CHAPTER 50

After taking his brother Herman to the Union County Airport early Saturday morning and watching him climb into a twin-prop for the long trip back to Midland, Sam headed home. He expected to get there about the same time as Doc Perkins and Tucker, who were bringing Gran. Sam had not wanted her to leave St. Joseph’s, because Doc and the hospital physicians could not be sure about how much damage her heart attack had done. She was kicking up such a fuss about staying, however, that they decided she would be at least as well off at home. Doc got ahold of an oxygen tank in case she needed it, Emma Lou MacDonald said she would help look after her, and Ollie Mae helped Sam find somebody for the days she could not work. Desperate, Sam met Doreen Dykes only briefly and hired her strictly on Ollie Mae’s recommendation and the knowledge that she was Black Tiger B. J. Long’s sister-in-law.

Sam got home just as Doc and Tucker were rolling Gran through the front door. Emma Lou was hovering over her and Ollie Mae was keeping Mary Jane out of the way.

“Y’all take care now. Don’t be bumping this thing into the wall and scratching it,” Gran said. Her voice was weak but, in her mind, this was her house and she was still the boss.

Tucker and Doc maneuvered the stretcher through her sitting room and into the adjoining bedroom, where one of Gran’s quilts covered two feather mattresses and a set of box springs on a brass bedstead.

“You men get out of here now,” Gran ordered. “Emma Lou and Ollie Mae can help me out of this contraption. Dadblame you anyway for tying me up like this. I ain’t no baby.”

Everyone did as she asked, and as soon as Tucker and Doc retrieved the stretcher, Gran called for Billy and Mary Jane.

“Lordy, young’uns,” she said, as they came into her bedroom, “y’all sure are a sight for sore eyes. Come here and give your grandmomma a hug.”

Doc followed them in, and after watching for a minute, he put a hand on each child’s back and squatted beside them.

“Now, Billy and Mary Jane,” he said, as much for Gran’s benefit as for theirs, “your grandmother is a very sick woman and there are two things she’s gon’ need you to do to help her. The first one is she’s gon’ need lots of hugs, but real gentle ones, no squeezing hard. And the second one is she’s gon’ need lots of rest and sleep. That means you have to play quietly and not be pestering her all the time.”

“Is she gon’ die?” Mary Jane asked.

“Shhh!” Billy said.

Doc looked at Gran and started to speak but she beat him to it.

“Where in tarnation did you get a notion like that, hon’? I’m gon’ be just fine. Don’t you be worrying none.”

A few minutes later, Sam helped Tucker bring in the oxygen tank, and Doc showed the adults how to use it. Then Emma Lou and Ollie Mae started tidying up, and Sam followed his friends into the yard. Doc started to get into the ambulance then turned back.

“Sam,” he said, gripping his friend’s shoulder. “I wish I could give you a better idea of what to expect. She may pull through this and get back on her feet again but I can’t promise you that. She’s old and she’s tired. The best thing you can do for her, besides seeing she gets her rest, is just go on about business as usual. Keep her in bed till I say she can get up, but otherwise just keep things normal as you can and try not to upset her. It’ll be the best thing for the kids too.”

Saturday afternoon, while Emma Lou and Ollie Mae looked after Gran and Mary Jane, Sam took Billy to the store. It was the first time since Monday that Sam could spend more than a couple of hours there, but Miss Ruthelle and Art Nelson had everything under control. Little needed doing and all anyone there wanted was to find out about Gran. Sam tried to follow Doc’s advice and not worry but it was hard.

Thankfully, Tucker came in and said, “The Razorbacks are about to play the number one team in the country and kickoff’s in five minutes. Let’s listen to it.”

“Yeah,”Art said.“Good idea. What do you say, Sam? It’s pretty slow right now.”

“Yeah, Daddy,” Billy chimed in. “Let’s.”

Sam didn’t need persuading. He moved around the table and turned on the Philco. Paul “Bear” Bryant, who hailed from Fordyce, about sixty miles up highway167, had brought his undefeated Texas A&M Aggies into Fayetteville expecting a tough contest and got it. Unfortunately for the Razorbacks, however, Bryant’s All-American halfback John David Crow, from not far away in Springhill, Louisiana, pounded the Hogs on both sides of the ball, and the Aggies won 7 to 6.

