Legend of Buddy Bush (9781439131824) (10 page)

Grandpa agrees.

“So, it's settled. We will go to town with cash and speak with the law. Mer, tonight when the sun
go down, you need to go under the house and get the jar.”

“Yes, Poppa.”

They always wait until dark to go under the house. They act like we got a neighbor to see them or something. Ain't nobody next door on either side and don't nobody else know it's under there. Mr. Bay don't look over here during the day. He shoo ain't going to look over here at night.

See, ease dropping really pays off. Now I know what is going on. Next week, they will get my uncle out on bail and he can stay home with us until the trial.

I am so glad when Miss Doleebuck asks what are the charges.

“Braxton, I don't understand what they say he did.”

“Attempted rape,” Mr. Charlie says.

Grandpa adds, “Not just attempted rape, but attempting to rape a white woman.”

Miss Doleebuck is as confused as I am.

“Talking to a white woman don't mean he tried to rape her,” she finally says.

Grandpa goes on to explain the rest. “You don't understand white folks, honey. As soon as the law started to talk to that white woman, she started crying and said that Uncle Buddy tried to rape her around the building earlier in the evening.”

I can't believe it. He didn't do nothing to that pale white woman.

Grandma speaks up when she can see Grandpa is getting mad as two roosters fighting. “I'm worried about that boy,” she says. “He may never make it to trial. They just as soon kill him in that jail cell as they would a dog.”

Oh, God, they can't kill Uncle Buddy for something he didn't do. I have to tell them what I saw.

Forgetting that I am in my nightgown, I run out on the porch.

“Grandpa, it's not true, it's not true. I saw the whole thing.”

“Child, what did I tell you about listening to grown folks talk?”

Even with her brother's life on the line, Ma still teaching me good manners.

“I know, Ma, but I have to tell the truth.”

Grandpa is not in the mood for Ma being in control.

He is giving her the “Shut your mouth” look and she finally shuts up.

“Pattie Mae, go and get dressed. Then you can come back and tell us again what you saw,” Grandpa says.

I was wondering when they were going to ask me again. They ain't asked me a word since I came home screaming Saturday night.

This morning is one of the longest mornings of my life. I tell what I had seen that night one hundred times. When Randy comes to pick me up for chopping, Ma waves for him to go on to the field without me.

After the grown folks listening to me over and over, Grandpa takes me in the sitting room and says tell him one more time. I try to remember everything that happened. Even what kind of ice cream Uncle Buddy had. Vanilla.

“Pattie Mae, your grandpa is proud of you.”

That makes me feel so good. Good to know that I am helping my uncle.

Good to know I am helping Grandpa.

Then he walks out the house, off of Jones Property over to Mr. Bay's, and does something he never does: He ask to use the phone. Grandpa calls the law and tells them to come hear what I have to say.

They never come. We wait all day. All the next day. We wait a whole week, but they still do not show up. Whatever I had to say, I will have to say it at the bail hearing is what Sheriff Franklin sends word by Ole Man Taylor to tell Randy and Randy tells Grandpa. Grandpa calls the sheriff again when he gets that news. Then Sheriff Franklin tells Grandpa not to bring me after all, because I am too young to go on the stand. That ain't even no law, I don't think. Just something white folks made up to keep Uncle Buddy in jail. Grandpa hangs up Mr. Bay's phone and swears he is not calling back.

“I'll see them in the courthouse,” he murmurs, as he is giving Mr. Bay another quarter.

I hold Grandpa's hand tight as we walk slowly away from Mr. Bay's phone and back home.

That is the last quarter Mr. Bay ever got from us.
Come this morning, while Uncle Buddy is sitting there waiting for Grandpa to make his bail, the phone truck drives up.

Here it comes.

It's yellow.

I am summoned by Ma to stay home with her so I get to witness my grandfolks get their own phone. The first colored folks on Rehobeth Road to get a phone.

The white man who is here to install the phone barely speaks.

“Mornin', sir. I guess you here to put our phone in?” Grandpa asks.

