Take My Hand(86)

I watched Lou walk over to shake hands with the defense lawyers. I could hardly believe what I’d just heard. I wanted to see the girls, tell them they could stand proud. They were heroines now. Strangers spoke to me as they passed out of the courtroom.

“Congratulations, Miss Townsend.”

“Good job.”

“Give my regards to the girls.”

“You done alright.”

“God bless you, young lady.”

“We’re going to ask the press to wait outside the building for interviews so we can clear the courtroom and hallways,” the bailiff announced.

All of us nurses gathered into a knot. Val wiped my cheek. “I will spend the rest of my life repenting for what I done. But I thank God for you today, Miss Civil Townsend. And for your big old heart.”

Val, Liz, Fiona, Gina, Margaret, Lori, Alicia, and me. Eight of us had been in this together, bound by an oath to help people. Good intentions, we now knew, did not excuse the wounding. Working in the name of the good did not negate the hurt. As long as these injustices continued, all of us were culpable. I wanted to tell Val that, make a speech of gratitude to the women, but I thought if I opened my mouth, all my pent-up emotions would come tumbling out.

Mace and his mother walked toward the door. I heard Mrs. Parr tell the nurses it was time to get back to the clinic, and one of them offered her a ride.

“Mace, I can drop you off at your truck so you can get to work.” My voice rasped. I wanted to shout for joy, but I also wanted to cry. Maybe Aunt Ros was right. I had some things going on in my body that needed working through, because let me tell you something: That verdict left me all tied up.

“I’m too riled up to work, but I best get on over there,” he said.

“Well, I ain’t got to work. Mace, go get our coats. Civil, how about me and you go to that diner you like? I got a few dollars. I buy you some breakfast, treat you for a change.”

“Alright, Mrs. Williams. Sounds good to me. Soon as we drop Mace off.”

We followed the last of the crowd down the wide stairwell, our shoes clicking on the stone floor. I knew the press would want to interview Mace and Mrs. Williams, but I did not believe I was in a state to answer any how-does-it-feel questions. Anything I uttered would be gibberish. I needed more time to let this news sink in. My girls had finally won something. Right here in Montgomery, Alabama, justice had prevailed. It baffled me how hatred and goodness could coexist. The world was an enigma. My country was an enigma. Still, she was mine. And I loved every square inch of her.

When Mrs. Williams and I got to the bottom of the stairs, Ty was waiting.

“Ty, where were you? You missed the whole thing.”

He put his hand on my shoulder and leaned in to speak into my ear. “Civil, one of the girls is missing.”

“What do you mean missing?” I said loudly.

“The school called the police about an hour ago. One of Mama’s friends in the police department called the house, and I answered right before I was about to head over here. It’s Erica.”

“What’s this about Erica missing? That can’t be right. She got on the bus this morning,” Mrs. Williams said. “I saw her with my own eyes.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said. “They say she came to school, but she disappeared right after the bus let them off. They noticed she was gone a little while ago.”

“Maybe she’s somewhere near the school. There’s no need to panic,” I said.

Mace came down the stairs carrying our coats. Mrs. Williams walked over to meet him, but I didn’t hear what she said.

“Take me to get my truck, Civil,” Mace said, already walking toward the door.

“But you got to get to work,” I called out stupidly.

“You got a car, young man?” Mrs. Williams fixed her eyes on Ty.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Let’s go pick up India. Then take me over to Dixie Court. Erica is probably making her way home. I want to be there waiting.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The escort led us through the crowd so we could get to our cars. Once the horde of journalists understood we were not stopping to comment, they turned and moved back toward the building. I caught a glimpse of Lou coming out of the big double doors with his briefcase. I could hear the crowd quiet, and I caught his first few words.

“Ladies and gentlemen, two little girls received justice in Montgomery, Alabama, today. And so did poor women all over this country.”





FORTY-FOUR




Rockford

2016


The neighborhood is run-down, but it is a community. I detect the smoke of charcoal as I turn the corner. An elderly lady waves at me from her front porch, and I wave in return. Two boys stand aside as I drive by, then resume kicking their ball after I pass. The house is one story with stone steps and a balding yard. There is a dead car parked in the driveway. Grass grows through the concrete and loops through the flattened tires.

I slow my car in front of the house. The second number is missing from the address on the mailbox, but this must be it. There is a sturdy-looking iron door on the front, bars on the windows. It is a real house, not the shanty the family once inhabited on the Adair farm. An air-conditioning unit hangs from the front window. I notice a chimney and imagine a warm fire in winter.