Midnight Without a Moon(67)

“She’d have been better off marrying a spider,” I said.

“I’m glad she didn’t marry Preacher,” said Fred Lee.

Hallelujah and I stared at him.

“All o’ yo’ mamas die,” Fred Lee said matter-of-factly.

We tried not to, but laughs slipped out of Hallelujah and me anyway.

Yet we knew this was no laughing moment. Here was our aunt, again at her parents’ home, again having walked seven miles with her children, again having been beaten by her no-’count husband. And probably would, again, leave the safety of our house and go back to him.

I let my head lean back, and I looked up at the clear blue sky. The evening sun streaming through the leaves warmed my face. October had just begun, so the leaves on the ancient oak towering over me had not changed. They were still full, green, and fluffy. But I knew they would soon change. They would become orange and red and gold; then, eventually, they would fall from the tree. Change was inevitable in nature, as Miss Johnson used to say, but not in people. People had a choice, whereas nature did not.

Reverend Jenkins was sure that a change was coming to Mississippi, that life for the Negro would get better. I had made a promise before the church and before God that I would change, and today my sins had been washed away. Queen and Fred Lee, too, had made that profession of faith to change. And long ago, when she was our age, so had Aunt Ruthie. Now, years later, it seemed she needed to make a commitment to change again. A commitment to permanently walk away from a life where she wasn’t really living. I closed my eyes and offered up a prayer for her. Only two people could help my aunt: God and herself.

Change. It’s what I had been thinking about since that Monday after the Emmett Till murder trial—?the day after Aunt Belle and Monty headed back to Saint Louis. So many thoughts warred against one another in my mind. I thought about what Hallelujah had said on the night before the trial ended, about why folks like Reverend Jenkins and Medgar Evers chose to stay in Mississippi even though they could probably leave, just like Mr. Pete, Mama, and Aunt Belle.

Dreams have more meaning when you have to fight for them, he’d said. And that’s why some people chose to stay. They knew they had a right to be there—?this land is your land, this land is my land. And they wanted the freedom to do so.

But I also thought about Papa. The thought of leaving him broke my heart. I thought of my own words to Queen when I asked her, “How could you do this to them?” But then I had to ask myself, “How could I do this to Papa?” Especially now that Queen had disappointed him so.

How could I leave Papa? How could I leave Fred Lee? Leaving him would make me as bad as Mama. Who could know what might happen to him if both his mama and his sister left him, not counting the fact that his daddy had never bothered with trying to be a part of his life?

And Hallelujah. Yes, he sat there making a fool of himself over Queen, but he was still my best friend. How could I leave him? And what kind of friends would I make in Saint Louis? If any?

My heart ached, both at the thought of leaving and at the thought of staying. Levi had stayed, and he didn’t live to see a week over the age of twenty-one. Would that happen to me? I didn’t know—?couldn’t know—?but I had to be strong enough to find out. I had to stay—?not just for the sake of those I didn’t want to leave behind, but for my own sake. I had to know if I could shine in the darkness.

Imagine how bright a star would shine at midnight without a moon!

I had to be bold enough to write to Aunt Belle and let her know my choice. And I had to write that letter without delay—?before I had time to change my mind. A chill came over me at the thought. But then, right there, the warmth of the Mississippi sun crossed my face while a single leaf fluttered down and brushed my cheek. I opened my eyes and stared down at the leaf that had landed in my lap. It was still green, with hints of yellow. Yes, a change was coming. And I, Rosa Lee Carter, would be right there to be a part of it.





Acknowledgments


This book would not have happened without . . .

God—?who gave me the talent to write and the strength to endure rejection.

The Mississippi Arts Commission—?which boosted my confidence with a Literary Artist Fellowship Grant to encourage the completion of the book.

Victoria Marini (Literary Agent Extraordinaire!)—?who salvaged my query from the slush and finally gave me the “yes” that changed my life.

Elizabeth Bewley (Super Awesome Ninja Editor!)—?who showed me how to make a good story great.

Nicole Sclama (Super Awesome Editorial Assistant!)—?who double-checked my research to make sure I got the facts straight.

Writer friends—?who read various drafts of the manuscript and said, “This is good. Keep going.”

The ladies of my Sunday school class at Brown Missionary Baptist Church—?who prayed me through a six-year journey to find an agent.

All my family and friends—?who believed that one day I would eventually land an agent and a book deal.

And, of course, the wonderful folks at Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Books for Young Readers—?who believed this story needed to be shared with children around the world.