Tulsa Burning Page 11

  I wanted to sit down and cry, but I didn't. "I got to get hold of myself," I said, and I started to walk. "I got to tell his mama." I swallowed hard. "And I've got to go tell his father."

  "Father?" Cinda walked beside me. "I didn't know Isaac had a father."

  "He works over at Daisy's." I kept walking. "I got to see him, but don't tell anyone he's Isaac's pa."

  "That hateful colored man? He's Isaac's daddy?"

  I just nodded. The front door of the Café was standing open. I figured Daisy must have been standing in the door when she saw Lida Rose run out into the street. No one was in the front. No sound came from the back, but I went on through the swinging doors. Lester wasn't there, but there was an envelope on the table. It had my name on it, and under the name it said, "Give this to Isaac."

  "It's a letter," I said to Cinda. "Lester left a letter here for Isaac. It must have been before. I guess Lester wasn't here, so he doesn't know." I stuck the letter in my overalls. "I'll give it to Isaac," I said, "but first I've got to tell his mama."

  "I'm going with you," Cinda said. Then she stopped walking and looked down at the ground, kind of shy like. "I mean, if you want me to."

  I just reached out and took her hand. We got in the car. At first we didn't talk much, but at the edge of town I started telling her about what happened in Tulsa. I talked about the burning, about the thirsty man, about how Lester saved Isaac and played dead, about the man who begged for his life and died anyway. I told it without no pauses, words just billowing out like the black smoke out of Tulsa. The last thing I said was, "We went through all that, and Isaac come out okay. Now God only knows what that devil sheriff is going to do to him right here in Wekiwa."

  "Nothing bad's going to happen to him," Cinda said. "You'll think of something."

  "Huh?" I said, and I shook my head. "Not me! Maybe his mama. Maybe Mrs. Mitchell can do something."

  We was there then, stopping in front of that neat little house with the flowers in window boxes. I had to force my hand to reach for the door handle. I sure dreaded telling Mrs. Mitchell what had happened. I kept hearing Doc Sage say, "She sets a lot of store by that boy."

  The knock sounded loud in my ears, but I guess it really wasn't. I could hear Mrs. Mitchell's Victrola from the living room, and I knew I had to knock louder. When I did, she come to the door right off.

  "Noble," she said, "and Cinda. How nice." She stepped aside. "Come in, please."

  Cinda started to move, but I put out my hand to stop her. "We'll just wait here." I swallowed hard. "We brung your car. I reckon you'll want to go to town."

  "My car?" She leaned out to look. "Where's Isaac?"

  "That's the thing. See, there was an accident. We hit little Lida Rose Harrison." My voice broke then, and I looked over at Cinda. She knew I wanted her to finish.

  "She's dead, ma'am," Cinda said real soft. "Everyone knows Isaac couldn't help it, but the sheriff took Isaac to jail. He claims it's just to make sure nobody hurts him."

  Just like before, she didn't scream or cry, just sucked in her breath in that way she has with bad news. "I don't trust Sheriff Leonard," she said. "Why would he take Isaac to jail to protect him if there hadn't even been any talk about the accident being his fault?"

  I agreed with her. "More likely he plans to stir up some trouble," I said.

  "I've got to go to town," she said. "Let me get my purse."

  The sheriff jumped up from his chair when we went into the jail. "Mrs. Mitchell, ma'am," he said. "I don't want you fretting over your boy. I'm just wanting to make sure no hotheads get stirred up over what happened."

  Mrs. Mitchell didn't say much, and the sheriff let her in to see Isaac. Cinda and I waited out front. I spent my time looking at the folks as they walked up and down the sidewalk. I studied their faces, wondering if there really were people there who would hurt Isaac. I saw Daisy and Sim Harrison come out of Jones Furniture Store, and I knew they had been there to see about Lida Rose, about her box and burial.

  I left Cinda and crossed the street. When I was in front of them, I went shy. There didn't seem to be nothing for me to say to them, but I tried. "I hate what happened," I said. "I hate it a powerful lot."

  Then Daisy held out her arms. I went to her, and she held me close for a minute. "She loved you, Nobe," she said. "That little girl was just plumb crazy about you."

