1965
Jocelyn and I were released from jail late the next afternoon, the Fourth of July, without fanfare or discussion of any charges against us. We didn’t ask questions or protest our treatment. We just wanted to get out of there. When we left the building, blinking against the blinding sunlight, Curry was waiting in the van, smoking a cigarette, as though nothing had happened. We climbed in and the first thing he said to me was “Win made it back to his house.” He knew that was all I cared about. Jocelyn squeezed my hand.
“What happened to everyone else?” I asked.
“We all spent the night in lovely accommodations at the expense of the state,” he said. “This mornin’, I hitched a ride to get the van. I picked up the boys in front of the jailhouse and carried them to the school, then drove to the house Win’s stayin’ at and found him there eatin’ breakfast like he’d never been gone. Don’t know how he got there, but don’t care either. Now I’m here to carry y’all to the school and I can tell you, the Rev ain’t happy. I told him it’s all my doin’, so go along with that.”
It was all his doing, but we didn’t argue with him. I was just so happy that Win was all right and that Jocelyn and I were out of that miserable jail cell.
Curry took us to the school, where Jocelyn slipped quietly into her desk chair and began typing as though she’d been there all along, but Greg called me into the storage room. He shut the door and pointed to one of the chairs.
“How’d you like jail?” he asked as I lowered myself to the chair. He didn’t bother to sit, but stood opposite me, arms folded across his chest.
“I didn’t. And I’m really sorry,” I said. “We shouldn’t have gone out last night, but it seemed harmless at the time, and I still don’t really understand why the police—”
“I’m aware you have a close relationship with Win,” he interrupted me. “I blame myself. My plan was to alternate you and Rosemary with him, but you and Win were working well together, getting a lot of folks committed to register and showing up at the protests, and I didn’t see—I didn’t want to see—the warning signs. I’m tempted to send you to another SCOPE site, Ellie. I want you—”
“No!” I felt panicky at the thought of leaving. My friends were here. My work was here. My heart was here. “I belong here,” I said. “I love what I’m doing.”
“If you think it’s important work, then you need to treat it as such,” he said. “No horsing around. For both your sakes—and SCOPE’s sake—I’m splitting the two of you up. You’ll be canvassing with Rosemary from now on and Win with Chip.”
The emotion that ran through me felt almost like panic. I wouldn’t be able to see Win until our weekly protest on Friday night, and then we’d be working, surrounded by a hundred or more people. Greg would no doubt keep an eye on us the whole time. Maybe I could see him on Saturday night, when Greg went home to be with his family? But after what happened last night, I doubted either of us would—or should—take the risk.
I spent that night in the school. Paul had figured out a way to get up on the roof and all of us—Jocelyn, Paul, Chip, and I—sat up there watching fireworks in the distance. In the morning, Curry drove me to the next house where Greg said I’d be staying for three nights. It wasn’t far from the Hunts’ house. Better yet, it wasn’t far—maybe a quarter mile—from where Win was staying. I was never the sort of person who disobeyed her parents. I never sneaked out of the house in the middle of the night or lied about where I was going. I wouldn’t do it now, at the age of twenty, either, but knowing that Win was close by gave me comfort.
Even though my new residence had some electricity—though intermittent—and running cold water and a decent shower attached to the side of the house, in some ways it was the worst of the three houses I’d stayed in. The family was painfully quiet. The Hunts, and even to a certain extent the Dawes family, had seemed to want me there. They seemed to believe in what SCOPE was trying to do. But I had the feeling that this family—the Charles family—had heard about the bad luck the other families had had because of me, and they were only taking me in because they desperately needed the few dollars they’d get from sharing their house with me. They responded to anything I said, any attempt at friendliness, with a stare or a shrug. No one smiled in this house. The two bedrooms were crammed with mattresses and people—mostly teenagers—who came and went, while Mrs. Charles cooked, struggling to make beans and salt pork and corn bread stretch far enough to feed us all. The teenagers hardly gave me more than a glance. I wasn’t introduced to them and I didn’t ask about them because I didn’t want to put anyone on the spot. There was no man in the house and I didn’t know who belonged to whom. I simply tried my best to blend into the woodwork, eating barely enough to stay alive, thinking they all needed that food more than I did.
