Ring Shout(20)

Chef lifts an eyebrow. “Since when are revolutionaries into bourgeois pastimes?”

“On the contrary, I am quite fond of cards! Games of skill and chance, that place every man and woman on a level field.”

“Unless the one dealing stacks the deck against you,” Chef counters.

Emma peers down her spectacles. “Why, Cordelia, you sound like a socialist.”

Chef whoops a laugh, dealing the widow in.

“Y’all want me to keep playing, I don’t want none of that talk,” Sadie warns. “Bad enough I gotta spend Saturday night cooped up in here.” Her face softens into a lopsided smile. “You know who got the best conversations? That Lester. He know the most amazing things. Going on about old rulers of Ethiopia. You know he say there was this place named Meroe ruled by queens? You imagine that? Colored women ruling? Bet I woulda made a fine queen of Meroe. Strutting around on elephants or whatever.”

“I believe Meroe is old Nubia,” Emma adds. “One of their kings saved Israel from the Assyrians.”

“See there! I bet Lester know about that. Can listen to him all day!”

“So you been telling us,” Chef murmurs. “Suppose that Lester done some mighty fine talking the other night.”

Sadie narrows her eyes. “You got a sinful mind, Cordelia Lawrence.”

Chef winks my way. “You want in?”

Not sure she mean the game or ribbing Sadie. I shake my head. Used to pester my brother to teach me cards like he played secret with his friends. He taught me my letters, figuring, even how to fish. But never got around to cards. I fold up my book, walking off.

When I told Nana Jean about my meeting with Butcher Clyde she was hotter than fish grease. Say I was a fool gone wandering into a wolf’s den. I tried to make her see we need to know what them Ku Kluxes is planning. She stays mad, but agree with me about the meaning of Butcher Clyde’s parting words. He coming after us. And we been getting ready since.

I pass by where the Shouters sit, holding hands while Uncle Will leads a prayer. Nana Jean convinced them it too dangerous to set out on the road with Ku Kluxes about. If Butcher Clyde know as much as he say, sure he know about them. We been watching you a long time, Maryse. I shake off his words, reaching to where the Gullah woman sits in her chair. Molly there with her, reading over coded resistance telegraphs.

“There’s Ku Klux activity all through the state,” she’s saying. “Mrs. Wells-Barnett’s operatives report Klans gathering at Stone Mountain, for that movie.”

“The Grand Cyclops.” Both turn to look at me. “Butcher Clyde, he say whatever coming is big. Stone Mountain where they did the conjuring what started all this. Has to be where this Grand Cyclops coming!”

“Bet the government know ’bout it too!” Sadie yells out.

We ignore her.

“Indians used to meet there,” Molly says thoughtfully. “The mountain might be a focal point where worlds meet too. Makes sense why Simmons used it to open his door. Maybe planning to do it again, to bring this … Cyclops.”

Nana Jean frowns when she looks at me, bushy eyebrows bristling. Still mad, then. “De haint ooman dem ain say nuttin?”

I shake my head. Thought Auntie Ondine would have summoned me by now, but haven’t heard a word. “We need to let people know what’s set to happen on Stone Mountain. Tell them we have to stop it.”

“From what’s coming across the wires, could be Klan there in the hundreds,” Molly says. “Who knows how many are turned.”

“Then we get who we can. We need to be there!”

“Ki! How we gwine git dey when we yuh?” Nana Jean huffs.

“She’s right,” Molly agrees. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m not casting blame. But we’ve been holed up here expecting an attack. Can’t be in two places at once.”

They right I know. Since Butcher Clyde made his threat, we been trapped here. Stayed up all last night, and the night before that, but nothing. Now here it is Saturday almost heading into Sunday morning. And still quiet. Doubt starts creeping in. Maybe Butcher Clyde aiming to throw me off. Keep us out the way while he go about doing his evil.

A sharp rap on the door sends me whirling, ready to call my sword. I ain’t the only one. Chef standing up with her knife. Emma holding her shotgun and Sadie somehow already got a bullet in the chamber, looking down the sights of her Winchester. But then the rap comes twice again, and once more.

Molly jumps up. “One of mine!”

She reaches the door and pulls it open. Sure enough it’s one of her apprentices with a rifle slung over her shoulder. Molly says she’s terrible with guns, but at least two of the young Choctaw women she teaching nice with the weapons. This one got on a wide-brimmed black hat. Sethe, I think, and she’s holding someone small by the back of the neck. One of the boys who helps pack up Mama’s Water.

“Klans!” he pants, small chest heaving. “My papa make me run all the way here. Tell you, Klans attacking!”

“Where?” I ask, pushing forward.

He takes another gulp of air. “Frenchy’s!”





Notation 21:

In This Field We Must Die? Well, that Shout got many meanings. The field where the slaves was forced to toil away they whole lives. Or it’s this world everybody got to leave one day. What else there was to do in that drudgery, working from can’t see morning to can’t see night, but to get to thinking on life, death, and God’s purpose? All them grand thinkers lost to the whip. Gone and took they secrets with ’em to the grave.