The Lions of Little Rock (14 page)

27

AT THE MEETING

That weekend, I hung around in the Sunday school classroom after the others filed out. When it was just Miss Winthrop and me, I cleared my throat. “Are you going to the WEC meeting this Friday?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said.

“Do you mind if I come too?” It was a whisper, but it was quiet in the classroom. I was pretty sure she'd heard me.

“Oh, Marlee!” Miss Winthrop exclaimed. “That would be wonderful!”

I guess she had.

Daddy said it was fine when I asked his permission, so Miss Winthrop and I arranged to meet at the church Friday afternoon and walk to the meeting together.

The meeting was at Mrs. Terry's house. She was one of the founders of the WEC. From the outside, her house was large and fancy, much bigger than ours, and I was sure it was furnished with many breakable objects. I would have to be careful not to trip. Mrs. Terry herself opened the door. She was in her seventies but seemed as energetic as a glass of fresh squeezed orange juice. “Welcome, Marlee,” she said when Miss Winthrop introduced me. She led us into the living room.

Mrs. Brewer was standing in front of a group of women sitting in folding chairs placed in neat rows. Miss Winthrop whispered that she was the chair of the WEC. Mrs. Brewer was about my mother's age, maybe a bit older, and wore a tailored blouse with pearls. She reminded me of white wine in a fancy goblet. The meeting was already in progress as Miss Winthrop and I slipped into our seats. “Remember, the Women's Emergency Committee to Open Our Schools stands neither for segregation nor integration, but for education,” Mrs. Brewer said. “Our sole aim is to get the four high schools reopened and our students back in their classes.”

The women nodded their approval.

“Now, on to new business,” said Mrs. Brewer. “As you know, two days ago, the school board resigned in frustration over the school situation. A new election is scheduled for December sixth; however, new candidates must file their intention to run by Saturday, November fifteenth. Which leaves us”—she looked at her watch—“just over twenty-four hours to find six candidates who believe in public education.”

“We have Ted Lamb,” said Mrs. Terry.

“Well, that's one.”

I let my eyes wander as Mrs. Brewer continued talking. I wasn't sure how I was going to help. I didn't know anyone who wanted to run for office. Miss Winthrop was taking notes, like it was the most fascinating discussion she'd heard in a long time. Of course, she always looked like that, even when a five-year-old at church wanted to tell her every single kind of animal that Noah took with him on the ark.

A woman sitting hunched over in a back corner caught my eye. I knew I knew her, but I couldn't place her. She saw me looking at her, and I expected her to smile, but she didn't, just cowered back in her seat and raised her flyer in front of her face.

It was Mrs. Dalton, JT's mother.

I'd seen her once or twice before, at a football game maybe. She always reminded me of a glass of iced tea so weak, you had to add a whole cup of sugar to make it taste like anything at all. The Daltons had more money than we did and lived in a big house with a maid and a butler and weren't really friends with my parents. But I remembered her because she had a scar over her left eyebrow, and she was shy like me. JT had said once she'd got the scar when she tripped on the stairs doing a load of laundry. But that didn't make sense, because I was pretty sure a lady like her never even turned on the washing machine. They had a maid to do that, probably a colored woman who . . . I looked around the room. There wasn't a colored person there, except for the maid in the kitchen who was putting sandwiches on a table.

The meeting adjourned a few minutes later and Mrs. Terry invited everyone to have some refreshments before they left. “Grab me a cucumber sandwich, Marlee?” Miss Winthrop asked. I was hungry, so I grabbed two, and when I came back, Miss Winthrop was deep in conversation with an older woman I thought I recognized from church.

“All I'm saying,” said Miss Winthrop, “is that it still seems odd to me that we haven't invited any colored women to join the WEC.”

“Oh my,” said the lady from church. “I'm not sure my Terrance would feel comfortable about me being here if he knew I was associating with Negroes.”

“But the Negroes want their schools reopened too.”

“I'm sure they do.”

“So wouldn't it make more sense to work
with
the Negroes?” Miss Winthrop asked.

Before the church lady could answer, Mrs. Brewer came up and put a hand on Miss Winthrop's shoulder. “Would you help me in the kitchen for a moment?”

“Of course.”

I tagged along, but I should have known she didn't really need any help, because as soon as we reached the kitchen, Mrs. Brewer said, “Miss Winthrop, I appreciate your idealism, but admitting Negro women to our group would be the end of the WEC.”

“Don't you believe that the schools should be integrated?” asked Miss Winthrop.

“Of course I do,” Mrs. Brewer whispered. “But if anyone calls me an integrationist, half the women here will run out. And it's in everyone's best interest to get the schools reopened. I've talked to the Negro leaders and explained what we are trying to do. They understand.”

