Tulsa Burning Read online

  "Mighty fine breakfast, Viv," he said when he was wiping the egg off his face. His bug eyes had been following Ma all over the kitchen while he ate, and I wanted to pick up his plate and push the eggs right into his eyes. He was eating at the little table in the kitchen because his wife didn't wake up early for her breakfast, and of course, the sheriff had to get out and about to keep order in Wekiwa and the surrounding countryside. I smiled when I thought about it—Sheriff Dudley Leonard, the man of justice.

  Ma let out a little sigh of relief when the sheriff left. "Things is working out good," she said. "Mavis Leonard is sure taking a shine to you, Nobe. She just might do some fine things for you, son."

  I couldn't think about nothing except how much I hated that man. "Sheriff Leonard is as sorry as white dog manure," I said, and I turned my back to Ma. It was one of Ma's own sayings, sorry as white dog manure. When I was younger I thought she was throwing off on white dogs, saying they was worthless, but later I figured it was the manure that was white because it had been laying around a long time. I was glad it wasn't white dogs, on account of Rex being white.

  "Nobe," Ma said, "I wish you'd soften your heart some toward the sheriff. We've got food in our stomach and a fine house to live in. He's been mighty good to us."

  "I don't call killing my dog being mighty good," I said, and I went out the back door, slamming it after me.

  "Make sure you get every weed out of them front flower beds today, boy," he had told me at breakfast. "Mrs. Leonard is mighty partial to them little petunias that grow there. I paid good money to get old Roscoe Jones to plant them in April, and she's real proud to have them up so early in the year."

  "It's been right warm this spring, ain't it?" Ma said. "Nobe is good with flowers. He'll get every little thing out that ain't suppose to be in that petunia bed."

  I just stared at Ma. I had never known her to out-and-out lie before. Me good with flowers! What would make her say such a thing? We didn't ever have no flowers at our place.

  We'd likely have had to eat them if we had. I started to say so after the sheriff went out, but I didn't. I decided maybe she was talking about how I liked to bring her wildflowers when I was little. I didn't want to think as how the sheriff had turned my ma into a liar.

  Chapter 5

  ALL MORNING I worked in the petunia bed. When I went inside once for a drink of water, I heard Ma and Mrs. Leonard upstairs.

  "Wait, don't help me. I want to try." Even from downstairs, I could tell Mrs. Leonard was breathing hard. I climbed up the steps just far enough to see.

  Ma stood just outside the bedroom door. Her body leaned in, and her arms were out. "Oh, Mavis," she said. "You might fall."

  I moved more so that I could see around her. There was Mrs. Leonard, her arms outstretched, slowly inching one foot in front of the other. Her body weaved from side to side. I wanted to rush past Ma and help, but I could see that wouldn't be the thing to do.

  After one step, Mrs. Leonard motioned for Ma. "Help me now," she said, and Ma was there in a flash, holding her up. I rushed across the width of the hall and into the room to take her other arm.

  "Should I lift you?" I asked.

  She shook her head. "No, dear." She stopped to breathe before she went on. "I want to try to walk more. I've got to build up my strength, can't let my heart and lungs get weaker and weaker, not if I want to live."

  I looked at Ma. She looked right back at me, and I could see her swallow hard before she spoke. "You'll get stronger, Mavis," she said. "Me and Nobe will help you with your walking every day."

  "We sure will," I said, and I smiled real big at Ma.

  "Oh, I just knew it was a good idea to have you two move in here," said Mrs. Leonard, and she strained to move her right foot again.

  "Yes," said Ma. "I reckon the good Lord knowed you and me could help each other." Her eyes looked damp, like she was fixing to cry.

  We got Mrs. Leonard back in bed, and I went back out to the petunias, but when I went in for the noon meal, Ma told me that she had helped Mrs. Leonard with another walking session later in the morning.

  "It's not Mavis's legs that give her the most problem," Ma said. "She had that awful infantile paralysis, left her heart and lungs weak. Mavis thinks with me to help she might be able to build up her strength." Ma took a loaf of bread from the oven. Then she turned back to me. "It's what I want, her getting stronger. You understand that, don't you, son?" She looked at me real close.

