Glory Be Read online

  “Hey, Emma. Can the girl I met at the library come to supper one night?” I called out. Emma could hear me through the screen door.

  “Who’d you meet?” Frankie asked, stuffing the last bite in his mouth.

  “A girl visiting from Ohio,” I said. “Name’s Laura. She likes Nancy Drew books, like me and Emma. Miss Bloom asked Laura and me to do story times together at the library. She says she doesn’t have one single friend here. ’Cept me now.”

  Frankie leaned in, talked quiet so I could barely hear him. “Wonder if she’s one of those troublemakers in town from up North,” he said. “Here living with the coloreds. Trying to make them vote. Daddy says those long-haired hippies should stay where they belong. Plenty of people up North need help.”

  Frankie’s daddy is the James in Bill and James’ Wild West Wear and Clothing Emporium downtown. Besides selling cowboy hats and fancy boots, and telling Frankie what to think, Mr. Smith was once upon a time a big football hero. He still has old pictures and even his jerseys from a zillion years ago hanging all over his store.

  “For your information, Frankie” — I stood up and looked right at him — “my new friend’s not a troublemaker and she’s not living with any colored people. She’s here with her mama. Laura Lampert, that’s her name. Laura and me went for a walk. I showed her the Pee Pool and the playground and all. We might make us a lanyard or a friendship bracelet at the park tomorrow.”

  No use telling Frankie about the drinking fountains. I didn’t want to give him another reason not to like Laura.

  Frankie scrunched up his face, looked hard at a pile of red ants next to the steps. What he said next made my stomach knot up.

  “I hate Yankees. You better be careful, Glory. My daddy says they’re trouble.”

  Between his daddy and his mean big brother, J.T., somebody’s always trying to tell Frankie what to think. Half the time I wonder if Frankie’s scared to death of J.T. and of his own daddy.

  “Does your daddy even know this girl from Ohio?” I asked.

  Frankie didn’t answer my question. I sat down again and glared, daring him to say one more thing about Laura.

  “All those outsiders here in town might try to make us swim with colored children. And go to school with them. Daddy swears he’ll yank me and J.T. out of school if a colored person’s in my class.”

  About that time Jesslyn appeared at the back door. And even as quiet as Frankie talked, she’d heard him. She marched herself around in front of us on the steps.

  “Just because somebody talks a little different doesn’t mean you can’t be nice to them.” Jesslyn pointed her pink-painted fingernail at Frankie, then at me. “You think the world would come to an end if you had somebody not exactly like you sitting beside you in school next year?”

  “We know plenty of different people. We don’t mind sitting next to them.” I didn’t like Jesslyn thinking Frankie was hateful or stupid, but he was sure acting that way.

  Jesslyn looked hard at him. “Some people in this town — your brother included — need to learn a thing or two about getting along with people.” She stormed inside.

  “Frankie, what you said, that was about the dumbest thing I ever heard of. Not going to school just because of who’s sitting next to you? What about mean Donnie Drake who steals your homework? Or Kenny. He’s been in our class since kindergarten. He smells like a billy goat and picks his nose. But you sit next to him.”

  Frankie wiped butter off his fingers onto his T-shirt and shrugged his shoulders at me. “That’s not the same.”

  “’Cause they’re white? That’s what your daddy thinks.”

  Frankie ignored that. “What’s that girl doing at the town library anyhow? Daddy says pretty soon they’ll be letting just anybody come in there.” Frankie stood up and brushed the crumbs off his T-shirt. “Why do you like that Yankee?” he asked.

  “I told you, her name’s Laura,” I said. “Call her by her name. She’s nice, and we both love Nancy Drew books, and she needs a friend. She stays at the library while her mother’s a nurse working somewhere out on the highway. Least that’s what Miss Bloom told me.”

  What I didn’t tell was about Laura’s mother running that clinic, helping poor people who don’t have any such thing as a doctor or a nurse. And if Miss Bloom says there are people who need this Freedom Clinic thing, whatever it is, then it’s true.

  “I like knowing somebody from Ohio,” I said.

  “My brother claims they talk and dress funny. And those freedom people try to make people do stuff they shouldn’t.”

