warn everyone.” Simpson grabbed the knife he normally carried on his belt for his work on the farm and let the blade catch the light of the torches. The men stopped in their tracks for a moment. Betty swallowed hard and moved forward through the small remaining crowd until she reached Winnie.

“Go,” she urged her friend. “They’ll kill you. If you don’t warn everyone then who will? You’ve got to think of Alma. Go.”

Winnie’s eyes welled with tears as she looked helplessly at Betty. Turning on her heel, she kicked off her shoes and headed for the woods. When three men lunged at Simpson he backed them off with a swipe of his knife. But two others got past and tried to follow Winnie. Betty held her breath and dove in front of them, her body hitting the ground with a thud and tripping them both.

The second burning vehicle popped, hissed, and then exploded. It rattled the crowd for a moment and gave Winnie the jump she needed to get away. But before Betty could get back to her feet on her own she was being pulled up by many hands.

“Daddy please, help me, Daddy,” she called into the sea of white hoods. She knew her father was there. She knew he could hear her pleas. Her limbs were being yanked in every direction as she tried to dig in her heels. They threw her down into the circle of people who’d been rounded up.

“Go on,” she heard her father say as he lifted her up and pushed her out of the group. “Go on home.”

She’d been spared by her father but only reluctantly so. She wanted to search the group for Simpson to plead for him to be spared as well but the chaos raged on. The colored teachers, some white folks, and a few colored who Betty didn’t recognize, all huddled together with shocked and horrified eyes as the Klan closed in on them like a predator after its cornered prey.

Stumbling her way free as her father turned his back on her and faced the job he had at hand, Betty felt her body begin to take over. Her feet became swift, and when fight or flight was the only option, she flew.

“Betty,” she heard Stan call as he caught up to her. “Are you all right? Are you hurt?”

“I—I, what do we?” she couldn’t form a complete thought as Stan pulled her into the darkness of the woods.

“It’s okay, they can’t get you out here,” he assured her as they ducked behind a large formation of rocks. “We’ll be all right.”

Betty believed him for a moment until the eerie silence broke wide open with screams. Shrill high screams of terrified women mixed together with the painful howls of men. Betty covered her ears, but it wasn’t enough to block it out. “Simpson,” she mouthed to Stan through a sob. “Simpson.”

Stan tried a dozen times to get Betty to leave the woods after the world fell mostly silent again. “I can’t leave you out here, and I can’t take you back there,” he pleaded. “I have to go look for my brother, but I can’t until I know you’re safe.”

“He’s my friend,” Betty said emphatically. “He’s my best friend. Just because the world didn’t know, doesn’t mean it isn’t true. I’ll go with you.”

“It’s probably not safe,” Stan said, grabbing a large rock from the ground and holding it like a weapon.

“It’s the school I’ve been going to since I was five. It’s not safe. That tells me nowhere is.”

They crept out of the woods, Stan leading the way. The smell of burning rubber singed her nose. Smoke was the first thing she could see as they approached the school again. It billowed up from the carcasses of the cars that had been burned to next to nothing.

Stan stepped slowly and silently, making sure not to snap a twig under his feet. Betty had expected the place to be deserted, judging by the quiet, but she was wrong. The crowd had been replaced by a new one. Instead of the riled up and hooded group, there was a somber and stunned growing group of people who all looked like they’d forgotten how to speak. White and colored folks alike—mostly women—covered their mouths and noses, closed their eyes, and turned their heads. Then the silence was shattered again.

“No!” a young black woman hollered as she rounded the corner of a parked vehicle and fell to her knees. “They’ve killed them. They’ve killed them all,” she cried.

The crowd rushed over and more shrieks rang out. People began running for water to toss over the smoldering bodies that lay in a pile on the ground like discarded trash.

“Simpson?” Betty asked, hiding her eyes and waiting to hear if Stan could tell her more.

“Back up everyone, back up right now,” a sheriff said as he shined his light in their faces. “This is a crime scene, and you’re stepping all over it.”

“My brother,” Stan called out. “Is my brother there?”

“They’re too badly burned to sort them out here,” the officer replied with genuine sorrow in his eyes. “We’ll get the names of anyone missing and piece it together.”

“That’s my husband,” one woman cried out. “I can see his wedding ring on his hand.”

Others stepped forward and elbowed their way past the officer. “That’s my wife’s necklace; she’s still wearing it,” a man bellowed before falling down to his knees.

“Stan, wait,” Betty begged, latching on to him before he could break away.

“I’ve got to know. I have to know if he’s there.” She felt him break free from her grip, but she stayed put, not feeling strong enough to see something so horrible. “That’s a piece of my brother’s shirt and his knife there.” Stan backed up until he bumped into Betty and together they just kept moving away.

“Stan,” a woman’s voice bellowed sternly from behind them. “What are you doing with her?”

“Mama,” Stan moaned in a pained voice. “It’s Simpson. They’ve killed him. They burned him.” He ran his hands over his head again and again like an involuntary tick.

“He pulled a knife. He turned his back on this family,” the puckered-face woman in the fur trimmed coat said through angry lips. “He’s not my son. If you know what’s good for you, come on home now. Be with your father. Show your support.” She gestured for Stan to follow her, but he didn’t move.

“I’m not coming home right now,” Stan replied firmly, looking at his mother as though she’d been possessed by some evil spirit. “Your son, my brother, is dead. You don’t have to believe in what he did to mourn him. We have to take him home not just leave him here like it never happened. I want to talk to the police and tell them what I saw.”