  "Sure," I said. "I understand."

  After I had me a bite of dinner, I went to work over at the restaurant. Lida Rose was in the kitchen, sitting on a high stool. Even though I liked the little girl, I wasn't much in the mood for messing with her or anyone else.

  Her legs were too short to reach the floor, and her black patent leather shoes were dangling. When I came in, she held one foot out and said, "See my new socks. They got fluffles."

  I looked at the sock. "You mean ruffles," I said.

  She nodded. "Yeah," she said, "fluffles."

  I didn't try to correct her again. "I got work to do," I said.

  She shook her head again. "That's what Mama said. She said I shouldn't talk to you too much 'cause you got work to do. She sent me back here 'cause I wanted to talk to the customers. I don't know why I can't talk to them. They don't got work to do. They're just eating. Eating ain't work, but Mama said I couldn't talk to them."

  I dipped out hot water for the dishpan. "You talk a lot," I said.

  She shrugged her shoulders. "If you don't want me to talk so much, you could play with me. That would keep me from talking so much, I bet."

  I just kept on stacking dirty dishes in the pan. She reached out and pulled at my overalls. I turned to look at her. "See this here pan of dishes," I said, aggravated like. "They sure ain't going to wash their own self while I'm playing dollies or something with you."

  She stared up at me, and her lips started to quiver like she was fixing to cry. "I didn't say we had to play with dolls," she protested. "We could play I Spy right here while you do them dishes."

  "I don't know how to play that game," I lied. "You'd just as well give up on me and find something else to do."

  She ignored me. "When you play I Spy, you pick out something." She stopped and looked around the kitchen. "Like that rooster on the calendar." She pointed to the calendar on the wall. "Then you say, 'I spy with my little eye something brown and yellow with some red on it.' Then you get three guesses. If you don't guess, I tell you, and I win that time. Then it's your turn." She nodded her head a couple of times, all satisfied and pleased with herself about the instructions she had given me. "You can go first, since you're just learning," she said.

  I looked around until I decided on a big iron skillet that set on the stove. "I spy something round and black," I said.

  "That ain't right," she said. "You left out the part about your little eye."

  "My eye ain't little, though," I protested, but she shook her head.

  "How many are you?" she asked.

  For just a second, I didn't know what she was talking about. I started to say, How many what am I, but then I realized she meant how old. "Fifteen," I said.

  "Is that a grown-up?" she asked.

  "Not exactly," I said, "but I ain't no kid either."

  "You got to say, 'with my little eye.' It's a rule."

  "All right. All right." I kept right on washing the dishes. "I spy with my little eye something round and black."

  "Is it that big fry skillet?" she asked.

  "That's right," I said. Just then Lester came through the back door, and I told him hello.

  "I ain't interested in carrying on no conversations," he muttered. Then his eyes fell on Lida Rose. "And I'm one black person ain't interested in being no nursemaid to no lit tie white child. You skeedaddle." He waved his arms at her like he was shooing chickens or something.

  Lida Rose jumped down from her stool. She looked real afraid, and I thought sure she would turn tail and run, but she
didn't. She pushed out her lip and crossed her arms. "I ain't going to skeedaddle," she said. Then she leaned her face over as close to the man as she could get without moving. "And you don't know your colors very good," she told him. "I ain't white. I'm pink." She held out her arm to show, "Besides that, you ain't even black. You're more brown. Every single five-year- old I know can call out the names of colors. You ought to be ashamed."

  "Out," thundered Lester. "You go tell your mama that I won't work in here if you stay."

  Lida Rose scooted toward the door and disappeared out into the Café. I turned back to my dishes. "She ain't a bad kid," I said.

  Lester looked at me real hateful, and he made some sort of huffing sound. "Don't need your comments, neither," he said. "Like you know a solitary thing about children." He turned back to his work.

  "Reckon I know 'bout as much as you do." I had me an idea then. "You got children of your own, do you?" I just wondered if he would tell me the truth. I wondered if he would own up to being Isaac's pa. I wondered if my own pa would have claimed me.

