Even though my new residence had some electricity—though intermittent—and running cold water and a decent shower attached to the side of the house, in some ways it was the worst of the three houses I’d stayed in. The family was painfully quiet. The Hunts, and even to a certain extent the Dawes family, had seemed to want me there. They seemed to believe in what SCOPE was trying to do. But I had the feeling that this family—the Charles family—had heard about the bad luck the other families had had because of me, and they were only taking me in because they desperately needed the few dollars they’d get from sharing their house with me. They responded to anything I said, any attempt at friendliness, with a stare or a shrug. No one smiled in this house. The two bedrooms were crammed with mattresses and people—mostly teenagers—who came and went, while Mrs. Charles cooked, struggling to make beans and salt pork and corn bread stretch far enough to feed us all. The teenagers hardly gave me more than a glance. I wasn’t introduced to them and I didn’t ask about them because I didn’t want to put anyone on the spot. There was no man in the house and I didn’t know who belonged to whom. I simply tried my best to blend into the woodwork, eating barely enough to stay alive, thinking they all needed that food more than I did.
The room I slept in had two mattresses on the floor. A couple of teenaged boys, maybe thirteen and fourteen, slept on one, while I slept with an eighteen-year-old girl and her two-year-old son. I tried to talk to the girl in the evenings, to connect to her, but she’d been working all day at a chicken plant and was exhausted. Although I knew she’d taken a long shower—the outdoor shower was right outside the bedroom and I heard it run and run and run—she still carried the scent of the plant into the room with her.
“I can’t get rid of it,” she said apologetically, as I moved over on the bed to make room for her. “The chicken smell. But we need the money.”
They were the first words anyone in the house had spoken directly to me.
“It’s good you have a job,” I said, because I didn’t know what else to say. I hurt for her.
She let me use the only pillow. She didn’t need it, she said, and she was right: she fell asleep the second she laid her head on the mattress. As I lay there, with her little boy’s arm snug around my waist, tears stung my eyes. I felt wealthy. Spoiled. I’d never truly suffered a day in my life. Dear God, I prayed. Please let something good happen for this family.
* * *
It was a long week. I ended up staying at the Charleses’ house every night because a cross was burned outside the house Chip was staying in and the school was shot up again, which I was sure had terrified Jocelyn. So Greg had to find a new place for Chip and since nothing terrible had happened to me at the Charleses’ place, he figured I could safely stay there. By the third day of canvassing with Rosemary, she told me I was “gettin’ ripe.” I explained about the house I was in and my bedmate’s situation. We’d been walking down the road and she stopped short and stared at me. “It’s gonna take three hundred years of havin’ the vote to turn this mess around,” she said.
“I know,” I agreed.
While I missed Win with an almost physical pain, canvassing with Rosemary was not as bad as I’d expected. She was intense, like Win had said, but some people liked that about her. They took her seriously and her passion got us in a few doors for a few glasses of sweet tea and good conversation. We still did our best to hide if we saw a white man driving down the road, but it wasn’t nearly as dangerous canvassing with another girl, even if she was Black, and my heart didn’t climb into my throat every time we had to make a run for it.
But she was nosy about Win and me. “Must be hard not seein’ him all this week, huh?” she asked, her tone nonchalant.
“Oh, it’s not so bad,” I said, refusing to rise to the bait. “It’s probably good to mix up who we canvass with. Helps us build our skills.”
“You know I saw you at the Jinx Club,” she said.
“Yeah, I know. Do you go there often?”
“In the summer. Me and my cousins, we hang out there a lot.”
I remembered with a jolt that her cousin Ronnie worked with Buddy. “Your cousin Ronnie?” I tried and probably failed to sound casual.
“Yeah, he was there.” She sounded just as casual. She nodded toward the clipboard I was carrying, which had our canvassing data on it. “Did you mark down that last house?” she asked, and I checked the clipboard as though I could actually see what I’d written through my fear. Had Ronnie seen me with Win? Very, very doubtful, I thought. If he had, he would have told my brother, and Buddy would have shown up by now to drag me home.
* * *
Friday evening, Curry made the rounds of the houses where SCOPE students were staying, picking us up to drive us to the courthouse in Carlisle for the weekly protest. Chip, Jocelyn, and Win were already in the van, and the back seat was piled high with the protest placards. My heart felt like it would explode at seeing Win after a week. He turned from the front seat to smile at me as I slid into the middle bench seat next to Chip and Jocelyn. I wondered if he noticed I was wearing his green shirt.
“Is Paul picking up the others?” I asked, mostly for something to say that would keep me from shouting, “I love you!” I’d showered like mad and hoped I hadn’t brought any of the chicken plant stench into the van with me.
“Paul’s gettin’ a couple and Greg the rest,” Curry said.
I spoke only to Chip and Jocelyn on the drive to Carlisle, acting as though I felt nothing for the man sitting in front of me. Six days, I thought. I haven’t seen him in six days.
We parked down the street from the courthouse. Curry, Chip, and Jocelyn each left with an armful of placards, but Win and I dawdled so we’d have a few minutes alone. He moved next to me on the middle seat and I was reaching behind me for a placard when he rested his hand on mine. “Hold on,” he said. “Let’s just sit for a minute.”
I was relieved by the suggestion. I sat close to him and he glanced through the window before putting his arm around me.
“I missed you this week,” he said.
I hadn’t imagined his feelings for me. I nuzzled my cheek against his shoulder. Felt him kiss my temple. “It’s felt more like five weeks,” I said.
“It goes against everything I believe, though,” he said.
I lifted my head to look at him. “You really believe it’s wrong?” I asked. “Us?”
He drew in a long breath, momentarily shutting his eyes. “I always thought it was wrong for me,” he said. “I think Black folks have to stick together to get anywhere. To get power. Falling for you wasn’t in my plan.” He drew away and looked hard into my eyes. “Don’t frown.” He touched my cheek, and I was reassured by his smile. “I didn’t count on you,” he said. “On your dedication. And your goodness. On how you let yourself be so … vulnerable with me.” He looked away from me then. Let out a long breath. “You can’t help who you fall in love with, can you.” It wasn’t a question.
“I love you,” I said.
He nodded slowly, his gaze on me again. “We have to be so, so careful,” he said.