How High the Moon Read online

  “The first what?” he asked.

  I looked down. “Oh, nothing, sir,” I said. Henry was quickly by my side, walking fast. His hand at his side motioned me to keep on walking. I followed Henry, but the boy jumped from the tree and began to follow us.

  “Where’d you get that hat, girl?” he asked, thumping the back of my Stetson.

  I was stepping on thorns, but didn’t dare stop. “Found it,” I answered.

  “Stole it!” he barked in my ear, then thumped my hat again.

  “No, sir,” I said. I was trying to move fast, but he was moving faster, and with little effort. He walked alongside me, smiling now.

  “I said, where’d you get that hat, girl?”

  I kept walking.

  “Answer me, girl!”

  “Sir?” I didn’t know why he kept asking me that or what he wanted me to say back. I’d already told the truth. Henry was leading us to the road. We’d be there soon and then, out in the open, the boy might go on home.

  “How old are you?” he asked, flipping my braid, then thumping my hat once more.

  “Eleven, sir,” I whispered.

  Thump.

  I saw the road out in front of us and felt relief flood my body. I couldn’t wait no more. I ran. Took off for the road and down it for home. Henry was right on my heels.

  “Hey!” I heard the boy call.

  I don’t think he followed but I couldn’t be sure. I didn’t look back.

  ella

  “Let’s race!”

  Amie Stinney, all of seven years old, was big on racing us older kids. Could’ve had something to do with the fact that we always let her win. She got to thinking she was a superhero. She’d shout out the challenge and those little twig legs of hers would be off and running before she even got the words all the way out of her mouth. Still, we took off after her, laughing and shouting, but never going full speed. With her scraggly braids flying, she’d get so excited that she was about to win that she’d start giggling and shrieking uncontrollably. Most of us would have to stop before the finish, we’d be bent over laughing so hard.

  “It’s okay, Amie!” we’d say. “We’ll get you later!”

  “Whatever you say, slowpokes!”

  We always ran into Amie and other kids from school on the last stretch of road before the schoolhouse.

  Amie’s older brother, George, was fourteen, and sweet on Myrna. I thought it was kinda funny ’cause Myrna was taller than the other girls and George was shorter than the other boys. That didn’t stop them from constantly trying to sneak glances at each other and grinning. Like nobody else knew! Please!

  George was a straight-A student like Myrna, and kinda bashful, like she was. His brother Charles, and his other sister, Kathrine, went to school with us, too, but mostly it was George, and his little shadow, Amie, that we saw, on account of George’s crush on our cousin.

  Just as we were about to go into our classroom, I realized I’d forgotten my lunch.

  “Henry, you got your lunch?” I asked him, pulling open his book bag to check if maybe mine was there, too.

  “I think Myrna picked ’em both up.” He turned just as Myrna sauntered up to us with her best friends, Loretta Rollins and Peggy Woods.

  “Here.” She tossed Henry’s sack lunch at his feet, then did the same with mine. “Next time, I’ll leave it and y’all just gonna starve.” She linked her arms with the girls’ and walked on.

  “Myrna!” Henry sucked his teeth and gathered the orange that had rolled out of the bag.

  They didn’t as much as turn around. Noses high. Hips switching.

  Close on the girls’ heels were George Stinney and his buddies, Fred Turner and Ben Jackson.

  Since Myrna turned fourteen over the summer all she did was hang around with her friends. And wherever the girls went, the boys wound up there, too. Circling them like turkey vultures over a squashed squirrel.

  I rolled my eyes and headed on into class.

  Later, at recess, I was playing jackstones with Gloria when I heard Pookie Rogers talking about me.

  “Show Ella! Show Ella!” she was saying. I turned from the game to see Pookie and a couple other kids huddled over Ben Jackson’s new magazine. Ben’s big brother worked weekends at a newsstand in Charleston and always came home with the magazines that didn’t sell and had to be moved out to make way for the new ones.

