CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

I hurried down to the open doors, where I watched the people streamed outside, like water over a dam. They laughed and cried and praised God, breathing in fresh air and tasting a kind of freedom.

Jarmaine, wide-awake now, was among them. I watched from the doorway as she ran down the steps. Lavender, waiting at the bottom, gave her a fierce hug, then grabbed her and shook her. I remembered that shake. It was no fun.

I hurried down after her, looking for my parents. Before my foot hit the street, something hit me. It was big and lanky, and there was a camera dangling around its neck.

“Billie! You’re all right!”

Grant wrapped his arms around me and squeezed. I squeezed back, thinking of Forsyth’s Grocery, baseball cards, Top 40 records, and the long road I had traveled.

I stepped away and looked up at Grant. “Get any good pictures?”

“A few. My dad let me come. He said it might be dangerous, but it was important.”

Mr. McCall stood nearby. “We’re glad you’re safe,” he told me.

Mama came running. “Oh, Billie.”

She threw herself at me and hugged so hard that it could have been a greeting or a punishment. Maybe it was a little of both.

She held me at arm’s length. “Never ever run off again, you hear?”

I wasn’t sure I could agree to that. I did know I was happy to see her.

Beyond her, holding the baby, stood Daddy. His eyes were red and puffy. He looked me up and down, drinking me in the way he had gulped a Coke the night before. I had always thought of him as strong, but that morning he looked small and sad.

“We were worried,” he said. “We didn’t know where you’d gone. Then Grant spotted you on that bus. He told us about the meeting in Montgomery, and we decided to follow you.”

Mama added, “I called Lavender to watch the baby. She said Jarmaine was gone too.”

“I told them you and Jarmaine were friends,” said Grant. “We figured you must have gone together. Yesterday afternoon we drove to Montgomery in two cars. Lavender came with us.”

“Why did you leave?” Daddy asked me, almost pleading.

“I was tired of watching. I wanted to do something.”

Someone touched my arm. I looked around and saw Jarmaine with Lavender beside her.

I noticed Mama and Daddy staring at Jarmaine, and I realized the only time they had ever seen her was at the spelling bee, a thousand years ago. Lavender had cooked my meals and held me when I was sick, and they had never even met her daughter.

“This is Jarmaine Jones,” I told them. “She’s my friend.”

“Jarmaine is an intern at the Star,” said Mr. McCall. “She helps me with research.” He turned to Jarmaine. “I hope you took good notes. We have a story to write.”

“We saw the Freedom Riders,” I said.

Daddy sighed.

I turned to him and said, “We saw their leader. Her name is Diane Nash. You know what? You’d like her.”

“Lord help us,” said Mama.

Daddy shook his head. “Those people are trouble.”

Lavender shot him a look I’d never seen before, proud and angry at the same time. It occurred to me that this was a different person from the one who worked at our house.

“Those people are heroes,” she said. “The world is changing, Mr. Sims. You’d best get used to it.”

He stared at her. After all those years, they were meeting for the first time. I wondered if the real Lavender would disappear again behind the mask. I hoped she wouldn’t.

The world was changing. I was changing. Maybe Daddy could too. It wouldn’t have to be a big change—just a little adjustment here and there. He might give Lavender a day off. Maybe he would let her park in the driveway. A thousand little changes—in my neighborhood, across my town, around my country—might equal a big change.

Mama, who had been studying me, took the baby from Daddy. “I’m tired. Let’s go.”

“Not yet,” I said, glancing at Jarmaine. “There’s one more thing we need to do.”

Jarmaine nodded, and the two of us climbed the front steps of the church. The bricks, glowing in the sunrise, seemed redder than ever. We moved through the crowd and into the sanctuary, which was nearly empty. Light filtered through the stained-glass window, throwing colors onto the church wall.

Among the colors, at the front of the room, Gus gathered up her music.

“Hey,” I said to her.

Gus looked around and saw us. “Hello, my dears.”

“How long did you play?” I asked.

She checked her watch. “Fifteen hours, give or take forever.”

“Did you reach that place you were going?”

“Honey, I live in that place.”

Jarmaine leaned over and, ever so gently, kissed Gus on the forehead.

“You are a rock,” Jarmaine told her.

Gus closed her eyes, as if enjoying a cool breeze. “I’m a very small rock. Maybe a pebble.”

“I rang the bell,” I told her proudly.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?”

I flexed my fingers, remembering the roughness of the rope and the sound of the chime. I told her, “Thank you for helping us. Thank you for showing us the tower. Thank you for the bell.”

Gus said, “That old bell doesn’t need help from me. It speaks for itself. You listened, that’s all.”

Jarmaine picked up her basket, and we left First Baptist Church for the last time. Outside, our parents were waiting in an awkward group. The baby yawned, and I did too.

Mama chuckled. “Now it’s time to go.”

“Hey,” said Grant, “we need a picture.”

He lined us up—Daddy and Mama with the baby, Lavender with Mr. McCall, Jarmaine and me in front. Behind us the church stood tall, its tower pointing toward heaven.

“Okay, smile,” said Grant. “At least, don’t fall asleep.”

The camera flashed, and we turned to leave. We walked up Ripley Street, past worshipers and news reporters. In the dim morning light, it was hard to tell who was black or white. I wished the world were like that.