“Girl, he asked you a question,” Johnny Ray said.
“Just . . . just getting medicine for my brother,” Stella replied, looking down at her shoes. Even though she could feel anger creeping up in her, she’d been taught since she was very young to say as little as possible to mean white people.
“Your mama know you spent her money on cookies for yourself?” Mr. Smitherman said, his voice taunting. “Or maybe”—he turned to Johnny Ray—“her daddy too busy votin’ and such to be teachin’ manners to his daughter.”
“The cookie was a gift,” Stella mumbled, the anger turning to fury.
“I’m thinkin’ she don’t need that there cookie,” Smitherman said to Johnson.
“I’m thinkin’ she musta stole that there cookie,” Johnson said to Smitherman.
“Maybe she went in there and voted for the cookie,” Smitherman said with a cruel laugh.
Johnny Ray, with two huge steps, was beside Stella. He snatched the cookie from her hand.
Stella could take no more. “You give that back!” she exclaimed. Even though she would never have put the cookie in her mouth now that he had touched it, she added, “You can’t just steal other people’s stuff!”
Johnny Ray stared her in the eye and stuffed broken cookie chunks into his mouth. Max Smitherman threw his head back and hooted.
Stella felt like her feet had gone frozen—she couldn’t get herself to move away, but from the corner of her eye, she saw Tony running across the square. In seconds he was by Stella’s side. “What’s going on here?” he asked, grabbing her arm, looking from Stella to the men.
“Nothing. Let’s just get out of here—now!” Stella whispered fiercely. They turned and started to walk away. Slowly.
Johnny Ray’s voice stopped them.
“Wait just a minute, y’all.”
They did not turn. Stella’s heart began to thud.
“What you got in that there paper sack, boy?” Max Smitherman asked.
“Candy, sir,” Tony replied.
“You steal it?” Max asked.
“No, sir.”
“Where you get money to buy candy? Most a y’all can’t even buy food.”
Tony repeated evenly, “I didn’t steal anything, sir.”
“I don’t believe you,” Johnny Ray said. He grabbed Tony by the shoulder and spun him around. “Look at me when I talk to you, boy. I said, I believe you stole that bag of candy.”
“I did not,” Tony insisted.
Johnny Ray Johnson gave Tony a wan smile, then without warning, swung his arm back and punched Tony directly in the stomach. Stella screamed. Tony dropped to the ground, the bag of candy falling from his hand. Milk Duds rolled across the dirt.
Stella looked around frantically for a friendly face. Mr. O’Brian must not have heard her cry out—his door remained closed. Only a few people were in the town square that morning. No one turned to look. No one stopped to help.
“Get my father,” Tony gasped. “Run!” At that, Johnny Ray kicked him in the side. Then Max’s work boots connected with Tony’s nose. Dark-red blood stained the dirt as Tony, grunting in pain, pulled his arms over his head to protect it.
Stella didn’t hesitate. Mr. Smitherman blocked the door to the general store, so she flew across the square and burst into the candy store.
“Mrs. Cooper! Help!” she cried. “My friend Tony—he’s getting beat up by grown men! Help him, please! I gotta get his father!”
Mrs. Cooper peered out the door with a gasp and shooed Stella away. “Run, child! Go get his daddy. I’ll help him. I promise. Go!” She ran toward Tony, slamming the door behind her.
Stella ran. Faster than she had ever run on the playground, or with her brother, or in a school race. Stella ran. Her arms pumped in rhythm with her stride, her feet almost touching her backside as she sped back home.
She didn’t think about whether she was running faster than Tony could or not, even his illegal runs on the track at the white school. She didn’t think about what might be happening to him. She didn’t think about whether she should have left him. She just ran. Sweat burned her eyes, but she did not slow her pace until she reached her house. Dr. Hawkins’s wagon was still parked in front. Thank the Lord!
Breathless, she burst in the door. “Tony’s hurt—in town! Beat up pretty bad,” she choked out. “He’s at the general store!”
