Things Too Huge to Fix by Saying Sorry (14 page)

“Context,” I muttered. Indri looked completely confused. I picked up a piece of the blank paper, and some crayons. “So, Mississippi gets to be a state.” I scribbled a color. “The Civil War happens.” I scribbled another color on top of that. “And then the Black Codes.” I picked a dark brown for that one. “And lynchings. And the World War II stuff. And the
Civil Rights Movement starts.” I added color after color, then layered on the black crayon and scratched Grandma's name into it.
Ruth
shined out at me in a new set of rainbow hues, different from how my scratched name had turned out.

“If all the colors below are the history leading up to Grandma's . . . recent occurrence,” I said to Dr. Harper, “what's the recent occurrence? Her fight with Avadelle?”

“I don't know,” he said, but something in his voice sounded funny. It made me look him full in the face, and his eyes shifted away from mine.

He cleared his throat. “If I had to make a guess, I'd say her recent occurrence, her biggest event, had something to do with the night of the Meredith riot, when your grandmother got hurt.” He frowned, and it made his whole face look sad. “I was so out of touch back then, not paying attention to the world outside the library and my books. I had no idea the campus was in such trouble, and I didn't warn Ruth, you see? She came to Ole Miss with Avadelle to pick up some books from me, for the school where she was teaching, over in Abbeville.”

“You think the Meredith riot was Grandma's really big deal, her recent occurrence—not some fight with Avadelle later, after Avadelle's book came out?” I'm sure I looked as clueless as Indri did.

Seeming perplexed, Dr. Harper put his hand on Grandma's papers. “Well of course, I think most serious scholars of the feud agreed that something happened during the riot—perhaps something Avadelle told in her novel, or something she didn't.
Otherwise, why would the publication of
Night on Fire
have coincided with the end of the relationship?”

It made sense. And yet, who could know? My brain turned in really fast circles, but I couldn't come up with the next question to ask.

Thankfully, Dr. Harper did it for me. “Ruth never told you about her own experiences the night of the riot?”

I shook my head. “No, sir. She won't talk about anything to do with that period of time, or
Night on Fire
, or the feud. What happened to her?”

“Much of
Night on Fire
has the ring of truth, but Avadelle has always acknowledged it deviates at the point of the riot.” Dr. Harper folded his hands as he spoke. “And the friendship seemed troubled after that night. Not as close, if you ask me. Avadelle and your grandmother seemed to get past the night of the riot, until the book was released.”

Indri and I stayed very quiet, listening.

“That night, they really were on campus, of course, Avadelle and Ruth,” Dr. Harper said. “But Ruth took a fall, and she was laid up a long time—had to go to a hospital out of state. Your dad probably remembers her being away for so long. A few of the Internet feud websites mention it too, but they don't have details.”

My mouth came open, but I slowly cranked it shut and tried not to seem freaked out, so Dr. Harper wouldn't stop talking. I had always known, sort of distantly, about the Meredith riot, and that
Night on Fire
talked some about Grandma's past,
and involved Grandma and Avadelle and everything leading up to the night of the riot. But I had no idea my grandmother got seriously hurt that night.

I picked up the time line and paged through name after name, and date after date. Lynched people, awful laws, hate groups, natural disasters, riots, amendments—so much. When I got to the 1950s, each year took up pages all by itself. Did more happen in those years, or did people just know to write it down better, with more details? By the 1960s, each month had a page or more. James Meredith's name jumped out at me in a 1961 entry. I put it on the table and pointed so Indri could read it too.

I looked up at Dr. Harper. “I've never really understood how it went from Mr. Meredith applying to Ole Miss to a riot happening. It seems so—so stupid, a riot because a Black man, a war veteran like my dad, wanted to go to college in his home state.”

Dr. Harper still wasn't smiling. He looked misty, like people do when they're seeing things in their heads that
bother them a lot. “Some folks consider the Meredith riot to be the Pickett's Charge of segregation in Mississippi—the moment everything began to change.”

