Let the Circle Be Unbroken (2 page)

“Th-thank ya k-k-kindly, Stacey, b-b-but I’d rather do the milkin’ f-first, ya don’t mind. I-I-I be on down first th-thing in the mmmm-mornin’.”

Stacey nodded, understanding. “Suit yourself.”

“Well,” said Little Willie, getting up, “look like ole
Clarice done got lost in there. Clarice! Come on, girl! We gotta go!”

Clarice took her own good time about coming out. When she finally did, the Wigginses left, going back down the trail along with Dubé just as Papa and Mrs. Lee Annie Lees came from the backyard.

“Well!” exclaimed Mrs. Lee Annie, stopping at the corner of her house. She put her hands on her hips and tried to look vexed. “Well, ain’t y’all gonna give me no sugar?”

Although Stacey, Christopher-John, Little Man, and I agreed that all this hugging and kissing business was really quite unnecessary, we didn’t mind so much when it came to Mrs. Lee Annie. Heavyset, in her mid-sixties, with bones that were fine and skin that was the color of clear honey and as soft as the down on a baby chick, she was one of the most beautiful women we had ever seen. Besides that, she was fun and we loved her.

Once Mrs. Lee Annie had gotten her hug from each of us, she ushered us toward her porch. “My boy, Russell, he gonna sho’ ’nough be glad to see y’all,” she said. “Sho’ is.”

“Russell?” I questioned.

She stopped to look at me. “Ain’t Son-Boy and Don Lee done told y’all? Why, Russell, he come late this morning. He over there visitin’ with Aunt Callie Jackson, but I done sent Javan for him. He’ll be comin’ on up here directla.”

The boys and I exchanged delighted glances. We liked Russell; everybody did. The son of Mrs. Lee Annie’s oldest daughter, Russell Thomas had been brought up by Mrs. Lee Annie, as had his cousin, Wordell. A little over a year ago he had gone north to live with an uncle in Indiana, and we had not seen him since.

Mrs. Lee Annie laughed happily. “Always was crazy ’bout
you, David,” she said to Papa as she opened the door. “’Member how he used to tag after ya so?”

Inside we were greeted by Mr. Tom Bee, an elderly, toothless man who was a cousin of Mrs. Lee Annie’s and lived farther down on the Harrison Road. “Y’all come on in and join me and these here peanuts!” he invited, beckoning us to where he was comfortably seated by the fire with a black pan on his lap.

“You lookin’ mighty good there, Brother Bee,” Papa said, going over and shaking his hand.

“Lookin’ good and feelin’ good too!” boasted Mr. Tom Bee. “Sho’ is—y’all sit on down.”

The one-room house smelled strongly of burning pine and roasted peanuts mixed with the unmistakable smell of mustard greens. All were good, lived-in smells, and the boys and I with handfuls of the warm peanuts to munch on had just settled back on Mrs. Lee Annie’s corn-husk mattress to enjoy them when Mr. and Mrs. Page Ellis came in. A few minutes later Son-Boy and Don Lee’s older brother, Javan, arrived with Russell Thomas, a dark-skinned young man of nineteen dressed in an Army uniform.

“Well, looka here,” said Papa, standing to greet him. “You gone and joined the Army!”

Russell smiled widely and shook Papa’s hand. “Figured that was better than starving, Mr. Logan.” He greeted Stacey, Christopher-John, Little Man, and me with a fond grin, and settled in front of the fire with the rest of the adults. “Yes, sir, I figured after more’n a year away, I jus’ better get myself on back home and get me some of Mama Lee’s fine cooking ’fore I waste away to a little of nothin’ at all.”

Laughing, Mrs. Lee Annie slapped her grandson’s knee with delight.

“How you come?” Papa asked him. “Hoping you gonna be with us awhile.”

‘Come by train far as Jackson, then took the bus on down to Strawberry. Sad thing is, only got four days. Figure to take the bus Monday morning back up to Indianola to see Mama, spend a day with her, and head on back. Ain’t got hardly no time at all, but I jus’ had a hankerin’ to see everybody.”

“Well, we all sure glad you come,” said Papa.

“Amen!” agreed Mr. Tom Bee.

“Well, I done already told this boy, though,” said Mr. Page Ellis, pulling a tobacco pouch from his shirt pocket, “he better be watchin’ hisself goin’ through to that Delta country in that soldier outfit. Them’s some mean white folks up in that Delta.”

Papa’s face lined into a wry smile. “There’s some mean white folks everywhere.”

Russell laughed. “Ain’t that the truth!”

“’Sides that,” interjected Mrs. Ellis, “lotta Bilbo folks up there.”