  Freedom people? Wasn’t freedom something good? What was Frankie talking about?

  But before he could tell me another lie that his brother or his daddy swore was the gospel truth, my daddy pushed open the back screen door.

  “I’m going over to the church,” he announced. “See you in a while, Glory.”

  “Thank you for having me to breakfast, Brother Joe. I sure do love Miss Emma’s biscuits.” Even when he wasn’t exactly invited, Frankie remembered his manners.

  “You’re welcome anytime. Oh, and Glory, did I overhear you talking about a visitor girl you met at the library just now? Invite her to supper, why don’t you. You and Jesslyn can get to know people from other places.” Then Daddy headed across to the church.

  “I’ll invite Laura Lampert to supper.” I smiled real nice at Frankie. “My sister and I will know somebody from far off.”

  That is if Jesslyn would pull herself away from her new boyfriend long enough to pay me any nevermind. Or stop believing that trying out lipsticks with Mary Louise is more fun than playing Junk Poker with me. Then maybe Jesslyn would think having my new friend from Ohio over here to supper was fun.

  Frankie let out a big sigh. “My daddy’s gonna be mad,” he said, and scooted home, kicking a rock halfway down the block. “My brother’s gonna beat me up for playing with somebody who likes Yankees,” he yelled back to me.

  J.T. was scary all right, and I hoped he wouldn’t beat Frankie up, I truly did. But right now I needed Frankie about as much as I needed Jesslyn’s fancy orange lipstick.

  “Emma, I’ll be back real soon,” I hollered over my shoulder. “I’m going to the library to invite Laura Lampert to supper.”

  From inside the kitchen, Emma shut the icebox door so hard, the milk bottles rattled.

  The next night before suppertime, Emma wiped her hands on her apron and stood back to admire her creation. “I hope your new friend likes this chicken spaghetti casserole.”

  “All Yankees like spaghetti,” I said. Of course, I didn’t know one single Yankee except Laura. I thought for a minute. “I hope Jesslyn won’t act snotty to us because we’re only eleven,” I said.

  “I’ll make sure Jesslyn behaves.” Emma picked up the big silver knife to swirl the last bit of icing onto a sweet-smelling cake.

  “She’s not always nice to me these days,” I said. “And she argues with Daddy.”

  Emma pointed her knife to the ceiling, as if Jesslyn could hear. “That girl would argue with a signpost. But your sister’s just growing up. She’ll be back to playing with you in a while, Glory.”

  “She wants to move into Mama’s old sewing room. And you heard her fussing at me and Frankie, about his daddy and all,” I said. “Jesslyn claims I don’t know a thing about what’s going on around here this summer.”

  Emma raised one eyebrow and shook her head. She reached into the cupboard for the dishes with little blue birds on them. “Extra folks coming and going don’t make this kitchen any cooler. Get on out there and set the table, but be careful with these.” She set the plates down gently. “Your mama’s best china, special for tonight.” Then she opened the refrigerator door and stood there fanning her face with her apron.

  I wanted to edge in right next to her to cool off, but I could take a hint. I moved to the dining room just as Jesslyn tromped downstairs with big rollers in her hair. “Are you wearing those to the dinner table?” I tried to ask Jes
slyn nicely.

  “I’m going to the library after supper. To get a book,” she answered like it was the stupidest question in the entire universe.

  To see that boy again, I thought, when Jesslyn headed back upstairs to her floor-length mirror. I didn’t say a word, though. I liked knowing secrets, and for now I was working hard at keeping this one.

  By the time my sister prissed back downstairs with her hair looking like she’d stepped out of the beauty parlor, Daddy and I were on the front porch swing. When a car stopped at the curb, he put down his newspaper. I waved to Laura, who was taking baby steps over the cracks in the sidewalk. A lady who must be her mama stepped out of the car.

  “Hey, y’all. Come meet my daddy, Brother Joe Hemphill. He’s the preacher over at First Fellowship United Church.”

  Daddy put out his hand to welcome her. “Laura, pleased to meet you. Is this your mother?”

  “I’m happy to meet you, Reverend Hemphill. Miss Bloom has spoken highly of your family.” Laura’s mama talked funny like Laura, but the smile creeping across her face made me think I wouldn’t even mind being sick if she could be my nurse.

