movement's taking care of that from donations. If you
want to help her out on the side, suit yourself, but be easy with it. Wait a
while. But make sure your daddy's got that bail money ready for when you
get your project up and running." Matt leaned on the side of the car.
"Forgot about that." She hadn't forgotten about it. She just hadn't come
up with a way to make a call to Shuck and say it. He needed to send the
bail money to the Jackson office in case she got arrested. She'd already been
close. But saying that kind of thing to Shuck meant risking the possibility
that he would come down there and check on her. She needed to see this
through on her own.
"The Sheriff here's Trotter. Don't play with him. Make it count or don't
do it at all." Matt folded his arms across his chest, his shirt and overalls not
looking too bad considering all they'd been through. "You be all right."
She felt like the small girl who got dropped off at a camp she didn't want
to go to. Shuck got back into his car and she was supposed to be grown up
and stay there with all those strange kids for two weeks. She knew before he
turned the key in the ignition that she wasn't going to make it. She bit her
lower lip, tried to hold it together feeling all the while like throwing herself
down in the dirt and screaming to Shuck to please take her home. But she
was grown now and it was Matt, not Shuck. She had to see it through.
Matt patted her fly-away hair, put a frizzled lock behind her ear. "You
almost got you a natural there." He laughed, the knot on his head less
conspicuous now.
"Right." She smirked, thinking of Ramona's soft bowl of hair, and of
what that word meant. No pressing and curling. Just natural. She liked it,
but knew she'd never have that look.
"Pineyville's bad, but it ain't no worse than anywhere else in Mississippi.
Just be mindful of where you're at." Matt's eyes rambled over the ground
near his feet, the house behind them, then off down Freshwater Road.
"Yeah." She wanted to hug him, but she didn't want to aggravate his
bruises. "But, Matt, every town hasn't had a lynching." They stood in a southern Mississippi road in the waning sunlight, facing each other like
students on the green in Ann Arbor, but here they talked of lynchings, of
disappeared people.
"You talking about Leroy Boyd James?" He knew she'd roomed with
Ramona during orientation and that she was an authority on that lynching
business. "Well, we don't know all the towns that have had 'em."
Matt put his hand on the car door handle and opened the door. "Ramona doesn't know it all because the news about a lot of lynchings never
left the small towns where they happened. There wasn't nothing to research.
People never fessed up that a murder had even taken place. Negroes just
disappeared. Mrs. Owens said it."
He was right, of course. What difference did it make where in Mississippi she was? Emmett Till had been in Money, Medgar Evers in Jackson,
Herbert Lee in Liberty. Ambushed and shot, beaten to death and thrown
into a river for organizing for voter registration, standing up to any white
man for any reason, winking, eyeballing, accused of raping a white woman,
whether ever proven or not. Pineyville was in no way special.
Matt sat in the driver's seat. Celeste put her head through the busted-out
window, wanted to climb into that car with him. She kissed him on the
cheek. "All right now." Matt said. "Don't be startin' something you can't
finish." He grinned. "Miss Detroit. You all right, girl."
She'd won him over. She'd never be what he assumed she was at first,
a pampered shallow girl from Detroit. Maybe it had as much to do with
Shuck as it had to do with her. But she'd held up her end, too. They went
through the fire, and they survived. The next step was on her and her alone.
She'd earn the badge of courage or she wouldn't. But still, she'd gladly get
into that car with him. A big part of her didn't want to stay in this
want to help her out on the side, suit yourself, but be easy with it. Wait a
while. But make sure your daddy's got that bail money ready for when you
get your project up and running." Matt leaned on the side of the car.
"Forgot about that." She hadn't forgotten about it. She just hadn't come
up with a way to make a call to Shuck and say it. He needed to send the
bail money to the Jackson office in case she got arrested. She'd already been
close. But saying that kind of thing to Shuck meant risking the possibility
that he would come down there and check on her. She needed to see this
through on her own.
"The Sheriff here's Trotter. Don't play with him. Make it count or don't
do it at all." Matt folded his arms across his chest, his shirt and overalls not
looking too bad considering all they'd been through. "You be all right."
She felt like the small girl who got dropped off at a camp she didn't want
to go to. Shuck got back into his car and she was supposed to be grown up
and stay there with all those strange kids for two weeks. She knew before he
turned the key in the ignition that she wasn't going to make it. She bit her
lower lip, tried to hold it together feeling all the while like throwing herself
down in the dirt and screaming to Shuck to please take her home. But she
was grown now and it was Matt, not Shuck. She had to see it through.
Matt patted her fly-away hair, put a frizzled lock behind her ear. "You
almost got you a natural there." He laughed, the knot on his head less
conspicuous now.
"Right." She smirked, thinking of Ramona's soft bowl of hair, and of
what that word meant. No pressing and curling. Just natural. She liked it,
but knew she'd never have that look.
"Pineyville's bad, but it ain't no worse than anywhere else in Mississippi.
Just be mindful of where you're at." Matt's eyes rambled over the ground
near his feet, the house behind them, then off down Freshwater Road.
"Yeah." She wanted to hug him, but she didn't want to aggravate his
bruises. "But, Matt, every town hasn't had a lynching." They stood in a southern Mississippi road in the waning sunlight, facing each other like
students on the green in Ann Arbor, but here they talked of lynchings, of
disappeared people.
"You talking about Leroy Boyd James?" He knew she'd roomed with
Ramona during orientation and that she was an authority on that lynching
business. "Well, we don't know all the towns that have had 'em."
Matt put his hand on the car door handle and opened the door. "Ramona doesn't know it all because the news about a lot of lynchings never
left the small towns where they happened. There wasn't nothing to research.
People never fessed up that a murder had even taken place. Negroes just
disappeared. Mrs. Owens said it."
He was right, of course. What difference did it make where in Mississippi she was? Emmett Till had been in Money, Medgar Evers in Jackson,
Herbert Lee in Liberty. Ambushed and shot, beaten to death and thrown
into a river for organizing for voter registration, standing up to any white
man for any reason, winking, eyeballing, accused of raping a white woman,
whether ever proven or not. Pineyville was in no way special.
Matt sat in the driver's seat. Celeste put her head through the busted-out
window, wanted to climb into that car with him. She kissed him on the
cheek. "All right now." Matt said. "Don't be startin' something you can't
finish." He grinned. "Miss Detroit. You all right, girl."
She'd won him over. She'd never be what he assumed she was at first,
a pampered shallow girl from Detroit. Maybe it had as much to do with
Shuck as it had to do with her. But she'd held up her end, too. They went
through the fire, and they survived. The next step was on her and her alone.
She'd earn the badge of courage or she wouldn't. But still, she'd gladly get
into that car with him. A big part of her didn't want to stay in this
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