CHAPTER 44

Before the sun went down Saturday afternoon, Darrell Royal brought his University of Texas Longhorns into Fayetteville, put eight men on his defensive line, and shut out the Razorbacks 17 to 0. The loss knocked the Hogs out of the Associated Press top ten, clouded their dreams of the Cotton Bowl, and threw folks all over the state into a foul mood that carried over to Sunday morning.

For most of those attending First Baptist Church in Unionville, it did not help that Brother Byrd preached about the cross burnings again. Even worse, he did it with uncharacteristic calm. Rather than fuming and frothing like he often did, he acted like he was teaching children in Sunday school.

“Listen to what the Bible says in Leviticus, chapter nineteen, verses seventeen and eighteen,” he said at one point.“‘Thou shalt not hate thy brother in thine heart. Thou shalt not avenge, nor bear any grudge against the children of thy people, but thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself.’ People, I tell you, whatever you think about integration, you have to know cross burning is wrong, and burning a cross at a school, a place for children, is diabolical. As Jesus said in his Sermon on the Mount,‘Verily I say unto you, inasmuch as ye have done it unto the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.’”

Becky had not heard Byrd’s first two sermons about cross burnings, but she had seen him in full flower earlier and recognized the change in approach immediately. Having come with Hazel Brantley, she was sitting in front of Sam, Billy, and Mary Jane, the same as before. She and Sam had talked about attending together and decided not to. They both knew that when people their age started going to church together, folks began assuming things about their future intentions.

She was going to the Tates for dinner afterward, however, and the prospect distracted her throughout the service. She sat fingering the buttons on her suit and thinking how Sam made her laugh and how she felt when he put his arms around her. She knew she loved him, but his being the father of one of her students still bothered her some. Then there was his mother to consider. Sam had told Becky enough so that she knew she was not exactly going into friendly territory.

Sunday dinner plans weighed on Sam’s mind too. He asked Becky to come only after wrestling long and hard with the idea. Although he had known her only a couple of months, he knew he loved her. He also knew his mother despised her, but he wanted to be with Becky even more than he had been, and he did not want to keep hearing Gran complain about it. He hoped if they spent some time together, Gran might soften up at least a little.

Gran was also thinking about dinner during church. When Sam first mentioned having Becky over, Gran told him flat out he had better not count on her having anything to do with it. Later, after remembering some things Emma Lou MacDonald said, she decided to go along with it. She dreaded it, though. Fixing the meal was easy. Ollie Mae helped her do a lot of it on Saturday. Sitting through it would be something else. She hated the notion so much she did not tell Emma Lou and Almalee about it, even though they were sitting with her in their usual pew.

“You feeling bad again, Ida Belle?” Emma Lou asked after preaching was over.

“No, it ain’t nothing,” Gran said.

According to plan, Sam drove his family home after church, and Becky, driving her Plymouth, stopped by her apartment. When she arrived at the Tate home, she was carrying a hatbox covered with a piece of bright red cloth accented with tiny yellow flowers. Holding it in place was a long yellow plaid piece tied loosely into a large bow. Sam, Billy, and Mary Jane met her at the front door. Then, still wearing their Sunday clothes and uncertain about what to do next, they all crowded into the kitchen, where Gran was now frying chicken.

“Momma, Miss Reeves is here,” Sam said. “Becky, this is my mother. Y’all have seen each other at church.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Tate,” Becky said. “I’ve been looking forward to it.”

“Becky’s brought us something, Momma,” Sam said. “You want to see what it is?”

Gran did not move or say anything for a moment or two, and Sam thought she was about to tell them all to go somewhere and let her finish getting dinner ready. But as she looked up from the chicken legs and thighs sizzling in her iron skillet, she glimpsed the cloth.

“That’s pretty material,” she said. “Where’d you get it?”The words came out automatically, before she thought about them. It was what every quilter asked on seeing a new piece of fabric she liked.

“I bought it in a little store in my home town,” Becky said. “I used part of it for a Sun Bonnet Sue appliqué and these pieces are for you. Sam and Mary Jane both told me you like to quilt.”

“Well,” Gran said, remembering how she regarded Becky and turning back to the stove, “you’d best move it before some of this here grease pops out on it.”

“There’s a lemon pie in the box,” Becky said. “Where would you like it?”

“You can set it over there somewhere,” Gran said without looking up, “but you didn’t have to bring nothing. Ollie Mae made us an apple pie yesterday.”

Becky felt Gran’s coolness and the tension in the room. “Well,” she said, “my mother taught me always to bring something when I’m a guest, so it was my pleasure. I have to tell you, though, apple pie is one of my favorites.”

Gran reached for some more floured chicken pieces and dropped them into the skillet. The hissing sound they made when they hit the hot grease was her only reply. Sam took Becky’s box and put it on the counter top. Then, with the table already set and the vegetables ready, he took her onto the back porch to see the rest of the Tate homeplace.

When they all sat down to eat a few minutes later, Sam said the shortest blessing he thought he could get away with and started passing food around. Everyone loaded their plates and for a long while no one said anything.

Then Mary Jane said, “I helped make the chicken.”

“Aw, come on,” Billy said. “Gran fried the chicken.”

“I did, too, help. I did it yesterday. After Ollie Mae wrung its head off, I chased it all around while it was flopping, and after she scalded it, I helped her pick the feathers off.”

“Mary Jane!” Sam said. “Do you think that’s appropriate for the dinner table?”

“What’s wrong with it, Daddy? I didn’t say anything about getting the blood on my clothes.”

