Chapter 84

In the early 1950s, white people were fleeing Trenton, New Jersey for the quaint seaside towns along the shore. Those who hadn’t posted a For Sale sign in their yard were planning to do so.

For decades, Trenton residents had flat-out refused to sell to blacks. Those who did were ostracized and the new families terrorized. But by the ’50s, Trenton’s sister city, Newark, was growing blacker by the day. And anyone with an ounce of sense could see that Trenton was slowly succumbing to the same fate.

* * *

Seventeen Fountain Avenue. A two-story, pink-red brick house, three bedrooms, one bathroom, combined living and dining areas, and a rickety front porch slung over a patch of grass. Square in the middle of the yard grew an old, fat tree with thick, sloping branches.

“It’s a nice little house.”

“Need work though.” Sam scratched thoughtfully at his chin.

“Well, you the person for it.”

“You sure about this, Emma?”

She grabbed his hand. “It feels right. Don’t you feel it?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“You think Harlan will like it?”

“Do he got a choice?”

“I think this is a good place to stay for a while.”

“A while? Woman, you planning on moving us again?”

“Not with boxes and moving men.”

“What you saying then?”

“I’m saying we gonna grow old here.”

“We already old, baby.”

“I mean older. The next time we move, it’ll be on up to heaven.”