Chapter Twelve - Ms. Boyd's Class

Chapter Twelve

When we neared the house, the dull glow of a kerosene lamp was shining faintly from the boys' room. "Y-you s'pose they already know?" Christopher-John asked breathlessly as we ran up the lawn. "Dunno 'bout that," I said, "but they know we ain't where we s'pose to be."

We ran noisily up onto the porch and flung open the unlatched door. Mama and Big Ma, standing with Mr. Morrison near the foot of the bed, turned as we entered and Big Ma cried, "Lord, there they is!"

"Where have you been?" Mama demanded, her face strangely stricken. "What do you mean running around out there this time of night?"

Before we could answer either question, Papa appeared in the doorway, dressed, his wide leather strap in hand.

"Papa--" I began. "Where's Stacey?" "He-he down to T.J.'s. Papa--" "That boy's gotten mighty grown," Papa said, clearly angry. "I'm gonna teach all of y'all 'bout traipsing off in the middle of the night . . . and especially Stacey. He should know better. If Mr. Morrison hadn't seen this door open, I suppose you would've thought you was getting away with something--like T.J. Well, y'all gonna learn right here and now there ain't gonna be no T.J.s in this house--" "But, Papa, they h-hurt Claude!" Christopher-John cried, tears streaming down his cheeks for his injured friend. "And T.J., too," echoed Little Man, trembling. "What?" Papa asked, his eyes narrowing. "What y'all talking 'bout?" "Papa, they hurt 'em real bad and . . . and . . ." I could not finish. Papa came to me and took my face in his hands. "What is it, Cassie girl? Tell me." Everything. I poured out everything. About T.J.'s breaking into the mercantile with the Simmses, about his coming in the night fleeing the Simmses, about the coming of the men and what they had done to the Averys. About Mr. Jamison and the threat of the men to come to the house to get him and Mr. Morrison.

? As they approach the house, what sign is there that the children have been noticed missing?

? What is Papa's first reaction?

WWords For Everyday Use

strick ? en (strik?n) adj., overwhelmed by sorrow or despair traipse (tra?ps) vi., travel about, wander

CHAPTER TWELVE 175

 Why does Papa get his shotgun?

Why does Papa say he doesn't have a choice?

What does Papa say he will do?

"And Stacey's still down there?" Papa asked when I had finished.

"Yessir. But he hid in the forest. They don't know he's there."

Papa spun around suddenly. "Gotta get him out of there," he said, moving quicker than I had thought possible with his bad leg. Mama followed him into their room, and the boys and I followed her. From over the bed Papa pulled his shotgun.

"David, not with the shotgun. You can't stop them like that."

"Got no other way," he said, stuffing a box of shells into his shirt pocket.

"You fire on them and they'll hang you for sure. They'd like nothing better."

"If I don't, they'll hang T.J. This thing's been coming a long time, baby, and T.J. just happened to be the one foolish enough to trigger it. But, fool or not, I can't just sit by and let them kill the boy. And if they find Stacey--"

"I know, David, I know. But there's got to be another way. Some way they won't kill you too!"

"Seems like they might be planning to do that anyway," Papa said, turning from her. "They come here, no telling what'll happen, and I'll use every bullet I got 'fore I let them hurt anybody in this house."

Mama grabbed his arm. "Get Harlan Granger to stop it. If he says so, they'll go on home."

Papa shook his head. "Them cars had to come right past his house to get to the Averys', and if he'd intended to stop them, he'd stop them without me telling him so."

"Then," said Mama, "force him to stop it." "How?" asked Papa dryly. "Hold a gun to his head?" He left her then, going back into the boys' room. "You coming, Mr. Morrison?" Mr. Morrison nodded and followed Papa onto the porch, a rifle in his hand. Like a cat Mama sprang after them and grabbed Papa again. "David, don't . . . don't use the gun." Papa stared out as a bolt of lightning splintered the night into a dazzling brilliance. The wind was blowing softly, gently toward the east. "Perhaps . . ." he started, then was quiet. "David?" Papa touched Mama's face tenderly with the tips of his fingers and said, "I'll do what I have to do, Mary . . . and so will you." Then he turned from her, and with Mr. Morrison disappeared into the night. Mama pushed us back into her room, where Big Ma fell

176 ROLL OF THUNDER, HEAR MY CRY

upon her knees and prayed a powerful prayer. Afterward both Mama and Big Ma changed their clothes, then we sat, very quiet, as the heat crept sticky and wet through our clothing and the thunder banged menacingly overhead. Mama, her knuckles tight against her skin as she gripped the arms of her chair, looked down upon Christopher-John, Little Man, and me, our eyes wide-awake with fear. "I don't suppose it would do any good to put you to bed," she said quietly. We looked up at her. She did not mean to have an answer; we gave none, and nothing else was said as the night minutes crept past and the waiting pressed as heavily upon us as the heat.

