Chapter 6
Chapter
Tamar dreamt about her wedding again, but this time everything was different.
Instead of a beautiful, sunny day, it was tornado dark, and lightning crawled snakelike across a stormy, turbulent sky.
The spring flowers on the bower were dead, and the owl from her shed sat perched atop it.
Beneath the bower, there was no Joel, Thad, or Agnes awaiting her approach.
Instead, Jimmy Redding stood beneath it, and with him was his father James Sr., mercilessly plying a whip across Jimmy’s bare back.
Each strike tore stripes of flesh and a raw scream from Jimmy’s throat.
Powerful winds blew against his father’s hooded white robe and the matching attire of the assembled jeering crowd.
Jimmy’s wife Muriel and their three daughters were dressed in black and on their knees crying out their heartache and despair.
With each crack of the whip, thunder boomed and the ground shook.
Jimmy turned her way; anguish filled his green eyes.
As his father brought down the whip again, Jimmy howled her name, and Tamar bolted awake.
When she woke up again, it was nine a.m., and the rain was still falling.
Seated at her kitchen table, eating breakfast, and sipping a cup of coffee, she thought back to the dream.
She assumed the nightmarish events had been triggered by Jimmy’s description of the terrible whipping he’d received from his father.
She still had trouble wrapping her mind around his confessed feelings for her.
I would’ve taken on the world for you that day.
Would her parents have allowed such a relationship?
Probably not. His certainly wouldn’t have.
Had she loved Jimmy, too, would their commitment to each other have been strong enough to withstand the backlash inherent in a small, segregated town on the plains of Kansas?
Or would they have been forced to move somewhere more tolerant?
She couldn’t see herself living in a big city like Los Angeles or Chicago.
Once again, she had no answers to the myriad questions his confession gave rise to.
Her phone buzzed, interrupting her musings.
Picking it up, she read a text from Amari: Would you like to make pizza with us today at Uncle TC’s?
At first, the question caught her so off guard she had no idea how to respond.
It tickled her, though, because she’d never been invited to Pizza Saturday at Terence and Genevieve’s place.
She didn’t know the story behind the tradition’s beginning, only that Terence initiated it a few years ago when he first came to town and was living with his nephew Gary Clark and great-nieces Leah and Tiffany before Gary and Nori married.
Tamar thought hanging out with the kids might be a good way to spend a rainy day and help her shake off the lingering remnants of her nightmare.
She texted back: Thanks for the invite. I’d love to.
She confirmed the time, and when she set the phone down, the gloom began to lift from her psyche and the day.
“I WISH THE sun was out,” a glum Devon said to his mom. She was driving him to the rec for the auditions. It was cold, windy, and pouring rain.
“Better weather would be nice.”
“Nobody’s going to come.”
“You never know. You may get a ton of people. Think positive.”
He knew she was trying to cheer him up, but if he had to choose between going out in weather like this or staying home where it was nice and warm, he’d choose home.
The ride to the rec was a short one, so they were pulling into the parking lot before he could become more depressed by the ugly, dreary day.
Inside, the building was warm and the lights were on.
He didn’t see Tamar but assumed she was in the building somewhere.
He and his mom walked down the hallway that led to the music room.
They passed a room where Ms. Gen was conducting a literacy class for people learning to read, and in another, Ms. Gemma and Ms. Anna sat with four ladies sewing quilts.
He saw OG and his friends holding some kind of ceremony in the auditorium where the community had Movie Night.
There were flags at the front of the room, and all the men were wearing their blue Buffalo Soldiers uniforms.
The lights were off in the music room, so his mom turned them on, and he looked around.
When Zoey first formed the band, they often used the space to practice.
There was a big piano, a small stage with a drum kit in the center, and floor speakers on each end.
After Zoey’s mom built her recording studio, the band moved their practices there.
Devon thought back on the fun they’d had, how excited everyone had been while rehearsing for their first real gig—a birthday party at a kid’s house in Franklin—and how he was no longer a part of it.
“Are you okay?” his mom asked softly.
He nodded, took off his parka, and carefully removed the bonnet he’d worn to keep his wig dry. He looked up at the big clock on the wall. It was nine thirty. Auditions were scheduled to begin at ten and end at noon. He just hoped somebody would come.
At eleven a.m., he and his mom were still alone. Devon tried to hide his disappointment, but it was hard.
