The Girl on the Outside (2 page)

Finally, the Reverend Armstrong rose in his black robes.

Sophia now recalled the minor heat wave she had felt just looking at him.

Without his usual preliminary humor, the minister proceeded in his humble yet impressive way to announce his text reading from Nehemiah, chapter 4, verse 14:

And I looked, and rose up, and said unto the nobles, and to the rulers, and to the rest of the people, be not ye afraid of them: remember the Lord which is great and terrible, and fight for your brethren, your sons, and your daughters, your wives, and your houses.…

At the reading of the words her father relaxed, sat back in the pew. Burt's back stiffened, his jaw quivered. What was Burt thinking, Sophia wondered.

Burt's real voice now startled Sophia. “It is the duty of a minister to comfort the people and show them peaceful ways to solutions,” he said. “That sermon this morning declared war in Mossville against Negroes in the name of the Lord.”

“War was declared when the courts said we
must
let Negroes into our schools,” her father said.

“Our schools,” Burt shouted. “What do you mean?
Our
schools?”

Has he lost his mind? Sophia asked herself. How could he expect to remain in the discussion if he shouted foolish statements.

Everyone knows the Negroes have their own schools. Chatman High is
ours
.

“They damned well are
our
schools,” Ken said, “and we have just passed three major pieces of legislation to tighten our control over them.”

“They certainly are
not,”
Burt said. “Public schools belong to the public, to the people who pay taxes. Negroes pay taxes in this state. So they have every right to claim Chatman High and any other public school in this state as
theirs.”

“Oh, don't be an ass, Burt,” May said. May seldom spoke. When she did it was either to reprimand Burt or to soothe Ken.

Her mother headed for the kitchen. Sophia knew that the pained look on her face was because of Burt. Her mother felt that Burt had lost his way since he came back from the war.

What Burt said was moral and right, Sophia knew; yet she resented his saying it. But in spite of her resentment, she could not help yielding to the strange curiosity, the wondering: What would it be like in the same classroom with Negroes? Heaven forbid such a thought! Her parents would die. Still, the thought brought a rush of excitement.
It might not be so bad
. The impression lasted only for a moment, but that moment was enough to reveal how free Burt must feel when he took the side of Negroes.

The crank was now almost impossible to turn. The ice cream was frozen. The argument went on. Sophia moved away from the back steps and sat near Burt, listening to the discussion.

“We'll soon see what rights Negroes have. The governor hasn't given in yet,” her father said. “I'll wager the courts will call a halt to this nonsense before Tuesday.”

“I'll wager that the time for people who think like you is over,” Burt said. “Negroes will be in Chatman when school opens, or Chatman will not open.”

“But they have
their
school. Why can't they leave us alone?” Sophia shouted. She saw the look of surprised pain on Burt's face. She ran from the yard through the house up the stairs and slammed the door to her room. The noise resounded in the backyard.

Chapter 2

Eva Collins did not wait around while the congregation of Shiloh Baptist Church reluctantly separated to make their ways home through the dusty, unpaved streets. She did not even wait for her little sister, Tanya, nor for her mother who chatted with neighbors on the church grounds.

Eva carefully picked her way through the dry, rutted street to avoid damaging her white sandals. There were too few sycamore and chinaberry trees to blunt the heat. The glare of the broiling afternoon sun hurt her eyes. Sweat poured from her face, around her neck, down her back and bosom. Dampness oozed through to her belt. Eva felt an urgency to get home and undress.

The heat that met her when she opened her front door was not unexpected, but it was disappointing. She often dreamed of entering a room of her own and finding it as cool as a vault. When would she stop dreaming? Dreaming of being waited upon, in her proper turn, at Woolworth's; of sitting in any vacant seat on the bus; of walking through Boyle Park; of going to Chatman High … dreams, dreams. But at last one of those dreams was coming true. She would be going to Chatman.

She went through the house to the back. Roger Collins, her father, sat on the shaded side of the porch, fanning himself to keep cool. Why was he home at this time of day? He always worked overtime, even on Sundays, at the small grocery store owned by the family. Eva was surprised to see him.

