CHAPTER 36

Sam did not sleep well Sunday night. He could not stop thinking about Becky’s smile and touch and trying to decide what to say to his family. Gran worried him most. He did not know which he dreaded more, telling her or listening to her fuss. At daybreak, he got dressed and went to the garden. The sky glowed orange and red, dew glistened on the plants, and the morning air was cool and refreshing. He did some planting, fed Old Ned, then picked a mess of green beans and headed for the house to talk to his mother before the children got up.

The smell of fresh coffee greeted him at the back porch. He left the beans and his work boots there, brushed the dirt off his overalls, and found Gran inside making breakfast.

“Morning, Momma. It’s nice out today. I put in some more greens and some spinach and left a basket of beans on the porch. We can snap them tonight.”

“Don’t track up my kitchen,” she said, not bothering to look up.

“I want to talk to you,” he said. He moved a dinette chair next to the counter where she was working.

Gran kept stirring her pancake batter. She was freshly scrubbed, had her hair up in her customary bun, and wore a flour-sack apron over her dress even though she did not need it. Despite being so short she had trouble reaching the cupboard, she never spilled anything or made a mess when she cooked.

“Momma, I wish you’d use that electric mixer I brought home for you. It’d save time and be easier on you.”

“You know I don’t like them fancy machines.”

Sam shifted in his chair.

“You might as well come on out with it,” Gran said.“I can tell something’s on your mind and I know it ain’t Billy’s schooling. I already told you what I think and you already told me you ain’t gon’ listen to me.”

“Well, I’m sorry we can’t see eye to eye about that, but there’s something else I need to tell you before you hear it from Almalee Jolly or somebody.”

Gran stopped stirring for a second then started up again without looking at him.

“You’re probably not gon’ like this either, but you have to know about it, and you’re gon’ have to understand it’s something I want to do. I know you don’t like Becky Reeves, but she’s really nice, and I like her a lot. I took her to supper last night and I’m gon’ do it again Friday.” He felt like he ought to say more, but he couldn’t think of anything, so he stopped to let what he had already said sink in.

Gran set the bowl on the counter and turned to her son. She looked like she had just lost something she prized and could never get back.

“What do you think Judith Ann would say about you spending time with a woman like that, a Yankee carpetbagger that’s ruining your own flesh and blood?”

“Momma, first of all, Becky isn’t ruining Billy. She’s helping him. And second, you know no one will ever take Judith Ann’s place with me. I’ve thought a lot about how she’d see this and I believe she’d be happy about it. Becky is good and decent. Judith Ann would like her.”

“Well, I don’t like her and I don’t like you sniffing around her.”

“I know that but I hope you’ll respect that this is something for me to decide. Besides, you don’t really know her. She’s a fine woman.”

“I know all I want to know,” Gran said. She picked up the bowl and began stirring again. “What’re you gon’ tell the kids?”

“I’m gon’ tell them Miss Reeves and I have become friends and we enjoy each other’s company, just the way they like spending time with their friends. And I’m gon’ tell Billy that if anyone teases him about his teacher being friends with his daddy, he just has to ignore it.”

“You ain’t being fair to the boy, Sam. He shouldn’t have to go through no razzing just so you can keep company with some woman that’s got you all flustered.”

“I don’t think he’ll be bothered much,” Sam said, returning the dinette chair to its place.

“When’re you gon’ tell them?”

“At breakfast, and I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t say anything bad about Becky.”

“It doesn’t seem to be affecting business at all,” Warren Sanders, a wholesaler for Fones Brothers Hardware, said, referring to what he called “the ruckus” in Little Rock. “In fact, there was a piece about it in the El Dorado paper this morning. Maybe you saw it.”

A polished man with slicked-back hair and an easy manner, Sanders drove from Little Rock to Union County twice a month, stayed in a motel in El Dorado, and made the rounds of hardware and general stores throughout the area. He and Sam were standing at the cash register table with two huge leather-bound catalogs and an order pad open in front of them.