Becky almost laughed out loud but caught herself. Sam could not think of what to say, and Gran went on eating as if nothing had happened.

No one said anything more for another minute or two, then Billy broke the silence. “Miss Reeves,” he asked between bites of chicken leg, “can you tell me about Busch Stadium? We haven’t talked about it yet at school.”

“Why yes, Billy. I’d love to. I’ve had some really good times there with my father. What would you like to know?”

“Well, I was wondering what it’s like to see a real Major League game. I’d give anything to see Stan Musial bat in real life.”

Becky put her fork on her plate and used her napkin. “I expect you know that until a few years ago the stadium was called Sportsman’s Park. A lot of famous Cardinals have played there, like Rogers Hornsby, Dizzy Dean, Pepper Martin. The Browns used to play there, too, before they moved to Baltimore, and Babe Ruth, Lou Gehrig, and Jimmie Foxx all played there against them. But you want to know what it’s like being there, don’t you?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Well, just walking up outside to buy tickets is exciting. There’re lots of cars and buses letting fans off. Street vendors are all over the place selling programs and souvenirs. And you get goose bumps thinking about all the things you’re going to see inside. Then you walk in and there’s that big stretch of green grass right in the middle of the city. It’s like magic. You feel like you’re in some other world that’s peaceful and serene, and somehow you hold onto that feeling even when thirty thousand people are yelling and screaming.

“There are wonderful smells too. I remember the popcorn especially. They used to sell it in cardboard cones you could use as megaphones to cheer with when you finished eating. They were white with two big cardinals on the sides. And the hot dogs, oh, they were good. I can still close my eyes and smell the mustard.”

Billy was listening so hard he was ignoring his dinner. Sam was tempted to interrupt and tell him to eat, but Becky’s voice and what she was telling were music to father and son alike.

“Did you ever see Stan Musial hit a home run?” Billy asked.

“Yes, as a matter of fact, my father and I saw that doubleheader three years ago when he hit five home runs in one day.”

“Wow!” Billy said. “I’ve read about those two games. Did you ever see the Browns play?”

“Yes. Several times.”

“That’s enough questions, Billy,” Gran said, interrupting.

Once more, there was only the sound of knives and forks against plates. Then Mary Jane asked, “Miss Reeves, are you gon’ be our new momma?” The split second of quiet that followed seemed much longer, as blood rushed to the faces of the adults.

“Mary Jane!” Gran and Sam cried at the same time.

The exclamations startled the little girl. The corners of her mouth turned down, her shoulders slumped, and she stared at her plate.

“Sweetheart, I’m just your daddy’s friend,” Becky said.

No one knew what to say next.

“Mary Jane,” Sam said finally, “Miss Reeves is right. Like I told you before, she and I are friends.”To change the subject he said, “Momma, why don’t you tell Becky about the quilt you’re making.”

“It ain’t nothing but a sampler, Sam. I’m sure she knows all about them.” Before he could protest, Gran filled her mouth with a huge spoonful of mashed potatoes.

“I would love to hear about it, Mrs. Tate,” Becky said. “My mother and aunt have made lots of quilts and I never get tired of looking at them.”

“Momma,” Sam said, “after dinner, why don’t you show Becky the blocks you’re working on.”

“Yeah,” Billy said, “and you can tell us some stories too.”

“Please Gran,” Mary Jane pleaded, smiling now. Then to Becky, “Our grandmother tells good stories.”

“Telling stories is a wonderful talent, Mrs. Tate,” Becky said, failing to notice the worried expression that came over Sam’s face. “I’m sure I would enjoy them as much as the children.”

Gran did not reply, and as they all continued eating, Sam tried making conversation around the weather, gardening, and anything else he could think of other than school and politics. Gran kept quiet, and while that was in part a blessing, it was also a clear indication that Becky was not gaining any ground with her. For dessert, Becky ate a piece of Ollie Mae’s apple pie and bragged on it, and Sam ate a piece of Becky’s lemon pie and bragged on it. When everyone finished, Becky insisted on helping with the dishes. Gran tolerated her but did not speak as they worked.

Sam and the children pitched in, too, and afterward, he ushered everyone into the living room. Before anyone sat down, Mary Jane asked if she could go get Gran’s quilting basket. Unable to disappoint her granddaughter, Gran said, “Yes,” with obvious reluctance, and Sam hoped she would not get wound up about Yankees and Negroes.

When Mary Jane returned, Gran started laying out her blocks and telling about them. For a while, things seemed to go well. She named the patterns and told where the cloth came from, and Becky complimented the color schemes and stitch-es. When Gran brought out her Wild Geese Flying and Monkey Wrench blocks, Becky grew excited.

“Why, Mrs. Tate, those are really famous patterns. Before the Civil War, slaves would put out Monkey Wrench quilts to signal when it was time to run away, and abolitionists used Wild Geese Flying patterns to show what direction to go on the Underground Railroad.”

Without even looking up, Gran started putting all her blocks back into her basket. “I don’t know nothing about no runaway slaves and no abolitionists,” she said, “but them blocks has got my daddy’s and my husband’s clothes in them, and didn’t neither one of them ever have nothing to do with no runaway coloreds.”

“Oh, Mrs. Tate,” Becky said, “I didn’t mean to imply anything about your father or your husband.” She looked to Sam for help but Gran responded before he could get any words out.

“I know you can’t help it,” she said, “but the problem with you Yankees is you think you know everything about the South and you don’t know nothing.”With that, she picked up her basket and started out of the room.

“Momma,” Sam called after her.

“I’m tired,” Gran said. “I’m gon’ take a nap.”