Stella by Starlight (8 page)

Spoon Man wasted no time getting to the point. “So, I hear tell y'all got some Klan worries here in Bumblebee.”

Stella's father's eyebrows arched. “I reckon that kind of news travels fast.”

Spoon Man leaned forward. “Even a one-legged rumor gets around after a while,” he said with a chuckle. “And this one was wearin' speed skates!”

“What you been hearin'?” Stella's father asked.

Stella watched out of the corner of her eye as Spoon Man chomped down on his third cookie and covered his mouth to stifle another burp. “Well, everywhere I
go, folks is hungry. Crops failin.' Cows comin' up dry. Bosses ain't payin'. The way I see it, people be lookin' for change, for something to believe in.”

Dr. Hawkins came up and poured himself some tea from the enamel pitcher Mama had placed on a fruit crate, then joined Papa and Spoon Man. “Well, we all know about the election comin' up next month,” he said. “Everybody says Franklin Delano Roosevelt is gonna be in the White House.”

“Folks sick of Hoover—that's for sure,” Spoon Man said.

“I sure would like to cast my vote,” Papa added.

Stella sat ramrod straight. What?

“Now, you know they don't want us to votin',” Spoon Man chided, tipping his chair back on two legs. “Maybe that's why they all of a sudden wearin' the bedsheets off their clotheslines again.”

“Look, I'm not lookin' for trouble. I just think I ought to be able to vote,” her father said evenly.

“What for?” Mr. Bates asked, coming up to the porch, taking his time as he climbed with his crutch. He'd contracted polio a few years back—the only person in town who had, as far as Stella knew. She scooted
to the far side of the steps to give him room and began rubbing each of her toenails clean with a little bit of spit, hoping she'd stay unnoticed.

“Won't make no difference nohow. Won't put a nickel in your pocket or a biscuit on your table,” Spoon Man argued reasonably.

“It would to me,” her father replied stubbornly. “I live in this country and I ain't no slave, and dagummit, I oughta be allowed to vote!”

Dr. Hawkins swirled his tea around and gazed into the bronze liquid. “Jonah, I've looked into this. You know they've gone and set up these poll taxes.”

“I know.”

“And a literacy test about the Constitution you gotta pass.”

Stella's father set his jaw. “I know all that.”

“Get ready for questions like, ‘How many bubbles in a bar of soap?' or ‘How many wrinkles in an elephant's trunk?' ” Spoon Man said.

Stella noticed that not one of the men even smiled. This was dead serious.

“And the KKK? They get a report of
any
colored person who tries to register to vote. You want that
hammer hangin' over your family?” Mr. Bates's face went angry. “You already got them burning crosses practically in your backyard!”

Her father looked to the distance, out across the pond. “Sometimes I just get tired of bowin' down and givin' up, you know?”

It was Dr. Hawkins who nodded in agreement. He placed a hand on Papa's broad shoulder, but then he added, “You know, Jonah, sometimes it's best to wait till times get better.”

“And when will that be?”

Stella hunkered over her toes. She knew none of them had an answer.

13

Jojo came staggering back, this time with a pile of kindling higher than his head. Stella hopped up to help him.

“Anything else you need me to do?” she asked her father once she'd piled the kindling by the logs.

“Go see if you can help your mother. Don't know what made the wife plan this all sudden-like,” he grumbled.

In the kitchen Stella hardly knew where to begin—Mama was already a whirlwind of activity. One moment she was bent over a boiling kettle, then turning meat in a sizzling pan, then hovering by the table as she baked, battered, and tossed several different foods, seemingly all at once. With flushed cheeks and
sweaty face, she at last looked up and grinned. “I'm lovin' this, you know,” she told Stella, pausing to take a sip of lemonade.

Stella admitted to her mother what she'd been thinking as she'd watched her. “How can you do that all at once? I will
never
be able to do what you do.”

“I felt the same way at your age, Stella. My mother had seven children—I don't think she had a good night's sleep in twenty years,” Mama joked, reaching over to flip a slice of spitting bacon. “I still don't know how she did it.”

Well, that wasn't a helpful answer, Stella thought. Her mother must have sensed it, for she added, “Don't worry, honeygirl. Things fall into place when they should.”

Well, that wasn't helpful either!

“Tonight I might be plum wore out, but today the sun is shining, we got company, and life is good!” her mother continued cheerfully. Then she spun around to check on the biscuits in the oven.

“Can I help?” Stella said, taking the stirring spoon from her and peeping into the pot. “What are we makin'?”

“Killed lettuce. Quick, easy, and—” Mama paused and wiped her forehead.

“And yummy,” Stella finished for her. The bacon fat was crackling, along with red onions and slabs of garden potatoes. Ohhh, it smelled so fine. As Mama tossed the lettuce in, the green leaves wilted immediately, absorbing the liquid and the flavor.

Carolyn lunged through the front door, toting a large pan. “My mama sent pinto beans,” she announced, placing it on the table. “That woulda been all we had for supper tonight, but now we get a feast!”

