With the Might of Angels (19 page)

“You need a sign outside that says ‘Loretta’s Laundry.’” Daddy seemed to be thinking hard on his suggestion.

Mama didn’t look up from her ironing board. “Who’ll see my
shingle
?”

“Your customers,” Daddy said.

“My
customers
are all from Ivoryton. They won’t come close to this neighborhood.
I
go to
them,
remember?”

Daddy was lining up the corners on a pillowcase, preparing to fold it.

Steam rose from Mama’s iron. Her face glistened from its heat. She said, “There is not a single one of those people who will come to this neighborhood, Curtis, not even to drop off or pick up their own clothes. Expecting
them
to come to
me
is expecting cats to play peacefully with dogs. It’ll never happen.”

Daddy didn’t press the issue, but I could tell by the determined way he was folding the pillowcase that the discussion wasn’t over.

Mama didn’t let it go. She shook her head. “It’ll be a long day off before anybody from Ivoryton comes to see my
shingle
.”

March is coming in with a roar. It snowed today, then turned to rain, then got icy. This is not like Virginia. Hurry up, spring! My pogo stick’s waiting.

I’ve thought of a way to make the clapping of erasers go faster, and that’s to sing while clapping them.

But what song goes well with erasers? I need something with a sure rhythm.

When I told Mr. Williams my idea, he said, “Singing
does
make unpleasant work tolerable.” He told me to sing “This Little Light of Mine,” one of my favorite songs from church.

The clapping did go faster, but it’s very hard to shine though a cloud of chalk dust. And that white stuff still clings to my clothes and hair, and the insides of my nose.

Do teachers even talk to each other? Don’t they know they’re each assigning a bundle of homework
to the same students at the same time? I can
do
the work, but it’s getting
all
the work done on time that’s twisting me up.

Everything’s due next Friday! Everything!

Tonight I read and read and read Leo Tolstoy’s “The Three Questions” for English class. Then, for Biology, I read and read and read about something called “cell division.” History has not been the same since Mr. Dunphey left. We don’t
talk
about things in class. We read, Mrs. Harris tells us what she thinks about what we’ve read, then there’s a quiz.

So, tonight, I read and read and read about the Virginia Plan of 1787, and memorized stuff about how this plan helped develop the branches of government.

Then on a Math worksheet I wrote and wrote and wrote answers to a whole mess of questions about exponents.

When my eyes broke free from crossing, I went back to my Biology book, and read, for fun, about froggy innards.

There was an assembly at school today. Mr. Lloyd, the principal, announced the arrival of what will
be called “The Prettyman Bell.” He held up a picture of The Prettyman Bell, which is set to be delivered to our school in May.

Mr. Lloyd said the new Bell Ringer will be announced at that time.

This afternoon, as I clapped and clapped those erasers clean, I heard that bell sounding in my thoughts.

Mr. Sutter came calling again. It was morning this time. He was holding a small crate in both his arms. Daddy greeted him. I was in our side yard, working on my batter’s swing, slicing through this cold day with the weight of my bat’s wood. Daddy didn’t see me, but I had a good view of him from behind.

Mr. Sutter said, “Curtis, I’m here to offer you your job back. This boycott has been hard on all of us. To be honest, my business has taken a real dip with so many Negroes not purchasing my products. The boycott has spread from Hadley to towns all over. Not one colored customer or supplier will buy from me. If things don’t pick up, I’m at risk of having to shut down.”

Mr. Sutter held out the crate toward Daddy. He said, “I’ve brought you and your family some cheese, and our best butter — Sutter’s Premium Salted.”

I’ve never tasted Sutter’s Premium Salted. We can’t afford it.

I was glad not to be in Daddy’s shoes right then. He had a hard decision to make. He wanted a job badly. But the boycott had brought on some ugly, dangerous things. And — Sutter’s Premium Salted was as good as a crate filled with gold.

Daddy didn’t even take a moment to think about Mr. Sutter’s offer. He said, “Sir, while I’m thankful for your butter, I can’t work for you. Your advertisement in our local newspaper made your opinions about segregation very clear.”

There was silence between the two men. Finally Mr. Sutter said, “I acted in haste, Curtis. I didn’t know where this integration was going. Besides, that was in the past. Can we just move on?”

There was pleading in Mr. Sutter’s voice. He was near to begging.

Daddy said, “I’ve moved on, sir.”

The straightforward way Daddy spoke is not how Negroes talk to whites in Hadley. Daddy was polite, but he was also standing up to Mr. Sutter.

Daddy said, “Thank you for the offer, but my answer is no.” Mr. Sutter couldn’t say anything to that.

He set the crate on our porch steps. He was leaving Daddy his gift. Daddy shook his head. He lifted the crate, handed it back to Mr. Sutter. “No, thank you, sir.”

I don’t know if Mama’s requests for laundry have doubled, or if the same number of people are sending more clothes to be cleaned and pressed. But man sakes, have the piles grown! On Sundays we no longer linger after church services for doughnuts and fellowship. We come right home and get to laundering.

Today I asked Mama, “Isn’t Sunday the day the Lord made for resting?”

Mama said, “If the Lord had meant us to rest, he wouldn’t have blessed us with so many shirts and skirts that need cleaning and pressing.” Lord, I’m tired of laundry!

As sick as I am of winter weather, there was one good thing about today’s cold. After school, Gertie and me stopped at Orem’s Pasture on the way home, where we made good use of the snow.

