Chapter 22
AS THOUGH SENSING HER ATTENTION, Mr. Coburn turned and looked directly at her, then gave a subtle nod. Josephine would’ve sworn she read distrust in the man’s eyes. Perhaps it was just her guilty conscience, but she quickly faced forward.
The song leader invited the congregation to stand and sing “Blessed Assurance.” Her mother’s favorite.
From old habit, Josephine opened her mouth to join in, but the lyrics she’d known by heart since childhood wouldn’t come.
Not honestly. So she chose to listen instead.
Especially to Calla beside her, the woman’s soprano soft yet vibrant with belief.
Calla, too, knew the words without benefit of a hymnal.
“That’s mighty anointed singing this morning, church.”
The middle-aged man leading them lifted hands in praise as hearty Amens filled the gathering. He motioned for them to be seated, then stepped aside as another man took the pulpit. Josephine settled back and braced herself for the duration, grateful for the open window nearby.
She couldn’t remember exactly when she’d stopped going to church.
Sometime after her parents died. Though she’d continued attending for a while after Todd’s death, something inside her had already withdrawn.
And whatever it was, she couldn’t get it back, no matter how hard she tried.
Eventually, she’d stopped trying altogether.
“Our Scripture reading this morning, brothers and sisters . . . Be not deceived; God is not mocked: for whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap. Galatians chapter six, verse seven.”
Just outside the window, a tiny bluebird lit on the branch of a maple tree, its vivid plumage striking against the gray morning. Josephine watched as it flitted about.
“Some of you may ask, why are we reading from Paul’s letter to the Galatian church this morning. Aren’t we still studying the Gospel of John? Yes, we are. And we will return to that next week—”
The bluebird hopped along the branch, singing and peering around. Josephine recalled how her students had enjoyed studying native animals with the changing seasons, and bluebirds had always fascinated her. Perhaps because her mother had always kept nesting boxes ready for them each year.
“However, this morning, we have a guest preacher with us. A leader in the National Baptist Convention, and someone I know you will all be blessed to hear.”
As the preacher continued, Josephine watched the bird and remembered racing to those nesting boxes as a girl, searching for twigs or grass that signaled new tenants.
And how disheartened she’d been to learn that male bluebirds often carried nesting material only for show—it was the female who did the real work of nest building. Why did that not surprise her?
Calla shifted beside her then stood, along with everyone else in the congregation. And they were clapping. Uncertain, Josephine rose as well, not wanting to appear rude. But why on earth were they—
She glanced toward the front, then looked more closely, not trusting her eyes. A woman? In the pulpit?
Josephine scanned the room to see if anyone shared her surprise.
From her peripheral vision, she sensed Mr. Coburn look her way, but she deliberately averted her gaze.
“Thank you, my faithful brothers and sisters in Christ,” the young woman said, her voice strong and assured, filling the one-room church.
“Pastor Taylor was generous with his praise. Though I suspect he’s mostly enjoying a Sunday off. ”
Laughter rippled through the room as she motioned for them to be seated.
“I deeply appreciate the pastor’s kind introduction and the opportunity to be with you today.
I was recently asked by a Southern white woman—an enthusiastic worker for votes for white women— What can the Negro woman do with the ballot?
” She paused. “And I answered her with a question of my own: What can she do without it?”
Josephine’s breath caught.
“When the ballot is placed in the hands of the American woman, the world is going to get a correct estimate of the power of the Negro woman. It will find her a tower of strength of which poets have never sung, orators have never spoken, and scholars have never written.”
A chorus of “Amen!” and “That’s right!” rose around Josephine as emotion blurred her vision.
“The ballot, wisely used, my brothers and sisters, will bring to her the respect and protection that she needs. It is her weapon of moral defense. Under present conditions, when she appears in court in defense of her virtue, she is looked upon with amused contempt. She needs the ballot to reckon with men who place no value upon her virtue, and to mold healthy public sentiment in favor of her own protection!”
The words washed over Josephine like water on parched ground.
