The Red Strokes

Chapter 18 - Lilah

"...Day twenty-eight of August to be sure. I remember because it was my thirty-year birthday. It was also the very day Dr. King stood on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial an told the world about his dream. Martin Luther had been traveling the country making great strides in his movement. Unfortunately, the south had yet to feel the benefit of his efforts.

"My husband, Artis, an his oldest brother, Louis, worked for Caleb Hollingsworth, the largest cotton producer in the entire state a Mississippi. Louis operated the picker while Artis fixed it when it'd break. Although Mr. Hollingsworth paid his hired help a fair wage, he treated them just as poorly as his great-granddaddy might a treated his slaves some hundred years before. Artis would say that staying out a Mr. Hollingsworth's way was the hardest part a his job, but he was good at it.

"Ms. Hollingsworth was another story. She was right friendly with the help, talked to them like she was colorblind, but never in front a her husband. She made it real hard for Artis to stay out a her way. Louis used to tell him that he better watch himself cause Ms. Hollingsworth was looking to have herself a Negro, an her eye was on his baby brother. But Artis never paid him no mind.

"An then one day it happened."

I'm not sure if Heddie Mae pauses for effect or to catch her breath. "What happened? Your husband and his boss's wife?"

She continues as if she didn't hear my question. "Every year on my birthday, Artis would come home with a handful a roadside Yellowbells he picked hisself, an a handmade card. He couldn't spell, but it didn't matter none. Back then, I couldn't a read it anyway. But on day twenty-eight of August in nineteen an sixty-three at just about dark, Artis came home trembling like a beaten dog. My Artis was a broad-backed man an there wasn't much that scared him, but he come home afraid a his own shadow that night. For most of an hour all he could say was 'I's in trouble, Heddie. He gonna come after me.' He'd pace a straight line between two rooms, peek out the window, an then sit himself down and tell me again how someone was coming after him."

Silence falls over us. She's wearing a vacant expression, staring as if lost in a memory somewhere on the other side of the room. We wait. Then, as if she had stopped as a quick pause between sentences, she begins to speak.

"It wasn't til sometime later I learned what happened that day, but I'll never forget what happened next.

"We was sitting in the parlor. I was waiting on Artis to tell me what had him so out a sorts when something big as thunder broke open the back door. Seven a them came rushing in and knocking over everything in their way. Arnetta came in from the front porch when she heard the ruckus an one a the Klansmen backhanded her into the next room. She lay sprawled on the floor as still as dirty laundry. My mind was telling me to run, but I was too scared to move a muscle. Artis wrapped his arm around me an pulled me into a corner, but a Klansman yanked me out a his arms an threw me to the side like a wormy apple. I bounced off the couch an fell to the floor so hard the room started to spin. By the time I picked myself up, they was leading Artis out a the front door. I screamed for Artis over and over until my voice echoed in my own head, but it didn't do no good. He never did answer me. When I turned to help my girl, one of the Klansmen wrapped his arm around my shoulders from behind an covered most a my face with his hand. The way he was holding me, I thought my head would burst like an overripe melon. I clawed at his arm until I had his skin under my nails. I kicked at his legs. I tore at the sheet he wore over his clothes. I fought the holy fight an when I jerked the hood off a his head, I thought he'd beat me to my death. But he looked me in the eye an that's when I saw it. Fear. He was as scared a me as I was a him. I wasn't sure what to make a him being such a young thing an scared in his skin, but before I could figure it out, he bent down an pulled Arnetta up with his free arm. He drug us out the same door they had just broke down, out past the Magnolia tree an through the iron gate. I was sure he was kidnapping us an I wasn't gonna make it easy for him. I drug my feet hard, red clay balling up on the soles a my shoes, but it didn't slow him down none. I could hear the others whooping an hollering, getting louder with every crack a the whip. But I never heard Artis scream or beg for his life." She lowers her head and her voice. "Looking back I'm glad about that.