CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

The song was “Amazing Grace,” and the notes spilled out like water. Every so often they would pause, swirl, and tumble on. They formed a river and then a waterfall, pouring over the edge and crashing below.

I stepped back and studied the building. It was like a castle with a cross on top. The base was built of smooth, brown stones, and the red bricks, actually more of a rust color, had been stacked on top of those. On the Columbus side was a big stained-glass window with an arch on top. The church faced Ripley Street, and on the front were two towers, one taller than the other. The big tower, at the corner, had four points at the top, and just below those, on each side, were two open spaces looking out over the street like eyes. Between the two towers, at street level, were concrete steps leading up to an imposing front door. We climbed them and went inside.

The lobby—church people called it the narthex—was painted bright white, and the sun shone through the windows to make it glow. Straight ahead, a set of doors had been thrown open and music poured out. It wasn’t a hymn this time but scales, starting slowly and picking up speed. We approached cautiously and peered through the doorway.

It was a cavernous room with row after row of curved wooden pews, red carpet leading to the front, and, at the side, the stained-glass window we’d seen from the street, blue and green and purple, lit up like a torch. The ceiling arched high overhead. There was a balcony at the back. In front was a big wooden pulpit, with banks of golden organ pipes covering the wall behind it.

“Yoo-hoo!”

The music had stopped. I looked around to see who was calling. There was movement off to one side of the pulpit, then a hand sticking up from behind the organ console, waving. Jarmaine and I made our way hesitantly to the front. As we approached, I realized the wooden console was huge, the size of a boat.

I figured the organist must be huge too, like the Wizard of Oz that Dorothy and her friends had imagined. But, like the real Oz, the person behind the console turned out to be small and stoop shouldered. Seated on a gleaming wooden bench, with keyboards in front of her and pedals below, was a little brown lady. She wore a flowered dress, her hair was pulled into a bun, and she was smiling.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” she said.

My gaze swept across the sanctuary. “This is yours?”

“Not the church,” she said. “The music.”

Jarmaine said, “We heard ‘Amazing Grace.’”

The woman nodded. “I always play that first. Gets the juices flowing. Then I do scales to warm up my fingers.”

“They seem pretty warm already,” I said.

She chuckled. “My husband used to say that. Played the trumpet. My but he could blow that horn. He passed ten years ago.”

“I’m sorry,” said Jarmaine.

“He’s with the Lord. They’re jammin’ right now. Sometimes late at night, I hear them.”

I asked, “Is the meeting here? You know, for the Freedom Riders.”

“Yes, indeed. Eight o’clock tonight. You coming?”

“We’re here,” said Jarmaine.

“You’re early.”

“So are you,” I told her.

She studied me, friendly but curious. “What’s your name?”

“Billie. This is Jarmaine.”

“I’m Gussie Mae Hall. You can call me Gus. Everyone does.”

She held out her hand, and both of us shook it. Her fingers really were warm.

“Why are you so early?” I asked.

She noodled a few notes on the keyboard, and the sanctuary came alive.

“Well, it’s this way,” said Gus. “Husband is gone, son off at school. What else am I going to do?”

“Are you playing for the meeting?” asked Jarmaine.

“Sweetheart, I play for everything. Weddings, funerals, services—me and the Lord, we always show up.”

I had to smile. Gus talked about the Lord like he was somebody she saw every day, and maybe she did.

Since Gus had shared, I figured we could too.

“We came to see the Freedom Riders,” I told her.

“And Dr. King,” added Jarmaine. She described our trip from Anniston. I told what had happened to us on the bus and in the station.

Gus stared. “You integrated the Birmingham Greyhound station? Two teenage girls?” She snorted. “You’re either foolish or brave.”

“We had help,” I said, thinking of Noah and his friends.

Jarmaine yawned. I wondered how early she had gotten up that morning to catch the bus. Gus noticed too.

“There’s time before the meeting,” she said. “You want a place to lie down?”

Jarmaine glanced at me, and I gave a little nod. Suddenly I was tired too.

“Yes, ma’am,” Jarmaine told her. “Thank you.”

“I know just the place,” said Gus. “It’s quiet, and no one will bother you.”

“Is there a bathroom?” I asked. “That’s one thing we didn’t integrate.”

Gus smiled. She slid out from behind the organ and showed us the restrooms. Afterward, she took us to a tall staircase off to one side of the narthex. Light streamed down the stairs from windows at the top. As we followed Gus up, I looked at the wooden steps, worn smooth and polished, and thought of all the people who had climbed them.

Gus must have heard me thinking. “This building was finished in 1915,” she said, “but the first one was built in 1867, two years after the Civil War. Slaves used to worship at First Baptist on Perry Street, where they had to stay in the balcony. When emancipation came, a bunch of them rose up one Sunday, marched across town, and declared they were starting their own church right here.”

So, the two First Baptists used to be one church. They had touched after all.

At the top of the staircase was a door into the balcony, with more pews looking down on the organ pipes and pulpit.

“This is nice,” I said, eyeing the pews and thinking I’d like to lie down on one.

“Yes, it is,” said Gus, “but it’s not where we’re going.”

She started up a second flight of stairs. They took us to an attic with rough wooden floors and brick walls, where boxes and equipment were stacked. I looked for a place to lie down. I didn’t say anything, but the balcony seemed nicer.

The ceiling had open beams, and a ladder came down from between two of them. To my surprise, Gus knotted the hem of her dress and mounted the first step.

“Where are you going?” asked Jarmaine.

Gus said, “You’ll see.”

She nearly bumped her head at the top, then reached up and pushed on the ceiling. I was amazed to see a rectangle open up and swing back. It was a trapdoor. Apparently the attic had an attic. Sunshine poured through. Gus’s head disappeared, then her shoulders, and finally her legs and feet. Jarmaine and I looked at each other.

I shrugged. “Here goes.”

Climbing the ladder, I stuck my head through the opening and into the light.