“And Dani's grandmother saw all that in person with Avadelle,” Indri said. “But Ms. Beans got hurt?”

“Yes, Ruth was one of the riot injuries. Two people died and over three hundred were wounded.”

Hundreds of new questions flashed through my brain. “But what exactly happened to Grandma?”

Dr. Harper held up both hands. “She never told me, or to my knowledge, anyone. None of the journalists and scholars who have investigated the Magnolia Feud have much information about it. Her medical records are private, and those haven't been leaked. As I told you, most feud scholars think the argument didn't really start until the book came out, but a few, like me, disagree. I think the roots of the disagreement grew sooner. I think the seed got planted the night Mr. Meredith arrived at Ole Miss.”

Dr. Harper kept his hands folded. He looked far away, totally lost in his own memories. “Nobody can get answers, from Ruth or Avadelle.” He gave a little laugh. “No, especially not Avadelle. If Ruth's told you the truth of the Magnolia Feud in those papers—well. I can't imagine. I just can't imagine.”

Indri looked like she was about to tell him Grandma never made it to the feud in her papers, but instead she said, “Dani, we need more information about the riot.”

Dr. Harper jumped a little bit, then seemed to get himself completely back under control. “Well, if it's details on the Meredith situation you want, Avadelle's daughter, Naomi Manchester, over at Square Books wrote her thesis on the riot, and she also has books and accounts of what happened. Now, shall we look at the rest of those pages?”

“We should talk to Naomi Manchester next,” I said, not wanting to give him the rest of the stack. “Dr. Harper could go with us. If you're willing, I mean, sir.”

“Surely,” Dr. Harper said. His smile got a little fixed. “But the pages, girls. The rest of what Ruth wrote?”

I might have been imagining it, but he seemed a little too . . . eager. Or something. On impulse, I picked up the few papers I had let him see, then remembered the key I had zipped into the front pocket of my pack. I put the papers back on his table and fished it out, showing it to him on the palm of my hand. “Any idea what this might unlock?”

Dr. Harper stared at the key, his eyes wide and his brows drawn tight together. His face went slowly pale, until he looked like the blank white typing paper on his table.

Indri gave me a look, then glanced back at the professor, who was nervously rubbing his neck. He seemed to realize we were staring at him, and he mumbled, “It's, uh, a bit too small for a door.”

His voice sounded thin, and his smile was definitely forced. He reached for the key, but I closed my fingers over it, and quickly put it away.

For a split second his face darkened, like he was angry. My thoughts banged together too fast. My backpack seemed to fight with me as I tried to cram Grandma's papers inside, so I gave up, shouldered the pack, and gathered the papers into my arms. I didn't like having all the lynchings and mysteries and murders hugged tight to my chest, and I didn't like how Dr. Harper had just acted about Grandma's key.

Neither did Indri. She inched away, toward the door. “Thanks,” she said to Dr. Harper. “We'll, um, call you.”

Or not.

Dr. Harper cleared his throat again and blinked a few times. A little color came back to his cheeks, and he managed another fakey-type smile. “I'll look forward to seeing you at Square Books.”

We hurried out of his office.

It was all I could do not to run past the big stained glass window, covering my eyes as I went.

Excerpt from
Night on Fire
(1969), by Avadelle Richardson, page 304

Both sides of the ice cream line went motionless and quiet. Leslie kept her back turned to the crowd. My heart beat so hard I couldn't swallow. I couldn't even breathe.

The White woman didn't say anything else. She didn't even look at Leslie, just sniffed and humphed, then waited her own turn. Leslie had enough sense to take her banana split and walk off, rather than go into either side of the restaurant.

Half an hour later, finishing our own ice cream cones, Aunt Jessie and I walked back to the out-of-the-way road where we had left the car. We found Leslie standing next to my faded red Mercury Marquis. Her arms were folded.

