When Sophie gave all that she had for the afternoon, JimmyTrotter said, “Let’s make a run to town to deliver the milk. Last stop will be Aunt Naomi’s and her two quarts.”
“That’s right,” Vonetta crowed. “My milk for my cornflakes.”
“Our cornflakes,” Fern said. “As long as it’s all right with Sophie, it’s all right with me.”
“You can drive a car, cousin?” I asked. I couldn’t hide my awe and envy.
“Do you see a subway train around here?”
Vonetta and Fern screamed their excitement about going into town. We hadn’t seen anything but pine trees, a bloodhound, chickens, and two cows. Even the kick we got out of having our own pecan tree or gathering peaches and lemons from Mr. Lucas’s trees waned after a short while.
“I guess it’s okay,” I said. “Let me call Big Ma to let her know we’re going.”
“She knows you’re with me,” he said in that easy way of his, “and that’s as good as her knowing. Come on, girl. Let’s load up and hop in the chariot.”
I knew better than to not call my grandmother but I was tired of being a killjoy, and my sisters and I were back in step with one another. We helped JimmyTrotter fill his crates with the quart bottles and he and I lugged them to the station wagon.
“We’re gone to town,” he called out to Miss Trotter.
She waved and said, “Then get going. If you call that gone.”
“We’ll circle around,” JimmyTrotter said as we pulled away from Miss Trotter’s. “First we’ll drop off at the Prestons’, the Owenses’, the Browns’, and the Newells’. Then we’ll hit town and deliver to the grocery store, the bakery, and then last stop, Aunt Naomi.” It always took a second to remember his aunt Naomi was my Ma Charles, but we cheered the delivery route like we knew where we were going.
Town wasn’t a whole lot of town, but as long as there was a candy store it was town enough. We found everything we’d been missing. Candy, Royal Crown Cola, potato chips, comic books, and magazines. I was just glad for the change in scenery.
JimmyTrotter tucked the bills in his wallet after making his deliveries. Not everyone paid him, but most of his customers did, like the grocery store owner and the bakery. He explained that he wasn’t their main milk supplier, but the bakery used only family-farmed milk and the grocery store still had a few customers like Ma Charles, who didn’t trust big dairy farms. They gladly paid for what they could get from family farmers like the Trotters.
“I suppose Miss Trotter wouldn’t mind if I treated you all to—” Vonetta and Fern screamed before he could get it out.
“Calm down,” I told them, although I was thrilled at the possibility of talking my cousin into treating me to a magazine.
JimmyTrotter smirked. “Brooklyn girls. Act like you all never been off the farm.”
We strolled down to the candy store, arm-in-arm-in-arm. My sisters and I broke our arm link apart to let the man with his dog coming toward us pass, but he didn’t. The white man whose tan shirt had a star fixed on its pocket stood in front of JimmyTrotter and us and didn’t move. His hat was like a cowboy hat with the same star pinned smack in the center.
“Good afternoon, Sheriff,” JimmyTrotter said. The girls parroted him, but I said nothing.
The white man, the sheriff, looked straight at JimmyTrotter. He didn’t return his easy smile. “Boy, what did I tell you about driving that wagon into town without a license?”
My cousin stiffened under the sheriff’s questions and rebuke and could only say, “Sorry, Sheriff Charles.”
“If you were sorry you wouldn’t be driving that vehicle down my roads until you turned sixteen.”
“Yes, sir, Sheriff Charles.”
“Charles?” Vonetta asked. “Isn’t that—”
I gave her a quick “Hush,” and she sucked her teeth at me.
Fern was busy petting and hugging the bloodhound. He seemed to like it.
“Get from that dog,” the sheriff told her. “That vicious attack dog’ll chew you up and swallow you whole.”
But Fern didn’t move from the dog.
“Didn’t you hear me? That dog’s trained to attack Negroes. Now get from that dog.”
The dog looked up to Fern with eyes as sad and droopy as Caleb’s and panted for more love. I pulled Fern away from the sheriff’s dog. As sure as I looked up at that man’s face, I knew I had better.
The sheriff turned his attention back to JimmyTrotter. “You drive that vehicle back, son. But don’t let me find you behind the wheel till you’re sixteen and got a card in your wallet.”
“Yes, sir, Sheriff Charles.”
“And don’t you be sneaking around driving at night, son. Lots of things happen at night to Negroes you don’t want to know about.”
“Yes, sir, Sheriff Charles.”
“You driving that vehicle day or night, you already breaking the law. Nothing I can do for you if you break the law.”
“Yes, sir, Sheriff Charles.”
