Chapter 36
“I don’t believe what I am hearin’.”
Johnnie was in bed when the pounding on her front door rudely ripped her out of a deep, peaceful sleep. Startled, she opened her eyes and saw swirling red lights through the sheer curtains in her bedroom. She turned the lamp on and looked at the clock. It was 4:30. The pounding began again. What’s going on? Johnnie walked over to the window and looked out. There was a police car in front of her house and a horde of people gathering on her lawn. The pounding continued. After putting on a robe and slippers, she went downstairs, fearing she was about to be put out of her house or something.
Maybe the deed is a fake. What has Earl gotten me into? This is probably somebody’s house or something.
As she approached the door, the pounding began again, but it sounded much louder than it had upstairs. When she opened the door, she saw Sheriff Tate and Shirley, Marguerite’s neighbor. Without being told, she knew something had happened to her mother.
In a nervous panic, Johnnie asked, “What’s wrong? What’s happened? Did something happen to my mother? Is she all right?” Her words were rushed and filled with fear. No one said anything. They all just looked at her, hoping they wouldn’t have to say aloud what they knew. Johnnie’s lips quivered. “Is she dead?”
Johnnie’s late night visitors bowed their heads when they heard the question. No one wanted to be the bearer of such tragic news. They all felt genuine sorrow; especially Sheriff Tate. He had known and loved Marguerite for more than two decades.
“No, God. Not Mama. No,” Johnnie kept saying between sobs. Feeling a sudden emptiness in the pit of her stomach, she fell to her knees. Shirley helped her to her feet and held her tightly in her bosom, rocking her as the two women cried together. “What happened?” Johnnie asked, confused and overwhelmed with emotion.
“I know this is a difficult time, Johnnie,” Sheriff Tate said, “but you have to identify the body.”
“Sheriff Tate,” Johnnie began. “You know my mother. Didn’t you see her?”
“Yes, but we need a member of the family to make a positive ID.”
“How did it happen, Sheriff?” Johnnie asked.
“She had a flat tire and it looks like somebody came along and killed her.”
“But why, Sheriff?” Johnnie asked. “Who would want to hurt her?” After the words found their way out of her mouth, it came to her. She knew who killed Marguerite. Robert Simmons told her about the affair with Richard Goode. He also warned her of the consequences if it ever became public. “It was Richard Goode!” Johnnie shouted, unable to contain her sudden anger. “I know it was him. He was the only one it could have been.”
“Uh, uh, we better go inside, Johnnie,” Sheriff Tate said, surprised by her knowledge of the relationship.
Sadie, who was a part of the gathering crowd, and Shirley helped Johnnie to the couch. Her legs weak from the news, Johnnie felt as if she would faint with each step.
“Johnnie,” Sheriff Tate continued, “you have to be careful what you say in front of people.”
“Why, Sheriff?” Johnnie shouted. “You know I’m right, don’t you? You know he did it, don’t you?”
Sheriff Tate bowed his head again and wept. “I knew your mother. I knew her before you were even born. I know your brother Benny too. I loved that woman. I did,” he said. “But we have to keep our heads about this. What’s done is done. We can’t bring her back.”
Sadie and Shirley looked at each other, stunned by what they were hearing. Shirley knew Marguerite still entertained men at night, but she didn’t know who they were.
“So, what the hell are you going to do about it, Sheriff?” Sadie demanded.
“There’s nothing we can do.”
“What do you mean there’s nothing we can do?” Shirley asked.
“Listen to me,” Sheriff Tate said, almost pleading. “What do you think’ll happen if I accuse, or anyone else accuses the preacher of murder? What do you think the Coloreds are gonna do? I’ll tell you what they’ll do. They’ll demand Goode be arrested. And if I do that, you know what’s next, don’t you? That’s right. It’ll be a race riot like you’ve never seen. Hell, even decent white folks won’t stand for it. They won’t allow a white man to be arrested for killing a colored woman without eyewitnesses. If I told what I know, everything is going to come out; her prostituting herself, my relationship with her, them meeting at the Savoy hotel, everything. And even if I arrested him on suspicion, do you really think any jury is going to convict him? The district attorney will get an all-white jury and set him free. In the meantime, colored men, women and children will be dragged out of their homes and beaten, maybe even killed. My family could be killed too. We have to be practical about this. We can pursue justice if you want to, but the truth is, Goode will have to answer to God for his crime, as do we all.”
“I think you should arrest him, Sheriff,” Sadie said. “At least the people will know what kind of man their so-called preacher is. And he’ll know everyone knows he killed a colored woman that he was sleeping with. Maybe the Klan will denounce him. If they do, we can get him then.”
“No. He’s right,” Johnnie said, much more composed and calculating.
“What?” Shirley and Sadie shouted in unison.
“Don’t you see?” Johnnie continued. “We haven’t had a Klan uprisin’ in years, since I was four or five.”
“I don’t believe what I’m hearin’,” Shirley said.
“Shirley, what will the Klan do if they find out their leader was seeing a black woman regularly at the Savoy Hotel? I know y’all know what goes on there.”
“How can you be so nonchalant?” Sadie asked. “Your mother is dead. Killed by the Grand Wizard of the Ku Klux Klan. You don’t want to do anything about it?”
“Of course I wanna do something about it, Sadie, but we gotta look at the big picture,” Johnnie said, no longer crying. Her eyes were full of cold, calculating rage now. “You know what’s going to happen if Sheriff Tate arrests him? Don’t you realize none of us’ll be safe? They’ll come in our neighborhood and kill and burn everything and everybody. No, we gotta handle this quietly. Goode will get his.”
Johnnie would never admit it, but she was actually relieved now that her mother was dead. Although she had her own place, she still felt her mother’s powerful influence. Now that was over. Johnnie was finally free of her. Nevertheless, anger and guilt consumed her. She knew it was wrong for a daughter to be glad that her own mother was dead, but that was exactly how she felt. Still she was angry that a white man could kill her mother or any other black woman for that matter, and nothing would be done about it. Worse yet, she knew the sheriff was right. What he was saying made a lot of sense.
Why endanger the lives of all the black men, women, and children of New Orleans when nothing can bring my mother back? Why provoke a race riot that would not only cost innocent lives, but would no doubt destroy businesses and quite possibly the entire black community? I may have to pretend like I don’t know who murdered my mother now, but as God is my witness, one way or another, I’m gonna see to it that Richard Goode gets his.