“You can do what you want. But we won’t be burying him. We won’t be talking to the police. He made his choices, and he suffered the consequences of his foolishness. They can do with his body what they want.” Though her face was cold and unemotional there was something in her eyes that couldn’t be snuffed out. It’s not possible to completely extinguish a mother’s love, no matter what the circumstances. It’s an eternal flame.

As Stan made a move forward toward his mother, Betty caught his hand. She wasn’t sure if he was stepping in that direction to leave with her or to give the tongue-lashing she deserved, but either way Betty felt compelled to stop him. And he let her. When the moment between them hung thick and silent, his mother finally turned away.

“I need to go find Winnie,” Betty announced, a chill running through her body for the first time. She’d likely been cold since the moment she stepped outside hours ago, but her adrenaline had kept her from feeling it. Now it was all she could feel. Stan slipped his sweater off and handed it to her. Though it left him in just a white undershirt, he ignored her protest and insisted she put it on.

“We’re not going to Winnie’s. We have a responsibility to talk to the police and tell them everything we saw and who we knew under those hoods. Then I’m taking you somewhere safe. My brother asked me to do one thing. He wanted you out of here, and I should have done that. If he cared about you that much, then I owe it to him to make sure you’re all right,” Stan explained as she stared over his shoulder at the police who had begun to gather. Some had likely shed their white hoods and returned. Others who genuinely cared about this town were probably as sick to their stomach as he and Betty were.

“You already have. You helped me plenty tonight. I’m so sorry about your brother. I’m so sorry that your mother . . .” Betty trailed off not sure there was a word in the English language for what his mother had just done. “I’m just so sorry,” she repeated feeling as if she were walking through a dream world. Her heart was shattered, but she couldn’t muster tears yet. It was like someone had paused her senses, knowing if she were able to feel them now, she wouldn’t survive.

Another officer came up and pointed his flashlight in their faces. “You kids were here when it happened?” he asked with a toothpick between his lips.

“Were you?” Stan asked, eyeing him angrily.

“I wasn’t. I wouldn’t have been. I can assure you of that. Listen, those folks over there told me your brother is one of the dead.”

“Murdered,” Stan corrected as he clenched his hands into tight fists.

“You’re right. I’m sorry. I want you to know the FBI has been called in already. This isn’t gonna go unnoticed by the world. I promise.” The officer pulled a notebook from his pocket and a pen from over his ear. “Can I get your brother’s information so I can contact your parents?”

“They already know,” Stan said, looking down at Betty as though he was giving her a chance to stop him. When she stayed silent he continued, “My mother was just here letting me know my brother was trying to protect an unarmed defenseless black woman from a mob, and he’s dishonored our family. She doesn’t want his body. She doesn’t want to seek any kind of retribution. As far as she’s concerned, justice has been served. My daddy will already know what happened because he was here.”

“Was he killed too?” the officer asked, looking around as if he’d missed something important.

“No, I’m sure he’s fine. Maybe a bit banged up from beating people to death but otherwise probably feeling pretty great tonight.” Stan met the officer’s confused gaze and his fierce stare made it clear he was telling the truth.

“You need to be seen by the doctor. Both of you. Young lady, you’ve got some good scrapes on your face that need cleaned up. Has anyone called your folks?”

“Beatrice?” her mother’s voice rang out frantically. “Beatrice are you here?”

“That’s my mother,” Betty said, pointing to a woman with curlers in her hair and a robe wrapped tight around her.

“She looks worried sick,” the officer said with a half-smile, as though it was good news to have a mother who didn’t want you dead.

“Oh Beatrice, thank heaven you’re all right. Come on, we need to get you home.” Her mother grabbed her two hands and squeezed them tightly.

“I need to go check on my friend. I don’t know if she’s hurt.” Betty looked at Stan for backup, but he didn’t provide it.

“She lives on the west side.” Stan explained, looking knowingly at the police officer.

“It’s not safe there right now. There are officers trying to help but you couldn’t go there now. If you give me her name I can check on her and call your house to let you know how she is.”

“You best not,” Betty’s mother cut in. “My husband wouldn’t want that. We’ll work it out on our own. All I care about right now is my daughter, and she’s alive.”

“There are people over there who aren’t.” Betty turned toward the area where Simpson had died, where she could have easily died tonight, and implored her mother to look as well. “They pulled people from the crowd and set cars on fire. They murdered them. They pulled me over there too. If Daddy hadn’t yanked me out of there, I’d be dead.”

“Your father was here too?” the officer asked, taking a renewed interest in the details now that he knew Betty was in the mix first hand.

“We’re leaving. She’s not gonna say anything else tonight,” her mother insisted as she tried to lead Betty away.

“I think these two are probably in shock. He’s just lost his brother, and she saw it all. They should get checked out by the doctor before they go anywhere.” The officer pointed over to the medics who’d gathered at the entryway of the school. “And son, I’m truly sorry about your brother. Did he have a date here with him tonight, a girlfriend we should talk to?”

“Oh no,” Betty said, clutching her heart. “How am I going to tell Alma? How am I going to tell her he’s dead?” And just like that the mechanism that had held her raw emotions at bay came free, and the solid ground below her feet crumbled. “He’s dead,” she cried. “How am I going to tell her?” The words kept coming, the same question over and over again. People closed in around her, but she couldn’t figure out exactly who they were. They sat her gingerly on the ground and talked in her ear, but she couldn’t hear them. Simpson was dead. The last five years of her life that were tethered to his friendship seemed to float away. She didn’t want to live in a world where this could happen. She didn’t want to breathe the same breath as people who could murder her friend. She didn’t want to see the look on Alma’s face when she heard the truth.

She closed her eyes and wished she never had to open them again.