Each time JimmyTrotter said “Yes, sir,” I felt my scalp baking. I heard Papa telling me to mind my mouth. I did what Papa said but I only grew hotter inside. The sheriff eyed me good and hard, probably knowing I was struggling to keep it in.
When the sheriff let us by, the girls still wanted their comic books and candy but I wouldn’t take anything from JimmyTrotter. If I asked him for Seventeen magazine, I’d have to keep silent about the sheriff, and I had things to say. On the ride back I decided that I’d stayed silent long enough.
“Why’d you let the Man oppress you?”
“Oppress me?” JimmyTrotter laughed, finding his old self.
“‘Yes, sir, Sheriff Charles.’”
“‘No, sir, Sheriff Charles,’” my sisters joined in.
If JimmyTrotter was embarrassed he didn’t let on. He just said, “Sheriff Charles is the law.”
“The people are the law,” I said.
“Power to the people,” they chorused.
We hit a bump. JimmyTrotter tossed his head back and laughed. “Aunt Ophelia told me about you all flying out to Oakland to be with that Cecile woman.”
“Our mother,” I said.
“And a poet,” Fern added.
Vonetta cleared her throat. “A black revolutionary poet.”
“Auntie told me all about it,” JimmyTrotter went on. “She said that Cecile got you all mixed up with the Black Panthers.” He laughed some more.
“Best summer of our lives was at the People’s Center,” I said.
“Better if we went to Disneyland like we were supposed to,” Vonetta said.
“Even better if we shook hands with Mickey and Minnie.”
“Well, keep making a fist and shouting ‘Power to the people!’ around here. Keep it up,” he warned.
I heard how JimmyTrotter meant it but Vonetta and Fern didn’t. They did what they heard and raised their fists and shouted “Power to the people!” and “Seize the time!” and “Right on!”
When we were done being loud and revolutionary we asked JimmyTrotter about the sheriff.
“Why does he have the same name as Ma Charles?”
“And the same dog?”
“And now that I think of it,” Vonetta said, “the same eyes as Big Ma.”
“That’s your blood cousin,” JimmyTrotter said. “Yours. Not mine.”
“That white man?” Vonetta asked.
“And his dog?” Fern asked.
I felt my cousin once again standing over me. Knowing more than I knew. We drove along.
“Ma Charles’s husband—your great-grandpa Henry—was kin to Sheriff Charles.”
“Ma Charles married a white man?” Vonetta asked. I would have asked the same question but Vonetta was awfully quick these days. Either that, or I at least thought before letting stuff fly out of my mouth.
“Not Uncle Henry,” he said. “His daddy’s father, Rufus Charles. Back then, Master Rufus Charles.” He said it like, Don’t yawl know anything? “The Charles family owned a good deal of the cotton around here, way back then. And the slaves.”
“And the slaves? Like his own son? How can you own a member of your family?” I said. “That’s just wrong.”
“Calm down, cuz,” JimmyTrotter said. “It’s just history. Or don’t they teach that in Brooklyn?”
“Down with slavery,” I said, my fist in the air.
“Get down, slavery. Get down and stay down,” Vonetta agreed.
Fern pointed her finger as if she was commanding a dog. “Heel, slavery!”
JimmyTrotter shook his head like we were ignorant lunatics. “You know slavery’s been over a hundred years, cuz.”
I could see Vonetta counting backward in her head and on her fingers. “One hundred and four years.”
“Didn’t seem like it to me,” I sang back. “‘Yes, sir, Master Charles. No, sir, Master Charles.’”
After no one said anything, Vonetta broke the silence. “So we’re white too?”
When we neared Ma Charles’s house, Caleb was already making a ruckus. Big Ma came outside and scolded him to hush, probably because she didn’t want Elijah Lucas to step out on his porch. Fern was the first to jump out of the station wagon. She raced over to Caleb, who sniffed and licked all over her and sang his sad dog song. She threw her arms around his neck and sang with him.
JimmyTrotter gave Vonetta one of the last two milk bottles and told her not to drop it. I had the other bottle.
“Are you kidding me?” she sassed. “I’m going to have a bowl of cornflakes with milk as soon as I get inside!” Vonetta said. If she cared as much about hurting Fern’s feelings or finding her missing watch as she cared for a bowl of cereal swimming in milk, most of her problems would be solved.
To Big Ma’s consternation, Mr. Lucas stepped out on his porch and called out, “Ophelia! Ophelia!” like her name was a song. Big Ma didn’t wave to him. She waved him off, like, Stop that! I don’t think it made a difference to Mr. Lucas.
“Don’t know why he makes a big noise of himself.”
“Caleb?” Fern asked.
Big Ma seemed mad, embarrassed, and tickled all at once. She said, “Um-hmm,” but I knew she wasn’t talking about the bloodhound.