Take My Hand(46)

Meanwhile, Lou Feldman had not taken his eyes off me. “Their names are India and Erica Williams. Erica is the older one. She is thirteen years old. She’s enrolled in summer school at George Washington Carver Junior High. Her favorite ice cream is chocolate. India just got accepted to the school at St. Jude’s. She loves dogs. And dolls. She’s particularly attached to one doll with yarn hair. India doesn’t speak, but the doctor who tested her believes she has promise. She adores her big sister, and the two are inseparable.”

“So you interviewed a few folks.”

“Their mother’s name was Constance Williams. She died of breast cancer a few years ago. The father is Mace Williams. He worked on Frank Adair’s farm until recently. Now he’s working at the Whitfield pickle factory. His supervisor says he is never late and he’s a good worker.”

I jerked a thumb at him. “Because he got good grades, you’re putting him on the case?”

“Their grandmother is Mrs. Patricia Williams. She loves to cook, and she has started a garden with the other grandmothers who live in Dixie Court.”

“A garden?”

“Between Buildings 8 and 9. She speaks highly of you, by the way.”

These were my people. I was supposed to know that Mrs. Williams had started a garden. I was supposed to know what the owner at the pickle factory thought about Mace. It was just like Mama said—strangers traipsing up in there like the family was a sideshow. “You’re putting him on the case because you think it will be better if they have a white lawyer,” I said suddenly.

“That is enough, Civil Townsend. You are out of order, and I will not tolerate it. I know your parents raised you better than that.”

Lou scooted his chair closer to mine. “You’re right. I’m young. I’m inexperienced. I’m white. I’m just one step out of law school. I couldn’t find a match to my navy sock this morning, so I’m wearing one brown sock and one navy. My wife calls me a mama’s boy, and she’s probably right. But this I can tell you—I can do this case precisely because I am a mama’s boy. My parents left Europe and came to this country fearing for their lives. And from the moment I was born, right here in Montgomery, they raised me to fight for what is right. It’s in my blood, Civil. And I will follow whoever did this to hell and back to see justice for those girls.”

“I still don’t understand why you care. Why this case?”

“I can’t give you a good answer that will satisfy you. I know you love that family. I can see it on your face. I can’t promise anything other than giving everything I got.”

A bead of sweat formed on his upper lip. The room was warm. We were all sitting too close in the small room, and I needed some air.

“The Williamses ain’t looking for a white Jesus.”

“Believe you me, I don’t aim to be one.”

I paused. “Will you include the Ralseys on the case?”

“I plan to include them every step of the way if they’d like. I value their opinion. I value yours, too, or else I wouldn’t be sitting here right now.”

Mrs. Ralsey shuffled some papers. “I have another meeting right now. Civil, do you want to come to my house this Sunday? We can talk about it some more over dinner if you’d like.”

“I don’t need to talk about it,” I said, still angry but desperately wanting to believe in Lou Feldman. He held those girls’ futures in his hands.

Lou wrote two numbers down on a piece of paper. “This is my office number and my home number. You can call anytime, day or night.”

I took the paper, and they both followed me out.

“My wife wants to meet you someday soon. She’s a lawyer in Selma. She said she’s proud of what you’ve done.”

I shook my head. Proud? What on earth kind of nonsensical woman was he married to? “Mr. Feldman, just win this case. That’s all I want.”

“Call me Lou.”

Good Lord. He was still wet behind the ears and he would be the one taking the girls’ case to court. The judge was going to throw the case out before Lou found that other sock. I was sure of it.



* * *



? ? ?

I HAD NOT spoken to Mace since that day at the hospital, and honestly I was afraid. I didn’t want to talk to him at the apartment, where Mrs. Williams could hear, so I went out to the factory and waited for him to sign off for the day. When he saw me sitting in my car, he walked up to the window.

“What you doing here? The girls alright?”

“They fine. I just came by to talk to you.”

“Ain’t no need.” He began to walk away.

“Mace.” I got out of the car and followed him. “You know I would have stopped it if I had known. You know that, right?”

Some of the other men were walking toward the bus stop. They hushed their chatter as if they were listening. Mace glanced at them uneasily. He took my elbow and turned in the opposite direction.

“Come on.” We turned down a dirt path that led to the railroad tracks. I didn’t know the area that well, but I knew if we kept walking we’d reach the river. Trash—cans and bottles and a pair of torn pants—littered the grass. Someone had left a bucket. Mace picked it up and carried it. When we reached the railroad tracks, he placed the bucket upside down on the ground and motioned. “Sit.”