“Well, there goes the Cotton Bowl,” Tucker said, as Sam switched off the radio. “They might have made it with one loss but they can’t make it with two.”

“Maybe they can still go to the Sugar Bowl,” Billy said.

“Maybe,” Sam said. He doubted it but he did not want to dampen Billy’s hopes or his own. Neither of them needed anything more to worry about, not even something as simple as the fate of the Hogs.

When Becky answered Hazel’s knock shortly before ten on Sunday morning, the landlady stood on the front porch wearing a blue apron over her pink bathrobe and holding a role of wax paper.

“I thought I’d give you one more chance to say,‘Yes,’ before I get ready to go over to the Tates,” she said.“I’m taking rolls and a salad and I made a chocolate cake for the kids. You still have time to make a little something too.”

“No, Hazel,” Becky said, keeping one hand on the door and the other on the frame, blocking her would-be guest. “I appreciate your asking but it’s not a good idea.”

“Okay, hon,” the landlady said, backing away, “but I think you’re making a big mistake.”

Becky, also still in her bathrobe, closed the door and returned to her kitchen. She picked up the El Dorado Daily News from the dinette table and looked at the long headline again, “74 Atlanta Clergymen Set 6 Principles to Govern Race Relations.” The ministers, all white, had issued a statement aimed at easing racial tensions across the South. It called upon all people to obey the law, preserve public schools, protect free speech, avoid hatred, work toward equal rights, and pray for guidance. It was not the ministers’ recommended principles of moderation that drew Becky’s attention, however. It was the preamble to them. She sat down and read it again.

The use of the word integration in connection with our schools and other areas of life has been unfortunate, since to many, that term has become synonymous with amalgamation. We do not believe in the amalgamation of the races, nor do we feel it is favored by right-thinking members of either race.

When Becky decided to tell Sam she was a Negro, she had not been thinking past knowing that they could not be together. She just wanted to protect them both from unbearable pain. Afterward, as she went about teaching every day, she tried not to think about the future. Now, she was beginning to realize she could not put her heritage back in the shirt box with the photographs and just keep it there. And she did not know any longer if she even wanted to.

Becky was not the only Unionville resident moved by the newspaper report about the Atlanta clergymen. Elmer Spurlock was not sure why he woke up early on Sunday morning, but he slopped his hogs and dressed for church before the sun came up. His sermon—a rehash of what Leland Farley had said in Little Rock—was ready and there was no need to review it. Restless, he decided to go to the post office and pick up the El Dorado paper. He read about the Atlanta ministers while sitting in his truck on Main Street and chain smoking half a pack of cigarettes. Then he rushed home to his Bible. He did not need to make any notes. He only needed to mark a few passages. Once he got in the pulpit and started reading scriptures, words to expand on them would come easily.

He had preached plenty about what he thought integration would lead to, but he had not devoted an entire sermon to mixed marriages. As the Mercy Baptist Mission filled with worshipers, he sat silently on the podium, wearing his badly wrinkled white suit despite the season and imagining himself rising to the pulpit and addressing his flock.

When the service began, he led the same rousing songs he used back in August when he preached about how, in his way of thinking, God’s curse on Canaan, the son of Ham, doomed black people to everlasting inferiority. “Stand Up for Jesus,” “Rise Up, O Men of God,” and “Onward Christian Soldiers” all spoke of Christians doing battle for the Lord.

After the singing, Spurlock stood dead still as those gathered before him sat down and returned their hymnals to holders on the backs of the pews. Once everyone was settled, he placed his oversized Bible on the pulpit and flipped it open. Then, in the most dramatic voice he could muster, he said, “Listen to what Moses told the Israelites here in Deuteronomy, chapter seven, when he was reminding them about the Ten Commandants and all the other things they needed to do to live right for God. He warned them against mixing with other races, like the Hittites and the Canaanites and a bunch of others. He said don’t make any covenants with them, and he said—I’m quoting now—‘Neither shalt thou make marriages with them; thy daughter shalt not give unto his son, nor his daughter shalt thou take unto thy son.’ Then he says if they don’t obey, the anger of the Lord will destroy them.

