Let the Circle Be Unbroken by Mildred D. Taylor
“Good to see you too,” she said after she had gotten her hug. “Thought maybe you’d try slippin’ outa here without seein’ me like ya done that one other time.”
“Ah, Miz Lee Annie, ain’t you gonna never let me forget that?”
“Naw, I ain’t,” she admitted with a laugh. She looked around, her attention seemingly distracted. “Well, I don’t see her.”
“See who?”
“Your wife.”
“Miz Lee Annie, you know I ain’t married.”
“Well, that’s jus’ the point. When you gonna get married, boy? Big ole handsome thing like you runnin’ ’round here single. It’s a cryin’ shame.”
“Now, Miz Lee Annie, you know good and well I been in love with you since I was a wee bitty boy and jus’ wouldn’t nobody else ever do.”
Mrs. Lee Annie laughed and hit him fondly. “Ah, you get on ’way from here, Hammer Logan!”
The bell stopped ringing for a few minutes, then started up again, signaling that service was about to begin. As we entered the church, I saw Son-Boy sitting with Henry and Maynard near the front, and throughout Reverend Gabson’s service I found myself glancing over at him. Without Don Lee, Son-Boy looked so alone. When I had first learned of Don Lee’s death, it had affected me very little; the news that he was dead had been only words to me. It wasn’t until my first Sunday back at church, when I felt his absence from the Sunday school pew and waited for his husky laughter when class was over, that it hit me that I would never see him again. I cried then, not for Don Lee, but for myself. I missed him and I ached and I hurt, knowing all the while that Don Lee, lying cold in the church cemetery, no longer had use for such feelings. What was worse was that I felt selfish and sinful, for even as I attempted to console Son-Boy I was thankful that if anyone had had to die, it had been someone else’s brother and not mine.
After his usual lengthy stay in the pulpit, Reverend Gabson ended the service with a powerful prayer asking God to bless all those families who had suffered the sorrow of losing a loved one during the year and then asked a special blessing for Stacey and Moe that they might return to us, well and unharmed. After a round of “Go Tell It on the Mountain,” followed by the benediction, the congregation left to go to their own or neighbors’ houses for Christmas dinner.
The Averys came home with us, and in the afternoon Mr. Tom Bee, the Laniers, the Ellises, and Mrs. Lee Annie with Russell crowded into the house to share the day. Sitting before the fire, the adults told their stories as they always did. They laughed. They joked. But underlying it all was the absence of both Stacey and Moe, and every now and then spoken words of them would surface and the mood of those gathered would change.
“Anybody know how y’all feel, ya know we do,” said Mr. Avery. “It’s a sorrowful thing to lose a child. Sho’ is. . . .”
“We don’t figure we’ve lost Stacey yet,” Mama said.
Mr. Avery glanced at her. “No, I wouldn’t reckon so—y’all still got reason to hope.”
Mama nodded sympathetically. Everyone was silent.
Mrs. Avery pinned her eyes on the fire and began to rock in a slow, nervous motion. Claude, sitting with Christopher-John, Little Man, and me on the other side of the room, was quiet as he always was now. He stared blankly at his mother. Christopher-John put an arm around his friend’s shoulders, but Claude didn’t even look around.
“Well, I tells ya,” said Big Ma, “what with all these younguns gone one way or the other, it makes it hard to keep on goin’ sometimes.”
“That’s sho’ the truth,” Mrs. Ellis agreed, dabbing at her eyes.
“But the Lord, He understands why they gone,” Big Ma said faithfully, “even if we don’t.”
“Ya think He does?” Mrs. Avery questioned, speaking for the first time.
“Course He do, Fannie.”
Mrs. Avery turned back to the fire and continued to rock. Mr. Avery watched her and shook his head. “Yes, suh, it’s a sorrowful thing to lose a child . . . sho’ is. . . .”
There was an affirmation of silence. Then Mrs. Lee Annie slapped her hands to her knees and everyone looked at her. “Got me some news,” she announced.
Mama smiled at her. “What’s that, Mrs. Lee Annie?”
“Got me a birthday comin’ up here January two. Be sixty-five years old!”
“Well, happy birthday to you, Miz Lee Annie!” said Uncle Hammer in congratulations.
“Thank you, Hammer. Yes, sir, sixty-five, and I done decided to give myself a birthday present.” She looked around at our waiting faces. “Gonna go register to vote.”