Sick or not, Grandpa wants him to hurry up so that they can go and bail Uncle Buddy out of jail. It has taken ten days for the judge to agree to see Grandpa.

The phone man nods his head and comes inside. He has a black box with him, a rope, and some other stuff in a big bag. Surely this will take all day. Grandpa can't stay here and watch this historic event, so I'm going to keep an eye on the white man until Grandpa gets back. I also want to
be here when the phone rings for the first time, and so do most folks on Rehobeth Road.

Mr. Charlie drives up to get Grandpa as folks gather in the yard.

“Bye, Grandpa. Bye, Mr. Charlie. When y'all get back we will have a telephone.” They laugh at me and wave good-bye.

Most folks didn't go to the fields today. A lot of white folks told field folks to stay home today, fearing trouble. If they don't let Uncle Buddy out on bail, there just might be trouble on Rehobeth Road. So they are all here to see the phone man. Everybody knows we are getting a telephone because I told Chick-A-Boo, she told Randy, Randy told Miss Blanche, and the rest is history. She told everybody. Miss Blanche is a nice lady and she can sing like an angel. She likes to talk, but only about good stuff. She is always proud when coloreds do well, so I know she couldn't wait to tell all of Rehobeth Road about the new phone.

Folks are here like we are holding the state fair in the yard.

Grandma is not going to let all these folks in the
house. Nobody but Miss Doleebuck, who just walked in the door. Everybody else is just standing around in the yard, looking at the truck, looking at the back door, waiting for the white man who is giving us a connection to the world to come out.

They know they will not have to ask Mr. Bay to use his telephone again in life. He has made his last colored quarter. Grandma told me last night that she will only charge a nickel, if it ain't long distance.

The time is moving so slow. So slow that the morning glories are starting to go back into hiding and the dew is drying up. Grandma pays us no mind as she and Ma go around back to pick more strawberries.

I carry water out to the folks waiting. They talk about everything, but mainly they talk about Uncle Buddy. Word has gotten around that Grandpa is going to try to get Uncle Buddy out today, and folks are whispering that Uncle Buddy ain't hardly getting no bail.

The phone rings for the first time.

It is the telephone man testing the line.

I realize that this is the first time in my twelve years on this earth that I have ever heard a telephone ring, except on Grandma's TV. Everyone in the yard fall silent like they are in prayer meeting. The telephone man's job is done and we now have life to the outside world. Life without paying a quarter.

After the white man finishes loading his equipment in the back of the truck, he leaves without even looking into the face of one colored person. I hate to leave all the people who have come over for the excitement, but I have to go inside to see our new telephone.

When everybody starts to leave, I wave good-bye and almost run into the house.

The telephone is yellow. Yellow just like the white man's truck. I walk over to the coffee table in the living room to get a better look. It's ringing. Lord have mercy.

It's still ringing. Who would be calling us already?

I pick up our telephone for the first time.

“Hello, Jones residence.” I say it just like the white women on TV.

“Hello, this is Mrs. Margaret Anderson, with Carolina Telephone Company, just checking the phone line.”

“I think it is working fine,” I announce like an adult.

“Okay miss, welcome to Carolina Telephone Company.”

“Thank you,” I answer like I had ordered the phone service myself.

Just as I am hanging up, Grandma and Ma come in the sitting room. Ma is mad at me for answering that telephone and you know what? I don't care. When I touch this phone, I feel good.

“Pattie Mae, this is not our telephone. Why are you answering it?”

Grandma saves me.

“Honey, she can answer it every time it rings for all I care. I ain't too crazy about having no phone. It ain't nothing but something to worry me to death.”

“All right, if it's okay with Ma Babe, it will be your job to answer the phone when we are here. But if any white folks call about Bro, don't tell them nothing.”

I am happy to hear her say that, but I wonder when we are going home. If I'm assigned to the phone, that means we are staying here a little longer. Maybe we are never going back to the slave house. Never! I don't want to go back. Grandma and Grandpa has everything that we don't have. A water pump on the back porch—ours is in the yard. They have lots of new stuff that Grandpa is buying each month with the money from selling the lumber. But no matter how poor we get, Ma don't ask them for nothing. She told me, “We ain't asking for nothing. My poppa and Ma Babe worked for their stuff and it's theirs and nobody else's.”