“Folks, he’s talking about the sin of race mixing. He’s talking about mongrelization. He’s talking about what’s gon’ happen to people who promote it, who do it, and who let it happen. He warned the Israelites about it more than once. You can find just about these same words in First Kings, chapter eleven, verse two, and in Ezra, chapter nine, verse twelve.

“God is talking to us right here today through these scriptures. I tell you, if integration ain’t stopped right now, right here in Arkansas, it’s gon’ spread to the rest of the South, and it’s gon’ destroy the white race!”

Spurlock did not care that Moses actually was warning the Israelites against people who worshiped idols.

“Sam,” Miss Ruthelle called, laying the receiver on the office counter, “It’s Emma Lou MacDonald.”

Thinking the worst, Sam dropped the Flying-O tricycle wheel onto the cardboard he had spread out on the floor, scrambled to his feet, and hurried around the stairs to the phone. It was Wednesday morning in the first week of November, and he had spent the last several days trying to catch up on putting together Christmas toys.

“Sam,” Emma Lou said, “your momma’s okay, but you better come home and see to her. She’s giving me and Doreen fits.”

“What’s the matter?”

“She don’t want Doreen touching any of her things,” came the tired voice on the other end of the line, “and she wants her sewing basket. I don’t think she ought to have it because I don’t think she needs to be stirring around that much. She’s mad as an old momma possum and I can’t do anything with her.”

“All right, Emma Lou. I’ll be right there.”

Sam told Miss Ruthelle he would be back in a little while and headed for his pickup. He knew even before he told his mother about Doreen Dykes that Gran would not like the idea of new help, but he hoped that Emma Lou’s being there on Doreen’s first day would smooth the way.

When Sam turned into the driveway, Emma Lou was standing on the front porch waiting, and she met him in the yard. Her rolled stockings sagged around her ankles and the underarms of her dress showed circles of sweat.

“I hated to bother you, Sam, but she’s been carrying on so, I just didn’t know what else to do. She’s running me all over the house making sure Doreen’s doing this and not doing that, and she’s bound and determined to quilt. Maybe you can do something with her.”

“Okay,” Sam said, relieved his mother had not had another spell with her heart. He gave her friend a hand up the steps. “Let me see about it.”

“Momma,” Sam said, trying to strike a concerned but pleasant tone when he walked into her bedroom, “what’s all the ruckus about?”

She was propped up on three large goose-feather pillows.

“It’s about that colored woman messing in my kitchen and Emma Lou telling me I can’t have my quilting basket. Dadgum it! I been laying up here for four days doing just like Doc said, and now I got me some sewing I need to do.”

Sam had to admit she seemed better. And Doc had said to keep things as normal as possible and not upset her. “I tell you what,” Sam said. “You stop fussing about Doreen, and I’ll get your quilting basket, but you have to promise to calm down. Emma Lou’s running her legs off for you and you have to let her get some rest too.”

“I know, Sam. God love her. She’s a saint. I promise, but you tell that Doreen not to be changing things around in the house. I can hear her and I can tell she ain’t working like Ollie Mae.”

“All right, I’ll talk to her. You just behave.”That was almost too easy Sam thought as he fluffed her pillows. He had expected more arguing. He kissed her on the cheek and went looking for Doreen. He asked her to work as quietly as possible, then he thanked Emma Lou and told her to give Gran what she wanted.

Driving back to town past Hazel’s place, Sam’s thoughts turned to Becky again. She still was not answering her phone, and he was thinking about stopping by unannounced again some evening after work or after supper, even though he still had not come up with how to say all that he felt.

He kept thinking about how he had hurt her, and while he could not put himself in her place, he imagined this was probably harder for her than for him. He did not care if she were black, white, or green. He loved her. To him she was simply Becky, a wonderful woman with whom he wanted to spend the rest of his life. He wondered what the chances were of anyone ever finding out she was passing. Pretty slim, he guessed, since she had kept it from everybody all her life, but he did not know if she intended to keep on doing so or, if she did, for how long. He was not going to ask, though, because he knew that would only hurt her more. One thing was certain. If her past came out, he and Becky could not be together in Unionville or anywhere near it. People would shun them and make life miserable for Mary Jane and Billy. And they could never get married—at least not in Arkansas or in most other states in the South—without committing a crime. Interracial marriage was against the law.