The room I slept in had two mattresses on the floor. A couple of teenaged boys, maybe thirteen and fourteen, slept on one, while I slept with an eighteen-year-old girl and her two-year-old son. I tried to talk to the girl in the evenings, to connect to her, but she’d been working all day at a chicken plant and was exhausted. Although I knew she’d taken a long shower—the outdoor shower was right outside the bedroom and I heard it run and run and run—she still carried the scent of the plant into the room with her.
“I can’t get rid of it,” she said apologetically, as I moved over on the bed to make room for her. “The chicken smell. But we need the money.”
They were the first words anyone in the house had spoken directly to me.
“It’s good you have a job,” I said, because I didn’t know what else to say. I hurt for her.
She let me use the only pillow. She didn’t need it, she said, and she was right: she fell asleep the second she laid her head on the mattress. As I lay there, with her little boy’s arm snug around my waist, tears stung my eyes. I felt wealthy. Spoiled. I’d never truly suffered a day in my life. Dear God, I prayed. Please let something good happen for this family.
It was a long week. I ended up staying at the Charleses’ house every night because a cross was burned outside the house Chip was staying in and the school was shot up again, which I was sure had terrified Jocelyn. So Greg had to find a new place for Chip and since nothing terrible had happened to me at the Charleses’ place, he figured I could safely stay there. By the third day of canvassing with Rosemary, she told me I was “gettin’ ripe.” I explained about the house I was in and my bedmate’s situation. We’d been walking down the road and she stopped short and stared at me. “It’s gonna take three hundred years of havin’ the vote to turn this mess around,” she said.
“I know,” I agreed.
While I missed Win with an almost physical pain, canvassing with Rosemary was not as bad as I’d expected. She was intense, like Win had said, but some people liked that about her. They took her seriously and her passion got us in a few doors for a few glasses of sweet tea and good conversation. We still did our best to hide if we saw a white man driving down the road, but it wasn’t nearly as dangerous canvassing with another girl, even if she was Black, and my heart didn’t climb into my throat every time we had to make a run for it.
But she was nosy about Win and me. “Must be hard not seein’ him all this week, huh?” she asked, her tone nonchalant.
“Oh, it’s not so bad,” I said, refusing to rise to the bait. “It’s probably good to mix up who we canvass with. Helps us build our skills.”
“You know I saw you at the Jinx Club,” she said.
“Yeah, I know. Do you go there often?”
“In the summer. Me and my cousins, we hang out there a lot.”
I remembered with a jolt that her cousin Ronnie worked with Buddy. “Your cousin Ronnie?” I tried and probably failed to sound casual.
“Yeah, he was there.” She sounded just as casual. She nodded toward the clipboard I was carrying, which had our canvassing data on it. “Did you mark down that last house?” she asked, and I checked the clipboard as though I could actually see what I’d written through my fear. Had Ronnie seen me with Win? Very, very doubtful, I thought. If he had, he would have told my brother, and Buddy would have shown up by now to drag me home.
Friday evening, Curry made the rounds of the houses where SCOPE students were staying, picking us up to drive us to the courthouse in Carlisle for the weekly protest. Chip, Jocelyn, and Win were already in the van, and the back seat was piled high with the protest placards. My heart felt like it would explode at seeing Win after a week. He turned from the front seat to smile at me as I slid into the middle bench seat next to Chip and Jocelyn. I wondered if he noticed I was wearing his green shirt.
“Is Paul picking up the others?” I asked, mostly for something to say that would keep me from shouting, “I love you!” I’d showered like mad and hoped I hadn’t brought any of the chicken plant stench into the van with me.
“Paul’s gettin’ a couple and Greg the rest,” Curry said.
I spoke only to Chip and Jocelyn on the drive to Carlisle, acting as though I felt nothing for the man sitting in front of me. Six days, I thought. I haven’t seen him in six days.