“I'm not even speaking to you,” I said. “You're completely crazy, and you're gonna get me killed.” I threw my ice cream on the grass beside the car, then looked around, suddenly nervous some White person would show up and see us, see me, see everything. “You're gonna get my boy killed, and then I'll just kill you, too. I'll do it myself, with my own two hands.”

Eyes wide and pleading, Leslie looked at Aunt Jessie for help.

“Child, what that woman was saying, it wasn't even directed at you.” Aunt Jessie held out one big, black arm and pressed it against Leslie's pale, freckled skin. She forced a laugh, trying to make us all feel better, but Leslie refused to laugh along with her.

Finally, Aunt Jessie shook her head. “Now that things are starting to happen in Oxford, you got to be more careful.”

“That man James Meredith,” I said, “the one who got turned down by Ole Miss because he was Black, well, he filed a lawsuit last month. He means for to be heard all the way up to the Supreme Court. He means to go to school at Ole Miss this fall. Folks like that woman in line, they're scared, and it's only gonna get worse from here.”

“Scared people do stupid things,” Aunt Jessie
said. “So here's the first, best rule for survival in Mississippi. Don't never trust a scared person, not ever. You understand me?”

I
NDRI AND
I
RUSHED TO
the entryway and she held the outer door open for me. Together, we spilled through it, jogged down the concrete steps, and made it to the sidewalk. Then we stood there with our backs to the Grove, staring at the building and blinking and breathing, letting the light and the warmth cover us.

After a few moments, Indri said, “That . . . was . . . NOT . . . what I expected. Any of it.”

“Me either,” I admitted. Talking seemed hard, like the muscles in my mouth didn't want to cooperate. “What was that about, his reaction to the key?”

“It was kind of awful.” She gave me a sideways look. “He knew something he didn't tell us.”

“Yeah. But what?”

“No idea.” Indri shook her head. “All of that creeped me out.”

“What are you two doing here?” somebody growled from behind us and I spun to find Avadelle Richardson right in front of me, fedora and all. She was wearing a T-shirt with gold fringes that sort of looked like a lampshade, but it matched the gold threads in her slacks. The slogan on the shirt read,
I hate everybody!

The snarly look on her face made the slogan all too real.
Bits of silvery hair poked out from beneath the fedora, sticking to her sweaty face as she gazed at the papers in my arms. Her cheeks turned sunburn-red. She raised her cane to eye level and shook it at me. “I thought I told you not to muck in Ruth's work!”

I stepped back from her, cradling the papers, and that's when I saw Mac beside her. He had his hands jammed in his jeans pockets, and he looked tired. His gaze shifted from my face to the papers, and his frown made me feel like a salted slug. I moved backward again, wondering how many more steps it would take for me to be safe from a swing of that cane. Mac would probably stop Avadelle if she tried to smack me with the eagle's head, but he looked so mad I didn't trust him to move fast enough.

“Ms. Richardson,” I said, stealing words from Dad and trying to sound as much like him as I could, “this is really none of your business.”

“Yeah,” Indri agreed, but she backed up with me, squinting at the sunlight glaring off the cane's bird-shaped handle.

I looked at Mac for a long second, then looked away. People moved on the sidewalk in both directions, but nobody seemed inclined to get close enough to Avadelle to help us.

She finally lowered the cane but raised her voice. “What were you two good-for-nothings doing in Ventress? Did you talk to Fred Harper? What did he tell you?”

No way was I answering that. Even if I'd wanted to, I wouldn't have a clue how to explain what just happened in Dr. Harper's office.
All I could do was stand my ground, wondering if Indri and I should turn and make a run for the Grove and Creative Arts and Ms. Yarbrough.

“I know you hate me now, Dani,” Mac said, “but are you trying to make my life harder?”

“Everything's not about you, Worm Dung.” Indri's comeback was almost as loud as Avadelle's raggedy breathing.