“Tell your mama her beans will go perfect with the killed lettuce. I hope Mrs. Odom is bringin' her famous corn pone,” Stella's mother said as she stirred another pot.

Just then two of the Spencer girls knocked on the front door. “We brought collard greens and fried green tomatoes, Mrs. Mills,” Hannah said.

Stella whispered to Carolyn, “Glad she didn't send frog legs!”

“Just set everything on the big table outside, girls, and thank you kindly,” Stella's mother sang out. “And Stella,” she added, “go find Tony and Johnsteve
and Randy, and ask them to bring over some chairs, would you?”

“Yes, Mama.” Stella ran out to find the boys, who were already sneaking samples of okra and hush puppies from the makeshift table. Without even thinking, she popped Tony's hand as he was about to swipe a fingerful of icing from a cake. He looked at her with a smirk. “My mama said get some chairs so we can eat,” Stella said, a flush coming to her cheeks. The boys swiped one more hush puppy each and trotted back toward their houses.

The makeshift table was soon overflowing with food—oatmeal cookies, cheese grits, hot biscuits and honey, a sweet potato pie, Apple Brown Betty, black-eyed peas, fried chicken, corn pudding, pulled pork, and pickled pigs' feet. Every single family brought just a little something. Pastor Patton and his wife from New Hope Church brought a pot of chicken and dumplings.

Mrs. Grayson arrived carrying a carrot cake. She nodded toward all the food, then winked at Stella.
Oh, thank you! Thank you! Thank you!
Stella knew there would be no discussion of school problems this evening.

She began carting out her mama's food, but once
the boys were back, they plunked the chairs down and organized a massive game of capture the flag. The children chased one another until everyone was panting, the perfect moment for her to zero in on Johnsteve, who had the flag in hand—a rag from Mama's sewing basket—and grab it from him.

“I am the champion!” Stella cried as she shimmied away from Helen and Henrietta, who were trying to snatch the flag from her, only to have Tony swing back around and swipe it from her at the last moment.

Then Randy let out the cry, “Time to eat, y'all!” The flag was forgotten. Pastor Patton blessed the food, and everyone's attention turned to what ended up being a real feast.

Stella waited to let others go ahead of her before getting in line, as she knew her mother would want. Folks sat anywhere they could—on the ground, on the porch, on the various chairs that the boys had dragged down the road. Spoon Man wove in and out, offering a pair of earrings to Mrs. Bates, and a new hacksaw to Mr. Spencer.

“You sure would look pretty in a new dress,” he purred to Claudia's mother, holding up a bolt of
butter-yellow linen. “Even got enough here so you can make a dress for little Claudia, too. One dollar for two yards. You can't get this at the general store.”

Mrs. Odom frowned and fretted, fingering the soft fabric, but finally pulled out four quarters from a knotted handkerchief.

After most folks had been served, Stella picked up a plate, relieved that the boys had left a few hush puppies—they were one of her favorites too. She took a little extra of her other favorite, the corn pudding. Perching on a wobbly kitchen chair, balancing the plate on her lap, she set into devouring foods seasoned by other mothers' hands—familiar, yet different from what her own mama cooked. Sweet potatoes glazed with sugar. Crisp string beans and onions. Yeast rolls soft as pillows.

All the while, Spoon Man quietly meandered through the crowd, selling a frying pan, a box of buttons, a kerosene lamp, and a fishing pole. Then, oh happiness, she saw her mother give Spoon Man ten pennies for that purple glass bracelet, which Mama then quickly tucked into her apron pocket. It was the only thing she bought.

In between, Spoon Man knocked back two heaping plates of food, plus several kinds of dessert. He finally ambled over to Stella. “So, how's school?” he asked as he sat down heavily beside her.

“Not bad, but not so good sometimes,” she said evasively, popping the last of her mother's dumplings into her mouth. “I like arithmetic.”

Spoon Man studied her. “School stuff feels kinda pale when you think about what you and Jojo saw. Am I right?”

Instead of answering, Stella concentrated on the last kernels of corn pudding. But she felt Spoon Man's continued gaze and finally admitted that she felt a little scared.

“You got a right to be. You were a witness. That's important.”

“I kinda wish I hadn't seen it,” Stella told him. “It's like a bad photograph I can't get out of my head!”

“Know what I do when something's stuck in my mind?”

“What?”

“I grab me a scrap of paper and write it down. It be out of my head then, and onto the paper.”

Stella narrowed her eyes slightly.

“Hey, you don't think old Spoon Man knows his letters and numbers? Girl, I got more learnin' than you know!”

“Oh, I wasn't thinking that. It's just that, that . . .” She shrugged in defeat. “I'm not so good at writing.”

With a hefty
“Oomph,”
Spoon Man stood up. He chucked her under the chin. “Give it a try, Stella. Trust the words. Maybe that image will fade.”

Stella shook her head doubtfully. “I'm no storyteller,” she told him as she walked away. “I can't do what you do.”

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