July 1946
Bailey stood next to the Confederate soldier in the courthouse square and looked out over the group assembled on the grass. It wasn’t a bad turnout, given the fact that this was the first public civil rights rally ever held in Cambridge, Mississippi.
He estimated about two hundred, not counting the state police who lined the perimeter of the square and the white onlookers who stood on the sidewalks behind them. Across the pillars of the courthouse stretched a banner that read “FREEDOM AND JUSTICE FOR ALL.” A small platform had been erected in front of the steps, and several folding chairs awaited the arrival of the dignitaries—four black pastors from local churches, each of whom would speak for a few minutes, urging their congregations to commit themselves to the cause.
“You’re the man in charge?”
Bailey turned to see a large man in a shiny black suit and white shirt, accompanied by a teenage boy. “Yes, sir, I suppose I am.”
The man pumped his hand and smiled broadly. “Well, I just want to congratulate you and say Godspeed. This is good work you’re doing here.”
Bailey looked from the man to the youth. The lad had a keen, intelligent air about him. His dark eyes darted everywhere, taking it all in.
“My boy and I have come a long way for this,” the man went on. “I’m the pastor of a church in Atlanta.”
“Atlanta?” Bailey grinned. “You have come a long way.”
“This is my son, M. L.,” the man went on. “He’s just finishing up his second year at Morehouse College. He’s going to be a preacher, like his daddy and his granddaddy.”
Bailey focused on the lad. “Second year in college? How old are you, son?”
“Seventeen, sir.” The boy spoke quietly, confidently
“Yessir, he’s a smart one, he is. Skipped two grades in school. We’re real proud of him.”
“As you should be.” Bailey caught a glimpse of Silvie and Amethyst waving in his direction. “You’ll have to excuse me, I’m afraid. We’re about to start.”
“You go right on, son. And God bless.” The preacher moved into the crowd, but the boy laid a hand on Bailey’s arm.
“This is my calling,” he said. His voice was firm, determined.
Bailey looked into the young man’s eyes and saw a depth of wisdom and compassion he had rarely seen in people twice the boy’s age.
“It’s my dream,” he went on. “Equality for all God’s people.”
“Then you keep right on dreaming, M. L.” Bailey gripped the boy’s hand. “The cause of freedom needs people like you.”
He had a sudden, unaccountable urge to throw his arms around the lad and hug him. But before he had a chance, the young man turned to follow his father and disappeared into the throng.
There weren’t many white faces in the crowd, and they tended to cluster together. From the platform Bailey could pick out Amethyst, standing next to Silvie, and just behind them, Dixon Lee Godwin, the new Presbyterian minister. Clarence Bogart looked intensely uncomfortable, sticking close to Amethyst like a little lost boy. But at least he was here, and Bailey couldn’t have been more pleased.
Absalom Smith, the minister from the African Methodist Episcopal Church, gave a long-winded invocation, and shortly after the first speaker began his impassioned plea, more flashes of white caught Bailey’s attention.
White robes. White hoods.
A knot twisted in Bailey’s gut, and he sent up a silent supplication for peace. So far the Klansmen hadn’t done anything—they just stood there, a menacing presence on the outskirts of the crowd.
Then one of them raised a fist. “Niggers, go home!” he yelled at the top of his lungs. “This is our town, and we aim to keep it!”
“Go back to Africa, where you belong!” another screamed.
The speaker, a huge man with jet-black skin and a barrel chest, pointed a meaty finger in the direction of the Klansmen. “Who brought us here?” he challenged. “Who made us slaves?” He turned his attention to the crowd. “The time has come for the slaves to be set free!”
The audience cheered halfheartedly, but clearly most of them were intimidated by the appearance of the Klan. Women clutched their children closer. A few began to edge away from the gathering.
“We’ll set you free, boy!” the Klansman yelled. “Free at the end of a rope!”
“Just a minute!” a commanding female voice rang out.
Bailey turned his head, and his heart sank. With one hand on Goodwin’s shoulders for support, Amethyst had climbed onto the base of the Confederate statue and was waving her free arm for attention. No, he entreated silently. Amethyst, no!
“Keep out of this, Miss Amethyst,” the Klansman shouted. “This ain’t your fight.”
“It is my fight,” she retorted. “It’s the fight of every decent, peace-loving person in this country.” She pointed at him. “You, Will Tarbush! What do you stand to lose if Negroes are given equal rights under the law? Nothing except the opportunity to put your foot on some other man’s neck. That’s what’s at stake here—not another person’s equality, but your sense of superiority. And the good Lord knows, Will, if that happens, you won’t be superior to anybody!”