It was Gertie’s idea.

“Dawnie,” she asked, “why are there only snow
men
, and not snow ladies?”

I hadn’t ever thought about it, but Gertie was right. The closest I’d ever seen to a snow
lady
was a snow angel, but who knew if they were boys or girls.

Before I could answer, Gertie was rolling and packing snow to make a snow lady’s body.

“Do the middle,” she encouraged, so I started gathering enough snow for the tummy of our lady.

We formed the head together, placing it on top of the body’s two parts.

“Now we make it a
her
,” Gertie said.

Gertie had a pocketful of more gumdrops and licorice. She handed me a bundle of drops. I got right to work on a face. This snow lady would be colorful — orange eyes, a grape gumdrop nose. Gertie made the snow lady’s mouth, a wide smile, made bright from red-licorice lips.

Gertie bumped her boot to mine. She said, “Dawnie, you’re good with gumdrops.”

“You got a way with licorice, Gertie,” I said.

Gertie put her arm around both my shoulders. She led me to stepping back away from our snow creation so we could see it better from a ways off.

“Our snow lady needs to be more fancy,” Gertie said.

Gertie decorated the sides of the lady’s snowball head with lemon gumdrops to form loop earrings. The gumdrop jewels caught glints of the afternoon sun.

With two fallen twigs, I positioned snow lady arms that reached up toward the cloudless sky.

“That’s a happy lady,” Gertie said.

With all those gumdrop colors, our snow lady did look good. Gertie bit off a piece of licorice she’d yanked from her pocket. She chewed slowly. She was eyeing our creation, and thinking. Gertie snapped her licorice in two, shared a piece with me. Finally she said, “Our lady needs a stole.”

At first I thought Gertie was talking about something having to do with
stealing,
until she explained that a
stole
is like a mink collar a grownup wears for going to the theater.

“Like to the movies?” I asked.

“Like to a Broadway show or the opera,” Gertie said.

For me, ladies with fur collars going to the opera was stuff that only
happened
in movies.

“Have
you
ever been to a Broadway show or the opera?” I asked.

“Once — to each.”

“Is it like going to a baseball game at a stadium?”

“Baseball at a stadium is much better,” Gertie said.

“Do ladies wear
stoles
to a stadium?” I had to know these things.

“The ones with the seats close-up do,” said Gertie.

Gertie volunteered her scarf for our snow lady’s stole. She draped it from the back of the snow lady, coming around to hang off each of her twiggy arms.

“That looks silly,” I said.

“Lady clothes can be that way,” said Gertie. “But it’ll let people know this is no snow
man
— it’s a snow
lady
who’s going places.”

Since Gertie had given up her scarf, I let our snow lady have my mittens. I figured March would make up its mind soon enough, and decide
to become spring. So I was happy to give up my mittens.

Gertie was quick to share one of her mittens with me. “You take my other one.” She fitted her left mitten onto my bare hand, kept the right mitten for herself. Then Gertie pulled open her coat pocket, still filled with candy. “Put your other hand in here to keep it warm,” she encouraged.

I slid my hand down in. The gumdrops and licorice twigs greeted my fingers.

My coat had a pocket, too. “Put
your
free hand in here,” I told Gertie.

Gertie did the same as me, slid her hand down in my coat pocket.

We said good-bye to Hadley’s first-ever snow lady. We walked the rest of the way, toward our neighborhood, with warm hands. Each wearing one mitten, the other hand safe in the pocket of a friend.

Gertie had taught me something important, too. When I do get to a stadium to watch Jackie Robinson steal bases, I will need to wear a
stole.

Tonight Daddy helped me with my homework by reading Leo Tolstoy’s “The Three Questions” out loud. It’s a fable about a king who wants to find answers to the three most important questions in life.

Before kissing me good night, Daddy asked me the study guide questions from the story.

1. What is the best time to do each thing?

2. Who are the most important people to work with?

3. What is the most important thing to do at all times?

Here’s what I told Daddy.

1. The
best
time to do each thing is when you’re sure it’s the
right
time.

2. The most important people to work with are people who need your help.

3. The most important thing to do at all times is the thing that helps those people.

Daddy said, “You, Dawnie Rae, have the right answers to ‘The Three Questions.’”

I showed Mr. Williams the story by Leo Tolstoy. I watched his face as he read it. His eyes worked smoothly across the pages, taking in each word, pausing some, thinking.

He answered the three questions this way:

I said, “You, Mr. Williams, have the right answers to ‘The Three Questions.’”

Today is the first official day of spring, but there is nothing spring-y about it. Our front lawn is crunchy from icy dew that won’t let go. And
it’s cold outside. I refuse to wear my hood, even though I still need it. Who wears a hood in March? Not me.

Daddy drove all the way to Norfolk looking for a job. He was gone for two days. He returned early this morning, honking his horn loudly as he pulled up to our house in his truck. Mama came out in her house dress. Goober and I followed in our pajamas. I was certain Daddy’d gotten a job. Why else would he be pressing his horn to make such happy sounds?

Morning was the color of a pearl. As soon as we got onto our doorstep, I saw why Daddy was honking. On each side of his truck he’d had a sign painted in curly letters:

L
ORETTA’S
L
AUNDRY
. F
ULL SERVICE.
F
REE DELIVERY.