No sooner had the sheriff and J. J. left than Daddy announced he was going to stop at Meriwether’s on his way to work.
“I’m comin’ too. He’s my friend,” I said.
As if searching for her approval, he gazed at Mama, and apparently he found it. “Get dressed in a hurry,” he instructed me.
“And don’t forget ’bout me, Mr. Haberlin,” Patrick reminded him. “It’s my first day of learnin’ to be an unpaid apprentice mechanic, remember?”
Patrick’s words made Mama smile. Normally something like that would have caused my daddy to grin as well, but his face was awash with worry, and he simply nodded.
The radio was off, the front car windows were rolled down, and the morning air was already warm. Patrick was in the back seat whistling. Birdsong was just waking up.
“Y’all remember the house?” Daddy asked.
“It’s on Holly Street. I forget the address but I know the one,” I answered.
In no time flat we were parked in front of Meriwether’s house. “Be right back,” Daddy said.
But I already had one foot out the door. I wondered if he was going to try to stop me, but he didn’t. Of course, Patrick was on my heels.
We’d just stepped onto the sidewalk leading up to the house when two colored men who’d been sitting in porch chairs on each side of the door rose to their feet.
“What can we do for y’all?” one of the men asked.
“Here to see Meriwether Hunter,” Daddy replied.
Both men’s faces were sour, and they exchanged a strange look before one of them said, “Y’all got business with him?”
“He works for me.”
“Wait here,” one of the men commanded, and when he went inside, the other man stood in front of the door as if he were guarding it.
Seconds later, the colored pastor, whom I recognized from the station when he came to get gas, was on the porch. “They’re okay,” he informed the men.
Then he said, “Good mornin’, Mr. Haberlin.”
“Mornin’, Pastor Honeywell.”
Daddy and the pastor extended hands, and they shook.
“I’d like you to meet two pastors, one outta Charleston, the other from Orangeburg—friends of mine from divinity school, Pastor Baldwin and Pastor Ellison. Pastors, this is Jake Haberlin . . . He’s a decent man . . . owner of the gas station here that’s listed in The Green Book.”
“The Green Book?” one pastor repeated, then finally smiled.
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Haberlin,” the other said.
“This is my boy, Gabriel, and his friend Patrick.”
“Pleased to meet y’all too,” the pastors responded with slight nods of their heads.
“Pleased to meet you as well,” I told them.
“As well,” Patrick uttered.
“We’re here to watch over our folk,” Pastor Honeywell revealed as he scanned the street. The front door was opened, we were ushered inside, and quickly it was shut and locked.
Phoebe, Meriwether’s wife, greeted us. A handkerchief was in her hand and her eyes had that just-cried look. “Mornin’, Mr. Haberlin, Gabriel.” But when she reached Patrick, she stalled.
“Patrick,” he informed her.
“Mornin’,” she said softly.
And we replied, “Mornin’, ma’am.”
On one side of the room, I noticed open suitcases partially packed.
Suddenly, Abigail whirled into the room. “What y’all doin’ here so early in the mornin’? If you came to see the snake, you’re too late, ’cuz Miss Duval already came and got it. And I wasn’t scared, in case that’s what you were wonderin’, but you shoulda seen the way my daddy killed it so quick. And another thing . . . One day I’m gonna write my very own book about Birdsong, includin’ y’all and everything that happened, but mostly it’s gonna be ’bout my daddy drivin’ a tank durin’ the war so that way it won’t be a secret anymore, and even though he didn’t get a parade, everyone’ll still know how brave he was.”
“That’s a ton of words to come outta someone all at once, Abigail,” Pastor Honeywell commented.
A grinning Abigail, who’d obviously considered it a compliment, replied, “Thank you, Pastor.”
“Your daddy drove a tank . . . a real tank . . . in the war?” Patrick asked.
Abigail replied, “Yes.”
But when Patrick opened his mouth to say something else, I gave him a warning nudge and he knew to be quiet.
Abigail’s eyes then landed on her mama. She shrugged and apologized. “Sorry, Mama, but I figure since we’re leavin’ Birdsong today, it doesn’t matter anymore if folks ’round here know ’bout Daddy and the tanks.”
Daddy glanced toward the suitcases and asked Phoebe, “Y’all leavin’ today?”
“Yessir, we’re goin’ north to Michigan. A fella Meri was in the service with has been after him to come north. Claims he can get him a job in no time at the Ford plant, and we’ll have a better future there. Hope he’s right.”
“Considerin’ what happened, can’t say I blame you,” my father told her. Then he inquired, “Where’s Meriwether now?”
The pastor responded, “Don’t know. He drove off just b’fore you got here. Said he’d be back shortly. Claimed he had to talk to someone about an important matter. I assumed he was referring to you.”
“Lucas,” I blurted.
“Y’all ain’t gotta worry. I heard him when he promised Mama not to hurt him. She even made him swear on the Bible,” Abigail revealed.
Tears rolled down Phoebe’s face. “Nuthin’ I could say to stop him . . . Nuthin’.” Her hand clenched the handkerchief, and right then she reminded me of my own mama.
The next thing I knew, Daddy told us, “C’mon!” and headed for the door.
Pastor Honeywell rushed outside with us, whispered something to his two friends, and followed us to the car. “I’m comin’ with y’all. Got an obligation to every member of my flock, and Meriwether’s one of ’em.”
And together, we sped to the station.