sugar for a pie. She started peeling the peaches.
I needed to prove Frankie was lying. I was even willing to risk getting skinned alive by Brother Joe and peeled like a peach by Emma.
I hightailed it out of there before Emma turned around to stop me.
When we parked our bikes in front of the pool, Frankie had a goofy smile on his face. Across the street was a policeman talking to his daddy. Mr. Smith had both hands on his hips and his legs wide apart. He looked like he was ready to slap somebody good. He walked right in the pool gate and slammed it hard behind him, rattling the new Pool Closed sign.
Frankie said, “See? Daddy’s talking to a policeman. Didn’t I tell you?”
“Tell me what? I don’t believe a word you say. Laura wouldn’t break into this pool. You don’t know anything.” But when I saw the policeman holding up Laura’s black sock, I got an awful feeling about the whole mess.
W hen I got home, I could smell Emma’s pie baking. I tried to sneak back into the kitchen, but there was no getting around her. “Don’t you ever disobey me like that again!” Emma was holding a pie server.
“I’m sorry. I just wanted to —”
She pointed the server at me. “Sorry’s not enough. You’re my responsibility when your father’s away. I have a good mind to put this server to your backside.”
Emma never spanked me, but oh, did she look mad now. I felt my feet ease away from her. She said, “Yes, that’s right — take a step back, Glory. Step back in your thinking, too. Pause before you act, child. The sun rises slowly over Hanging Moss, and so should you.”
I nodded to show her I understood.
“Go — wash your hands for supper,” she said softly.
At the supper table, all of us ate quietly. I was working out how to prove Frankie was wrong about Laura. Daddy was probably thinking about preaching to the shut-ins he’d be visiting tomorrow, and Jesslyn was for sure swooning over Robbie. After we each ate a big wedge of peach pie, we headed for the front porch. Jesslyn and I pushed back and forth on the porch swing with our bare feet. Emma waited inside for her Liberty taxi ride home.
When her friend pulled up, I called out, “Hey, Mr. Miles. Emma will be there in a minute.”
I stood up just when Emma stepped on the porch, and I noticed something I’d never seen before. Two little colored kids sat in the backseat of the taxi, a boy and a girl, younger than me. When the girl’s eyes met mine, she looked like she wanted to wave at me, but stopped her hand before she let the wave rise up to where the open window let in this night’s summer heat.
Our daddy sat off to one side of the porch holding his newspaper under the light. I leaned over to read the open page.
“Is my letter to the editor in there today?” All I saw was an ad for eggs, priced at forty cents a dozen, and anannouncement that somebody was giving away kittens for free.
Daddy shook his head. “Mrs. Simpson has a lot to say about what gets in this paper and what doesn’t.” He turned the page. “You did a good thing, Glory.”
“Anything about the Community Pool? Frankie says the Freedom Workers broke in and messed up the lockers and stole things.”
“I saw a policeman there this afternoon,” Jesslyn said. “What’d you hear, Glory?”
I glanced up just as Emma started down the steps. Before I could answer my sister, Emma stopped real quick and took a step back onto the porch.
A white car pulled up in front of our house. Out came Mr. Smith. Frankie was in the backseat. He didn’t get out. He didn’t even wave.
“Howdy, Reverend.” Mr. Smith touched his hat, tipped it toward our daddy. He nodded at me and Jesslyn. He looked right through Emma like she wasn’t even there. “May I have a word?” he asked Daddy.
As preachers’ kids, Jesslyn and I know that when a member of the church shows up on our front porch — especially when the member is a deacon like Mr. Smith — we’re supposed to give Daddy
I needed to prove Frankie was lying. I was even willing to risk getting skinned alive by Brother Joe and peeled like a peach by Emma.
I hightailed it out of there before Emma turned around to stop me.
When we parked our bikes in front of the pool, Frankie had a goofy smile on his face. Across the street was a policeman talking to his daddy. Mr. Smith had both hands on his hips and his legs wide apart. He looked like he was ready to slap somebody good. He walked right in the pool gate and slammed it hard behind him, rattling the new Pool Closed sign.
Frankie said, “See? Daddy’s talking to a policeman. Didn’t I tell you?”
“Tell me what? I don’t believe a word you say. Laura wouldn’t break into this pool. You don’t know anything.” But when I saw the policeman holding up Laura’s black sock, I got an awful feeling about the whole mess.
W hen I got home, I could smell Emma’s pie baking. I tried to sneak back into the kitchen, but there was no getting around her. “Don’t you ever disobey me like that again!” Emma was holding a pie server.
“I’m sorry. I just wanted to —”
She pointed the server at me. “Sorry’s not enough. You’re my responsibility when your father’s away. I have a good mind to put this server to your backside.”
Emma never spanked me, but oh, did she look mad now. I felt my feet ease away from her. She said, “Yes, that’s right — take a step back, Glory. Step back in your thinking, too. Pause before you act, child. The sun rises slowly over Hanging Moss, and so should you.”
I nodded to show her I understood.
“Go — wash your hands for supper,” she said softly.
At the supper table, all of us ate quietly. I was working out how to prove Frankie was wrong about Laura. Daddy was probably thinking about preaching to the shut-ins he’d be visiting tomorrow, and Jesslyn was for sure swooning over Robbie. After we each ate a big wedge of peach pie, we headed for the front porch. Jesslyn and I pushed back and forth on the porch swing with our bare feet. Emma waited inside for her Liberty taxi ride home.
When her friend pulled up, I called out, “Hey, Mr. Miles. Emma will be there in a minute.”
I stood up just when Emma stepped on the porch, and I noticed something I’d never seen before. Two little colored kids sat in the backseat of the taxi, a boy and a girl, younger than me. When the girl’s eyes met mine, she looked like she wanted to wave at me, but stopped her hand before she let the wave rise up to where the open window let in this night’s summer heat.
Our daddy sat off to one side of the porch holding his newspaper under the light. I leaned over to read the open page.
“Is my letter to the editor in there today?” All I saw was an ad for eggs, priced at forty cents a dozen, and anannouncement that somebody was giving away kittens for free.
Daddy shook his head. “Mrs. Simpson has a lot to say about what gets in this paper and what doesn’t.” He turned the page. “You did a good thing, Glory.”
“Anything about the Community Pool? Frankie says the Freedom Workers broke in and messed up the lockers and stole things.”
“I saw a policeman there this afternoon,” Jesslyn said. “What’d you hear, Glory?”
I glanced up just as Emma started down the steps. Before I could answer my sister, Emma stopped real quick and took a step back onto the porch.
A white car pulled up in front of our house. Out came Mr. Smith. Frankie was in the backseat. He didn’t get out. He didn’t even wave.
“Howdy, Reverend.” Mr. Smith touched his hat, tipped it toward our daddy. He nodded at me and Jesslyn. He looked right through Emma like she wasn’t even there. “May I have a word?” he asked Daddy.
As preachers’ kids, Jesslyn and I know that when a member of the church shows up on our front porch — especially when the member is a deacon like Mr. Smith — we’re supposed to give Daddy
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