We parked down the street from the courthouse. Curry, Chip, and Jocelyn each left with an armful of placards, but Win and I dawdled so we’d have a few minutes alone. He moved next to me on the middle seat and I was reaching behind me for a placard when he rested his hand on mine. “Hold on,” he said. “Let’s just sit for a minute.”
I was relieved by the suggestion. I sat close to him and he glanced through the window before putting his arm around me.
“I missed you this week,” he said.
I hadn’t imagined his feelings for me. I nuzzled my cheek against his shoulder. Felt him kiss my temple. “It’s felt more like five weeks,” I said.
“It goes against everything I believe, though,” he said.
I lifted my head to look at him. “You really believe it’s wrong?” I asked. “Us?”
He drew in a long breath, momentarily shutting his eyes. “I always thought it was wrong for me,” he said. “I think Black folks have to stick together to get anywhere. To get power. Falling for you wasn’t in my plan.” He drew away and looked hard into my eyes. “Don’t frown.” He touched my cheek, and I was reassured by his smile. “I didn’t count on you,” he said. “On your dedication. And your goodness. On how you let yourself be so … vulnerable with me.” He looked away from me then. Let out a long breath. “You can’t help who you fall in love with, can you.” It wasn’t a question.
“I love you,” I said.
He nodded slowly, his gaze on me again. “We have to be so, so careful,” he said.
I looked past him to see Curry walking toward the van.
“Curry,” I said, and we both immediately turned, getting to our knees to grab the placards.
Curry opened the van door. “Need some more signs,” he said, looking from me to Win and back again. “You two just lookin’ for trouble, ain’t you?”
“Here,” I said, handing him three of the placards. “Have some signs.”
Curry took the signs from me, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe we could be so stupid. Or so obvious. Then Win and I got out of the van and started walking toward the gathering, our own arms weighed down with placards.
“I like your shirt,” he said as we walked.
“Not as much as I do.” I felt giddy with the joy of being with him. Giddy with the joy of walking next to him again, our bare arms brushing against each other.
There was a good crowd at the protest. I’d worried about that after what happened last week with the rock-and-bottle-throwing melee that had ended with little DeeDee getting that cut on her cheek. I saw only Mr. Hunt in the crowd tonight; he wasn’t going to risk his family by bringing them here again. Still, he waved to me across the green with his usual friendly smile.
So the whole Hunt family might not have been there, but many others came, even more than the week before despite the threat of violence, and they held our placards or ones they’d made themselves and marched around the courtyard, calling for their right to vote.
There were a few policemen in the street and some hecklers, but no one threw anything that I was aware of, and after an hour or so, we fell into a circle as naturally as if we did it every night. We crossed our arms, held hands, and began to sing “This Little Light of Mine.” It was then that I saw my brother. Buddy walked around the circumference of the circle, searching faces for, I assumed, mine. When he reached me, he grabbed my shoulders and pulled me from the circle.
I turned to him. “What are you doing here?” I asked, as calmly as I could.
“I’m here to talk sense into you!” he shouted over the singing. Grabbing my arm, he drew me another few yards from the circle so he didn’t have to shout to be heard. “You need to know what you’re doing to your family.”
His eyes were bloodshot and I smelled beer on his breath. “What do you mean?” I asked.
“We love you, Ellie,” he said, his voice thick with emotion and booze. “We love you more than anything.” Was he going to cry?
I grabbed his hand. “What’s wrong, Bud?” I asked. “Is everyone okay?”
“Ronnie told me he saw you with a colored boy,” he said, “and you weren’t just holdin’ hands. His cousin Rosemary said you’re in love with him.”
I swallowed, my nerves on fire. “I care about him,” I admitted. I dared to hope that my brother, who I knew loved me more than anyone, would understand.
“Are you crazy?” he asked, his arms flailing about. “What are you thinkin’? This whole … I knew this whole SCOPE thing was a bad idea, but I don’t think you know how hard you’ve made it for your family. And when people find out you been … you’re hangin’ around with that boy, it’s only gonna get worse.” His voice was rising. I’d seen Buddy drunk more than a few times and I recognized those red eyes. The sputter when he talked.
