With the Might of Angels by Andrea Davis Pinkney

lantern lit the hollows of his face.
    Daddy asked his question again. “Something you need from me?”
    Mr. Sutter’s voice got low. “These are uncertain times, Curtis,” he said quietly. “Keep an eye on your wife and young’uns.”
    Daddy wiped the top of his lip with the back of his hand. “Always do,” he said.
    Goober called me then. “Dawnie, come dry the plates.”
    Mr. Sutter said good night.
    “Night,” said Daddy.
Friday, October 15, 1954
Diary Book,
    Yolanda visited today after school. She had her domino box under one arm. “Dawnie, wanna do dominoes?”
    “Can’t,” I said. “I gotta study. I’m taking History in Context and Algebraic Reasoning and Biology now.”
    I showed Yolanda the paper that listed my class lessons, and I let her see my science book. “Wanna touch it? It’s different from what we had at Bethune — it’s
new
.”
    Yolanda gave me the stink eye. She looked at me like I smelled bad.
    She said, “
You’re
different from what we had at Bethune.”
Sunday, October 17, 1954
Diary Book,
    After church today, Daddy spent much of the afternoon buried in the want ads, looking for jobs. I heard him tell Mama, “All this man wants to do is support his family.”
Tuesday, October 19, 1954
Diary Book,
    The best part of this day was seeing Waddle, my raccoon friend, when Daddy and I walked to school. She seemed to be waiting for us when we got to Mrs. Thompson’s garden. I think that raccoon’s smarter than most. Her eye rings are sure beautiful.
    At school, I put up with more not being called on in Math class, being picked on in English class, and being stared at everyplace else.
    By the time I got home, my tree mop had never looked so good. As soon as I was done with myhomework, I got my bat and
swung
! The mop did a wild dance on its rope. I batted righty, then lefty. Then righty again, twice as fast. I didn’t think that mop could get any more raggedy. But I beat the strings out of that thing.
Saturday, October 23, 1954
Diary Book,
    Goober disappeared today. I was helping Mama hang the wash. Goober had been hitting at the tree mop, but then he was gone. Just like that.
    Mama noticed first. “Where’d your brother get to?”
    She called out, but there was no answer. “
Goober
—come, child!”
    I helped. “
Goob!”
    When Mama called a second time and there was no answer, she dropped her laundry basket. There was worry yanking at Mama’s face. “Goober!”
    Daddy hurried from inside, calling Goober through cupped hands.
    “He was playing over there, by the tree,” I told Daddy.
    The tree mop swung slowly.
    “Our front gate is still closed, so Goober can’t be far off,” Daddy said. But he didn’t look so sure.
    All three of us called after Goober. We looked for him in the cellar and underneath the porch, and behind Mama’s porch rocker.
    My pogo stick was where I’d last left it at the fence post, so I knew Goober had not been playing with it.
    Mama’s hand was pressed to her cheek. She was praying, “Lord, God … Lord, God …”
    Daddy told us to all be quiet for a moment. “Stay on the porch,” he said to Mama and me.
    Daddy stood very still, like when he watches a cardinal or a bullfinch settle at the top of our yard’s tree.
    Mama sat at the edge of the porch steps. She was rocking and praying silently.
    I stood by the porch post, holding on.
    A ladybug could have whispered then, and we would have heard every word. That’s why the rustle pushing out from the pile of leaves in the corner of our yard drew each of us to it.
    And that’s why I was the first to spot Goober hiding in the bundle of brown. He’d buried himself in the leaf pile!
    “Goob!”
I shouted.
“Oh, Goob!”
    Goober flung himself free of the leaves. “Surprise!”
    There were crisp patches of brown and yellow hanging on to Goober’s sweater by their stems. Dirt spots marked his elbows. He was blowing leaf pieces from his lips, and he was all full of giggles. His arms stretched high