Read Online Let the Circle Be Unbroken by Mildred D. Taylor - Free Book Online
Authors: Mildred D. Taylor
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tenant on the Granger plantation.
The first man turned angrily. “I’ll doggone start if I wanna. Got a right to say many times as I feels like it what that Farnsworth done. Here I done planted them ten acres in cotton a year ago this past spring and him and Mr. Granger come along and says I gotta plow three of ’em up! Lordy! All that seed and fertilizer and sweat gone to waste and what I got to show for it? Huh? John Farnsworth tells me the government gonna pay Mr. Granger and Mr. Granger gonna pay me, but more’n a year done gone by and I ain’t seen a cent. Not a blasted cent!”
“And you think the rest of us have?” demanded Mr. Sutton. “You talkin’ like you the only one it happened to.”
The first man looked away.
A third man cleared his throat and spoke. “Hear tell there’s some folks talkin’ union.”
“Union?” said Mr. Sutton. The first man turned back.
“That’s right. Say that maybe that’s the only way we get our money.”
“You mean that union business with niggers?” said the first man.
“Mos’ likely.”
“Well, far’s I’m concerned, hell’s gonna hafta freeze over ’fore I go joinin’ anything with a stinkin’ nigger.”
“Same here,” hastily agreed the man who had brought up the union talk. “Things may be bad, but ain’t nothin’ that bad. . . . Lordy! Nothin’!”
The clusters of people began to break up and drift back into the court building. As they did, a thin boy with corn-blond hair wove his way toward us. He was Jeremy Simms, the younger brother of R.W. and Melvin Simms.
“Hey, Stacey. Moe. All y’all,” he said.
Stacey and Moe stood to greet him.
“Hey, Jeremy,” we replied.
“When’d y’all get here? Didn’t see ya inside.”
“Few minutes ago,” Stacey answered without going into why we had not come earlier. “What’s happening in there?”
“They picked the twelve men for the jury, that’s all.”
“Yeah, we know. It take all mornin’ jus’ for that?”
Jeremy shrugged. “Folks say it shouldn’t’ve, but Mr. Jamison, he was asking a lotta questions of every man up for jury duty—”
“Like what?”
Jeremy looked uneasy. “Like . . . like did they respect the law and would they ever take the law in their own hands? . . .”
His voice trailed off, but we knew what Mr. Jamison had been trying to do. Everyone, black and white, knew of the attempted lynching. “No wonder it took so long,” I muttered. “I’m right surprised they even got their twelve.”
Stacey glanced at me with harsh disapproval, warning me not to be so open about how I felt in front of Jeremy. The look was justified. It was just so hard to remember that I could not say in Jeremy’s presence what I could when Moe or Little Willie or Clarence were around, for Jeremy was a friend despite being a Simms. More than once he had proven that friendship and we all knew it. But he was still white, and that was what separated us and we all knew that too. Resigning myself to say nothing else, I got up and walked back over to the courthouse. Christopher-John and Little Man went with me.
“He there?” Christopher-John asked as I climbed to the cement ledge and peered in. The benches were quickly filling, but the area in front was still empty.
“Nope.”
“I gotta go,” Little Man said. “Where’s the outhouse?”
I surveyed the area. “Maybe it’s ’round back.” I jumped down and we went to see. There was nothing.
“I
gotta
go!”
“Well, go on over there in them bushes then,” I suggested. “Won’t nobody see.”
Little Man was outraged. “I ain’t neither! There’s folks all ’round here!”
I shrugged, ready to dismiss the problem and let Little Man work it out for himself, when I remembered what Uncle Hammer had said about some people in town having plumbing. “Maybe it’s inside,” I told him.
Little Man looked doubtful. “Inside? What’d it be doin’ inside?”
“Come on, we’ll see,” I said. We
The first man turned angrily. “I’ll doggone start if I wanna. Got a right to say many times as I feels like it what that Farnsworth done. Here I done planted them ten acres in cotton a year ago this past spring and him and Mr. Granger come along and says I gotta plow three of ’em up! Lordy! All that seed and fertilizer and sweat gone to waste and what I got to show for it? Huh? John Farnsworth tells me the government gonna pay Mr. Granger and Mr. Granger gonna pay me, but more’n a year done gone by and I ain’t seen a cent. Not a blasted cent!”
“And you think the rest of us have?” demanded Mr. Sutton. “You talkin’ like you the only one it happened to.”
The first man looked away.
A third man cleared his throat and spoke. “Hear tell there’s some folks talkin’ union.”
“Union?” said Mr. Sutton. The first man turned back.
“That’s right. Say that maybe that’s the only way we get our money.”
“You mean that union business with niggers?” said the first man.
“Mos’ likely.”
“Well, far’s I’m concerned, hell’s gonna hafta freeze over ’fore I go joinin’ anything with a stinkin’ nigger.”
“Same here,” hastily agreed the man who had brought up the union talk. “Things may be bad, but ain’t nothin’ that bad. . . . Lordy! Nothin’!”
The clusters of people began to break up and drift back into the court building. As they did, a thin boy with corn-blond hair wove his way toward us. He was Jeremy Simms, the younger brother of R.W. and Melvin Simms.
“Hey, Stacey. Moe. All y’all,” he said.
Stacey and Moe stood to greet him.
“Hey, Jeremy,” we replied.
“When’d y’all get here? Didn’t see ya inside.”
“Few minutes ago,” Stacey answered without going into why we had not come earlier. “What’s happening in there?”
“They picked the twelve men for the jury, that’s all.”
“Yeah, we know. It take all mornin’ jus’ for that?”
Jeremy shrugged. “Folks say it shouldn’t’ve, but Mr. Jamison, he was asking a lotta questions of every man up for jury duty—”
“Like what?”
Jeremy looked uneasy. “Like . . . like did they respect the law and would they ever take the law in their own hands? . . .”
His voice trailed off, but we knew what Mr. Jamison had been trying to do. Everyone, black and white, knew of the attempted lynching. “No wonder it took so long,” I muttered. “I’m right surprised they even got their twelve.”
Stacey glanced at me with harsh disapproval, warning me not to be so open about how I felt in front of Jeremy. The look was justified. It was just so hard to remember that I could not say in Jeremy’s presence what I could when Moe or Little Willie or Clarence were around, for Jeremy was a friend despite being a Simms. More than once he had proven that friendship and we all knew it. But he was still white, and that was what separated us and we all knew that too. Resigning myself to say nothing else, I got up and walked back over to the courthouse. Christopher-John and Little Man went with me.
“He there?” Christopher-John asked as I climbed to the cement ledge and peered in. The benches were quickly filling, but the area in front was still empty.
“Nope.”
“I gotta go,” Little Man said. “Where’s the outhouse?”
I surveyed the area. “Maybe it’s ’round back.” I jumped down and we went to see. There was nothing.
“I
gotta
go!”
“Well, go on over there in them bushes then,” I suggested. “Won’t nobody see.”
Little Man was outraged. “I ain’t neither! There’s folks all ’round here!”
I shrugged, ready to dismiss the problem and let Little Man work it out for himself, when I remembered what Uncle Hammer had said about some people in town having plumbing. “Maybe it’s inside,” I told him.
Little Man looked doubtful. “Inside? What’d it be doin’ inside?”
“Come on, we’ll see,” I said. We
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