Then Mama stiffened. She sniffed the air and got up. "What is it, child?" Big Ma asked. "You smell smoke?" Mama said, going to the front door and opening it. Little Man, Christopher-John, and I followed, peeping around her in the doorway. From deep in the field where the land sloped upward toward the Granger forest, a fire billowed, carried eastward by the wind. "Mama, the cotton!" I cried. "It's on fire!" "Oh, good Lord!" Big Ma exclaimed, hurrying to join us. "That lightning done that!" "If it reaches those trees, it'll burn everything from here to Strawberry," Mama said. She turned quickly and ran across the room to the side door. "Stay here," she ordered, opening the door and fleeing across the yard to the barn. "Mama, you'd better get some water!" she yelled over her shoulder. Big Ma hurried into the kitchen with Christopher-John, Little Man, and me at her heels. "What we gonna do, Big Ma?" I asked. Big Ma stepped onto the back porch and brought in the washtub and began filling it with water. "We gotta fight that fire and try and stop it 'fore it reach them trees. Stand back now out the way so y'all don't get wet." In a few minutes Mama returned, her arms loaded with sacks of burlap. She quickly threw the sacks into the water and ran back out again. When she returned, she carried two shovels and several more sacks. "Mama, what you gonna do with all that?" asked Little Man. "It's for fighting the fire," she replied hastily.

? What does Mama smell? What do they see when they look outside?

WWords For Everyday Use

men ? a ? cing ? ly (men?s i le?) adv., threateningly

CHAPTER TWELVE 177

 Why does Mama decide the children should stay in the house?

What does Little Man realize about the direction of the fire?

"Oh" said Little Man, grabbing for one of the shovels as I started to take the other.

"No," Mama said. "You're going to stay here." Big Ma straightened from where she was bent dunking the sacks into the water. "Mary, child, you don't think it'd be better to take them with us?" Mama studied us closely and bit her lower lip. She was silent for several moments, then she shook her head. "Can't anyone get to the house from the Grangers' without our seeing them. I'd rather they stay here than risk them near the fire." Then she charged each of us, a strange glint in her eyes. "Cassie, Christopher-John, Clayton Chester, hear me good. I don't want you near that fire. You set one foot from this house and I'm going to skin you alive . . . do you hear me now?" We nodded solemnly. "Yes ma'am, Mama." "And stay inside. That lightning's dangerous." "B-but, Mama," cried Christopher-John, "y'all going out there in that lightning!" "It can't be helped, baby," she said. "The fire's got to be stopped." Then she and Big Ma laid the shovels across the top of the tub and each took a handle of it. As they stepped out the back door, Mama looked back at us, her eyes uncertain, as if she did not want to leave us. "Y'all be sure to mind now," ordered Big Ma gruffly, and the two of them carrying the heavy tub crossed the yard toward the garden. From the garden they would cut through the south pasture and up to where the cotton blazed. We watched until they were swallowed by the blackness that lay between the house and the fire, then dashed back to the front porch where the view was clearer. There we gazed transfixed as the flames gobbled the cotton and crept dangerously near the forest edge. "Th-that fire, Cassie," said Christopher-John, "it gonna burn us up?" "No . . . it's going the other way. Toward the forest." "Then it's gonna burn up the trees," said ChristopherJohn sadly. Little Man tugged at my arm. "Papa and Stacey and Mr. Morrison, Cassie! They in them trees!" Then iron-willed Little Man began to cry. And Christopher-John too. And the three of us huddled together, all alone.

"Hey, y'all all right?" I gazed out into the night, seeing nothing but the gray smoke and the red rim of the fire in the east. "Who's that?"

178 ROLL OF THUNDER, HEAR MY CRY

"It's me," said Jeremy Simms, running up the lawn. "Jeremy, what you doing out this time of night?" I questioned, taken aback to see him. "It ain't night no more, Cassie. It's near dawn." "But what you doing here?" repeated Little Man with a sniffle. "I was sleepin' up in my tree like I always do--" "On a night like this?" I exclaimed. "Boy, you are crazy!" Jeremy looked rather shamefaced, and shrugged. "Well, anyway, I was and I smelled smoke. I knew it was comin' from thisaway and I was 'fraid it was y'all's place, so I run in and told my pa, and him and me we come on up here over an hour ago." "You mean you been out there fighting that fire?" Jeremy nodded. "My pa, and R.W. and Melvin too." "R.W. and Melvin?" Little Man, Christopher-John, and I exclaimed together. "But they was--" I poked Christopher-John into silence. "Yeah, they got there 'fore us. And there's a whole lot of men from the town out there too." He looked puzzled. "I wonder what they all was doin' out here?" "How bad is it?" I asked, ignoring his wonderings. "It get much of the cotton?" Jeremy nodded absently. "Funny thing. That fire come up from that lightning and struck one of them wooden fence posts, I reckon, and sparked that cotton. Must've burned a good quarter of it. . . . Y'all lucky it ain't headed this way." "But the trees," said Christopher-John. "It gonna get the trees, ain't it?" Jeremy looked out across the field, shielding his eyes against the brilliance of the fire. "They tryin' like everything to stop it. Your papa and Mr. Granger, they got--" "Papa? You seen Papa? He all right?" cried ChristopherJohn breathlessly. Jeremy nodded, looking down at him strangely. "Yeah, he's fine--" "And Stacey, you seen him?" inquired Little Man. Again, Jeremy nodded. "Yeah, he out there too." Little Man, Christopher-John, and I glanced at each other, relieved just a bit, and Jeremy went on, though eyeing us somewhat suspiciously. "Your papa and Mr. Granger, they got them men diggin' a deep trench 'cross that slope and they say they gonna burn that pasture grass from the trench back to the cotton--" "You think that'll stop it?" I asked. Jeremy stared blankly at the fire and shook his head.

? How had Jeremy known about the fire?

? How does Jeremy reckon the fire started?

CHAPTER TWELVE 179

 ................
................

In order to avoid copyright disputes, this page is only a partial summary.

Google Online Preview   Download