The Last House on the Street(23)

Two days before school ended, I went to the doctor at the student health center to get the physical I needed for SCOPE.

The doctor, who looked about a hundred years old, gave me a vision test, took my blood pressure, listened to my heart, asked me if my periods were regular, and then pronounced me fit.

“I admire you for doing this,” he said, signing the form and handing it to me. I was still sitting on the examination table in the paper gown. “If I were forty years younger, I’d join you.” He smiled warmly.

“Thank you,” I said, grateful for the support. “You’re the only person who’s had anything positive to say about it.”

He rested his hands on his thighs and looked at me with crinkly hazel eyes. “It’s much easier to put our heads in the sand and let someone else do the hard work, isn’t it,” he said. “But somebody has to do it. It’s the only way to bring about change. I like the way your generation has picked up the torch and run with it.”

“Thank you,” I said again.

He left me alone to get dressed and when I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror above the sink, I was smiling. I felt strong and capable and sure of my decision. I was ready to carry that torch.



* * *



The final document I needed to return to Reverend Filburn was the scariest. It was the release form that held the Southern Christian Leadership Conference—Martin Luther King’s organization that was behind the SCOPE project—free of liability if I was injured or killed. My signature had to be notarized, which meant I needed to go to the bank.

Reed looked up in surprise when I walked in. He was working with a customer at his desk. I smiled and gave him a little wave, then went over to Lucy Baker’s desk. She looked surprised to see me.

“Well hello, Ellie,” she said, as I neared her. “So good to see you.”

“Hi, Miss Lucy,” I said. “You have a minute to notarize something for me?”

“Of course, dear. Have a seat.”

I’d known Miss Lucy my whole life. She babysat for Buddy and me when we were little, then taught me piano until both she and my parents realized I had no talent. Then she became the leader of my Fireside Girls troop, and then I had her as a substitute teacher in nearly every class in my high school. Now in her fifties, she had finally settled into this desk job at the bank.

I handed her the form. She had no need to read it—as a matter of fact, I thought she had no right to read it—but the bold letters at the top caught her eye. “SCOPE,” she said. “What is SCOPE?”

“It’s an organization to help people register to vote,” I said. I’d decided that was the way I’d describe it from now on. I didn’t have to be any more specific than that. But Miss Lucy had apparently been keeping up with the news and her eyes widened.

“That group coming down from the North to register the coloreds?” she asked.

I nodded. “Yes. I’m going to work with them.”

“Sounds like something your aunt Carol would have done.”

I smiled. “It does,” I agreed.

“That woman never met a cause she didn’t want to take on.”

“So true,” I said, even though I knew Miss Lucy hadn’t meant it as a compliment. Aunt Carol had been no great fan of hers, either.

“Does Reed know about this?” Miss Lucy asked, glancing across the room to where Reed was still busy with a customer.

None of your business, I thought, but I kept the smile on my face. “Of course,” I said, as though Reed didn’t have a concern in the world about it.

I could tell that Miss Lucy wanted to say more, but she clamped her lips together. As she pulled out her stamp pad, pressed it neatly to the page, and signed her name, I could imagine her brain feverishly processing the information she’d just learned. When I stood up and reached for the form, she held it just out of reach, looking up at me with the sincerest blue eyes, eyes I’d known nearly my entire life.

“You don’t want to do this, dear,” she said quietly. “Give it a little more thought.”

“I do want to do it,” I said, leaning over to take the form from her. “Thank you.” I bristled as I walked away. It was none of her business.

Reed was alone at his desk and I stopped to say an awkward hello. I didn’t sit down, just stood across the desk from him, clutching the form in my hand.

“When do you leave?” he asked.

“Saturday.” I wanted to add that I felt a little nervous, but it would hardly be fair to ask for comfort from Reed when he didn’t want me to go.

He simply nodded, his face serious. “Be safe, Ellie,” he said. “I hope it turns out to be exactly what you’re looking for.”

I shouldn’t have been surprised by his kindness. That’s who Reed was. But I found he’d stolen my voice, so I just nodded with a tight smile, and by the time I reached my car, my eyes burned with tears.



* * *



It never seemed to occur to my parents that they should have to give their official okay for me to be able to participate in SCOPE. They knew I planned to go and they’d stopped arguing with me about it. I thought my mother must have talked my father into letting me do it. I could imagine the conversation. If we put up a fuss, my mother would say, she’ll be even more determined to stick it out. If we willingly let her go, she’ll be home in less than a week. You’ll see.