By late afternoon, it was clear that something was wrong. Groups of people passed, chattering excitedly, and from somewhere in the distance whistles shrieked. But only after Dolly’s mother, Etta, came to fetch them did they learn what had happened.
Etta Slater had short legs and no visible neck, as if at birth someone had compressed her like the squeeze box of an accordion. She didn’t greet them with her usual smile, but she was obviously relieved when she spotted them. “We’re going home. Right now.”
“Why, Mama?” Dolly whined. It was too hot to move, and certainly too hot to hurry. Nicolette would have whined, too, if Etta had been her mother.
“Don’t talk back. Just come. You, too, Nicolette. Right now.”
The girls got to their feet, but they were still moving slowly. Etta grabbed Dolly and shook her. “I said come on! Don’t think I don’t mean it!”
Both girls moved faster. Etta took each of them by one arm and dragged them across the park. She looked both ways as she went, and when she spotted a group of white men approaching, she pulled them behind a clump of trees. “Be quiet,” she mouthed.
By now both girls knew something was terribly wrong. They waited in silence as the men passed. Then they stumbled along with Etta, stopping once more to make themselves inconspicuous behind shrubbery as another group of men went by.
Nicolette heard snatches of the men’s conversation, but none of it made sense until they were safely inside Dolly’s house and Etta had closed and locked the windows—despite the heat.
“Boy was killed up at the lake a while ago, a colored boy,” Etta said as she worked. “Some white boys threw stones at him ’cause he drifted into their part of the water. Like water would know or care who was in it! Some people say a stone hit him, others say he fell off his raft and drowned ’cause he was afraid to go in to shore. I don’t know, but I do know there’s gonna be trouble. Already is, if I’m hearing right.”
“Are the white boys in jail?” Nicolette believed she was in the Promised Land, or a rough equivalent. Surely here murdering Negroes was a crime, even if it wasn’t a crime in the South.
Etta made a sound like the wind dying. “You think they’re gonna arrest a white boy for killing a colored one? They arrested a colored man for telling them they was doing wrong!”
Nicolette wished her father were there. The way Etta had dragged them home frightened her.
“It’s hot in here, Mama,” Dolly said. “Why do we have to close all the windows?”
“Listen up, and listen good. Whenever there’s trouble like this, we get blamed.” She punctuated her words with the slam of another window. “Don’t matter whose fault it is. We get blamed. We got to stay out of the way of white people till they get tired of blaming us. I know what I’m talking about. This is gonna be the worst place for trouble right here, ’cause there ain’t a lot of us around. If there were, whites’d be scared. But like it is, there’s more whites than colored, so they know they can do what they want and nobody going to be around to stop them.”
“Why would they want to hurt us?”
“’Cause we’re colored. Only reason they need.”
“I’m not very colored,” Nicolette said. She held out her hand beside Dolly’s. Dolly was many shades darker.
“You think that’s gonna matter? You any colored at all, that’s good enough,” Etta said. But the sting had gone from her voice. She almost sounded as if she wanted to cry.
“Will they hurt Daddy?” Dolly asked. Her father was across town for the day, visiting his mother.
“Your daddy’s smart. He’ll stay out of the way till he can get home.”
“I hope my papa’s smart,” Nicolette said.
“I hope so, too,” Etta said. “I hope he don’t think ’cause he’s living in Chicago he’s invisible.”
Nicolette hoped not, too. But as the day wore on, then the evening, and Rafe didn’t return, she worried more and more.
She stayed with the Slaters that night, although no arrangements had been made. The Slaters had no telephone, so Rafe couldn’t have called, even if he was able. They heard gunshots sometime after dark, gunshots so close that she and Dolly hid under an upstairs bed and Nicky taught Dolly to say the Hail Mary until they both fell asleep from exhaustion.
Just before dawn, Mr. Slater came home. Etta left the lights off as he told them what he’d seen. Men, Negro men mostly, had been beaten on the streets. He’d heard that several had been killed right in this neighborhood.
Nicolette was forbidden to wait by the window for Rafe. The shades were all drawn, anyway. All she could do was pray he would come and get her.