Until Sanders arrived, Sam had not been able to get his mind off his early morning conversations about Becky. He had expected Billy to worry about being teased, but the boy did not seem overly concerned. He said being picked on about his teacher could not be half as bad as the teasing he got about Crazy Dan. Mary Jane was another matter, though. She asked if Becky would be her and Billy’s new mother. When Sam asked how she came up with an idea like that, Mary Jane said, “From Mrs. MacDonald.” Sam tried to explain that Becky was only a new friend, and Mary Jane said she understood, but Sam was not so sure. Sanders was a welcome distraction.

“No, I haven’t read the paper, yet,” Sam said to the dapper salesman. “Last I heard, Faubus was looking to close Central High School, but I don’t see how he can.”

“Me neither,” Sanders said, “but there’s talk he’s gon’ call a special session of the legislature, try to abolish the entire public-school system, and somehow give the money to private schools that aren’t integrated. I don’t think he’s got enough support for it, but who knows. Somebody said more than seven hundred kids are staying home from Central.”

“Speaking of seven,” Sam said, changing the subject, “add some number seven flat-head wood screws to my order. I need one box of one-inch and two boxes of two-inch.”

“Okay. Let me see if we forgot anything else.” Sanders licked his right thumb and middle finger and flipped rapid-fire through the catalogs, calling out products as he went, but Sam was not listening. He was thinking about the first time he saw Becky and last night’s supper with her.

By the time Ollie Mae arrived at the Tate home Tuesday morning, gray clouds had rolled in from the southwest and brought misting rain. Gran had already put her quilting refreshments on the dinette table, and Mary Jane was sitting underneath it, playing with a shoe box full of paper dolls.

“Morning, Miss Mary Jane,” Ollie Mae said, taking off her raincoat and rolling it up. “Are you gon’ be keeping me company this morning while your grandmomma’s quilting? I saw her sitting out there on the front porch waiting for her friends.”

“Gran said I had to stay in here with you so I won’t hear something I ought not to. What do you think they’re gon’ be saying, Ollie Mae?”

“Lordy, child, I don’t know, but whatever it is, you best do like your grandmomma says. If you want me to, I’ll help you cut some more paper dolls out of that old Sears Roebuck catalog.” Ollie Mae hated fibbing, but she reckoned the quilters would be talking about integration again, and she was not about to mention that to Mary Jane.

When Gran’s pals pulled into the driveway, she watched silently as they climbed out of Almalee’s car onto the wet gravel. Despite carrying her quilting bag in one hand and trying to hold a newspaper over her head with the other, Emma Lou managed to nudge the passenger door shut with her elbow. Almalee struggled out of the driver’s side while trying to open an umbrella.

“What’s the matter, Ida Belle?” Emma Lou asked, as she clamored up the steps and dropped the damp newspaper next to the door mat. “You look all down in the mouth this morning. You feeling all right? We missed you at church Sunday.”

“I was a mite too wore out to go,” Gran said. Then she shouted, “Almalee, why don’t you just put that fool umbrella back in the car and come on in. It ain’t raining that hard!”

“I declare, Ida Belle, I bought this umbrella on sale up at Gene’s last week just to go with this dress, and this is the first time I’ve got to use it. You might at least tell me they look good together.”

“They look good. You satisfied?”

“Would you just listen to yourself!” Almalee said, mounting the steps. “You sound like an old sitting hen that’s been run off her nest.”

“Y’all quit your squawking,” Emma Lou said, opening the door.

The three filed inside toward their regular spots. Gran had turned on the overhead light and a table lamp earlier to beat back the gray day.

“Are you worried about why somebody shot out the streetlights in front of your house, like maybe they was trying to get at Sam for some reason?” Emma Lou asked, as they settled into their usual places.

“No, he said it wasn’t nothing but some darn fool with beans for brains and nothing better to do with his time.”

“Well, I sure hope that’s the case,” Emma Lou said.

“I know what’s the matter with her,” Almalee said to Emma Lou, as if Gran were not there. “It’s what I told you on the way over. I heard about it up at the Taylor sisters’ shop yesterday. She’s mad because Sam went out with that Reeves woman. Ain’t that right, Ida Belle? I don’t blame you, though, hon. I’d be mad, too, if it was me. And, come to think of it, I am mad. A pretty girl like Opal right here in town all this time, and when Sam finally decides he wants a woman, he picks some stranger. Why, I hear he was fawning all over her up at that school board meeting last week. I’d have told you about it Sunday if you’d been at church.”

