“Well, I’ll take you over,” volunteered Little Willie. “And why didn’t you just bring your car over here in the first place?”
“Didn’t want you mixed up in it. Don’t want them coming after you—”
“You wait until early morning to leave before light,” interrupted Stacey, “maybe we can get on the road at the same time, watch out for you.”
Moe shook his head. “No. No way. Who knows what could happen before we get out of Mississippi? Could be some by-chance thing and the police get involved, see our northern plates, run a check, and then you’d be in trouble. No, I’m going alone. Like I said, don’t want y’all mixed up in this.”
“Well, too late for that,” declared Little Willie. “We been mixed up in it since we took you to Memphis more’n twenty years ago. More’n that. We been mixed up in it since we been born, that’s how long we all been mixed up in it. And one more thing. I’m taking you over to get your car and that’s the end of it. You done enough walking.”
Moe didn’t say anything.
“Anyways, one thing you gotta do ’fore you get on the road is change your plates. You still got those Michigan tags on your car they can spot you. I can get you some Mississippi plates.” Little Willie gave a confidential wink. “I know people.”
Throughout the time we had been talking, we had been standing. Now Little Willie ordered us to sit down, and once we were seated, he wanted to know what had happened to the boys and me to keep us from getting to the funeral. We recounted the events of the morning, about the sheriff and Statler and Leon Aames and Charlie Simms, about our flight from them and finally making it to Jackson and getting stuck in traffic.
“Well, y’all sure ’nough been through it,” commiserated Little Willie. “That traffic y’all got tied up in was ’cause of the march.”
“Know that now,” said Stacey.
“You’re just lucky to have made it in,” observed Solomon. “But seems like to me, you’ve got yourselves another problem now.”
“About going back home, you mean?” I said.
Solomon nodded.
“We know they’ll be watching for us,” said Man.
“If we were smart,” said Stacey, “we’d head right on to Toledo when we leave here and not go back down there right now. Course, we can’t do that. We’ve got to get back and see about our folks.”
“What time you going back?” asked Solomon.
“We want to get there before dark. We don’t want them catching up with us in the middle of the night.”
“Heard that,” said Solomon.
Little Man grunted. “No telling where we’d end up.”
Solomon pursed his lips and was silent. I knew him well and I knew that look. He was figuring something. “What are you thinking?” I asked.
“I’m thinking, Cassie, you need a bit of security to head back down there with you, a bit of security that’ll make that sheriff think twice before bothering you again, and he in turn can make these Aames brothers and their kin back off.”
Stacey’s eyes narrowed. “What kind of security?”
“Federal marshals.”
The boys and I looked at each other, and I said, “Federal marshals? For us? Now, Solomon, how in the world are we going to get federal marshals to protect us?”
“A number of them are already here in Jackson. Some were just over in Alabama to secure that enrollment at the university, and with the killing of Medgar, they came here to monitor things. I know a couple of them personally, met them over the last years at protest events.” He took a moment. “I know where some of them are staying. I can talk to them.”
“You really think they’d come?” asked Christopher-John.
“Yes, I think they will. I’ll explain the situation. They go down with you, they can talk to the sheriff, and once the sheriff knows he’s gotten the attention of the federal government, I think he’ll back off a bit. He has no official cause to harass you, and the marshals will put him on notice that the federal government is aware of the situation.”
Stacey gave Solomon a pointed look. “You think you can do this thing, Solomon, we’d be most appreciative. We don’t want any trouble coming down on our folks.”
Solomon got up and headed for the door. “Soon as I know, I’ll let you know what they say.”
I went over to him as he pushed open the screen door. “Thanks, Solomon.”
Solomon put on his hat and smiled. “Anything for you, Mrs. Cassie Logan de Baca.”
As I came back to the sofa, Moe said, “They’re after all of you because of me.”
I sat beside him and took his hand. “Little Willie’s already been through all that, Moe. We’ve been in this thing with you since we were born and they’re after us because we were born.”
“I need to leave.”
“Not ’fore you eat!” Dora declared from the dining room. “Y’all come on to the table. My food’s been ready!”
Moe took time to eat and for Dora to pack food for his trip north. Then it was time for him to leave. He was eager to get on the road. He got up before dessert was served, and we got up with him. We all went through the kitchen to the backyard to say good-bye. Little Willie brought his car around back and Moe got in. “See you back north,” he said. His elbow was resting on the lowered car window.
I squeezed his arm. “I’ll see you there, Moe.” Moe’s eyes rested soft on me. He was smiling as Little Willie pulled away.
Soon after we went back inside, Solomon called and said the marshals had agreed to go down home with us and that they would be at the house within the hour. Solomon would be going with us. While we waited for their arrival, Dora persuaded us back to the table for her desserts and coffee. Little Willie returned not too long after and said Moe was already on the road. “Tried to get the boy to stay ’til nightfall, but he wasn’t having it. He just put on them Mississippi plates and said he wanted to hit the highway and get out of Mississippi.”
“Don’t blame him for that,” said Clayton.
“Maybe not,” said Stacey. “But he should’ve waited ’til dark.”
“Oh, he’ll be all right on the interstate,” Christopher-John stated optimistically. “No more rural roads to go down. He’s made it this far, he’ll get back home okay.”
“Yeah, the boy’ll be just fine,” Little Willie agreed, and sat down for his dessert.