“Well,” said Miss Winthrop, “I believe they've told you they understand.”

“We're all doing the best we can,” said Mrs. Brewer.

“I know.” All the fizz was suddenly gone from Miss Winthrop. “Call me about the petitions?”

Mrs. Brewer nodded.

“Come on, Marlee,” Miss Winthrop said. “Let's go home.”

On our way to the door, we ran into Mrs. Terry, who was talking to a lady in a fancy hat with flowers on it.

“I'd love to help,” said the woman. “You know I've been to every meeting since the first one in September. But Stephen works downtown, and if I agreed to lead a committee, my name might end up the paper. There could be problems with his job.”

“I understand,” said Mrs. Terry, though her teeth were clenched. It was obvious to me she didn't understand. Surely that lady's husband wouldn't really lose his job.

My sleeve caught on something, and I stopped, expecting I had snagged myself on a vase or a statue or a fancy carving. But JT's mother was clutching my sleeve. Her hand was thin and bony, like a skeleton's.

“It's Marlee, isn't it?” she said. “You go to school with James-Thomas.”

I nodded.

“Would you . . .” She spoke so quietly, I had to lean forward to hear her. “Would you please not mention to anyone that you saw me here? I believe in public schools, but if my husband found out I was attending these meetings, he”—the scar on her eyebrow suddenly flushed red—“he wouldn't like it.”

I nodded again and tore myself away, like a cricket escaping from a spiderweb. I looked back at her, and she looked so sad, I gave her a little smile. She did not smile in return.

Miss Winthrop and I waited at the bus stop together. It was raining. We were sharing her umbrella, but my toes were still getting wet. “Miss Winthrop,” I asked, “is Mrs. Brewer right? If she invited Negroes to join the WEC, would the group really fall apart?”

“I don't know,” said Miss Winthrop. “Probably. But that doesn't make it right.”

I thought about that. Doing the right thing was harder than I'd expected it to be. And more confusing too.

“I know it's frustrating,” said Miss Winthrop. “But sometimes change is slow.”

“Will they find people to run for the school board?” I asked.

Miss Winthrop nodded. “Mrs. Terry is going to work the phones tonight. I said I'd go around tomorrow and help get the petitions signed. They only need twenty-five names for each one. That's not that many.”

“Can I come too?” I asked.

“Sure.” Miss Winthrop smiled as the bus pulled up. “I'd love the company.”

The WEC found five people to run: Ted Lamb, Billy Rector, Everett Tucker, Russell Matson and Margaret Stephens. Miss Winthrop stopped by to pick me up around nine. My father was the third to sign the petition. Mother was busy with the wash and did not come to the door. We walked around the neighborhood and by noon we had the names we needed. It seemed simple. A few people had refused to sign, but everyone had been polite.

That afternoon, as I was scrubbing the toilet and doing my other chores, the phone rang. I thought it might be Liz, so I ran to answer it. It was a man's voice. “Is this Richard Nisbett's daughter?”

“Yes,” I said politely.

“Little nigger lover,” he snapped. “You'd better watch yourself because—”

I slammed down the phone.

Daddy walked into the room a moment later. “Who was that?”

I shook my head, too upset to say anything.

“Are you all right, Marlee?”

I realized I was trembling. “I don't feel well.”

“Go to bed,” Daddy said.

I did. I closed the curtains and pulled the blankets up to my chin, but it took me a long time to stop shaking. I wanted to tell my father about the phone call, but I couldn't. Because if I did, he might not let me go back to the WEC.

28

THANKSGIVING

The Tuesday before Thanksgiving, Liz and I met again at the rock crusher. I thought about telling her about the phone call, but I was too embarrassed to repeat the man's words.

“I did what you said,” said Liz, when we were settled on our usual rock.

“And?”

“It didn't work,” said Liz. “Shirley started talking to Janet about how other folks were going to pay for me being so uppity. I didn't say a word, just started reciting the nines times tables, counting on my fingers like you taught me. I got all the way to seven times nine is sixty-three before Shirley turned to me and said, ‘What are you doing?' She said it in a nasty voice, but it was the first time anyone had spoken to me in weeks, so I decided to answer her. ‘I'm reciting the nines times tables,' I said, and I showed her how to do it. I only got to three times nine is twenty-seven before she and Janet started laughing and I started yelling again. The rest of the day, whenever I walked by, everyone wiggled their fingers at me and snickered.”

“I'm so sorry.”

Liz shrugged, but I felt horrible. My plan had failed. It had made things worse for her. She'd helped me learn to talk, and I couldn't even teach her how to be quiet. I couldn't figure it out. When I was upset, calculating the area of a triangle, or adding up columns of numbers, or reciting pi always helped me.