“I'm home,” she shouted, from inside the screen door.

Her father, more than six feet tall, weighing easily two hundred pounds, was not a church-going man. But he often said he feared the wrath of God, so he loved his neighbors.

“And what did the preacher have to say so long on this hot day?” her father asked.

“Same thing everybody else is talking about—us going to Chatman.”

“Eva, you know I'm proud y' one of 'em that's going.”

Eva's heart beat faster and for a moment she felt she would cry. She knew that the decision for her to go had not been made lightly. Her mind flashed to the day she and her parents had first heard about the plan to desegregate Chatman High.

Mrs. Floyd, the president of the Mossville branch of the NAACP, had come into their grocery store with two well-dressed men who were from out of town. It was pouring rain.

Eva wished it was raining now to cool this scorching day. She thought of how pleasant Mrs. Floyd had been when she said, “Eva, I'm glad you're here. Maybe you can watch the store while we talk to your mom and dad.”

Eva's parents led Mrs. Floyd and the men toward the back into a small room that served as an office. They talked for a long time. Finally, Eva's father called her into the room.

With Mrs. Floyd and those distinguished men about, Eva realized for the first time how shabby the room looked. The unshaded light bulb overhead cast shadows on the dingy white-washed walls. Flypaper hung from the ceiling with its catch in full view. But when Eva looked at her father, she knew he could hold his own in any company.

Looking at her father fanning himself, she now felt the love for him she had felt that day when he said to those men, “This is Eva, my oldest daughter. I think she might be interested in your plan.”

As she remembered this scene, Eva rushed to her room, stripped down to the skin, and took a shower. The water pelting her body, reminded her so of that rainy day.

Mrs. Floyd had introduced the two men. “Eva, these men, Mr. Johnson and Mr. Cook, are lawyers from our NAACP national office. They're here to help get some of us into Chatman High. Think you'd like to go to Chatman?”

Eva's heart beat wildly. “Oh, wow! Me … go to Chatman?” she cried.

Mr. Johnson smiled and said, “It's not as simple as that, Eva. We want you to think seriously about this.”

“And, of course, we must tell you it will not be like going to your old school, Carver, at all,” Mr. Cook said. “In fact, as we have been explaining to your parents, there's possibly some danger involved.”

Eva could now see her mother as she looked that day, sitting with her hands folded in her lap, her eyes down. Only the sound of the rain beating on the roof and panes could be heard in the room.

Then her mother said, “Now this danger y'all talkin' 'bout, I don't know if our children can handle it. So I don't know 'bout Eva gittin' involved.”

“Audrey,” Mrs. Floyd said to her mother, “we know there's
some
risk. But we think there is less risk here. You know our state university was integrated long before the Supreme Court desegregation decision of 1954. I believe if any people in the South are ready for integration, it's the people in Mossville.”

“What y' think, Eva?” her father asked.

Suddenly, Eva could see Chatman, the three-story brick building with its tall white columns and great stone lion at its front doors. That lion had always seemed as forbidding to her as the
FOR WHITE ONLY
signs she saw throughout the town on water fountains, rest rooms, and park benches. The thought of passing through those doors made her shiver with a strange excitement. She didn't know if it was joy or fear. Eva was glad that her mother did not give her time to answer before she said, “Roger, I don't think Eva knows what t'
think
in this matter.”

“It's Eva that's gonna be going,” her father said. “Eva?”

Eva felt the tension between her parents and sensed the fear in her mother's voice. She looked at the two men and then at Mrs. Floyd. She put her head down. “I don't know.” She thought about her boyfriend. Would Cecil be going? “How many of us going?” she asked.

“We're trying to get nine students to enroll,” Mrs. Floyd said.

“Hmmm. I … I think I'd just as soon stay with all m' friends at Carver.” She looked at her father. “I'm not sure it's worth it, if it's dangerous.”