  “Show me what?” I walked over to the group and, as I did, they all looked up at me. Staring at me like I was a two-headed chicken. “What?” I asked as I pushed my way through to see the magazine on Ben’s lap. It was open to a photograph of a girl about my age with peanut-colored skin like mine. Her brown hair was brushed out straight, but it didn’t quite lay down flat like white people’s hair. She wore a pearl headdress and a ruffled satin blouse. Arms folded over the side of the chair she sat on, she stared dramatically off into space.

  “She look just like you!” Pookie spat.

  “Does not!” I said, and leaned in to look again. There was another picture of the girl on the opposite page, smiling this time, with Shirley Temple curls in her hair. She was playing dominoes with a black man in a fine suit while a well-dressed white woman looked on and smiled.

  “That’s her pa, and that white lady is her mama,” Ben said. “Can you believe that?”

  “She’s a prodigy,” Fred said.

  “That like a donkey?” Pookie asked.

  “No, stupid. Means she can play the piano real good,” said Ben. The bell rang for us to get back to class. “But she’s definitely a zebra. A zebra playing a piano! Sounds like a circus sideshow!” He laughed, and as he stood, he looked at me and winked. They all followed him in. Pookie, bringing up the rear, looked at me over her shoulder and giggled.

  I turned to Gloria. “I don’t look nothing like that zebra,” I said.

  “No, Ella,” Gloria said, shaking her head. But she didn’t look me in the eye when she said it. She quickly gathered up the jackstones and went inside.

  We were on our way home from school with a bunch of other kids when we spotted a stretch of wild blackberry bushes, heavy with full, black fruit. It was pretty late in the season, so we considered it a real treat. Henry, his buddy Franklin, George, and some other boys all yanked off their hats and started loading them up. I pulled off my Stetson and did the same.

  “Spiffy hat there, Ella!” George pointed at my Stetson and gave me a thumbs-up.

  I smiled and, without meaning to, stroked the soft felt, tracing the perfect gold braid. As I turned back to the berry bush, I saw something moving on the ground. Something small. Barely anything. I popped the two berries from inside my hat into my mouth and returned the hat to my head, then knelt down, trying not to make too much commotion, and gently nudged my hand under the striped black-and-yellow caterpillar there. I eased him up onto my hand. His tiny feet were moving steadily, long body undulating. I quickly brought my other hand around to catch him if he should move too quickly for me.

  “Whatcha got there?” Franklin asked. I turned slowly, trying not to startle the fragile creature.

  “It’s a monarch caterpillar,” I said. Heads leaned in for a look.

  “Oooh!”

  “You sure?”

  “It’s pretty.”

  “It’s fat.”

  A swift hand appeared before I had a chance to register it and knocked the caterpillar from the back of my hand onto the ground, followed by a foot, crushing it.

  “Now it’s dead.” Ben laughed and walked past us to gather more berries.

  “Aw, Ben!”

  “You so mean!”

  “Gross!”

  Then they all went back to picking berries.

  I could feel my blood boiling. I hated Ben Jackson. I swear he thought the sun came up just to hear him crow. He always had to be the loudest. Always had to be the funniest. Couldn’t let nobody else shine. Not even a baby butterfly. Now I hated him even more.

  I walked past Ben to where Henry had been gathering b
erries.

  “Dang,” Henry said, mouth full of berries. “They sweet!” I saw his fingers reach for a lighter-colored berry.

  “Don’t pick the ones with red in ’em!” I slapped Henry’s fingers from the underripe berry. “Here!” I tossed a plump berry up high over his head.

  He caught it in his mouth and pointed at himself. “You see that?” He grinned.

  I laughed. “I can do it, too!” I grabbed a berry, tossed it up, and readied my gaping mouth under it. It bounced off my chin. “Darn!” I found it on the ground, dusted it off, and tried again. It bounced off my forehead.

  “Aw, c’mon, girl!” Ben crowed. “It’s easy!” He grabbed a berry, effortlessly tossed it up, and caught it in his slimy smile. He winked at me and chewed, his mouth open a little so I could see the dark juice staining his teeth. “Besides, if Henry can do it, then you can!” He turned to the other boys, laughing, pleased with himself.

  Henry, with his back to Ben, said nothing. The deep furrow of his brow told me he was going to try to ignore him.

  I reached into Henry’s hat for another berry.