His mom said consolingly, “With the weather being the way it is, people are probably running a little behind.”
He desperately wanted to believe that, because he dreaded the thought of confessing to his friends that no one came.
“Is this where the auditions are?”
Excited, he turned and saw a woman and a girl about his age entering the room.
His mom answered. “Yes. Come on in.”
As they approached, Devon thought the girl looked familiar, then realized she was the one who’d come in first place at the library’s talent contest, even though she’d sung the Taylor Swift song off-key. He wasn’t sure he wanted her in the band.
The woman introduced them. “I’m Meredith Shaw, and this is my daughter Brenna.”
Devon walked over to join them. “Hi, I’m Devon. I’m the person starting the band.” The mom was medium height and stout. The thin daughter had a ton of makeup on her face. Both had wet blond hair.
Brenna looked him up and down. “I remember you from the talent show. Do you wear that wig all the time?”
Chin raised, he answered, “Yes.”
“Where’s the other people that were in the band with you?”
“I’m not part of it anymore. This is a new one.”
The mother asked, “Is Roni Garland going to be here?”
He wondered why she’d brought up Zoey’s mom. “No.”
“Do you know Ms. Garland?” his mom asked.
“I don’t, but I’m sure if she hears Brenna sing, she’ll be impressed. My daughter is very talented, as you probably already know. She took first place at the contest.”
“I remember.”
“I wanted to ask Ms. Garland how to get Brenna a recording contract? With the right connections, my Brenna could be the next Taylor Swift.”
“Ahh,” his mom replied. She met Devon’s eyes but kept her face neutral, and he did the same.
Ms. Shaw then asked, “What about the aunt, Cassie Sullivan? Google says the whole family’s music famous. Will she be involved with the new band?”
“No.”
“Honestly, the only reason we came was to talk to them. How much will the band be paid to perform?”
“We perform for free,” Devon said. The Exodusters never charged, and neither would he.
Ms. Shaw shook her head. “My Brenna has way too much talent to not be paid. Good luck with your band, Devon. Let’s go, Brenna.”
And they left.
Devon watched their exit and sighed unhappily.
His mother gave his shoulders an encouraging squeeze. “They’re not the kind of people you want, anyway.”
He agreed but was still saddened.
A few minutes later, two more people arrived.
He recognized the boy as one of the new kids at school.
His name was Ellis Keene, and he was short with brown skin.
His family just moved to Franklin a few weeks ago, and his mom had volunteered in their classroom a couple of times.
Devon’s hopes soared. “Hey, Ellis,” he said.
“Hi, Devon.”
“Hello, Mrs. Keene.”
“Devon.” She viewed his wig disdainfully.
He ignored it. “I’d like you to meet my mom. Mom, this is Mrs. Keene.”
Lily stuck out her hand. “I’m Lily July. Pleased to meet you.”
She didn’t take her hand. “I’ve never seen you at the school. You know, our Black children do much better when their parents are involved in their classrooms.”
“Really? Having grown up here, gone to school here, and married a man whose family has lived in this Black town since the 1880s, I know nothing about how Black children or Black people achieve. School me, please. I’ll wait.”
Uh-oh, Devon thought. He hoped he wouldn’t have to call his dad to keep his mom from beating Mrs. Keene’s butt. From his mom’s cold smile to the icy glare in her eyes, Devon figured she was about two seconds away.
Mrs. Keene must have thought the same, because she took a quick step back. “Um. Well. I.” She sent his mom a wary glance before saying, “Tell us about the band, Devon.”
He did so, then asked Ellis, “Do you play an instrument?”
“Yes. Piano.”
Devon smiled. “That’s great.” His band would need a piano player.
Mrs. Keene asked, “How much gospel will you be performing?”
“We probably won’t be playing any.”
“Why not?”
Devon paused. He wasn’t sure how to phrase what he wanted to say but did the best he could. “Not many people ask to hear gospel at a kid’s birthday party or sleepover.”
“Well, they should. Ellis is only allowed to play spirituals, and not that mess passing for gospel these days.”
Devon’s happiness died. “Oh.”
She took her car keys out of her purse. “This is not what I want my child to be a part of. Come, Ellis.”
Ellis appeared as crestfallen as Devon felt. “Bye, Devon.”
“Bye, Ellis.”
As they exited, Devon heard his mom sigh loudly.
“Did I say something wrong, Mom?”