Night on Fire by Ronald Kidd Page A

Somewhere, in another dark place, Bull Connor was dealing with the Freedom Riders.
    My mouth was dry, so I headed for the kitchen and got some water. I needed something to do. Remembering Daddy’s words, I turned on the light, drew some water in the sink, and washed the dishes. It would help Mama, but it would also take my mind off strange fruit.
    When I finished, I switched off the light and padded back down the darkened hallway, passing the little table where we kept our phone. It was all I could do to keep from lifting the receiver and calling Grant. Maybe he knew what had happened to the Freedom Riders.
    I stared at the phone. Finally I took it off the table and, leaning against the wall, slid down to the floor. I cradled the phone against me and rocked it gently.
    â€œBillie?”
    I opened my eyes. Sunlight streamed through the window. Mama stood over me, clutching her bathrobe around her.
    â€œDid you spend the night here?” she asked.
    â€œI guess so,” I mumbled.
    â€œSilly girl.”
    She leaned over and kissed my forehead, then went back to her room to get dressed.
    I thought of the Freedom Riders, and suddenly I was wide-awake. Bracing the phone against my legs, I picked up the receiver and dialed the McCalls’ house.
    There was a click, and Grant’s mom answered.
    I said, “Hey, Mrs. M., is Grant there?”
    â€œHi, Billie. He and his dad are at the office. They went early this morning.”
    â€œOn Saturday?” I asked.
    â€œYes,” she said. “It was something about the Freedom Riders.”
    â€œThanks,” I said and hung up.
    I had scribbled Mr. McCall’s work number on a pad by the phone. I started to reach for it, then changed my mind. I jumped to my feet, put the phone back, and hurried to my room. I threw on jeans and a T-shirt, then ran my fingers through my hair and hurried down the hall. Mama was just coming out of the bedroom.
    â€œHave to go,” I said.
    â€œBillie—”
    The screen door slammed. I was out the door and on my bike, pedaling for town.
    As it turned out, it was a good thing I didn’t telephone Mr. McCall, because I probably wouldn’t have gotten through. When I arrived at the Star , he was on the phone. So were Grant and Jarmaine. As soon as they finished one call, they would hang up and dial another.
    Mr. McCall saw me, nodded, and kept right on talking. “How many? Are they still in Birmingham?”
    He took notes on a pad. “Uh-huh. Bull Connor? Right. So, what’ll he do? Yeah, I’ll believe that when I see it. Kennedy? Really? Okay. Keep me posted, huh?”
    He hung up and started to dial again.
    â€œWhat happened?” I asked him.
    He kept dialing. It was Jarmaine, just finishing a call of her own, who answered my question.
    â€œThey came back,” she told me.
    I said, “The Freedom Riders? I thought Bull Connor was going to … you know.”
    Jarmaine shook her head. “It turns out that when he took them from jail Thursday night, he didn’t hurt them. He just drove them to the Tennessee state line and dropped them off, luggage and all. Middle of the night, middle of nowhere. He told them, ‘There’s the Tennessee line. Cross it, and save this state and yourselves a lot of trouble.’”
    I pictured the scene and tried to imagine how the riders must have felt, miles from home, with no idea where they were or what would happen.
    â€œWhat did they do?” I asked.
    â€œThey gathered up their bags, found a phone, and called Diane Nash.”
    â€œSo they went home?”
    She looked at me like I was crazy. “Home? Lord, no. She sent cars to pick them up, and they rode back to Birmingham.”
    â€œReally? They’re in Birmingham?”
    â€œThey were in Birmingham.”
    Grant, off the phone, chimed in. “They left. They’re riding on!”
    Mr. McCall, who had just hung up, saw the look of confusion on my face.