For a long moment, there was only a shocked silence. Then Mr. Page Ellis cried, “You gonna what!”
“Gonna go to register. I figures I’m ready. I knows all that’s in that book and I’m ready to answer them registrar’s questions.” She looked at Mama. “Don’t you think I’m ready, Mary?”
Mama seemed not to know how to answer as she glanced at the faces of both Mr. and Mrs. Ellis, their fear unconcealed. “There’s no denying you know it,” she said reluctantly, “but don’t you think it’s too soon? I mean I was thinking you had in mind another year or two.”
Mrs. Lee Annie shook her head. “No, ma’am. May not even be ’round come no ’nother year or two. I knows it now and I’m gonna do it now.”
“It’s crazy!” Mr. Ellis yelled at his aunt. “Always done thought it was foolishness. Thought you’d work yourself outa it! Why, even if they was to let you take that test—which ain’t likely—they ain’t gonna pass you—”
“It’s the principle of the thing—”
“The principle gonna get you dead then. Now, Aunt Lee Annie, you listen to me! You can’t do this thing!” Desperately, he turned to Russell. “Ain’t you got nothin’ to say ’bout all this?”
Russell glanced at his grandmother. “Rather she wouldn’t, but she do it, I’m gonna have to support her.”
“Then you crazy too!”
Mrs. Ellis leaned past her husband to touch Mrs. Lee Annie. “He’s right, Aunt Lee Annie. Ya jus’ can’t do this. It’s too dangerous—and there’s Mr. Granger to think ’bout.”
Mrs. Lee Annie listened in silence, then quietly said, “I’m gonna do this thing. I know don’t none of y’all like the idea, but that’s too bad. Now, I knows what could happen, but I jus’ gotta do it. Gotta stand up once in this life, and that’s jus’ what I’m gonna do.” She paused, looking around at us. Then her eyes settled on Mama. “Mary, I’d be obliged you go with me. But ya feel like ya can’t, then I understands. I understands if can’t nobody go with me, and I won’t hold it hard. But even if I has to go walkin’ to Strawberry by myself, come January two, that’s what I’m gonna do.”
Mr. Ellis leapt from his chair. “You watch, old woman! You gonna be the ruination of us all. You jus’ watch!” Then turning angrily, he left the house. Mrs. Ellis, looking a bit like a nervous, frightened bird, glanced around the room, then went after him.
A long silence filled the room. Finally Mama said, “Mrs. Lee Annie, won’t you change your mind?”
“No, ma’am.”
“But what about Page and Leora?”
Mrs. Lee Annie looked troubled. “Nobody got cause to be puttin’ blame on them.” Then, as if to make herself believe that, she nodded firmly and added, “Mr. Granger won’t do nothin’ to ’em.”
“And what about you?”
Mrs. Lee Annie thrust back her shoulders. “Me . . . I’ll be all right . . . soon’s I goes to register. . . .”
Mr. Tom Bee shook his head. “Foolishness. Plumb foolishness. Why I recalls the time colored folks gone to take that there test and the ole registrar, he puts out a jar of jelly beans and says for ’em to tell him how many there is in the jar, and that there was yo’ test. Plumb foolishness!”
“Wasn’t so long ago neither,” said Mr. Morrison. “I seen that same thing jus’ a while back . . . man got lynched for his trouble.”
“Foolish old woman,” Mr. Tom Bee muttere
Everyone tried to talk Mrs. Lee Annie out of going to register. They told stories of humiliations and loss, of tragedies and death, but Mrs. Lee Annie would not be dissuaded. Her mind, as she had said many times before, was made up, and as the day darkened toward evening and people began to head for home, they could only shake their heads at her hardheadedness and wish her well.
Then Jake Willis came.
“Well, merry Christmas to you all!” he said loudly, stepping inside.
“Merry Christmas,” Papa said and invited him to sit down.
“No, sir, I don’t think I will.” He smiled widely, exposing the gold teeth. “This here place jus’ ’bout too fine for a nigger like me.” Laughing, he nodded at Uncle Hammer. “Mr. Hammer Logan, how you doin’, sir?”
Uncle Hammer, his eyes and his voice displaying no warmth, said: “I’m just fine, Mr. Willis. Yourself?”
“Glad to hear it. I’m right fine.” He then looked at Mama. “Any word ’bout your boy, Miz Logan?”