“You may be asking yourself, Well, Miss Burroughs, what does the ballot for women have to do with Galatians chapter six, verse seven?” She leaned forward, hands braced on the pulpit.
“This is a Scripture the Lord has not merely written on my heart, but has engraved on it. Be not deceived; God is not mocked: for whatsoever a man—or woman—soweth, that shall he—or she—also reap. What we do with our lives matters. Not only for us, but for generations to come. The seeds we sow will one day manifest themselves in either a harvest of righteousness or a crop of weeds. Which shall it be? This is not a rhetorical question. No, it is a question we must ask ourselves every day, and every day we must answer it with honesty and clarity.”
Josephine leaned closer to Calla. “Who is this woman?”
“Someone I knew you’d want to hear,” Calla whispered, her eyes bright with knowing.
“We must stop calling this land ‘Christian’ and the government thereof a democracy,” Miss Burroughs continued.
“The fact is, brotherhood and fellowship among coloreds and whites are not the practice in most American churches. Although I am overjoyed to find it is the practice here in Lynchburg, at least at this fine church. You may be a town far from the rest of the world, and a little difficult to find—”
More laughter followed. Curious, Josephine glanced back at Dodge Coburn, seated at the far end of a pew. His focus was fixed on the pulpit, his expression rigid. She looked for Bethie beside him, but the girl wasn’t there.
“—but you are far ahead of this nation in that regard. And I thank God for you.”
As Miss Burroughs spoke with boldness and clarity, Josephine found herself leaning forward, wanting more.
“Finally, in closing, my dear brothers and sisters . . .” Miss Burroughs patiently looked around the room, her gaze passing over Josephine before briefly moving back.
“Let us go forth in power with the biblical—and scientific—truth that God hath made of one blood all races of men to dwell on the face of the earth.
The New Testament reaffirms this fact when Jesus declared, One is your master, even Christ; and all ye are brethren.
“America could practice these teachings of Jesus Christ in human relations and brotherhood; justice and goodwill could be applied in education, labor, civil rights and religion without making the white race any blacker or the black race any whiter. As Booker T. Washington, one of the wisest men of this generation, would say it, The races can be one as the hand, and as separate as the fingers thereon. So let us lock arms together—black and white, men and women—and move forward boldly in the Kingdom of our Lord Jesus Christ for his glory, and his alone. May God bless you all and give you boldness as you walk in his will.”
The congregation rose in applause, or most did, and none more enthusiastically than Josephine, her heart ablaze.
The few people who didn’t, sat quietly, staring ahead.
Dodge Coburn was standing, at least, but his applause was anemic, and Josephine could well imagine what was going through his mind and how he felt about the sermon.
“Sorry I didn’t tell you before,” Calla whispered, bringing Josephine’s attention back. “About her speaking today.”
Josephine stared.
“Your pillowcase needed washing a couple of days ago so I grabbed the sheets off your cot, too, and—” Calla’s voice lowered to a whisper. “That’s when your voting sash slipped from beneath the mattress. I figured you wanted that kept quiet.”
“So that’s why you wanted me to come with you today.”
Calla smiled. “That, and I’ve taken a liking to your company.”
Josephine gently squeezed her arm. “I’ve taken a liking to yours, too.”
After the benediction, the pastor dismissed the congregation, and Josephine looked toward the pulpit, hoping for a chance to meet Miss Burroughs.
“Auntie Calla! Let me hug your neck!”
To Josephine’s surprise, Miss Burroughs slipped up behind them and wrapped her arms around Calla. The two embraced warmly, both talking at once.
Calla looked over. “Mrs. Josephine Dunham, I’d like to introduce Miss Nannie Helen Burroughs, my dear friend’s daughter who is setting the world on fire! Nannie, Mrs. Dunham here is visiting Lynchburg for a while.”
“Miss Burroughs, it was an absolute pleasure listening to you this morning. It’s hard to find the words to tell you what your message meant to me.”