“You think I don’t know he spoke up for her?” Gran snapped. “He told me.”

“Him and ole Doc Perkins both,” Almalee said.

Gran ignored Almalee and reached into her basket for her Monkey Wrench pieces.

“Well, Ida Belle,” Emma Lou said, setting to work on her Double Irish Chain, “I know you don’t like Becky Reeves, but I think it’s good for Sam to be taking up with somebody. From what little I’ve seen of her, she sure seems nice, and you’ve got to admit she’s mighty pretty. I think you ought to be happy for Sam.”

“But she’s an integrationist,” Gran said, almost desperate for Emma Lou to see things her way, “and she’s teaching Billy trash. Sam just can’t see it.”

“You don’t know that for sure,” Emma Lou said, “and maybe it don’t make any difference anyway. Whatever’s gon’ happen about mixing with coloreds is gon’ happen no matter what she thinks about it, or what Sam thinks, or you either. Seems to me the most important thing about Miss Reeves is whether Sam’s happy seeing her.”

Even Almalee kept quiet as she and Gran thought about what Emma Lou had said.

“Well, what if he ends up wanting to marry her?” Gran asked after a while. “She ain’t our kind of people and she won’t ever be.”

Emma Lou stopped sewing and looked up at her friend.

“Ida Belle, personally, I don’t think them getting married would be such a bad thing, but you’re getting your cart way ahead of your horse.”

Gran continued stitching. “No, I ain’t. My cart’s got kids in it and somebody’s got to be thinking about what’s best for them.”

“Ida Belle,” Emma Lou said, “I love you, but are you sure you know what’s best for them? We’re not gon’ be sitting here quilting forever, you know. Those kids still have a lot of growing to do, and they could use a momma. And Sam’s got needs too. It’d be good for all of them if he was to find somebody, but he’s gon’ have to decide for himself who that is.”

Late Wednesday morning, Upshaw looked at his coffee mug and tried to remember how many times he had refilled it. His desk was piled with newspapers from other towns and cities, and he looked like he had slept in his clothes. He got up and started to the coffee pot then remembered he had turned off the hot plate earlier.

“Do you have this week’s feature ready yet?” Pearl asked.

“Mrs. Goodbar, you worry too much,” he said. “Have I ever missed a deadline?”

“No, but you’ve come close, and I don’t like having to work late when that happens.”

Upshaw did not answer because he knew Pearl’s concerns were well founded. He did not have his lead story ready. Things remained tense in Little Rock, but not much new had happened, and he was having trouble coming up with an angle. He picked up the latest El Dorado paper again. According to one story there, Eisenhower had said he would withdraw the federal troops if Faubus promised to maintain order around Central High and not oppose integration. Faubus refused to make a firm promise, so the president said the troops would stay put.

Upshaw studied the reports a while longer then reached for his notebook and flipped through its pages. In a moment, a huge grin spread over his face.

“I’ve got it now,” he said. “We’re gon’ have two main stories. We’ll need at least half the front page for them. I’m gon’ write about bad government on two levels. I’m gon’ expose Eisenhower for lying and the Unionville, Arkansas, town council for being incompetent.”

While Upshaw was struggling, Becky Reeves, pleased with the colorful posters and charts decorating the bulletin board on the back wall of her classroom, was starting something new.

“Boys and girls,” she said, after completing her daily reports, “you’ve worked hard on social studies these past few weeks, and you can be very proud of what you’ve accomplished. I know I am.” She leaned against the edge of her desk and pushed up the sleeves on her sweater. “We’re going to continue that work, but this morning and some others over the next couple of weeks, we’re going to do something different during the first part of class. You will still work in groups, but we’re going to study about two groups of grownups—two teams, actually—that are starting something very special today. We’re going to look at some ways they measure what they do. Who knows what teams I’m talking about?”

Billy raised his hand along with Glen Ray Plunkett then Linda Perkins put hers up too.

“Linda, what teams are they?”

“The New York Yankees and Milwaukee Braves, Miss Reeves. They’re playing in the World Series.”

“That’s right, Linda. Baseball is a game that involves a lot of math, and during the World Series, we’re going to focus our math lessons on the numbers, calculations, and statistics of baseball. We’re going to look at individual and team batting, pitching, and fielding percentages, and we’re going to look at attendance and ticket and concession prices and see if we can figure out how much money the teams’ owners take in on the games.”