“Settle down,” I said.
“No white man’s ever gonna want you, Ellie. You think Reed’ll take you back once you been with one of them?” He nodded toward the circle.
“I’m doing really important work here,” I said, ignoring his question. “I tried to explain it to Daddy but—”
“Do you know the FBI has your name? They have the names of all you SCOPE people. All the … Martin Luther King fanatics.”
“I don’t believe that,” I said. “And so what, anyway? Are you crying?” There were tears in Buddy’s eyes and I stepped forward to wrap him in my arms. “You’re worrying too much,” I said softly, my lips close to his ear. “I’m fine and healthy and happy and—”
He pushed me away so hard I nearly fell. “I got a friend down at the police station in Carlisle,” he said. “I know you spent a night in a jail cell. I didn’t tell Mama and Daddy because holy hell’d come down on you, Ellie, but you got to come home. Whatever you’re up to here is no good and you’re gonna get hurt. I mean, physically hurt.”
“No I’m not,” I said. “I’m not worried about it so you shouldn’t be either.”
“Has that boy touched you? Tried anything with you?”
I remembered Win’s arm around my shoulders only an hour before. “It’s none of your damn business!”
“You got to come home, Ellie.”
“Daddy told me I can’t come home again,” I said.
“You know he didn’t mean it. And there’s somethin’ he ain’t tellin’ you.”
“What?”
“He’s lost customers ’cause of you doin’ this.”
“Lost customers? Why?”
“Everybody knows you’re out here, doin’ what you’re doin’. Tryin’ to change things when they’re just fine the way they are. Some of Daddy’s longtime customers are taking their business to the Dellaire Pharmacy. I’ve lost a few folks, myself, and Mr. Cleveland—Garner’s daddy—raised my rent by five percent on account of what you’re doin’. Mama’s friends are givin’ her a rough time of it, too. Plenty of gossip she’s gotta deal with. So it ain’t all just about you, Ellie.”
His words upset me, I couldn’t deny it. I didn’t want my actions to hurt my family, yet I had to do what I thought was right, didn’t I? Keep my eyes on the prize. “You don’t understand,” I said. “You haven’t seen what I’ve seen these past few weeks. You don’t understand the political situation. You’ve never met the real people who suffer every single day because of the way things are.” I started to choke up with the truth of what I was saying. “You don’t know what it’s like for the people I’m trying to help.”
Blotches of color had formed on Buddy’s cheeks and neck, a telltale sign he was having trouble holding his anger in. Even as a little girl, I knew to run and hide when his cheeks turned red like that. He stood in front of me with his hands on his hips. “Right now I don’t give a shit what it’s like for those ‘real people’!” he shouted. “This has nothin’ to do with them. It has to do with how you’re hurtin’ your own kin. I’m only tryin’ to protect you against yourself, ’cause you ain’t thinkin’ right, little sister.”
“I’m not going home, Buddy,” I said.
“His name is Winston, right?” he asked, startling me. “Goes by Win?”
He knew his name. That scared me. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Which one is Win, huh? Your spook boyfriend? Which is he?”
It was all I could do to keep from smacking him. He turned to look at the circle of people. They were singing a lively “I’ll Fly Away.”
“He’s not here,” I said.
Buddy grabbed the shoulder of one of the older men in the circle. “Do you know which one of these boys is Winston?” he asked.
“Ain’t no idea,” the man said, and returned to his singing.
Buddy cupped his hands around his mouth in a megaphone. “Hey, Win!” he shouted toward the circle. “Win!”
I spotted Win, way too close to us. If only he’d been on the other side of the circle, he would stand a chance, but hearing his name, he stopped singing. Looked toward us.
