ALMOST MIDNIGHT. Another knock came on the rear door of the long house.
I shot the bolt and the door swung open.
Moody Cross was standing there in a white jumper. And not a little terrified. She pushed past me and slammed the door shut.
“Papaw sent me.”
“I guess my secret hiding place is the worst-kept secret in Mississippi,” I said.
She was out of breath. “We need help. A lady from the Slide Inn sent her colored girl out to warn us. Said they’s a group of men coming out to kill me and Papaw and Ricky.”
“Who’s Ricky?”
“My cousin, you met him at the funeral. He got run out of Chatawa, where he lived all his life. He been staying with us since you left—you know, like for protection.”
Now I remembered him, a boy about the same age as Hiram, with a family resemblance to Hiram and Moody.
“What happened in Chatawa?” I asked.
“Two white men said they saw Ricky staring at a white woman. Said he was thinkin’ evil thoughts. I guess some white folks can even see inside of a black boy’s brain. There’s this group of ’em—the White Raiders, is what they call ’em up there. They s’posed to be the ones coming to get us.”
This seemed like more than coincidence. The horror raining down upon Abraham’s family simply would not stop, would it?
“There’s something else.”
What else could there possibly be?
“Papaw is sick,” she said. “He can’t get out of his bed, got the fever and the shakes, and Aunt Henry’s been there nursing him.”
Moody started to cry, and I remembered something Mama always used to say: When the time comes you want to start crying, that’s the time to start moving.
It was time for me to go get L.J. and Elizabeth.