Dr. Hawkins looked up in alarm. “Oh God, no! I’ll see if I can borrow Mrs. Odom’s car,” he said. “Thank you, Stella.” He rushed out of the house as Stella watched, torn between following him back to Tony and making sure Jojo was taken care of.
“How’s Jojo?” she finally asked, still breathing hard. She handed Mama the package she had somehow managed to keep safe. She had actually forgotten she even had it.
“He’s sleeping—feeling a little better at the moment,” Mama said. “But, oh, young Tony!”
Papa opened the front door, took one look at Stella, and asked, “What the blazes happened?”
As Stella caught her breath, she told her parents everything. “Oh, Papa!” she wailed. “How will he ever forgive me? I just left him lying there on the ground—bleeding!”
Her mother smoothed her hair and tried to still Stella’s heaving shoulders. “You made the only possible choice you could have, considering the situation. You couldn’t have done anything there, Stella. But you got him help!”
Her father added, “How were you going to fight two adult men who might have turned on you as well?” He grabbed his cap. “I’m going into town to help. Stella, you stay here and keep an eye on Jojo. Georgia, you might want to go be some comfort to Tony’s mother. I’m sure Gladys will be full up with fear when she hears this news.”
Mama and Stella looked at each other in agreement.
Before Papa left, he lifted Stella’s chin. “Remember, Stella, you did the right thing.”
Stella’s eyes filled with tears. “So then why do I feel so bad?”
38
News Story
STELLA’S STAR SENTINEL
do I call this an edton edition? I guess I can. It is my newspper nrspapper newspaper.
Headline: boy beat up in bumblebee
(I like using all those b’s. gotta get better at capitols capitals)
Written by: Stella Mills, reporter (I like that)
Anthony hawkins Hawkins was attacked yesterday in front of the general Store. Two grown men kicked him and punched him and knocked him to the ground. tony is tall for his age, but hes onlly only eleven years old.
They said he stolethe stole the candy he just bought. he told the men he had paid for it, but they beat him up anwy anyway.
What kind of man thinks its it’s fine and dandy to make a boy bleed?
tony’s father, dr. leroy hawkins, found him in the back of the general store, bandaged up by mrs. Cooper and mr Obrian O’Brian. my papa helpd thm them back to ther house . nobody else in town helpd helped.
Nothing was brokn broken except for tony isnt happy and silly all the time like he used to be.
This is my first real news story with a headline. i wonder if anybody would want to read this. i guess not. everybdy Everybody in town already knows.
39
Willow Bark and Stinkbugs
Mama never missed church, but for the first time in years, she decided she would stay home with Jojo. Despite her dosing him with the cherry pectoral every few hours, and rubbing his chest with camphor oil, he had still hacked most of the night, sometimes having trouble catching his breath.
“I’m goin’ out to the woods to fetch me some elderberries and mint to make this boy some tea—maybe a bit of willow bark too,” Mama called to Stella as she pulled on a floppy hat. “You wanna come with me? Jojo will nap for another hour or so.”
“Oh yes, Mama!” Stella replied right away. Papa had gone on to church, and she relished the alone time with her mother. She grabbed a jacket—the weather was sharp and biting.
Dusty, who usually was the first th
ing to whip out the door, simply lifted his head, then rested it once more on his paws. Since yesterday, he had left Jojo’s side only long enough to eat or run out to relieve himself.
“I’ll make some extra tea for Tony and take it to his mama,” Stella’s mother told her as they pushed their way through some brambles. “Willow is good for pain and swelling, and elderberry will halt an infection. I keep a little bit of elderberry at the ready.”
“You sendin’ healing stuff even though his father is a doctor?” Stella asked, curious.
“Can’t hurt. Might help,” her mother replied. “People been findin’ and usin’ healing herbs since forever.”
Stella grabbed her mother’s hand as they climbed over a log on the path. She kept trying to block out the memory of boots coming down on her friend’s body. Then she remembered the silly leaf bouquet Tony had offered to her and wished she hadn’t tossed it away.
“Tony’s inside wounds are the ones that will be harder to heal,” Mama was saying. “All the salve in the world can’t cure what gets broken in somebody’s soul.” She gave Stella’s hand a squeeze.