“No, not yet.”
He shook his head. “Sad thing. Sad. Particularly on this glorious day not to have your boy home, not to know if he’s alive or dead. Sorrowful!”
“You sure you won’t have a seat, Mr. Willis?” Mama said, her manner indicating that she had been unmoved by his words.
“No, ma’am, I thank ya, but I jus’ come by ’cause I got a little present for Miss Suzella there.” He grinned, his eyes caressing Suzella across the crowded room. I saw Russell glance from Jake Willis to Suzella and take note. “Ain’t nothin’ much. Jus’ some candies—some chocolates I seen wrapped real pretty up in Strawberry, no doubt waiting for some white man to buy it for his lady—and I figured I’d get it for Miss Suzella here.” He held out the store-wrapped package to Suzella, who made no move to take it.
Papa glanced over at Suzella, who was flushed with embarrassment, and spoke to Jake Willis. “We thank you for the thought, Mr. Willis, but our niece ain’t of courtin’ age yet and it wouldn’t be fit for her to accept presents from gentlemen.”
For a fleeting second the grin left Jake Willis’s face and the eyes went mean. Just as quickly the smile returned, but the change had not been lost on Uncle Hammer, who got up from his chair and leaned against the fireplace. “She look of courtin’ age to me,” Jake Willis said.
“No sir, she ain’t but fifteen,” Papa said cordially. “Perhaps because you’re new to this area you don’t know, but girls ’round here don’t start courtin’ till they sixteen and of marrying age.”
Jake Willis wet his lips, the grin still there. “Well, I paid quite a bit for this here candy. I can at least give ’em to her, can’t I?”
Papa met his eyes. “I just explained to you, Mr. Willis, that it ain’t fit for girls not of courtin’ age to accept gifts from gentlemen.”
“Truth is, even if she was, you wouldn’t let me court her, would ya now? Truth is, y’all think that white-looking niece of y’all’s is too good for a black nigger like me. That’s the truth of the matter, ain’t it?”
Papa, who never allowed himself to be rushed into anger, breathed in deeply, waited a moment, and said calmly: “The truth of the matter, Mr. Willis, is that Suzella’s not of courtin’ age and if she was, I don’t believe it would be proper for you to court her anyways, seeing that you must be some twenty years her senior.”
“Well, why don’t you leave that to her?”
“Long as she’s in my care, I’ll do what I think’s best for her, and I say she ain’t of courtin’ age. Now there ain’t nothing gonna change my mind ’bout that.”
With those words I knew that the conversation was closed; Papa would discuss it no further.
Jake Willis grew quiet, then the grin widened and he shrugged. “Well, can’t blame a fella for tryin’, now can ya? She one of the prettiest things in these parts, black or white, and looking white like she do with that silky hair—no doubt like her white mama—makes her something special. . . . Well . . . no matter. There’s other girls who’ll be glad to get these chocolates from Jake Willis. Yes, sir! Well, no hard feelings.” He opened the door. “Merry Christmas . . . and happy New Year to y’all too!”
The door closed and Mrs. Lee Annie shuddered. “Don’t like that man,” she said. “Lord, help me, but I sho’ don’t.”
Uncle Hammer sat back down. “That no-count nigger, one of these days he’s gonna get his head cracked open.”
“Forget it, Hammer,” Papa said, coming back to the fire. “Don’t let him spoil Christmas. He ain’t worth it.”
Mrs. Lee Annie looked over at Papa, shuddered once again, and pulled her shawl closer to her.
* * *
When everyone had gone and Christmas Day came to a close, Little Man, Christopher-John, and I were sent off to bed. Suzella came to bed too and fell right to sleep after the long day, but I lay restless on my pallet, unable to sleep. As always, Stacey was on my mind; but finding it too painful to think of him, I forced my thoughts from him and thought of Mrs. Lee Annie instead.
If she had her way, she was going to try to register, and I hoped she would. I felt right proud of her. I had heard enough to know that it would be tough, even dangerous, for her to attempt it, and I trembled at all I had heard. But then I thought about all those afternoons Mrs. Lee Annie and I had spent reading together, studying the constitution. I thought of what she had said about her father voting and how he had been beaten because of it. I thought about what Mr. Jamison had said about jurors being selected from the list of people who could vote. I thought about T.J.
I made up my mind.