Miss Burroughs’s smile turned conspiratorial. “Then I suspect we are kindred spirits, Mrs. Dunham. And call me Nannie, please.”
“Indeed, we are . . . Nannie. And it’s Josephine, if you would.”
The young woman glanced behind her. “I’m to have lunch with the pastor and some of the other members, and they’re waiting. But would you mind if I come by later, Auntie Calla?”
“I’ll be sorely put out if you don’t. I want to hear more about this school you’re hoping to start up north.”
Miss Burroughs winked. “I’ll come by the boarding house afterward, I promise.”
As Josephine and Calla left, Calla greeted people by name as they did her. She knew everyone. Josephine met their gazes and smiled, but most people turned away. Even worse, two young women gave her downright ugly looks as they walked past.
Calla stopped short. “What on earth was that about?”
Josephine shrugged. “I don’t know. But why don’t you walk on ahead. I’ll follow on after you.”
Calla gave her a look like she’d grown a second head. “We ain’t gonna play that game, Josephine. You’re my friend at Miss Mary’s, which means you’re my friend everywhere.”
Calla linked arms with her, and they continued on outside.
Josephine spotted Dodge Coburn walking toward them, still without his niece. Preferring to avoid him, that seemed impossible at the moment.
He tipped his hat. “Calla. Mrs. Dunham.”
“Good morning.” Josephine tilted her head.
“Morning, Dodge.” Calla looked around. “Where’s that sweet niece of yours?”
“She spent the night with Moriah so she’s having lunch with their family.” Mr. Coburn pointed across the way where the two girls stood giggling together.
Josephine didn’t know Mr. Coburn well at all, but something in his manner felt off.
“Well, why don’t you come on over to Miss Mary’s and eat with us?” Calla gestured to him. “There’s plenty, and I made that buttermilk pound cake you love.”
Josephine swallowed an inward groan.
“I’m afraid Mr. Coburn’s company is already spoken for!” a woman called from behind them.
Mrs. Gibbs made a beeline for Dodge Coburn, and her daughter slipped an arm through Mr. Coburn’s and pulled him close. Calla’s gaze flicked pointedly to the girl—Rowena—then back to Dodge, who looked far less comfortable than a moment earlier.
“Dodge is already spoken for,” Rowena said, running a hand over his upper arm. “He’s joining us for Sunday dinner then he’s staying to look over the cattle with Pa.”
Josephine caught the look Rowena sent her, sharp and possessive, though for what reason, she couldn’t imagine. She had no interest in Dodge Coburn.
“Come, Rowena,” Mrs. Gibbs snapped. “Mr. Coburn, you’ll ride together in the wagon.”
“I’m fine to walk, ma’am. But thank—”
“Nonsense. We live three miles out. This’ll give y’all time to visit.”
Rowena tugged him along, and Mr. Coburn tipped his hat and followed, looking for all the world like a fish on a hook. Rowena glanced back and smiled.
“That girl,” Calla muttered as she and Josephine continued walking. “She’s been trying to get her scheming little claws into him for a while now.”
Josephine laughed. “If Mr. Coburn isn’t careful, he’ll find himself trussed up and being pushed—or carried—by Mrs. Gibbs down the aisle.”
“Not likely. Not with him and Bethie heading for Wyoming soon.”
Josephine slowed. “Wyoming?”
“He bought land out there before his sister, Kathleen, died . . . God bless her.” Calla shook her head. “Hate to see them go. But if it means he gets away from that one, I’ll help him pack.”
Josephine smiled, but couldn’t deny a small sting of disappointment. Why, she couldn’t say. Dodge Coburn leaving was a good thing. She would be rid of his suspicion. Although she had no idea where else she would go, she did not plan on staying here. Yet returning to Atlanta still felt impossible.
After listening to Miss Burroughs, she wanted to believe a time would come when she could plead self-defense and have her voice heard.
But that time was not now, and the clock was ticking.
And in the back of her mind, buried beneath fear and uncertainty, was a voice that told her she would never go home again.