  A few of the other kids were trying it now. I grabbed another, and another, until finally one landed on my tongue.

  “Yes!”

  Henry held the brim of his hat by his teeth so he could offer up applause. He let out a muffled “Woohoo!”

  Ben shrugged and snorted. “Good job there, zebra,” he said under his breath.

  I didn’t say anything, but my neck and cheeks felt like they were on fire.

  “Shut up, Ben!” Henry said.

  Ben quickly wheeled around and walked straight to Henry. Stood over him. “What you gonna do, pip-squeak?” Ben, a full head taller than Henry, was close enough he could’ve kissed him. “Huh?” Henry looked down and backed up a step.

  George grabbed Ben’s arm and pushed him away from Henry. “What’s wrong with you?” he asked him. Over his shoulder George said to Henry, “It’s all right, little man. Don’t mind him.”

  Everybody went back to picking berries. Loading berries in their hats. Tossing ’em in the air and catching them. All but me and Henry. I could hear Ben laughing. Henry stared into his empty hat, nostrils flaring.

  “I think most of them berries is red, anyhow,” I said. “We done ate all the good ones.” But Henry was already walking back toward our house.

  Bear hobbled down the driveway to meet us when we got home. Tongue hanging, tail end wagging away.

  “Hey, boy!” We dug into his thick fur and scratched him good.

  Poppy named him Bear ’cause even as a puppy he looked like a big ol’ teddy bear. Something to be loved. Poppy had found him under a house he was doing work on, a couple years before Myrna was even born. His mama had wandered off, probably looking for food, and all the puppies but Bear had died while she was away. Poppy brought him home to Granny and she scrubbed him within an inch of his fragile life. They nursed him back to health and loved him up. There’d never been a happier dog.

  Granny and Poppy were both out back tending their gardens. Poppy had corn, white and sweet potatoes, cowpeas, watermelon, and more. Most weekends, he’d go into town, sometimes all the way into Charleston, and trade with the merchants there.

  Most of our food came from Granny’s garden. Collards, mustard and turnip greens, beets, sweet peas, green beans, squash. She had strawberries, blueberries, and blackberries. And on our property, we had a cherry tree, an apple tree, and two pear trees.

  Once around back, I spotted Poppy right away, loading up his wheelbarrow with sweet potatoes. It took me a minute to find Granny. She was standing over the well, lowering a bucket down into the big hole in the ground. I never could get used to the sight of her frail frame standing over that hole. I was absolutely petrified that one day she’d fall in.

  “Go help Granny!” I shoved Henry in the direction of the well.

  “Oh, Ella, she’s fine,” he said, but he walked over to her anyway and waved. “Can I help?”

  “You can give me some sugar. That’ll sure help!” She pulled him to her with one arm and held the other open for me to fill.

  henry

  It’s hard to draw hands. That’s why I decided to do a traditional from-the-shoulders-up portrait. No struggling with the thumbs and knuckles. To make it realistic, I had to examine myself in Granny’s hand mirror.

  My skin is as smooth as one of Ella’s doll’s. There ain’t no teeny holes on my nose like Poppy’s. Or creases. Granny and Poppy both have deep creases running through their faces like an interstate map. All different directions, some deep, some not so. Looks like there’s no rhyme or reason to them until Granny smiles. Then I see the lines helping to shape the happiness on her face. I see why they’re there and I see that I have them when I smile, too, only mine disappear after I’m done. Granny’s been happy for so long that she’s trained her face to keep them happy lines.

  I’d just started drawing my left eye when Myrna came calling, telling me it was time to head out to the creek. I’d been up early, before everyone, so I could sweep the barn, pump water for the animals and the house, and bring in the last of the wood Poppy chopped the night before. I wanted to be sure to have time to get some of my drawing in.

  We’d been talking about going fishing all week. Myrna had stopped going to the creek with us so much, so this was a sort of treat. The weatherman on the radio said it’d be nice, a good day for fishing. Clear and warm, but not hot, and there would be loads of largemouth bass in the river. I was still excited from my last catch. It ain’t every day that I get a fish.