Leaving the pallet, I crossed over to the door and went into Mama and Papa’s room, where the adults still sat before the low-burning fire. They looked up at my entrance and Mama said, “Cassie, what’re you doing up?”
“I been thinkin’—”
“Oh?”
“Been thinkin’ ’bout Miz Lee Annie and her goin’ to register. . . . I wanna go with her.”
Mama glanced at Papa, then back at me. “Why, Cassie?”
I frowned, trying to think of the best way to say what I was feeling. “Well, I figure me and Miz Lee Annie, we been in this constitution-reading business together since she got them books of hers. And she done told me ’bout her papa and all and how powerful much she wanna vote . . . well, I jus’ figure I oughta be goin’ with her.” I hesitated, then added, “’Sides, I’m kinda interested in the law and all.”
Big Ma muttered something I could not hear and shook her head. Everyone else was silent, looking at me. Finally Papa said, “Cassie, sugar, that’s right admirable, your way of thinkin’, but what Miz Lee Annie’s ’bout to do is a dangerous thing. Your mama and me, we don’t even know if we goin’ yet.”
“Well, Papa, you decide on goin’, can I go?”
Papa rubbed his hand over his head, taking several moments before he answered. “That’s gonna call for some serious thinking, Cassie.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Best now you be gettin’ on back to bed.”
I said good night again and went into my room. But I didn’t go to my pallet. Instead I curled up in the rocker in front of the bedroom fireplace and listened to the talk on the other side of the wall.
“Y’all ain’t gonna give no thought to this, are ya?” Uncle Hammer said before I was even settled. “It’d be crazy for any of us to go and pure foolishness to take Cassie.”
“Lord, jus’ the thought of what could happen,” Big Ma said. “Gives me pure fright . . .”
“I know,” said Mama softly. “Still—”
“Still what?” questioned Uncle Hammer. “You jus’ heard Mr. Morrison here tellin’ us ’bout that lynching up ’round Tupelo jus’ a year ’fore he come here, and that was ’bout some Negro trying to vote. This whole idea is crazy and it’ll jus’ end in trouble.”
“Maybe. But you know how smart Cassie is. This thing she’s wanting to do, it could be something she needs to see.”
“
“I don’t know, Mama. David . . . I’ve just got a feeling. I’m just as scared as anybody about walking up to that registrar’s office talking about voting. But I’ve got this feeling. Cassie’s seen so much . . . learned so much about what it means to be black in these past few years. She’s nearly witnessed a lynching. She’s seen a boy sentenced to death. . . . This thing Mrs. Lee Annie wants to do, it’s foolish perhaps, but it’s something to be proud of too. If Cassie witnessed it, it could just mean a lot to her one day.”
“Lord . . .” Big Ma mumbled.
“David, what you got to say ’bout all this?” Uncle Hammer demanded.
Papa let out a troubled sigh, but didn’t answer right away. When he did speak, I leaned forward, anxiously waiting to hear. “’Bout Miz Lee Annie goin’ to register, there ain’t nothin’ I can do ’bout that. ’bout any of us goin’, I’m gonna have to think it through—”
“And ’bout Cassie?”
There was a long silence.
“I don’t know yet, Hammer,” Papa said at last. “Right now I jus’ don’t know. . . .”
* * *
On the third day after Christmas a car pulled into the driveway, and unexpectedly Cousin Bud stepped out. Led by Mama, we rushed outside to greet him, and a few minutes later he was seated in front of the fire with Suzella across from him. Suzella seemed glad enough to see her father, but she was very quiet, watching him, waiting, as if she knew why he had come.
“David home?” Cousin Bud asked, turning to Mama. “Mr. Morrison?”
“They went over to Smellings Creek on some business. Hammer’s with them. They should be back shortly.”
Cousin Bud looked uneasy. “You say Hammer’s here? Well, then, I won’t be staying. Ya know, him and me, we don’t much see eye to eye.”
“Don’t worry about Hammer,” Mama said.
Cousin Bud smiled, somewhat embarrassed, then we started talking of all that had happened in our lives. He shook his head sadly as we talked about Stacey, and looked at me in genuine concern as he learned more about my illness. For more than an hour he sat by the fire with us. Then suddenly he stood, saying he wanted to stretch his legs after the long drive, and asked Mama to go walking with him. Mama looked a bit puzzled when he did not extend the invitation to Suzella; after all, Cousin Bud had not seen his daughter in more than six months.