Then I realized that was it. Liz simply wasn't a numbers person. She liked words. If she was going to be quiet, we had to go about it a different way.

“What if, when you felt the words building up, instead of saying them out loud, you wrote them down?”

“Wrote them down?” asked Liz.

“Yeah,” I said. “You could carry around a notebook. Like Little Jimmy does.”

“I guess that might work,” Liz said slowly.

“You could say whatever you wanted. As long as no one reads it.”

“Well.” Liz smiled. “It's worth a try.”

Thanksgiving morning was cold and gray. Central was playing its last football game of the season. Daddy and David were going, and I tagged along with them, leaving Mother at home to cook the turkey. Judy and Granny were coming in the afternoon, just in time for dinner. The game started at ten thirty
A.M.
, and I shivered as I sat on the bleachers, wishing I'd put on a warmer coat.

In the first quarter, Red intercepted a pass. Everyone cheered. Everyone except for me.

David glanced over. “How you doing, sis?”

“Cold,” I said.

David laughed, took off his own jacket and draped it over my shoulders. The jacket was warm and old, and it smelled like it hadn't been washed in a really long time.

“Mr. Harding is teaching me algebra,” I said during a time-out.

“Algebra?” David didn't say anything about it being a high school class, and I loved him for it. “How's it going?”

“Fine,” I said. Then 'cause it was my brother and I figured I could brag a little, “Actually, really well. I like it. And he says I'm good at it.”

“Phew,” said David, wiping his brow. “Marlee, you are making me feel so much better.”

“Me?” I protested. “How?”

He glanced over at Daddy, but he was engaged in a conversation with a neighbor and wasn't listening to us. “I dropped out of all those math classes. I'm studying English now, like Daddy did.” He wiped his brow again. “Sure is a relief to know someone else'll be taking care of beating those Soviets.”

I grinned. “Mr. Harding says he sleeps better at night knowing there are girls like me to invent those satellites.”

“That Mr. Harding,” said David as he tousled my hair, “sounds like a real smart man.”

Judy was waiting for us on the front porch when we got home from the game. I screamed and ran to give her a hug. She smelled different, like she'd been trying a new shampoo. After we'd said our hellos to everyone, Judy and I ran off to our old room.

As soon as the door was closed, I turned to Judy.

“Guess what!” we both said at the exact same time. We laughed. It was so good to be with my sister again.

“You first,” I said.

“I have a boyfriend,” squealed Judy. She pulled a picture out of her purse and shoved it into my hands. It was a snapshot of her and a skinny boy with thick brown hair sticking up in all directions. They were at a roller-skating rink, holding hands. They were both grinning so big, a raccoon could have crawled up in their mouths and settled down inside.

“It's Robert Laurence!” she said.

“Who?” I asked.

“The boy I told you about when you cut your thumb.” Judy didn't even take a breath before she continued, “His parents sent him to live with his uncle in Pine Bluff. I didn't even know, because we'd never really said much to each other at Central, but in Pine Bluff of course we started spending time together because we were both from Little Rock. And then he asked me out to the movies and then we started going steady.”

I was beginning to think the new shampoo wasn't the only change. “Why didn't you tell me?”

“Mother reads all our mail,” said Judy.

That was true.

“Besides, if Mother knew I had a boyfriend, she'd make Daddy bring me home.”

“Don't you want to come home?” I asked.

“Of course I do,” said Judy. “When the schools reopen and Robert Laurence can come too.”

I'd spent the past two months thinking she was miserable, and it turned out that wasn't the case at all. She'd fooled me along with Mother, and I didn't like it.

Judy sat down on the bed and started unpacking her clothes. “What was your news?”

I'd been planning to tell her all about Liz and JT and the nasty phone call and everything. But now? It wasn't like anything had really changed. She just had a boyfriend. But I still felt like I'd been betrayed.

“I joined the Women's Emergency Committee,” I said finally. “We're trying to get the schools reopened.”

“That's great,” said Judy. “Let me know if there is anything I can do to help.”

Last I'd heard, she wasn't even sure she was in favor of integrating the schools. Now she wanted to help? More likely she just wanted to make sure she and Robert Laurence came home together. And even though Judy had always been the one I'd told everything, I kept the rest of my news locked up tight inside of me.

I'd always thought Judy was an ice-cold Coca-Cola. Now it seemed like she'd gone flat.

We went to bed early, but in the middle of the night I woke up. The phone was ringing, one short ring and one long. For a minute, I thought I was dreaming, then I heard my parents' door open and Daddy stumble into the hall.

I scrambled out of bed. Daddy was just slamming down the phone when I reached the kitchen. “Who was it?” I asked.

“Wrong number,” said Daddy. “Go back to bed.”

Before I got back to my room, the phone rang again. This time Daddy left it off the hook. Judy slept on.