  "Ain't none of your business, that's what I know. You've got no call asking do I have me a son or not."

  "Never said a word about sons," I muttered, and I went back to washing dishes.

  We worked without talk for about an hour. I never looked at Lester even once, just washed my dishes like I was the only person in the room. I guess he forgot about me too because he started to sing, low and sort of under his breath. He sang, "Swing low, sweet chariot, coming for to carry me home." I liked hearing him sing, liked it so much that I felt uncomfortable. I knew Lester wasn't singing for me. I knew it would make him mad for me to be appreciating the song, and I made sure I didn't look at him.

  Lida Rose stayed in the front with her mama for about an hour. Then she come busting through the swinging door. "Nobe," she yelled, "your girlfriend's here, and Mama said you can take a break and come eat with her."

  Lester stopped singing and looked at me. There was a snarl on his face, and I knew he was mad because I was taking a break. I could imagine him saying, "Sure, the white kid gets paid to flap his gums with a girl while the colored man's working in the hot kitchen."

  I didn't know what to do, but I looked up to see Daisy Harrison in the doorway. "Come on out, Nobe," she said. "Cinda is here to see you. I told her you could take a break and have a piece of pie with her."

  Lester slammed down a skillet on the stove. Daisy turned to him. "Would you like a piece of pie, Lester?"

  "Not to eat in this hot kitchen," he muttered.

  "You could take it out and set on the back porch. There's a bit of breeze out there."

  "No," said Lester, and he went right on working.

  "Why can't Lester eat in front, Mama?" Lida Rose asked, and the room was real quiet. I looked at Daisy waiting for an answer. Lester didn't turn away from the stove, but I could feel him waiting too.

  "Well, sugar," Daisy said. "I wouldn't mind to have Lester in front, but some of our customers would." She shook her head. "Some things ain't right, but we got to go along with them because of the customers."

  "Why?" asked Lida Rose. "Why would the customers care about Lester having a piece of pie."

  "Because I'm colored," Lester muttered. "White folks think they're way too good to eat in a room with a man like me."

  "Ma," said the little girl. "Is that true? Do folks not want to eat with Lester just because he's brown?"

  Lester didn't wait for Daisy to answer. "Little girl," he said, "I am telling you, I ain't brown, I'm black."

  "Well," she said, "the whole thing don't make sense to me." Her mother reached out and pulled at her arm until Lida Rose followed through the restaurant door. I went after them.

  Cinda was there at a table by the window. I caught my breath when I saw her because she looked so beautiful. The light was shining on her red hair, and it looked like it was on fire. Her face looked peaceful and sweet, like I figured an angel's would look. Suddenly, I felt afraid to go over to her. Cinda had changed on me. She was just plain too beautiful to be a friend of mine, but she looked up at me and smiled just like she'd been doing since we was six years old.

  "Hey, Nobe, there you are." She motioned for me to come to the table. "I'm so glad you've got yourself a job, and look, Daisy put out a piece of pie for you."

  For just a minute, I couldn't move or say a word. I had to sort of give my mind a shake and tell myself that this was the same old Cinda. Finally, I said, "Oh, boy, that looks good." Then I got the idea she might think I was talking about her and being fresh, so I said, "The pie, that's what looks good."

  "It sure does," she said, and she started to eat hers, but between bites she kept talking. "Boy, do I have news for you. Something real exciting is fixing to happen around here for a change."

  I settled myself across from her, but I kept my eyes glued right to the pie. It scared me too much to look at Cinda, because I couldn't get my mind on to any news, no matter how exciting. All I wanted to think about was Cinda, and I wanted to touch her too. Them same old impure thoughts went to coming to my mind. I'd been feeling better about them thoughts since my talk with Preacher Jackson, but I didn't want to give in to them with Cinda setting right there in front of me. I sure wouldn't be able to talk with them thoughts in my head.

  "Nobe Chase," she said, "are you listening to me a'tall?"

  "Huh?" I said. "Sure I was listening."

  "What did I say?" she demanded.

  "You said your pie was good," I said real serious like, but suddenly I realized she must have said something else after that.