She worried about Clarence, too. She wondered where he had been when the riot broke out. He loved the lakeshore because it reminded him of the West End in New Orleans. What if he had been there when the boy was killed? The boy
had a name now. Mr. Slater said he was called Eugene Williams and that he hadn’t known how to swim very well. That made it worse somehow.
By the time the sun came up, the streets were quiet. Peeking out a window, Etta reported that people were on their way to work. Over his wife’s protests, Mr. Slater got ready for his job at the stockyards. From the second story, Nicolette and his wife and daughter watched as he ventured outside, but the streets remained quiet. No one said a word to him as he walked toward the park and the streetcar stop on the other side.
Half an hour later, Rafe arrived. Nicolette threw herself into his arms and sobbed with relief. He made no pretense of trying to reassure her. He thanked Etta and explained that he and some others had spent the night trying to organize a constructive solution to the violence. By the time it became apparent nothing could be done except take cover, it had been too late and too dangerous for him to travel home.
Nicolette clung to him. He was haggard and preoccupied, but undeniably alive. It had never been clearer to her that her father and Clarence were all she had in the world.
On the way home, he held her hand tightly. Only when they were inside did he explain what he intended to do. He sat her down in a soft armchair and squatted in front of her so that they were eye to eye. His eyes were like the coals that burned through the night on their fireplace hearth. He hadn’t slept, and he hadn’t eaten, but his eyes still glowed with outrage.
“There’s bound to be more trouble, Nicolette.”
“But Mr. Slater went to work.”
“Because he was afraid he’d lose his job. But there’ll be trouble tonight, if not before. This area was the worst in town
last night. I’m just glad you were with Etta. She’s got a level head. When I couldn’t get home, I knew you’d be safe with her.”
“But you’ll be home tonight, won’t you?”
He shook his head. “We’re trying to pressure the mayor to call in the militia. The more businessmen who pressure him, the better our chances. I have to do what I can.”
In front of her was a man with her father’s face, but his thoughts were somewhere else. “Can’t you just stay here? I’ll be afraid by myself.” Her lip trembled.
“You won’t be by yourself.” He twisted one of her curls around his finger. “I’m taking you to Clarence’s apartment. I don’t think any white man is so stupid that he’ll penetrate that far inside the Black Belt. If there’s trouble, it’ll be in places where the whites aren’t afraid to go.”
“We could stay inside and lock the doors and windows, just like Etta did last night.”
“I can’t, Nicolette.” He smiled, but he’d never looked sadder. “I have to do what I can. I’ve spent most of my life running from what I am. But what I am is a man, and a man doesn’t run. He stands, and he fights.”
“But I don’t want you to fight!” She threw herself into his arms.
“I’m fighting for you,” he said, wrapping his arms around her so that he could stroke her back. He had comforting hands, strong and broad, with long fingers, like her own. “You’re all I’ve got. How can I stay home when I’ve got a chance to make your life better? Clarence will take good care of you, and maybe when I come back the riot will be over.”
“But it’s all over now!”
“If you’re right, then there won’t be anything to worry about, will there?”
She clung to him anyway, and she clung to him again later that afternoon, when he dropped her off at Clarence’s apartment. The streets were strangely quiet there, just as they had been at home. Usually there were gangs of children darting between buildings and fighting imaginary wars in the vacant lots. Now the streets were nearly empty.
Nicolette continued to cling to her father even after Rafe straightened. She only moved away when Clarence put his arms around her neck. “Your papa’ll be back, Nickel girl. Let him go now so you and me can make some music.”
She found a smile, one forlorn farewell smile. Rafe kissed her; then he was gone.
The afternoon wore on into evening. Even her beloved Clarence couldn’t make her forget her father’s absence. She couldn’t concentrate on the words to the new songs Clarence tried to teach her, and she barely touched the red beans and rice that he’d simmered all day especially for her.
In the evening, she heard the first gunshots. An automobile sped through the street outside the front window. She heard the squealing of tires, the gunning of an engine, then the staccato pop of bullets. She’d fallen to the floor and covered her head before Clarence could reach her. The automobile roared past, and the street was silent for a few minutes. Then doors slammed and angry shouts began.
“Young fools!” Clarence helped her up, then peeked between the curtains. “What call they got coming here and shooting at us?”