“That ole devil,” muttered Mrs. Lee Annie.

“Anywhere there’s rednecks, you got Bilbo folks,” Papa said.

“Who’s Bilbo?” I whispered to Stacey.

Stacey frowned. “I think he used to be governor or something. He up in Jackson or Washington somewheres.”

“Oh,” I said, wondering why somebody up in Jackson or off in Washington would be of any interest to Papa or Mrs. Lee Annie.

Mrs. Lee Annie leaned over in her seat to stoke the fire. “You know, I heard him once when I was workin’ for them white folks up in Jackson ’bout twenty years back. Him and that no-good Governor Vardaman, too. Them two musta figured
colored folks wasn’t no more’n animals. Figured God meant for the white folks to rule.” She looked around, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “I’d’ve ever gotten a-hold of either one of them devils, I’d’ve shown ’em a little black folks’ rule.”

All the adults but Mrs. Ellis laughed. “Well, what I say is Russell still better be careful.” She looked directly at him. “You oughta take that uniform off.”

“Ah, Cousin Leora, they ain’t gonna bother me none.” Russell winked at the others. “I represents the United States government.”

Mrs. Ellis sniffed. “United States government, my foot! What they care ’bout any United States government? They soon’s kill you as look at you up there, you give ’em any sass. They bullwhipped three colored boys in that Delta not so long ago and they was representing your United States government too.”

Russell nodded soberly, conceding the point. Then he said, “Talkin’ ’bout your mean white folks, I understand y’all had a bit of trouble down in here y’allselves this summer.”

Both Stacey and I looked to Papa, who was calmly placing his empty pipe between his lips.

“It was more’n a bit of trouble—” volunteered Mrs. Ellis.

“—and it ain’t hardly over yet,” added Mr. Tom Bee.

“Joe Avery’s boy, T.J., went and got hisself into trouble,” Mr. Ellis explained. “Messin’ ’round with two of them no-count Simms boys—”

“Them white boys?” questioned Russell incredulously.

Mr. Page Ellis nodded. “The three of them upped and robbed Mr. Jim Lee Barnett’s store in Strawberry—”

“You ’member that place, don’tcha, son?” asked Mrs. Ellis.

“Sure do. That ole redneck owns it too.”

I began to fidget, not wanting to hear.

“Well, he got killed,” said Mrs. Ellis.

“Ya don’t say!”

“They said the Avery boy and two other colored boys done it,” continued Mr. Ellis. “Wouldn’t believe it was them Simmses. And then them men come out over to the Averys and would’ve done lynched the boy, that fire hadn’t’ve come up on Brother Logan’s place—”

“The hand of God,” interjected Mrs. Lee Annie, shaking her head. “The mighty hand of God.”

“Burnt a good quarter of your crop too, didn’t it, David?”

Papa pulled on the pipe, his eyes meeting Mr. Ellis’s, and nodded without expression.

Russell digested all that had been said in the silence that followed. “Well,” he said finally, looking around. “What come of the boy?”

Mrs. Lee Annie nodded in the direction of Strawberry. “He still in jail down there in town.”

“Don’t know what they doin’,” observed Mr. Tom Bee with a shake of his head. “I seen the time they woulda done took care of him long ’fore now.”

“You ’spect they gonna give him a trial?” Russell asked.

Mr. Ellis shrugged. “They ain’t gon’ hardly waste no time on no trial for no colored boy. They know what they gon’ do to him anyways.”

“Well, he do get one, it’ll be ’cause of Mr. Jamison,” put in Mrs. Ellis. “He been tryin’ mighty hard to get him one.”

Mr. Tom Bee’s displeasure showed on his face. “Don’t see how come he wanna bother. They gonna hang T.J. anyways. Ain’t no doubt ’bout that thing . . . ’cause they sho’ is. . . .”

His statement was final and undisputed; I longed to go.

As if Son-Boy had sensed my discomfort, he jumped off the bed and motioned the boys and me to come with him. Relieved, Little Man, Christopher-John, and I followed with Don Lee. Stacey came too, though he lagged behind, and once we were outside on the porch, stood apart from us staring out toward the woods. The rest of us tromped to the end of the porch, where Son-Boy wheeled around and announced: “I got something to show y’all.”

“Well, what?” Christopher-John, Little Man, and I demanded.

Son-Boy grinned widely and delved deeply into his worn pants. “Look here, see what Russell brung us.” He pulled a clenched fist from his right pocket and opened it slowly. Don Lee did the same. “Ahhhh!” Christopher-John, Little Man, and I exclaimed in unison.

In their palms lay ten marbles apiece, each a different color.