Over the next forty-five minutes, Becky taught a lesson on how to figure winning percentages for teams and pitchers and calculate the hurlers’ earned run averages.

Some parents who had been complaining about Becky were still mad about losing the school board vote to get rid of her. Others had simply grown tired of hearing about her. Nearly all heard more on Wednesday night, however. As the most popular sporting event in America, the World Series was all over the evening news. Reporters told in dramatic fashion how neither Milwaukee’s Warren Spahn nor New York’s Whitey Ford allowed a run through the first four innings and the Yankees went on to win 3 to 1. With the newscasters’ prompting, a lot of Unionville seventh graders were eager to tell about yet another unusual day in class.

In the Ames household, the subject came up over supper.

“You already know long division and percentages,” Howard said, as he put a pork chop on his daughter’s plate. “I don’t know why you’re so pleased. So she’s doing math first again, so what? You just said it’s only for a couple of weeks. And besides, you don’t even like baseball. It’s a boring game.”

“Yeah,” Barbara’s mother said, making a face. “It’s just a bunch of men standing around scratching their privates and spitting. Yuck!”

“I don’t care about the game, Daddy,” Barbara said, ignoring her food. “But the math problems are interesting. Did you know that Mickey Mantle and Hank Aaron had the same homerun percentages this year? It’s fun to compare things that way. Miss Reeves calls it ‘statistical analysis,’ and she says we can use it to study a lot of other things, like weather patterns and ups and downs in the stock market.”

“Howard,” Barbara’s mother said between bites of baked potato, “you’re gon’ have to try harder to get something done about that woman. Little girls don’t have any business studying about baseball and the stock market.”

“Well, now,” Howard said, looking at his daughter but speaking to his wife,“it’s not gon’ hurt Barbara to learn about the stock market. Maybe Miss Reeves is finally coming to her senses.”

At the Plunkett home, Glen Ray couldn’t wait to tell Bobby Jack what the class had learned.

“Hey, Pops!” the boy called as soon as his daddy got home. “I know who’s gon’ win the World Series.”

“How do you know that?” Bobby Jack asked, as he took a beer from the Frigidaire.

“We studied it at school today.”

“I don’t believe it,” Bobby Jack said. He squeezed his wife’s behind and plopped down in a dinette chair.

“It’s true. Listen. The Yankees’ top four starting pitchers all have earned-run averages lower than the Braves’ top four pitchers. That means the Yankees’ top four pitchers are better even though they didn’t win as many games this year.”

“Who told you that?”

“Nobody. Me and my study group figured it out.”

Bobby Jack took a long draw on his can of Miller High Life. “Listen, boy. I don’t know what that woman is up to now but she don’t know nothing about baseball. I don’t know how they get them earned-run averages, but I know the pitcher that’s got the lowest one ain’t necessarily gon’ win. There’s more to it than that.”

“That’s what Miss Reeves said too.”

“Really?” Bobby Jack said. “She must’ve been guessing then.”

Sam started the baseball conversation at his house. Only, he didn’t know it would involve school.

“Billy,” Sam asked, as he passed around the mashed potatoes at supper,“did you hear the Yankees won the first game today?”

“Yes, sir. And guess what? We studied about the series in class.”

“How’d you do that, son?” Sam asked, despite wishing he hadn’t started down this path.

“Well,” Billy said, taking out a huge spoonful of potatoes, “Miss Reeves let us study baseball numbers and stuff for our math lesson. We learned how to do earned run averages, home run percentages, and a whole bunch of good stuff.”

“See,” Gran said, forgetting she had agreed not to criticize Becky.“I told you she wasn’t no good teacher. The idea! Wasting them kids’ time like that.”

Sam let his mother’s comment pass. “How do you figure an earned-run average, Billy?” he asked, as he put peas on Mary Jane’s plate. When Billy explained, Sam said, “Hey, that’s right. It’s a good way to bone up on your long division, too, isn’t it?”

“Yes, sir. Miss Reeves sure is a good teacher and I’m sure glad she’s your friend. I didn’t say nothing to her about that, though.”

“I’m glad too,” Sam said, letting his son’s grammar slide while picturing Becky on Friday night.