“My papa said no white man would come this far, that they’d be afraid!”
“Your papa’s got sense. Them fools ain’t got nothing inside them ’cept hate.” He guided her away from the window.
“Now there’ll be trouble, all right. They think colored people ain’t got the sense to defend themselves, but they’s wrong. Men on this street killed a hundred Huns between ’em. Lots of ’em armed and itchin’ to pull the trigger in a white man’s face. We gotta get into a back room and stay there. Wish I had that apartment upstairs.”
She let him guide her to a back bedroom. “What if Papa comes? Who’ll let him in?”
“He won’t come now, not till it’s safe. I told you, your papa’s got sense.”
“But what if he doesn’t know what’s happening?”
“Nickel girl, he told me to take care of you, and that’s just what I’m doin’.”
She couldn’t argue with Clarence. There was a comfortable bed in the room he deemed safest, and despite her fears she fell asleep quickly.
It was still dark when she awoke. She had heard noises through the night, the distant whine of bullets, and men shouting. But she had drifted back into sleep each time when the noises faded away. This time the streets were quiet, but despite the calm, she sat up and gazed around the room. She was alone.
She got up and went to look for Clarence. He was standing in the front room with a dearly familiar figure. She ran into her father’s arms and started to cry.
“Hush, Nicolette.” He held her close. “I’m fine. We’re all fine.”
“I want to go home.” She tried to bury her head against his chest. “Or I want you to stay here!”
“I’m not going to leave you. We’ll wait a few minutes, and if it’s still calm, we’ll go.”
“You’re taking her back home?” Clarence asked.
“No. I was just there, and it’s not safe, either. A streetcar strike started at midnight, and tomorrow there’s going to be hell to pay when Negroes start walking to work through white neighborhoods. But the mayor still won’t call for the militia. I’ve done what little I can. I’ve got Nicolette to think about now. We’re leaving town.”
“Until this is over?”
“No, for good.”
Nicolette pulled at his sleeve. “But I don’t want to go for good. I want to stay here in Chicago, with Clarence.”
“Nicolette, you have to trust me.”
“But what about Dolly? What about Clarence?”
“I’m going to take you somewhere we can finally be happy.” He squatted so that they were eye to eye. “You have to trust me to do what’s best for you,” he murmured in French, the language they had sometimes spoken at home in New Orleans but never in Chicago. Speaking the words in French strengthened them somehow, and she knew they were final. He touched her hair before he stood and whispered,
“Je t’aime.”
On his feet again, he turned to Clarence. “You could come with us,” he said in English. “At least until things are safe here.”
“Nah. I guess I’ll just stay and watch a while longer. Never saw colored men fighting back before. Never thought I’d live to see the day when we could. If I die watchin’?” Clarence grinned. “It’ll be a fine day to die.”
“Suit yourself. Just watch from inside.” Rafe extended his hand. “You’re a good friend. I’ll write and let you know where we are once we get settled.”
Clarence shook his hand. “Nickel girl’s the grandbaby I never had. I’d do anything for her.” Clarence ruffled her hair.
“Now don’t go getting your papa’s shirt all wet. You two get out of here while it’s still quiet.”
“I’ll go out first to be sure. Nicolette, stay here and wait until I motion you to come.”
She didn’t want her father to leave her behind, but she had no choice. She stood with Clarence’s hands on her shoulders and watched as Rafe opened the door and slid into the darkness. She watched through the crack as he descended the steps. The night was still quiet when he got to the gate and eased it open. She could hardly see him as he surveyed the street. Their new Ford was parked half a block down from Clarence’s apartment, under the drooping limbs of a giant elm. Rafe started toward it, stopped, then turned and motioned for her to join him.
“’Bye.” She kissed Clarence’s cheek. “You be careful.”
She followed her father’s path as quietly as she could. Halfway to the gate, she heard a noise and stopped to listen. It was the quiet hum of a motor. She looked to her father for guidance, but he motioned her on. At the gate, she stumbled in the darkness, but caught herself before she fell. When she straightened, she saw a shape moving slowly down the street. It took her precious seconds to realize that it was an automobile with its headlights off. It took her more seconds to realize that her father was waving her back toward the house.