“There are a lot of advantages, Eva,” Mr. Johnson said. “You'd have much better equipped classrooms, new books, new supplies, and good science labs.…”

“You'd even have nice warm rooms heated with steam, not with ol' pot bellied stoves,” Mrs. Floyd said. Everybody laughed.

“And credits from Chatman are readily accepted at many colleges and universities if you're planning to go on for a degree,” Mr. Cook said.

Again Eva felt that strange excitement. “Maybe … but what do you think, Daddy?”

“It's up to you, Eva. Whatever y' decide, I'll back y'.”

Eva looked at her mother who still sat upright on the edge of the chair. “Ma, what you think?”

Her mother sighed and slumped slightly. “I don't know. We could find ourselves up a creek 'thout a paddle.”

“Who knows, you may be right, Audrey,” Mrs. Floyd said. “But if we didn't think the time was ripe, we wouldn't dare ask these children to do it. Your daughter will make history.”

“I don't know much,” her mother said, “but I do know that a lotta people who make history die in the doing. I don't want Eva dead.”

“Now Audrey,
we
don't want Eva dead, but we want the
best
for her. Don't you agree?” her father said.

“Oh, I agree to
that.”

“We don't want any child hurt, even,” Mrs. Floyd said. “We now have seven of the nine we hope to get. We'd like you, Eva.”

Eva knew she would like to go to the main high school, but she was afraid. Maybe her mother was right. “Daddy, tell me, what you
really
think?”

“I understand y' mama's fears. It won't be easy, no struggle is. But our family together should be able t' do what's gotta be done.” He reached over and took her mother's hand.

Eva stood looking from one face to another, not knowing what to do. She did not want to die … not to go to Chatman. Not for anything. Then suddenly words that she had heard her father say many times flashed before her: “Dying ain't the worst thing in the world. When y' can't choose what y' wanta do, and where y' wanta go, that, havin' no
choice
, is worse'n death.”

As Eva turned off the shower, the quiet reminded her that on that day the rain had stopped suddenly. The noise of the scratchy ink pen sounded in the room as she and her parents signed permission for her to be registered as one of nine Negroes to be enrolled that fall in Chatman High.

Before she finished dressing, the front door slammed. The rest of her family was home. Eva scrambled. By now she should have started preparing dinner.

“Where's Tanya?” she shouted from the kitchen to her mother who was still in her room undressing.

“She went home with your Aunt Shirley,” her mother said.

Finally, her mother came into the kitchen. Most of the food had been cooked before they had gone to church. The chicken pie was reheated. Eva was making Kool-Aid. “Mama, it's just too hot to be eating all this food,” she said. “Left up to me, we'd have sandwiches and this Kool-Aid.”

“Well, I'm glad it ain't left up to you, missie,” her father said. He walked through the back door and began setting the table.

When they were just about finished with dinner, Eva asked, “When is Tanya coming home?” Even though she and Tanya were always at each other, Eva missed her when she was away.

Her mother looked at her, then at Eva's father. “Roger, I think we oughta tell Eva.”

“Tell me what?” Eva asked, alarmed.

“Honey, folks sayin' our house might be bombed.”

“What?” Eva cried.

“It's nothin' but hearsay,” her father said calmly, trying to allay Eva's fear. “But we thought it might be best for Tanya to stay over t' Shirley's.…”

“And I want y' t' go t' Shirley's, too,” her mother interrupted.

“Are y'all coming, too?”

“I ain't runnin' away from home. And Eva, it's up t' you.”

“How come y' always leavin' things up t' Eva?” her mother shouted. “I'm worried t' death 'bout all this. Why can't y' just stand up for once and say Eva ain't going?”

Here they go again
, Eva said to herself. She was worried and frightened. Maybe she should not have agreed to go to Chatman.

“Listen, Audrey,” her father said. “I understand your worryin' but it ain't no use in y' keep bringin' up her
not
going. She done said again and again she want t' go, and I'm standin' behind 'er.”

“I still say I wish it wasn't happenin',” her mother said.

“Mama, maybe it
is
just talk and nothin' to be upset about.”