A titter of nervous laughter ran through the assembly. Tarbush took a step forward. “You shut up, Amethyst! We all know what you are, you nigger-loving—”
“You sit in church behind me every Sunday,” she went on, “but what good has it done you? You thrive on hate, and you’ve taught your son Billy to be just like you. Look at yourself, Will Tarbush. You think you’re a big man, a powerful man, because you have the power to prey on the helpless. But you’re mean and ignorant and miserable. I pity you.”
Will Tarbush jerked off his hood and glared at Amethyst. Even from this distance, Bailey could see the hatred in his eyes. “This ain’t over yet.”
Bailey watched as the state police closed ranks around the Klansmen, and he breathed a sigh of relief. The local authorities had promised him that if he wouldn’t call in the federal troops, they would see to it that there were no incidents of violence, and apparently they intended to keep their word.
The Klan gradually dispersed, shouting obscenities as they left, and the rally resumed. But much of the enthusiasm had drained from the crowd, and a pall of apprehension overshadowed all of them for the remainder of the day.
Bailey suspected that Will Tarbush, in his own perverse way, had spoken the truth.
This wasn’t over yet.
Amethyst stood staring at the spectacle. She was seeing it with her own eyes, but she couldn’t believe it.
An enormous red truck blocked the entrance to Jefferson Davis Avenue. Water gushed down the driveway and ran in rivulets along the street. Men in rubber jackets and helmets milled around, their big boots crushing through the flower beds. Thick hoses snaked across the lawn, mauling the shrubbery.
Noble House was on fire.
Or at least it had been. By the time Amethyst, Bailey, and Silvie arrived, most of the damage had been done. The outer walls, though charred, still stood, and the left side, where the old log cabin had been built, seemed untouched. The conflagration had been contained before the flames reached the upper level, but the right side of the house on the first floor looked to be gutted. The front parlor had been reduced to a mass of rubble. There was smoke and water damage everywhere.
Amethyst blinked. Her eyes were gritty, but tears wouldn’t come. “Who would do such a thing?”
“I think you know who,” Bailey muttered.
He was right, of course. Most of the townspeople had been in the courthouse square all afternoon—a few of them attending the rally, the others watching. Except for the Klansmen, who after Amethyst’s tongue-lashing had slunk away like the cowards they were.
A light touch on Amethyst’s shoulder arrested her attention, and she turned to see Dixon Lee Godwin standing beside her.
“Don’t say it,” she warned.
“Don’t say what?”
“Don’t say, ’I warned you.’ Please.”
He gazed at her with an expression of compassion and pain. “After today—being at the rally, and now this—there’s only one thing I can say.”
Amethyst closed her eyes and waited. “Then go ahead, if you have to.”
He cleared his throat. “I think—I think you’re the most courageous person I’ve ever met, Amethyst. I want to help. And I want to be your friend.”
“Courageous?” She let out a shuddering sigh and shook her head. “Some people would call it pure obstinacy. And maybe they’re right, if this is what it gets me.”
The fire chief walked by, his muddy boots making squishing sounds on the soaked ground. When he saw Amethyst, he stopped and removed his hat. “I’m sorry about this, Miss Amethyst,” he said as he wiped a sooty hand across his face. “We done our best.”
She forced a smile. “You saved the house, Jake. I have you and your crew to thank for that.”
“Yes’m.” He pushed a lock of wet hair out of his eyes. “But Miss Amethyst, if I was you, I’d think twice before taking on the Klan again.”
When he was gone, Dixon Lee took her hand and looked into her face. “And if you were to think twice, what would you do?”
“I suppose I’d do it again,” she said. “Somebody has to stand up to them.”
“It’s a high price to pay for your principles.”
“Other people have paid a greater price,” she mused. “People have died, Dix. And more lives are likely to be lost before this is all over. Still, I believe it’s a battle that needs to be fought.”
“But is it a battle we can win?” he asked, his eyes searching hers. “It’s a godly cause, and an important one, but you know how deep the prejudices run. Is it possible to change those attitudes, or even to stop the violence?”
She regarded him with a measured gaze. It was a legitimate question, one she had asked herself time and again. And at this moment, standing before the smoking ruins of Noble House, she wasn’t sure she had an answer.
“I’m not doing it because it’s possible,” she whispered. “I’m doing it because it’s right.”