  “Can you stay for supper?” Daddy asked her.

  “I’m late for my meeting,” Mrs. Lampert said. “Thank you. Some other time?” She turned to give Laura a hug before she walked down the sidewalk and opened her car door. “I’ll pick you up after dinner,” she called back.

  “At nine thirty sharp.” Laura glanced down the street one more time, then followed me inside.

  “This is my sister, Jesslyn,” I introduced. “And Emma.” Emma nodded Laura’s way.

  Jesslyn looked Laura up and down, from her long braid to her heavy brown sandals with black socks. But she didn’t say anything bad. Once in a blue moon, Jesslyn could be nice if she tried.

  The way Laura stood off to herself, with her hands folded tight in front of her and her lips pressed close together, it seemed like maybe she wasn’t used to meeting new people. Especially the family of somebody she’d first laid eyes on in the library two days ago. Maybe she just didn’t like Hanging Moss yet.

  I aimed to change that.

  “Supper’ll be ready soon,” I told Laura. “Wanna see my room?” She nodded and followed me upstairs. I did all the talking. “That’s my mama’s old sewing machine.” I looked inside the room where now it was Emma who made our Halloween costumes and our curtains. “I don’t hardly remember my mama, but Emma made me that quilt in there with reminders of when I was a little girl.” I kept on walking and talking, hoping Laura would say something pretty soon.

  “This is my room, and Jesslyn’s. All that messy stuff’s hers.” I pointed at the jumble of lipsticks and mascara falling off Jesslyn’s dresser. “Don’t know why she minds sharing a room with me, but she does. She claims she’s moving to the sewing room.” I picked up a white boot with a tassel on it and held it up. “Pep squad. She and her friends march around the football field wearing these and twirling batons. Do you have a sister?” I asked.

  Laura shook her head. “I don’t have brothers or sisters,” she said. “A big sister would sure be fun.”

  “It used to be fun,” I said.

  When Laura picked up The Secret of the Old Clock from my row of books, she turned the pages so carefully I couldn’t help but wonder if she planned to hide in my room reading all night. I needed to quick-like make her glad to be here. I took the Buster Brown shoe box from under my bed and slowly untied the purple ribbon. “Wanna see my Junk Poker box?”

  “What’s Junk Poker?”

  “A card game. Jesslyn and I made it up when we were little. We bet against each other with the stuff in our boxes.” I spread my treasures on the bedspread. I tossed a jacks ball up and down, waiting for Laura to say something. But she’d barely glanced up from The Secret of the Old Clock.

  “Folks over at the church, they don’t exactly approve of cards. So Jesslyn and me, we’ve kept Junk Poker a secret from our daddy.”

  “My grandpa plays cards,” she said. “He taught me games.” When Laura finally put down the book, she moved next to me and picked up one of the conch shells. That got her talking.

  “They say you can hear the waves crashing in there.”

  “You’re holding my favorite,” I told her. “I’m never betting that shell.”

  “My mother promised we’d be going to the beach this summer, but we ended up coming here to Hanging Moss instead.” Laura held my shell up to her ear. “Some days, wouldn’t you like to disappear into the ocean inside?”

  “The beach would’ve been more fun than this hot place. No water near here except the Pee Pool and the Community Pool. My friend Frankie swears that’s about to close down.” I sighed.

  After a minute, Laura leaned back on the big pillows lined up on my bed. “My mother keeps reminding me we’re here to help,” she said. “But staying the summer in a place where you don’t know anyone and there’s really nothing to do?” Laura’s voice trailed off and she hugged the shell closer to her.

  “You know me now,” I said. Then I spied my record box filled with my new 45s, and I grabbed it off the shelf. “Hey, Laura. Ever heard of the Beatles?”

  She put down the shell and scooted to the edge of my bed. “I love the Beatles! Did you see them on TV? Which one’s your favorite?”

  And after that, until Emma called us down to supper, all we did was sing along with my records, pretending we were John and Paul. All we talked about was how much better the Beatles sang than Elvis.