  Poppy taught me how to fish when I was five. We’d go out early morning, just the two of us. I loved listening to the stories he’d tell as we walked past Creek’s Clearing, all the way down to the river it flowed into. I loved the quiet of our walk. The breeze sweeping through the trees causing that soft rustle, like faraway applause. The air always felt so clean and wet. The sun would be just coming up and everything was still and new.

  Granny and Poppy didn’t like us kids hanging around the river. Thought it was too dangerous, so we fished in the creek. But when I was with Poppy, we’d head a little further down and throw our lines off the bank of that wide, powerful river.

  He taught me which rocks were the best to turn over in search of worms, and how to hook them so the fish would swallow the entire hook instead of just nibbling the bait right off. His cast was effortless. It took me a long time to get that right, but after lots of practice, working real hard at it, I finally did. Now I can find bait better than anybody. I can load a hook real good, and I can cast almost as good as Poppy. I don’t have a lot of luck catching fish, though. Everyone says there’s a little bit of luck in it. Even Myrna, who don’t care a thing about catching a fish, usually does better than me.

  Sometimes, though, I wondered if it wasn’t me, or my luck, but my bait. Maybe if I had something special, a beautiful shiny lure, things would go different for me.

  “Y’all are taking too long!” Myrna called from the hall.

  “I’m coming!” I heard Ella yell back.

  “Stop shouting through the whole house.” Granny was coming from the kitchen as I stepped out into the hall. She handed Myrna a paper sack. “There are bologna on biscuits and three pears.” I could smell the freshly baked buttermilk biscuits. “And sweet tea.” She nodded at the metal canteen she held out for me. I took it and kissed the soft paper-thin skin of her cheek. “And pick me up some rice from Parker’s on your way home.”

  Parker’s was Alcolu’s general store about a mile and a half from our house in the center of town. Just about anything we couldn’t get from our land or our animals, we got from Parker’s. Baking flour, laundry soap, door latches… ice cream. Often Poppy would stop in at Parker’s first, before he went to Charleston, with all his produce to sell. He’d check with Mr. Parker to see if he wanted to buy some fat turnips or a bunch of Poppy’s juicy watermelons. Sometimes Poppy traded for a shovel he needed or a new hammer. We’d kno
wn the Parkers our whole life, and even though they was white, they always treated us real kindly.

  Myrna insisted we stop at Parker’s to get the rice on our way to the creek instead of on our way home ’cause she wanted to meet up with Loretta and Peggy later. We protested, but as usual, she ignored Ella and me and just walked straight for the store.

  As we approached the shop, a large white woman I’d never seen before came hurrying up the front steps. Her makeup was heavy and unnatural. Even though she was a grown lady, she only came up to my height, and she was almost as wide as she was tall. Ella was already half in the front door when the lady pushed her way inside. Their bellies touched as she passed, and she sucked her teeth and let out an annoyed sigh. A word, quiet and tight, escaped her lips. I couldn’t quite make it out, but I was pretty sure what she’d said, from the disgusted look she threw our way.

  Ella turned to me and crossed her eyes. I looked away fast so I wouldn’t start laughing out loud.

  As the woman waddled toward Mr. Parker at the back of the store, I heard her say, “Why you gotta have those nasty kids up in here all the time?”

  Myrna sighed and motioned for us to join her inside.

  “Don’t you mind her,” she said, her voice low.

  “I don’t care what that ugly pink lady says,” Ella grumbled.

  In a flash, Myrna had her by the ear, and though it was a whisper, it was sharp and deadly. “Don’t. You. Start.”

  Ella pulled herself free. “Cut it out!” she whispered back.

  Mr. Parker and the woman were too busy finishing up their sale to notice us fussing at the front of the store.

  Once the woman finally left, we headed for the counter at the rear of the store. Mrs. Parker and little Millie Parker had just come in through the back and were pushing a fresh tub of ice cream over to Mr. Parker.

  Ice cream at Parker’s was always our favorite thing of all, and since we hadn’t had breakfast yet, it was near impossible to ignore the new batch of peach ice cream Mr. Parker was loading into one of the big tubs. It looked like pale orange butter. Myrna and Ella ran to the ice cream counter and watched as he scraped the edges of the giant barrel with a long wooden spoon.