  "I ain't never knowed any other little kids," I said. "I sure did like to watch her play." Then I thought of something else. "Isaac couldn't help what happened," I said.

  "I know," Daisy said. "I saw her. She had gone over to look in the window of Hill's. There was a little hat there that she wanted to wear with her new red dress. We always told her not to cross the street, and she never had before. I was coming to take her across, but she'd already crossed. I think she was afraid I'd scold her, and she wanted to get back to the other side before I noticed. That's what she thought just before she died, that I would be mad at her." Daisy started to sob.

  Sim put his arm around her. "I got to take her home," he said. "You tell Isaac Mitchell we ain't faulting him none for what happened."

  They started to walk away, but I thought of something else. "Wait," I said. "Do you know where I can find Lester Cotton?"

  Daisy shook her head. "He quit this morning. Said it was time for him to be headed on down the road." They moved on, and I just stood there, looking at their backs and feeling miserable.

  Cinda was setting on a bench in front of the sheriff's office. I went over to set beside her. When Mrs. Mitchell came out, she told us that Sheriff Leonard had stayed real nice. "Too nice," she said. "Claims he will bring Isaac home himself tomorrow if there's no trouble between now and then. Says he just wants to wait until the little girl is buried."

  I bit at my lip. Lida Rose buried. It just didn't seem possible. Surely she was over at the Café playing paper dolls.

  "Maybe the sheriff is telling the truth," said Cinda, like she was trying to believe it. "It is his job to protect folks."

  Mrs. Mitchell shook her head. "Not colored folks," Mrs. Mitchell said. "He doesn't like us." She looked at me then. "Noble, do you know where I can find Lester?"

  "He quit his job today, told Daisy it was time for him to travel on. He left a letter for Isaac." I took the envelope out of my pocket and held it out to her, but she didn't want it.

  "You keep it," she said. "You can give it to Isaac later." She looked down and sighed. "I don't want to touch it. I should have known that man would be gone. It was a miracle that he was here to help once. Twice would be way too much."

  Mrs. Mitchell went on home then. Me and Cinda stayed on the bench for a while. I just wanted to be as close to Isaac as I could. We didn't say much, but it felt good to have Cinda there beside me.

  After a while her pa drove up in his truck, and she had to go. Before she did, she squeezed my hand real hard. Finally there wasn't nothing else to do but go back to the sheriff's house. I wanted to be there when he come home, so I could watch him. Walking across the grass to the back door, I took to thinking about Mrs. Leonard. I knew she was plumb crazy about Lida Rose. I wondered if the woman could live through hearing about her death. Mrs. Leonard was sickly and so tiny. I wished she didn't have to know, but I knew she did.

  Ma met me in the kitchen. Her face was red from crying. "Son," she said, and she put her arms around me. She hadn't done that in a long time.

  I stepped back away from her. "Does Mrs. Leonard know?" I looked up the stairs.

  Ma nodded her head. "Broke her heart."

  "You reckon she'll live?"

  Ma reached out to touch my face. "I thought you'd know. She died instantly, soon as the car hit her. Doc said she didn't feel no pain."

  I shook my head. "I didn't mean Lida Rose. I meant Mrs. Leonard. You reckon this will kill her?"

  Ma sort of smiled then, and she pulled herself up straight. "Mavis's heart is broken, but son, that woman's no weak little thing. She's strong, strong as any person I've ever knowed.
"

  When I helped carry up the supper things, Mrs. Leonard took my hand. "Oh, Nobe," she said, "you saw it. I'm so sorry you had to be there." She closed her eyes for a second. "So much sorrow in this old world." Her voice sounded like she could feel all the sorrow there was to feel, but when she went on, the sadness wasn't there. "There are good things too. That's what we have to remember. We were lucky to have that precious little girl for the time we did." Then she reached up to touch my face. "We are lucky to have you too, real lucky."

  Mrs. Leonard couldn't see her husband's face like I could. He didn't look like he felt one little bit lucky to have me. He looked like he'd like to think of some way to put me in jail with Isaac, and he looked nervous, stayed near the window while he ate and kept peering out.

  "What's wrong, Dudley?" his wife asked.