But Grandpa is always trying to share with us the nice things they buy. What he don't buy, he builds with his own hands. Grandpa's even built a indoor bathroom; now all he has to do is figure out the plumbing. Surely, as soon as he is feeling better, he will figure that out too. I sit at the telephone table that he built two years ago.

I sit there waiting and wondering. Every few minutes, I peep through the window to see if Grandpa and Mr. Charlie are coming. Will
Grandpa like the new phone? Will he have Uncle Buddy with him when he comes back? Is Grandpa going to be okay?

Just when it's time to worry some more, I look down Rehobeth Road and Mr. Charlie's car is coming at five miles per hour.

“Ma, hurry! It's Grandpa and Mr. Charlie. Uncle Buddy ain't with them.”

We all rush to the door as they pull into the yard.

I can tell that Grandpa don't have good news.

Everybody takes their positions on the front porch. Grandma and Ma go into the screened-in porch and sit in the green swing. Mr. Charlie and Grandpa sit in their usual places.

I say hello to the grown folks and voluntarily go in the house before being ordered to.

The door is open, so I will not need my mason jar today.

Grandpa explain to Grandma why he didn't bring their boy home. “Them white folks are as mad as all getup. They said Uncle Buddy can't have no bail and they said he will have to stay in jail until his trial starts June thirtieth.”

Grandma don't say a word for a minute. Then she ask, “Did you see him?”

“I saw him, Babe, and he look like he doing okay.”

“Do he look like they feeding him?” Ma asks.

“He do. He looks like he eating just fine.”

After that, the grown folks don't say nothing. They just sit there and look at each other until lunchtime. Every now and then Miss Doleebuck starts to sing a church hymn. I think if Grandma try to join in, she will cry a river. I want the court date to hurry up and come, so that Uncle Buddy can leave this town and go back North to enjoy his life.

His life before coming down South. Before taking me to the picture show. Maybe I will go with him up North and never come back. Never!

Everything changes around the house after they refuse Uncle Buddy's bail. I overhear Grandpa tell Mr. Charlie that white folks are up to no good again.

He can just feel it in his bones. White folks are mad about what that white woman told them
Uncle Buddy tried to do to her. She ain't doing nothing but lying. But they believe her. They are talking about a hanging. It's 1947. Surely they can't hang him.

Somehow the word has reached all the way to New York. On Thursday my letter from BarJean is just filled with questions.

Dear Pattie Mae,

How are you-all doing? I am fine. I talked to Coy and he said that he heard from one of the guys from Rich Square that there could be more trouble at home. Write me back and tell me what is going on.

How's Uncle Buddy?

Please stay close to home and don't tell anyone except family about what you saw.

Also, Irene told me that Grandma and Grandpa were getting a new telephone. Do they have it yet? If so please write me back and give me the number.

Love, your big sister

BarJean

Dear BarJean:

Yes, we have the telephone. It's yellow! Ma said it is not our phone. She said that it belongs to Grandma and Grandpa. But Grandma said I can answer it all the time, because she really doesn't want a phone anyway. The only reason she got it is so that she can call the doctor if she needs to for Grandpa. Anyway, the number is 919-555-1919. BarJean, Uncle Buddy is okay, but they have accused him of something really bad. It's grown folks talk, so I will let Ma tell you about that. Please pray for him and for Grandpa, who ain't feeling so good.

Love, Pattie Mae

T
his morning I wake up to a horrible noise coming from the sitting room.

A man crying.

A woman crying.

No! Two women crying.

What in the world is happening this early in the morning? The rooster ain't even crowed yet. I peep through the keyhole in the sitting room.

Grandpa, Grandma, and Ma are all crying. Somebody must have died during the night. Lord, did them white folks hang Uncle Buddy?

I grab my pink house duster from the bedpost
that faces the window. The window that faces Rehobeth Road.

And that is when I see why they are crying.