The phone rang. Dora went into the living room to answer it. When she came back into the dining room, her face was grave. “Stacey,” she said, “it’s Miz Logan. She sounds upset.”
We were all quiet as Stacey left the table and went to the phone. His voice was low and with the fan blades whirling, we could not hear what he said. Stacey spoke only a couple of minutes, then returned to the dining room. He did not sit down. “We’ve got to go,” he said. “Mama said to come right home.”
I trembled with my worst fear. “It’s Papa?”
Stacey nodded and quietly said, “It’s Papa.”
* * *
◆ ◆ ◆
We waited for Solomon and the marshals. When they arrived, the marshals followed us in their car, one driving, the other in the back seat. Solomon sat up front beside the driver. We had already decided that once we reached Strawberry we would turn off on the first side street, then follow the street parallel to the main street until we had to turn back at the other end of town. It was risky taking the second street. It was residential and white, and any early-evening porch sitters could spot us and report us to the sheriff. Colored folks weren’t expected to be driving down an all-white street. Still, the main street was riskier, for it would take us past the sheriff’s office and we did not want to confront the sheriff, not right now. Even with the marshals with us, we knew we could be detained and we didn’t want to risk that.
We got through Strawberry, got past the school, and as we approached the Wallace store, we saw Statler and Leon and Charlie Simms. The sheriff and his deputy were not there, but we knew they would probably be coming soon, now that we had been seen. Statler and Leon and ole Charlie Simms all hollered at us as we passed, but they did not head for their trucks. We knew they had taken note of the car behind us, of the U.S. government license plates and the two white men. They did not follow us and we kept on going. Right now, all that mattered was getting home to Papa.
* * *
◆ ◆ ◆
It was still light when we arrived home. The long days of summer had settled over the land. We left Solomon and the marshals by their car parked behind ours in the driveway, and the boys and I hurried across the side yard to the house. Uncle Hammer opened the door to Mama and Papa’s room. Papa was in bed. His eyes were closed. Mama was seated on the edge of the bed closest to the kitchen, holding his hand. She looked up as we came in. “He’s sleeping,” she said, then looked back at Papa. “He just collapsed.”
Big Ma stood at the foot of the bed, her hands clasped, staring down at her youngest son. She put one hand on the footboard to steady herself. “He come to, but he ain’t wanted to go to the hospital, so we ain’t took him.”
Mama glanced at Big Ma, then back at us. “Didn’t call you sooner, knew you would be at the funeral and your papa didn’t want us to. Called the doctor in Strawberry and he came out.”
Uncle Hammer moved closer to Big Ma. “But he ain’t done nothing.”
Mama looked at Uncle Hammer, and her voice was quiet. “Nothing for him to do, Hammer.” Uncle Hammer didn’t argue the point. He just looked at Mama, then, without another word, looked at his brother.
“After the doctor done left, David done gone back t’ sleep,” said Big Ma, gripping the bed. “Ain’t opened his eyes since.”
I sat on the bed opposite Mama and took Papa’s other hand. I held it tightly. “Don’t hold too tight, Cassie,” Mama cautioned. “It could be hurtful to him.”
I looked across at Mama, then back to Papa and softly called to him. “Papa . . .”
Papa did not respond.
Stacey and Christopher-John echoed my call. “We’re all here, Papa,” Stacey told him as he reached over my shoulder to touch Papa’s arm.
“Yes, sir, all right here, Papa,” Christopher-John repeated. He was beside Mama now, one hand on her shoulder, the other outstretched to Papa’s face. “Man too, he’s here.” But there were no words from Little Man as he stood beside Stacey. Little Man, who never cried, was silently crying now, his tears saying all.
We talked softly, all of us gathered there by Papa’s bed. Man brought a chair for Big Ma and she sat down. Her hands folded in her lap, her eyes on Papa, Big Ma sat in silence for a long time, then she began to pray, and after her, Mama prayed. We held hands and we each prayed in turn, Uncle Hammer, Stacey, Christopher-John, Clayton Chester, and me. We prayed in a circle, holding hands, and Papa was the center of the circle as Mama and I each held one of his hands. The circle was unbroken. We held tight to each other. We prayed and we waited.
* * *
◆ ◆ ◆
We heard a car drive up. I glanced out the window. It was the sheriff. Solomon and the marshals were smoking, standing next to the government car. The sheriff and Roger, the deputy, got out of their car and walked over to them. The lawmen and Solomon stood there talking for several minutes, and although the bedroom windows were open, we could not hear what was said. The sheriff looked toward the house, then gave a nod, and he and the deputy got back into their car without coming to the house and drove away. Neither Solomon nor the marshals came to the house either. They continued smoking their cigarettes and patiently waited.
* * *
◆ ◆ ◆
Papa stirred and his eyes opened. We all began to talk to him, each of us wanting to say so much. Papa smiled. We continued to talk and Papa continued to smile. Then Papa’s eyes closed. The smile was still on his face. We went on talking, but Papa did not open his eyes again. Mama called out Papa’s name. Uncle Hammer tightly grasped the bedpost at the foot of the bed with one hand, and put his other arm around Big Ma. I left the bed without a word and hurriedly crossed to the front door and fled onto the porch. I sat down on the porch steps, bowed my head to my knees, and buried my face in my hands. For long, endless minutes, I sat unmoving, my mind and my soul numb. I removed my hands from my face. I looked with dry eyes to the field once planted in cotton and to the old oak guarding the land from its eastern hilltop. The sun would be setting soon. I heard the door open behind me.
“Cassie . . .” It was Stacey.
I did not turn around.
“Cassie,” he repeated.
I held up my hand. “Don’t say it,” I said.
Silence.
“Then I won’t,” Stacey said.
I stared at the lawn, now bathed in shadows. I stared at the road, at the redness of it, even as dusk was settling. I stared at the forest, still holding streamers of sunlight. I stood up, took a step down, then looked back at my brother. Stacey stood by the door, one leg bent, the sole of his shoe resting against the door trim, his head leaned back against the wall. He looked at me. I looked at him, then I took the final steps to the lawn. I glanced over at the driveway. Solomon and the marshals were seated on benches under the pines. They all got up when they saw me. Solomon took a step forward, then stopped. Without a word to him, I crossed the lawn to the road and walked into the forest.