“I have a commitment here,” I interrupted him. “I need to honor it. I’m working hard and we’re making progress.”
“Progress at what? When Johnson signs the damn bill, people can register. There’s nothing you can do before then.”
“Yes, there is actually,” I argued. “We’re educating people. Getting them to commit to registering. I’d be letting everyone down if I left.”
“You’re letting your mother and me down if you stay.”
That hurt to hear and I bit my lip to keep from crying. “You don’t understand,” I said.
“Where are you sleeping?” he asked, catching me off guard. “Brenda said you’re staying in a Negro home.”
“I’m staying with a family on their farm,” I said. It sounded idyllic, coming out of my mouth like that.
“A colored family?”
“What does it matter? What are you so afraid of, Daddy?”
I saw his nostrils flare. He moved toward me abruptly, scaring me, and for the first time in my life, I thought he might hit me. But he kept his hands at his sides, even if they were knotted in fists.
“I’m quite serious when I tell you this, Eleanor,” he said. “I’m not going to physically drag you out of here, humiliating both of us, but if you don’t come home with me now, willingly, don’t bother coming home at all.”
“You don’t mean that,” I said.
“Get your things.”
I swallowed. Stiffened my spine. “Tell Mama I love her,” I said. “And I love you, too.” Then I walked past him, intending to return to the cafeteria, but instead I went to the little room I’d shared with Jocelyn, shut the door behind me, and stood there shaking, tears running down my cheeks. And I stayed there until I was sure my father was gone.
Chapter 30
On Friday night, Curry and Paul picked up people from the countryside and brought them to the courthouse green, and families with their own trucks and cars drove themselves. It had to be intimidating, I thought, driving into the lily-white county seat of Carlisle, but they did it. Word had gotten out, and soon we had a group of about fifty people that swelled slowly to a hundred, maybe more, and my excitement grew along with the crowd. I felt so proud of them all for coming, and so proud of us for making it happen.
Rosemary, Jocelyn, and I gave out the protest signs, but many of the people brought their own handmade signs and they seemed to know exactly what to do. We all walked in a huge circle on the courthouse green, chanting, “Open the doors; give us the vote!” Greg held a microphone attached to a finicky speaker to talk about equality and nonviolence and with every other sentence, more people joined the line of protesters.
I’d spent the afternoon canvassing with Win, but I’d spent the morning crying at Miss Georgia’s kitchen table. I was still stinging from my father’s visit. Miss Georgia said she saw the look in his eyes before I left the cafeteria with him and she knew he was going to try to take me home.
“You got to think what this is costin’ you, honey,” she said. “It’s somethin’ my people learned early on. We learned to weigh and measure the cost of everything. You got to decide what’s worth fightin’ for. When your daddy left alone, I knew you’d made your choice. I was proud of you. But it’s a decision you’ll have to make over and over again, not just once, and nobody’s gonna blame you if you change your mind.”
I thought about her words now as I marched around the courthouse green, snapping pictures with my camera and shouting for voting rights. What I was fighting for had changed in a few weeks’ time. I’d joined SCOPE to honor Aunt Carol’s memory as well as to ease my guilt over what happened with Mattie. Now my reasons were a whole lot bigger than just myself, and as I watched so many determined people walking around the courthouse green—some of the folks familiar from my canvassing, some of them strangers to me—my heart felt full.
A few people shouted ugly things from cars as they passed by, and a couple of hecklers paced on the sidewalk without saying a word. I found their behavior even more disturbing, but did my best to tune them out.
Greg talked about the importance of SCOPE being in Derby County and how we’d let everyone know the second the voting rights bill was signed. We’d pick them up and drive them to the courthouse, and we’d stand in line with them in solidarity, and we’d celebrate with them when they were handed their registration card. I felt happy and excited and anticipatory.
As dusk started to fall, we made a huge circle in the courtyard. Curry turned on a spotlight, but the moon was full and I could see everyone’s face nearly as clear as day. We laid down our signs and held hands as we began to sing. I stood between little DeeDee and Ben. The children in the circle knew the words to many of the songs. A few nights ago, I’d taught DeeDee and Ben the couple of songs unfamiliar to them, so that on this night, their high voices rang out loud on either side of me, touching me, making me smile with the joy I always felt in a song circle.
But the darkness seemed to give the hecklers courage. More came, as if word had spread about the protest. Although I kept my focus on our song circle, I felt the energy mounting in the street and on the sidewalk.
“Which one is the Round Hill girl?” someone shouted.
“Hey, Blondie!”
I knew they were shouting at me. I was the only blond in the courtyard. My palms started to sweat. Would they turn their shouts into action? I thought of Chaney, Goodman, and Schwerner.
I spotted a couple of policemen on the sidewalk, each with a hand wrapped around the billy club at his waist, and I hoped they were eyeing the hecklers and not us. You never could tell. We kept singing. Just kept right on going. But I was scared, for myself and for the people we’d encouraged to join us here. I wanted to escape, but there was nowhere to go. I thought of the protest on Franklin Street in Chapel Hill. How we stood our ground. I clutched DeeDee and Ben’s hands. Along with everyone else, they were singing “I Love Everybody” at the top of their lungs.
An object suddenly whizzed past my head. I heard a yelp from somewhere in the circle. Then another. Then a rock broke the front window of the courthouse. The sons of bitches in the street were throwing things at us! Bottles. Rocks. Stones from the gutter. Whatever they could get their hands on, they threw. People in the circle stopped singing, let go of one another’s hands, covered their heads, and the circle turned into a sea of confusion, with people running this way and that, shouting, panicked, and I thought, Guns. What if someone has a gun? Still clutching DeeDee and Ben’s hands, I went rigid, as if I could make my skin tough enough to fight off a bullet.
“Hey Blondie,” someone shouted. “Look over here!” Like a fool, I turned to look. Something whizzed past me, and DeeDee suddenly let out a scream. I looked down to see blood running over the front of her ruffled white blouse and she pressed her hand to her cheek. I let go of Ben.
“Let me see, DeeDee!” I shouted, bending close to her. “What happened?”
She was sobbing. Miss Georgia grabbed her to examine her face. There was a deep gash on her cheek below her eye, gushing blood. Completely on impulse I pulled my white sleeveless top over my head and pressed it to the little girl’s cheek to try to stop the bleeding.