  When Laura handed my shell back, I packed my treasures in the Buster Brown shoe box and hid it under my bed. I cut off the record player and put away my Beatles records.

  Downstairs, Laura sat next to me at the dining room table, across from Jesslyn. Daddy took his chair last and bowed his head. “Bless this food, Lord, and those who have prepared it for us today,” he prayed. “Watch over Laura and her mama and all the visitors here in Hanging Moss. Thank you for your bountiful goodness. Amen.”

  It was finally time to eat.

  From where I sat, I had a clear view of Emma in the kitchen. Pretty soon, she untied her apron and smoothed out her white uniform. When she brought the blue china casserole dish into the dining room and offered it to Laura, then to me, she looked like the ladies in the school cafeteria who watched every bite we took. Emma finished serving the spaghetti, then moved into the kitchen, but she was hovering, listening, right inside the door.

  Daddy beamed around the table, tucked his big white napkin under his chin. Right off, he said, “I hope you like it here, Laura. If you haven’t had a chance to go to the pool, or over to Fireman’s Park, maybe you’d like to go with Glory one day.”

  Laura picked up her napkin and spread it in her lap over her skirt. She took one little bite at a time, chewed with her mouth closed.

  Jesslyn broke her piece of hot bread in two. “Glory says your mother’s a nurse.”

  “My mother works at the Freedom Clinic.” Laura sat up straight. “It’s for Negro people who don’t have doctors.” She scooted mushrooms from the spaghetti sauce off to one side of her plate, twirled a noodle, picked at a bite of chicken.

  Any minute now, I expected Emma to call out, “Laura Lampert, stop playing with your food!” like she’d do if that was me twirling and scooting. But Emma didn’t say a word. She stood real still with her hands pushed hard in her pockets.

  “Miss Bloom says Laura’s mother’s here to help poor people, and that clinic’s helping our town,” I announced. I looked at Jesslyn, then back at my daddy.

  “It’s good that you and your mother gave up your summer for those in need, isn’t it, girls?” he said. “Do you have family back in Ohio?” he asked Laura.

  “Just my grandma and grandpa,” she answered. She kept her eyes on the napkin in her lap. “They’re worried,” she said quietly. “They didn’t want us to come.”

  I put down my fork and stopped chewing. “Why not?”

  Jesslyn ignored me and looked right at L
aura. “Have you been reading about the civil rights workers in the paper?”

  “My mother says we mustn’t read the newspapers here,” Laura said. “They’ve been making up hateful things about her friends causing trouble.”

  “I’ve read letters to the editor of the Hanging Moss Tribune saying they should stay up North where they belong,” Jesslyn said. “Not everybody agrees with the newspaper, though.”

  “Who writes letters like that?” I asked. “Frankie’s daddy’s not too happy about what’s going on. You reckon he writes to the newspaper?”

  “A lot of folks are pleased about the Freedom Clinic your mama’s running,” Daddy said. “You’ll see. People will come around.”

  “Why would anybody not like a clinic that helps poor people?” I asked. Most I’d read in our newspaper was what was playing at the picture show. Sometimes Frankie would make fun of the paper’s Society Page, silly stuff about parties and who’s visiting in Hanging Moss. I’d never read letters about people from up North here to make trouble.

  “You’re too young to read letters to the newspaper editor, Glory.” Jesslyn stuck her nose up in the air. She took a sip of her iced tea, then smiled with her lips closed. “When you’re old enough, you’ll realize what was going on here this summer.”

  “I am old enough. And it’s not like you know everything. What are you doing to help those in need, like Daddy says?”

  Jesslyn had stopped being nice and was back up on her high horse again. My big sister could be so aggravating! I wanted to kick her under the table, hard. But when I glanced over at Laura, she was looking back and forth from me to Jesslyn, and twisting her napkin in her lap with both hands.

  Right then I decided to be nice to Jesslyn.

  “I got an idea. Miss Bloom asked me and Laura to do a special story time when the library has their thank-you celebration after the Fourth of July.” I smiled real big at Laura, then back at my sister. “Maybe you could help us, Jesslyn? Miss Bloom’s inviting Laura’s mama and her friends, too. All those Yankees, coming to our library!”