A cardinal, with a fluffing of wings, emerged from a nearby elm tree. Flying. Zalika, in that story, flew, Stella remembered. She wished Tony had had that same memory.
“You know who else was at the store yesterday, Mama?”
“Who?” Her mother stooped down to snap off a dark-green leaf. She sniffed it, nodded, and held it out to show Stella before tucking it in her apron pocket. “Arnica,” she told Stella. “Makes a good salve for wounds, but not for tea. It’ll hurt you if you eat it.”
“I saw Paulette Packard. Looked like she was in the store spending her daddy’s money.”
“Hmm,” Mama said, brushing aside some larger plants to get at a wispier-looking one. Mint.
“I’m mighty scared of her daddy,” Stella admitted.
“So are we all, child.”
Stella stooped to help find more mint. They were lucky to find it so late in the season. “You think white folks like that talk bad about colored people while they’re eatin’ supper?”
“I imagine they pay us no mind at all, Stella. I don’t think we are important enough to them to be dinner conversation.”
“Do you think Paulette saw what happened to Tony?” Stella sniffed at a leaf. Except for mint, she had no idea what she was looking for, but she wanted to show her mother she was trying.
“It doesn’t really matter, Stella. Even if she had seen it, that girl didn’t have much more power than you right then.”
“I wonder if Paulette is gonna grow up to be mean like her father,” Stella mused. “Or if people like Max Smitherman and Johnny Ray Johnson are gonna have children who hate us ’cause their daddies do.”
“You think too much,” her mother replied wryly. “And you can’t blame the child for the father’s sins.” They headed closer to Kilkenny Pond and the woods behind it.
“Oh, look, Mama,” Stella said, pointing. “Figs!” She hurried over to the fruit-laden tree, which had grown full and golden close to the pond. “Didn’t we pick figs already back in June?” Stella happily gathered a couple of soft ones that had fallen to the ground. She loved Mama’s fig preserves.
“Fig trees give twice a year,” her mother explained, showing her a full branch. “Here, twist the fruit just a little, push it up toward that stem, and there you be!” The honey-brown fruit popped easily from the low-hanging branch.
“Pie tonight?” Stella asked hopefully.
“Next week for sure,” her mother told her. She knelt close to Stella, then called out happily, “Ooh-wee! Look what I found—elderberries! These are surely the last of the season.” As her mother plucked the purple berries, Stella coaxed a half-dozen more figs from the tree and placed them carefully into Mama’s basket. Then she jumped backward, shaking her hands. “Ewww!” she cried. A half-dozen flat brown bugs—prehistoric looking—went flying. “Stinkbugs!”
“Mind you don’t squash any,” Mama warned. “You’ll be washing your hands for a fortnight!”
“I stepped on a mess of them a couple of weeks ago. They stunk like a skunk!” Stella admitted.
“So that’s what that smell was, stinkin’ up my house!” Mama said, snickering. “Maybe when you be typin’ on that machine of yours, you can write about that!”
Stella reached for a few more figs. “I, uh, typed something last night.”
“I heard you click-clickin’ down there at the table,” her mother replied as she sorted the elderberries in her basket. “How’s that goin’?”
“I had no idea how hard it would be. It takes me a real long time, and I mess up a lot. But it makes me feel mighty fine to see it all typed up. Even with all my mistakes.”
“You keep at it, honeygirl. Just keep at it.”
“Thanks, Mama.” Stella plucked one of the dark-purple berries from the basket and lobbed it into her mouth. “Have mercy!” she cried, spitting and spitting and spitting. “My mouth is going to die! They’re awful!”
Mama laughed out loud. “Elderberries make good wine, good jelly, and good medicine. But only bears eat ’em off the vine. I bet you’ll never forget that!”
Stella spat again. “For sure.”
“Let’s start heading back,” Mama said, still chuckling. “But first, I wanna grab a bit of that willow bark.” She wandered over to a tree with deep, bowing branches. “Make sure the twigs are alive. Dead bark, like these on the ground, won’t work.”
“How can you tell?” Stella asked, still sucking and smacking her tongue to get the bad taste out.