  "Reckon I'm just worried about that colored boy. Sure don't want no race trouble in this town," he said.

  Of course I didn't point it out, but I thought it was kind of odd that if he was worried about Isaac, he was looking out the wrong window. He couldn't see the jail from the south window. Right after supper, what he was waiting for happened. Two strange men came to the door. I was on the way out, so I almost ran right into them.

  "Need to see Sheriff Leonard," one said. I turned around to call him, but he was right there behind me.

  "Come on in, fellows," he said. "I been looking for you to come."

  "Is that your boy?" one of the men asked as they went inside.

  "No," the sheriff said. "He belongs to the housekeeper, pesky kid. I'm glad he's going out while we talk."

  I had stopped just outside the door, so I heard what he said. I smiled, glad to be considered pesky by Sheriff Leonard and determined, now, to know what the men had come to discuss.

  I ran around by the parlor windows and hid in the big roses of Sharon bushes. Right off I could hear the sheriff's booming voice, real clear.

  "No," he said. "It's got to be tonight if you want him. I can't keep the boy in jail much longer. Some folks already complaining. His mother's real uppity, got friends among some of the weak-minded whites around town."

  I couldn't hear every word of the response, something about a good opportunity and encouraging the coloreds to clear out. I also caught the word "clan," and it made me start to shake.

  The sheriff went to talking about a barn on a deserted place just three miles north of town. "Plenty of room for the boys to park their cars behind the barn, won't be visible from the road. You can leave him strung up there. Won't be nobody looking for him there."

  My heart raced. Isaac! They were planning to lynch Isaac in the barn on our old place. I wanted to move, to start to do something, but I had to think.

  First they had to get Isaac out of jail. Who could I get to stand against them? I counted on my fingers—Preacher Jackson, Sim Harrison, maybe Elmer Keller from the blacksmith shop. Three. There were only three men in town I could count on for sure. That wouldn't be enough. There were colored families in the country, but I didn't have time to get to them.

  Okay, I said to myself. Suppose they take Isaac out to the old place. My hiding spot! It was up in the hayloft, and I had found it years ago when I was just little. A board lifted up. The loft had a double floor, and there was just room between them for me to hide. If I took up another board, there would be a place for Isaac too.

  I had to think. Then it come to me about the tar paper. Pa had some tar paper in the barn from back when he was thinking about fixing the roof. He never did get around to doing the work, but the paper was still there when we left. What if I made up some balls of that paper, three or four? What if I lit them with a match and threw them down behind the group of men? Tar paper makes a lot of smoke, but if I put wet rags inside, there wouldn't be much fire.

  Would the smoke make the men run outside? Could I get Isaac loose and into the hiding spot before they come back inside? What would I do if the men didn't run? What would happen if there was enough fire to spread? I wouldn't be able to hide Isaac, and we might both burn—that old barn would sure go up in flames real quick.

  There were a lot of what-ifs. I hunkered down in the bush, trying to think. I broke me off a piece of stem and sort of chewed at it. It would be dark before long. I heard the sheriff saying good-bye to his visitors. I didn't have much more time to plan.

  I started to think about airplanes. Basil Bailey was surely at Widow Carter's by now. I wondered how he viewed colored people. Basil sure seemed nice enough, but I knew that didn't really mean much.

  The thing was, I had to move quick. I crawled out of the rose of Sharon bush and started to run. I'd go to Preacher Jackson. Maybe I'd tell him what was happening. No, I'd just say I had to borrow his truck. I'd say it was an emergency, but I wouldn't say what. The preacher might talk to the wrong person, who might tell the sheriff.

  I run all the way, not stopping till I was in front of the Jackson house. The preacher's truck was not there. Maybe his wife could tell me where he was. I run up the steps, ready to knock on the door. I took a breath, and I noticed it was awful quiet in the house. The preacher's big family was plainly not inside. I knocked anyway, but no one come to the door.

  From the lot behind the house, I heard the preacher's cow bawling. Maybe someone was back there milking that cranky cow, the one I heard about in his airplane prayer. I was down the steps and ready to go to the back of the house when it come to me what day it was. Wednesday! The preacher would be at Wednesday-night prayer meeting.