  "I said one of them barnstormer fellows is in town," she said. "His name is Basil Bailey. He's the main pilot, but a fellow named Willie something flies while Basil does tricks on the wing of the plane.

  "They're going to land out in Widow Carter's pasture. They say Basil's a friend of Olly's, you know, the widow's brother who ain't right in the head because of the war, shell-shocked. That's what they call it. Well, Basil was a pilot in the war with Oily, and I reckon he feels real bad about the shell shock and all." She stopped to take a big breath. "He does all kinds of tricks, gets out on the wing while the other fellow flies. He takes folks up on rides for five dollars." I never had ever seen Cinda so fired up about anything. Her eyes were blazing like a fire in a fireplace.

  "Five dollars," I said. "That's a lot of money. I ain't been paid yet." I shrugged my shoulders. "Even if I had done got my pay, I wouldn't have that kind of money."

  "Oh, I never thought you would! Land's sake! I wouldn't feel right about throwing that much money away just for a thrill, anyway, but we can see the tricks. How much longer you got to work?"

  I shrugged my shoulders. "I got a pile of dishes in there from noon. This place was busting with railroad guys."

  "Well, come on." She put the last bite of pie in her mouth. "I'll help you."

  I stood up, but I didn't move. "I don't know," I said. I was doubtful that I could keep from dropping the dishes with Cinda standing in there beside me. "It's awful hot in there, and Daisy might not like me having help."

  Cinda shook her head. "Daisy won't mind, and you know I worked hot before." She reached out and grabbed my hand. "Hurry!"

  She pulled me after her. I opened my mouth to warn her about Lester, who was baking for tomorrow, but it was too late. We was in the kitchen, and Lester was glaring at us, his face all twisted into an ugly expression.

  "Who's she?" He used his head to point to Cinda.

  "This is my friend, Cinda," I said, "and she's going to help me do these dishes."

  "Just like some puny white boy, getting a girl to do your work."

  I opened my mouth to say something to him, but I didn't get a chance. Cinda was already talking. "Look, here, mister," she said. "I don't know why you're up on your high horse just because I want to help Nobe a little. Me and him are friends, and friends help each other. Seems like a man your age would know all about that." She turned to me. "Let me wash. I'm fast. You dry.
"

  We made quick work of them dishes, and then we went scooting out the back door. It was two miles to Widow Carter's place. We hoped someone would come along to give us a ride, because if we had to walk all the way, we might not be there to see the plane come in.

  Sure enough Preacher Jackson came along in his truck. The preacher has to work at different things too besides preaching because he has a bunch of kids, and I guess preaching don't pay real well. During the winter, he cuts down trees and sells firewood to folks who don't want to cut it their-selves. In summer, if he's able, he works in the fields, baling hay and doing whatever else he can.

  First he went right on by us, and that made Cinda real mad. "You'd think a man of God would take pity on folks trying to see an airplane!" she said.

  But the preacher stopped just a ways down the road. "I reckon he didn't see us right off," I said.

  "Want a lift?" he yelled, and we ran up to climb in the back of the truck. He had his wife and two or three little kids in the front. A girl who looked about ten and a boy just a little older were in the back.

  "Hi, Cinda," the girl said. The preacher's kids know Cinda on account of her and her folks going to church every Sunday.

  Cinda said hello, and we climbed in back. The boy didn't say a word, just stared off to the side of the road like he was watching for something. The girl was real interested in us, though. "What's your name?" she said to me.

  "Nobe Chase," I said. "What's yours?"

  "Puddin' Tane," she said, "ask me again, and I'll tell you the same."

  "Her name's Mildred," Cinda said.

  Mildred turned her attention to Cinda. "Is Nobe your beau?" she asked.

  Cinda's face turned as red as her hair. "He most certainly is not," she said. "Me and Nobe, we've been friends since we first started to school. We like to sort of hang around with each other, that's all."

  I sort of looked down because, of course, I was wanting to be Cinda's beau. It seemed like, though, the thought never crossed her mind. Maybe if a fellow and a girl have been friends since they lost their first teeth, the rules can't change after all that time. I was sure wishing they could.