“And that ain’t all,” said Don Lee. “Show ’em the real beauty.”

Even slower than he had brought forth the other marbles, Son-Boy dug into his other pocket and, with his face plastered in a prideful smile, produced his treasure. And it was a beauty, a penetrating blue swirling through an island of misty emerald green. Son-Boy held it up toward the pale November sun and then brought it close so that each of us could peer through it.

Little Man and Christopher-John “ahhhed” in appreciation, and even Stacey admitted that it was “nice,” but I was totally fascinated by it. I could feel my eyes growing big as I stared at it, and without thinking, I reached out to take it from Son-Boy so I could inspect it more closely. Son-Boy firmly closed his fist around it.

“Ain’t nobody touchin’ this baby but me,” he said.

“And me,” reminded Don Lee.

Son-Boy made no comment, but I had a feeling that Don Lee wasn’t coming any closer to that marble than any of the rest of us.

“Ah, shuckies, boy!” I exclaimed. “Ain’t nobody wanting your ole marble. I just wanted to get a good look at it, that’s all. Come on and open your hand.”

Son-Boy turned deaf ears to my request as he pocketed his treasure, patting it through the thin cloth of his pants to make sure it was secure. Then, as if somewhat remorseful about his selfishness, he again opened his right fist. “Wanna play?” he asked.

I dug out the marbles I had won from Curtis Henderson a few days ago. Son-Boy frowned disdainfully. “That all you got?”

“That’s all I need,” I said, confident that after three quick shots, three of his marbles would be mine.

“I got one too,” proclaimed Little Man, adding a fourth marble to my pile. “I get a shot,” he added.

“We better get down here,” said Son-Boy, hopping from the porch with its wide spaces between the porch slats.

Don Lee, Christopher-John, Little Man, and I jumped down too, but Stacey remained on the porch.

“Ain’t you gonna play?” I asked.

“Naw. I’m going back inside,” he said, starting back down the porch.

I stared irritably after him. A year ago he would have been right down here playing too, but now at thirteen he had changed so much that he seldom deigned to play with us at all anymore. Mama said that was because Stacey was becoming a man, that it was natural for him to change, and that I would change too. Maybe that was so, but I didn’t like his changing and I didn’t like the thought of my changing
either. Maybe it was the way of life to change, but if I had my way I would put an iron padlock on time so nothing would ever have to change again.

“Stacey’s taking it bad, ain’t he?” observed Son-Boy, who knew, as everyone else did, how close Stacey had once been to T.J. Avery. For years Stacey had been T.J.’s best and just about only friend. Although a lot of people, including myself, had never been exactly crazy about T.J., Stacey had remained his friend until he had caused Mama to lose her teaching job at Great Faith last spring. But even with all that T.J. had done, Stacey had not deserted him. On the night Jim Lee Barnett was killed, T.J. had turned to Stacey and Stacey had helped him.

“Ya s’pose they really gonna put ole T.J. to death like folks say?” Son-Boy wondered, absently shaking the marbles in his hand, the impending game for the moment forgotten.

I faced him with an icy gaze. I didn’t want to think about T.J. or what had happened or what could happen. “Thought you wanted to play,” I said.

Son-Boy’s eyes met mine and he shrugged. “All right then, let’s play.”

Picking up a stick, he outlined the outer and inner circles for the game. He placed Little Man’s and my marbles, alternating them with his, around the inner circle, then took the last of my marbles, a red, and one of his, a yellow, and shook them up in his hands. Don Lee, his eyes covered by Christopher-John’s pudgy hands, made the draw from his brother’s hand, picking the red. I got the first shot.

“Cassie, let me shoot,” demanded Little Man, neatly avoiding any dirt as he, like I, sat on his haunches. “One of ’em’s mine, ya know.”

I started to object to Little Man’s shooting at all, but decided against it since I needed his marble and did not want
him to snatch it from the circle. “Jus’ let me shoot down one of their men first,” I said, “then you take your turn.”

Little Man frowned and conceded. He was a very rational boy and accepted the fact that I was a better and more experienced shot than he.

The object of the game was to knock the opponent’s marbles out of the circle. Any such marbles then became the property of the person who knocked them out. I did very well, but on this particular day neither Son-Boy, who was usually an excellent shot, nor Don Lee was having much luck. Little Man and I handily took four of their men in a row. Even Christopher-John took a roll and scored. In fact, we were on our way to wiping Son-Boy and Don Lee out when Papa said: “What y’all doin’ here?”

I looked up, my shooting marble still in hand. We had been so engrossed in the game we hadn’t heard him come out. “Playing marbles,” I answered.