  It was three blocks to the Last Chance Baptist Church. I couldn't run all the way, but I did run most of it, stopping once to catch my breath. Sure enough, there was several automobiles and wagons in front of the church. I stood there just a minute, trying to think what to do. Just then the people inside started to sing—"Some sweet day, when the morning comes, I'll fly away."

  Fly away, I said to myself. That's what's got to happen. I couldn't take time to go inside to ask permission. Besides, someone inside might tell the sheriff they had seen me. No, I would have to take the preacher's truck, but I sure didn't want him to report it as stolen to the sheriff.

  There was a tablet on the truck seat, and a pencil was sticking in it. I could see that the preacher had been making notes for a sermon. I folded the pages back to a clean one and wrote, "I borrowed your truck. It is a pure emergency. I'll bring it back. Nobe Chase." I spotted a rock, so after I backed the truck out, I put the tablet where the truck was parked. I put the rock on the tablet, jumped back into the truck, and took off. I was singing "I'll Fly Away."

  It was a real pretty evening, but I couldn't enjoy nothing I saw out my window. My stomach went to knotting up, and I felt like every part of my insides was fixing to shake. It got so I had to quit singing and just hold tight to the steering wheel.

  It seemed to take an awful long time to get to Widow Carter's place. The good thing was that it was just a mile from her farm to our house. I could leave the preacher's truck there and go on to the barn on foot. It was just getting dark, but I was pretty sure the sheriff's friends wouldn't go to the jail for Isaac until late. They wouldn't want anyone from church or anyplace else to see them.

  Finally I saw the widow's big barn, and an airplane was setting right there in front of it. I could see the house too, and there was people setting on the porch. It was too dark to see who the people was, but I could count them. Four. Surely they was Widow Carter, Oily, Willie, and Basil Bailey. I started wondering what I was going to say to them.

  I parked the truck, jumped out, and run toward the porch. I quit trying to think what to say and just yelled out, "Please, you got to help me." I started to run up the porch steps, but I stumbled. There I was, sprawled on Widow Carter's steps. "They're fixing to hang Isaac Mitchell," I said, and I was real near to bawling.

  After I told my story and asked for help, I could see that Willie wasn't in favor of getting involved. "Well," he said. "I don't know as we ought to do that. It'd use up our fuel, and we couldn't get
back for the public flights tomorrow. Besides, it could be dangerous."

  "Lots of folks are counting on going up with us tomorrow," Basil said, "and we need the money bad."

  Oily had got up while I talked. He went off to stand at the edge of the porch by hisself. I wondered if he was having a clear spell, if he understood what we was talking about, but I found out he did.

  "Do it, boys," he said softly. "It's the right thing to do."

  I went over to stand beside Oily. "It is!" I said. "Please! It's a man's life, a good man. It ain't like you fellows never done anything dangerous before. You do dangerous stuff everyday."

  Basil laughed. "You got that right." He turned to Willie. "We might as well say yes now. We both know we're going to do this thing."

  That was all I needed. "Thanks," I yelled. "Thanks a whole bunch." I grabbed Oily and hugged him. He hugged me back.

  We talked about my plan just a little more. Then I was off down the porch steps. At the bottom, I stopped, glad I had remembered. "Gosh," I said. "I need matches, a rag, and some string."

  Widow Carter went inside to get the rag and string, and Basil Bailey gave me a book of matches he had in his pocket. "I ought not to let you do this," Widow Carter said when he come back with the rag and string. "You could get hurt or killed. It would break your mama's heart. I ought not to let you go."

  "Begging your pardon, ma'am," I said, "but I don't reckon you could stop me."

  "Leave him be," said Oily, real soft like again. "The colored boy's his friend. Let him go now," he said, and I did. I ran out of that yard and down the road toward the barn where I had hid when I was just a little kid. I was fixing to hide again, but this time I would get more than a beating if I got found.

  The moon was bright, and I kept looking up at it as I moved down that road. When I ran up the driveway to our place, I expected to see the ghosts of Pa and little Nobe. I just shook my head. "Don't bother me now," I whispered over and over. "I got no time for either of you now. Just let me be."