“Ha!” Buddy shouted. “Son of a bitch!” He raced toward Win, who was cornered between the crowd and the brick building. Before Win had a chance to run, Buddy was on him, pulling him out of the circle, pummeling him, punching his stomach, his face, knocking off his glasses. I was next to them in a heartbeat, trying to grab Buddy’s arms, pull him away, but my brother was enraged. Rather than fight back, Win dropped to the ground. He didn’t dare try to defend himself. The do-nothing cops were just waiting for a Black person to get out of line. Buddy kicked him. “You ever come near my sister again, I’ll make sure she’s the last girl you ever touch!” He angrily grabbed my arm. I thought he was going to twist it. Break it. But he let me go, fury still in his face, and took off, disappearing around the side of the building.
I dropped to the ground next to Win. He was dazed, his chin, his nose, his forehead bleeding. Blood was in his eyes, and he reached blindly for my hand. I thought of what Buddy had said about my father losing customers and my mother losing friends. That was not my fault. Not my business. My business was the bruised and beautiful man in front of me, hurt by my own kin.
I thought Greg should take Win to the hospital. The wound on his forehead was bleeding badly and he seemed dazed, looking through me instead of at me. I worried his cheekbone might be broken. Maybe his nose, too, the way it was gushing blood. But Greg wanted to take him back to the school. He and Chip and I managed to get him to Greg’s car and lay him across the back seat. Chip got in with him and pressed a handkerchief to the worst of his wounds. I tried to get in the front seat to go with them, but Greg barked at me.
“No! If you want to help, get Curry to take you back to the school,” he said. “Get the first-aid supplies ready. If you want to help, that’s what you can do.”
So I rode back to the school with Curry, thinking, At least Greg isn’t sending me back to the Charleses’ house. At least he’s letting me help.
Greg beat us to the school and by the time Curry and I rushed in, he and Chip were settling Win on the couch in the lounge. I ran to where Greg kept the first-aid supplies and soon he and Chip were dressing the wounds while I sat on a chair next to Win. He squeezed my hand and winced in pain. Greg made him some concoction to drink, and Win drank it down quickly, wincing at the taste or the burn, I didn’t know which.
“Don’t you think he should go to the hospital?” I asked Greg quietly as Win’s eyelids fell shut.
Greg shook his head. He sat back in his chair, hands on his knees. “Once, a few years ago,” he said quietly, his eyes on Win, “a civil rights worker I knew was beaten like this at a protest. We took him to the hospital and his attackers were waiting for him in the bushes outside the hospital doors. They jumped all of us. That fella didn’t make it.”
“My brother wouldn’t—”
“Your brother wouldn’t what, Ellie?” Greg said, anger in his voice now. “Hurt a fly? Well look what he did here.” He nodded at Win. “I don’t want him calling his friends to meet him at the hospital to finish what he started. All right? Win’ll be safer here.”
I didn’t know what Greg gave Win in that drink, but whatever it was knocked him out and I was glad he was no longer in pain. I started to get to my feet, but Greg reached over, his hand on my arm to keep me seated.
“You’re going to have to leave Flint, Ellie,” he said.
“No. Please, Greg! Let me stay.”
“I might be able to find you a place in one of the other counties outside North Carolina. I know they lost a few volunteers in Virginia, so maybe—”
“No,” I said again. “Don’t make me leave.”
Greg gazed at me, his face serious. He nodded toward Win. “I know you love him,” he said. “And I know he loves you. He told me as much. But all you can bring him is trouble. He has a good head on his shoulders, but he’s human. We’re all human. We fall in love, we lose all sense of reason.”
“I’ll end it with him,” I promised, wondering if the words were a lie even as I said them.
“You’ll tell him it’s over and he’ll talk you out of it,” Greg said. “I was young once. I know how this plays out.”
I didn’t know what to say. How to fix this. How to get what I wanted without hurting anyone.
“Curry can take you back to the Charleses’ house now and then drive you home to Round Hill in the morning,” Greg said. When I didn’t respond, he added, “If you love him, Ellie, you’ll leave him.”
I felt my eyes burn. I looked down at Win again. The face I loved, bandaged and battered. Blood was seeping through the gauze taped to his chin. I knew in my heart Greg was right. How many more beatings would he have to endure to be with me?
I looked up at Greg. “I’ll go,” I said.