“Ellie,” I said, “and I’m happy to meet you. Your house is so pretty. It looked like a painting when we were driving up.”
Georgia Hunt laughed. “Did it, now,” she said. She tilted her head as if examining me. “Well, how’re you feelin’, Miss Ellie? I saw Mr. Win this morning and he told me you fell in a ditch and hurt your head.”
I was one hundred percent certain “Mr. Win” hadn’t told her I’d been running from the Klan when I fell.
“I did,” I said, gingerly touching the lump at my hairline. “But I feel much better now. Ready to get back to work.”
“Not before I feed you somethin’,” she said.
Two children, a boy and a girl, suddenly appeared around the corner of the house and raced onto the porch.
“Is this her?” the boy asked, looking up at me. “I’m Benny!” He was about seven years old with reddish-brown hair and a smattering of freckles across his nose.
“Don’t be rude,” Mrs. Hunt said to the boy. She said something else, but I barely heard her. My gaze was riveted on the girl. She was a couple of years older than her brother. Her hair was straightened, like her mama’s, and she wore a pink bow just above her temple. She was, at least to my mind, the spitting image of Mattie Jenkins, right down to that pink bow. Her name, though, was DeeDee and she leaned against her mother’s hip, staring up at me with big dark Mattie eyes.
“You gonna stay in my room with me,” she said. She had small white pearls for teeth. “You gonna sleep in my closet!”
“Oh, I am?” I laughed, though I was still shaken by the resemblance. “Well, I can’t wait to see your closet.”
Mrs. Hunt chuckled. “We put a mattress in her closet,” she explained. “That Reverend Filburn said to keep you safe, after what happened…” She let her voice drift off, nodding toward the children, obviously not wanting them to know about the burning cross.
“That sounds perfect,” I said.
While Miss Georgia made lunch, DeeDee led me to her tiny room, which she presented as if it were a palace. Her narrow bed was neatly made, several stuffed animals resting on the pillow. She showed me everything, from her white doll to the box where she kept the bows for her hair.
DeeDee’s closet was exactly the size of the twin mattress, which had been made up with sheets and a light quilt—and a ragged stuffed dog on the pillow. “In case you be scared in the dark,” she said. “And this mornin’, Daddy put these wood things in the window for fresh air,” she said, running to one of her windows to show me the wooden dowel in the frame. I knew the dowel had been placed there because of me: DeeDee and I could enjoy some air, but no one could open the window wide enough to get into the room. That was the only sign I saw that the Hunts had any apprehension about having me there.
* * *
Win and I canvassed together for the rest of the week, and the Hunts asked Greg if I could stay a few days longer. They saw no need for me to move again, and since everything had been quiet since the burning cross incident, Greg finally agreed. I was thrilled. First, there were the creature comforts of indoor plumbing and electricity, but my pleasure extended far beyond that. I loved my little closet bedroom and how Benny and DeeDee climbed onto the mattress with me so I could read to them. They were already good readers themselves and had a nice little library of books, but they loved my attention and I loved giving it to them. At night, I’d fall asleep knowing that my attachment to DeeDee wasn’t exactly healthy. I had her all twisted up in my mind and my heart with Mattie and that couldn’t be good, but still, I relished the comfort I felt in that house.
I felt more at ease canvassing every day, reaching out to people, talking to them about their lives, listening to their stories. I ate their pies and drank their lemonade and let their children crawl into my lap and play with my “golden hair.” At different moments I felt touched or angry or amused or sad. More than anything, I felt honored when people told me the truth about their lives. Honored that they trusted me. I knew a lot of that trust had to do with the fact that I had Win by my side, but it didn’t matter. It was an honor, anyway.
Thursday night, all of us freedom fighters went back to the school to make posters for the protesters to use the following night. Miss Georgia and her children joined us along with a few other families. The Hunts had been registered to vote for years, and they were every bit as invested in helping others to register as we were. We all sat at the cafeteria tables with our markers and pencils and dozens of sheets of poster board, and we wrote LET US REGISTER NOW! and LET MY PEOPLE VOTE and OPEN THE REGISTRAR’S OFFICE! and LBJ! SIGN THE BILL TODAY!
DeeDee sat next to me, coloring in the big block letters that I drew, and we were nearly finished when Greg called my name. I looked up to see him in the doorway of the cafeteria, and he was not alone. Standing next to him was my father. My whole body froze.
I forced myself to stand up, smiling at Miss Georgia across the table as if to say, This is no problem. I’ll be right back. My fellow SCOPE workers watched me as I crossed the cafeteria, and Win caught my eye, his face blank of all expression.
“Hi, Daddy,” I said, when I was close enough to speak without being overheard by anyone other than my father and Greg.
He looked at Greg without greeting me. “Where can we speak privately?” he asked. I knew he was holding in his anger. I could see it in the tight line of his jaw. I pressed my hands together. My palms were sweaty.
“Take him to the storage room,” Greg said. He glanced at my father, then back at me. “Let me know if I can help.”
Daddy followed me to the storage room, which held a few chairs and desks and gym equipment. Mats and basketballs and baseball bats were helter-skelter on the floor. I closed the door behind us and motioned to the chairs, but my father didn’t sit down, so neither did I. I didn’t want him to have all the power by standing over me.
“You need to come home,” he said. “You haven’t written or called or told us a thing about what you’re doing. I wouldn’t even know where to find you if Brenda hadn’t told me. She’s the only person who’s heard from you. You left Reed high and dry. He’s been so good to you. Treated you so well.” It was a lecture, quietly delivered. I heard hurt behind the words and almost wished he’d yell at me.
“I’m sorry I haven’t written,” I said. “I’ve been so busy here and—”
“Eleanor,” he interrupted me. “I don’t pretend to understand why this is so important to you, but whatever the reason, it has to end. Now. Tonight.”
Oh no, I thought. There was no way I was leaving, not tonight or any other night.
“Daddy, you don’t under—”
“Byron saw you at a Klan rally,” he said. “What the hell were you doing there, Ellie? What does that have to do with getting people to vote? He said everyone there knew you were with this”—he waved his hand in the vague direction of the cafeteria—“radical group. Do you know what could have happened to you?”
“We were fine, Daddy. And doesn’t it bother you that Uncle Byron was with a bunch of racists?”
“Byron is a sheriff. He was exactly where he should have been, keeping law and order. You, on the other hand, were not thinking.” His voice was getting louder. He looked around the small room as if seeing our surroundings for the first time. The old gym mats. Puckered footballs. “Look,” he said firmly. “You need to just get your things. Then we can talk about this on the way—”