Last in a Long Line of Rebels by Lisa Lewis Tyre Page A

eating all you want is a gift of youth. Enjoy it while you can.”
    Mama placed a napkin in front of me. “Lou, have you been using the oak tree to climb down from your room again?”
    â€œMaybe,” I hedged. “Why?”
    â€œI found more limbs in the yard. I said you’d probably been knocking them off as you climb, but your dad is worried it has a disease.”
    Bertie put some bread on her plate. “I can hear some of those big branches scraping right over my room. If they ever fall, I’m a goner.”
    â€œI’d never let that happen, Mother. You’d haunt me forever!” Mama said, smiling. “That’s why we’re having it looked at. Until then, don’t be climbing on it, Lou. It’s too dangerous.”
    â€œOkay.” I took the basket of rolls from Bertie. “Daddy, what about the metal detector?”
    Daddy was helping himself to a large piece of ham. “I’m sure it’s out there somewhere. Along with the box you got at the Tate Brothers auction. You need to finish that so I can have my worktable back.”
    â€œYes, sir,” I answered.
    Mama sat down with a loud sigh. Her hair had curled in the heat, and her face was flushed.
    â€œLily, this is the last big meal I want you to cook until the baby is here,” Daddy said, pouring her a glass of iced tea.
    â€œI’m fine, Tucker. It’s just hotter than blue blazes in here!”
    â€œI know you’re fine, and we want to keep it that way.” He turned to me. “Lou, I want you to start helping your mama in the kitchen. You’re old enough to cook dinner every now and then.”
    â€œOh, Lord,” Bertie said, laughing. “Can I vote for takeout?”
    â€œI’m for that,” I agreed. “Being in a hot kitchen is not on my list of fun things to do.”
    Daddy gave me a hard stare. “I doubt it’s on your mom’s list either, but you sure are enjoying your food!”
    I wiped a stream of ham juice from my chin. “Okay,” I said reluctantly, “whatever you need, Mama.”
    â€œThis is awesome, Mrs. Mayhew,” Benzer said. He had a mound of greens on his plate, and Bertie passed him the hot sauce.
    â€œThank you, Benzer,” Mama said. “Lou, how was church?”
    â€œGreat!” I answered.
    â€œWell, that’s enthusiastic,” she said, laughing. “What was the message?”
    â€œI don’t remember that part, but Pastor Brian showed Isaac’s flyer. The church is going to take up a special collection for the fund-raiser.”
    â€œI’m glad he could still find a flyer,” Mama said.
    â€œWhat do you mean?” I asked.
    â€œSome jerk went through town ripping them down,” Daddy told us. “All of the ones that used to be on Main Street are gone.”
    Aunt Sophie sat down and began making a plate. “Well, it didn’t seem to hurt the turnout at Ebenezer Baptist this morning. When I passed by, their parking lot was overflowing. They were taking up their collection for Isaac today.”
    â€œThat’s right,” Bertie said. “I hope they raised a fortune. That fool Coach Peeler has gotten folks riled up. Did you see the letters to the editor in the newspaper? Roger Parrish said the scholarship debacle was just another example of how prejudice is alive and well. And Brooks Harris wrote something stupid in favor of Coach Peeler, basically proving Roger’s point.”
    â€œWell, we’ve always had more than a few rednecks just waiting for a reason to fight,” Daddy said.
    â€œI hate that term,” Bertie said, flinging her napkin on the table. “Why is it okay to disparage white Southerners but no one else?”
    â€œNo one else . . . how about Yankees,” Benzer said under his breath.
    I looked at him, sorry to see he was upset. No matter how long he’s lived here, I can tell the Yankee stuff still