“If the twigs are bendy and the insides are green and wet, we’ve got what we need.”
“Green and bendy,” Stella mumbled, shaking her head, pulling at the branches, twisting them this way and that, peeling away at the bark. She tossed some thin shreds of bark into the basket, hoping she’d chosen correctly.
“Be mindful of snakes sleepin’ in that dead wood, Stella,” Mama warned. “Most of ’em just want to be left alone and won’t even give you the time of day. But step on one, and you’ll know real quick-like what time it is, that’s for sure!”
Stella did a quick, dancing sidestep, looking down to check her bare toes. “Oh Lordy, Mama! Let’s go home!”
“Good idea. We’ve got everything we need, plus a figgy bonus. Now we just need to boil the willow and the mint for twenty minutes or so, then let the tea sit awhile.”
“We gonna put elderberries in it?” Stella asked dubiously.
“No. Those need to dry first. I’ll be using those this winter.”
“How do you know all this?” Stella asked, poking at the gathered bits in the basket.
Mama shrugged. “My mama taught me. I’m teachin’ you. You will teach your daughter. Now, let’s go check on Jojo.”
40
Gifts
STELLA’S STAR SENTINEL
a newspaer newspaper with just one reader--me
mama says some folks have gifs gifts, like knowing which plants can heal and which ones can hurt you.
Some pepple people have the gift of writtin writing i think I must of been sleep when that gift was given out.
I wundder wonder how people who write real good know what to say.
Im not even sure why I keep writing. Maybe I should just stick to reeding reading.
I like the way books smell. I gues that is strange. The pages feel good as I tern turn them.
I wonder if there are books about elderberries or figs in the library. I would like to go to the library ands read the books inthere in there.
I would even wash my hands afirst. first.
41
Old Books and New Stories
A week later, just before Thanksgiving, Stella’s classroom buzzed: A large box of books had just been donated to Riverside from Mountain View School. Tony, his bruises nearly healed, had insisted on helping carry the box to the center of the room. It was huge, and Stella could hardly imagine how many books were in there. r />
Excited, she picked out the first book, but she grew quiet as she saw how raggedy it was—the binding frayed, even missing pages. “I guess the Mountain View children got new books,” she murmured.
Jojo, whose cough had finally faded, leaned over and picked out another book from the pile. “Oh, brother,” he said with dismay, “this one’s got scribbles all through it.”
“What should we do with it?” Carolyn asked Mrs. Grayson, who was cutting out paper feathers for a turkey art project.
She sighed. “Let’s make a pile of all the ones that can’t be used. We can at least use them for kindling.”
“Look here, though—a bunch of Hardy Boys books,” Tony exclaimed, pulling a stack out of the box. “There’s even a couple I haven’t read yet.”
“You see any Nancy Drews in there?” Stella asked, her excitement returning.
Tony dug a bit deeper. “Nope,” he said. “Most of what’s in here is”—he paused and opened the book in his hand—“outdated textbooks. Publication date on this one, 1919. Gee.” He tossed it back in the box.
Stella’s heart sank for a second time as she glanced out the window. The sky was like liquid steel. Heavy rain pelted against the tin roof of the school building. It was as if the weather was mimicking her mood.
A knock on the schoolhouse door broke up her dark thoughts—it was unusual for anyone to come in the middle of the day. Mrs. Grayson swung it open to find Mr. Stinson, the postal delivery man, standing there, water dripping from the wide-brimmed hat and dark-gray rain slicker he wore.
“Mornin’,” he said, touching his brim.
“Come in, come in, Mr. Stinson, and get dry by the stove for a minute.”
“That’s mighty kind of you,” he replied. “Too bad I can’t bring in old Clyde,” he joked, stepping in front of the potbellied stove. “He’s not lovin’ this weather one whit!”
Jojo, out of his seat once more, asked, “You like delivering the mail?”
Mr. Stinson placed a medium-size brown-paper package on the floor, peeled off his coat, and nodded. “Yep, I truly do, son. I’m probably the only person around here who knows just about everybody in Bumblebee.”