The Dry Grass of August(32)



Uncle Taylor switched on the attic fan, propping open the door to the screen porch, and the paper napkins fluttered as we sat down. Mary and Leesum took their plates to a table on the porch. When we bowed our heads for Uncle Taylor to say the blessing, I squinted through my eyelids at Leesum. His eyes were closed, his hands together under his chin. He took praying seriously.

Over lunch nobody said much. As we finished, Sarah asked her father, “Now can I tell you what Mrs. Willingham did?”

“You may.” Uncle Taylor turned to Sarah, giving her his full attention. Daddy wouldn’t listen to me for more than a minute.

“All Mary was doing was walking on the beach, and Mrs. Willingham told her to stop, and for Leesum to get dressed, and things have to be separate.”

“When was this?”

Sarah asked me, “When, Jubie?”

I looked at my plate. “Early this morning.”

Uncle Taylor asked me, “Were you there?”

“Yes, sir. We were gathering shells for a sand castle.”

“You and who else?”

“Me and Davie, Mary and Leesum. Mary walked in the water on Mrs. Willingham’s beach.”

“And what was Leesum wearing?”

“Shorts.”

Uncle Taylor turned in his chair to speak to Leesum. “Is that right, Leesum?”

“Yessuh.”

“And did you go in the gulf?”

“Some.” Leesum looked at me.

“Did Mrs. Willingham see you in the water?”

“Don’t think so. Leastways she dint say she did.”

Uncle Taylor turned back to me. “What did Mrs. Willingham say?”

“That Mary shouldn’t be in the water, that it’s against the law.”

He took his napkin from his lap and wiped his mouth. “Mrs. Willingham is a lonely woman with too much time on her hands. Negroes scare her. She worries about her property value.” Daddy never explained things the way Uncle Taylor did, speaking to us as if we were adults.

Uncle Taylor turned in his seat and spoke to Leesum and Mary. “I’m sorry for what happened. She’s right about the law, but most people are pretty relaxed about hired help.” He cleared his throat. “Uh, Mary, what did your minister say when you called?”

“He be happy to have Leesum stay with him for a while. They’s a bus at five this evening that gets to Charlotte tomorrow night. Reverend Perkins’ll be there to meet it.”

So it was decided. I hoped Leesum knew how sorry I was that he was leaving.





Mama, Uncle Taylor, and Kay Macy Cooper were going for bridge that afternoon at the officers’ club with Mrs. Willingham. “She’s an incredible bridge player,” Uncle Taylor said. Mama groaned.

Mrs. Cooper said, “Taylor, you’re too kind. She’s lucky. That double finesse she pulled last week . . .”

“She counts cards. That’s skill.”

“Why do you defend her?”

“Skipper Willingham saved my hide more than once. His widow’s a narrow-minded biddy, but I watch out for her.”

Uncle Taylor wanted to take Leesum to the bus station, but the schedule would’ve messed up their plans, and Stell was dying to drive the Packard. Uncle Taylor said, “You’ll be fine, Stell Ann. It’ll be broad daylight. Take Mary and Jubie with you, and let Mary get out with Leesum to buy his ticket. You and Jubie lock the car and stay in it. If you have any trouble, look for a policeman, an MP, anyone in uniform. Everybody knows me.”





I spent a lot of time getting ready for the trip to town. My yellow cotton sundress was great with my tan, and for once my hair did exactly what I wanted it to. When I looked in the mirror, I knew I was pretty. I ached to ride in back with Leesum, but that couldn’t be. I knew the rules and I hated them. On the ride across the bay and into Pensacola, I kept sneaking glances at him, catching him looking at me. He liked me as much as I liked him.

At the station, there were sailors everywhere. When Stell pulled up in front of the bus station, I got out and she shrieked, as I knew she would, “Where are you going?”

“Inside with Mary, to say a proper good-bye to Leesum.”

“You are not! I’ll tell Mama.”

Mary said, “Estelle Annette, I’ll take care of her.” When Mary used our full names, we listened.

Inside the station, Mary told us, “Y’all go over by the door to the buses. I’ll get the ticket.”

Leesum and I walked to double doors marked DEPARTURES. Next to the doors was a sign, NEGROES BOARD LAST. We stood there, the backs of our hands touching like everything was okay, looking at each other. I said, “Your name does mean heaven. Elysium or elysian fields. I looked it up.”

“Wonder where my mama heard that.”

“Maybe at church.”

He said, “You the prettiest girl I ever knowed.”

I couldn’t think what to say.

“I probably ain’t never gone see you again, but I ain’t never gone forget you.”

“Me, neither.”

“If you want, you could write me a letter sometime.”

I tried not to show how happy that made me. “Where?”

“McDowell Street Baptist Church, McDowell Street, Charlotte.”

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