“They gave consent!” She slammed the palm of her hand on the desk.
I looked around the office, at its spare, empty bookshelves. I couldn’t help but compare it to the clutter of my daddy’s office, his shelves crammed with medical journals, poetry collections, notebooks. In Mrs. Seager’s office, there was not a book in sight. Doodads, knickknacks, a set of miniature porcelain dolls—the kinds of things one collects as a hobby. Daddy had once likened these kinds of shelves to a piano that was just a stand for photographs.
“I cannot say that I’m surprised at your insubordination. I always expected it.”
“Ma’am?”
I didn’t want to call her ma’am. I didn’t want to call her anything. Mrs. Ralsey had urged us to keep up pretenses. And I had been raised right so the word flowed freely off my tongue. But if there was ever a more hostile ma’am uttered, I had not heard one.
She slowly slid her elbows onto the desk. “If you want to stay employed at this clinic, you had better get your act together. Because though you may think you are smart, I have two fresh resumes waiting in the drawer in front of me, and they are every bit as good as yours.”
She assumed I wanted the job badly enough to accept her bullshit. She had merely brought me in to gauge my reaction to the Williamses’ sterilization, whether I would cause more trouble. She expected me to comply, as many Black Alabamans did when confronted with white authority. It also occurred to me she knew even more than she was letting on.
“You knew the Williams sisters weren’t on birth control, didn’t you?” I said quietly as it all dawned on me. “That’s why you did it. But how did you know?”
She crossed her arms and sat back. “This is my clinic, Civil Townsend. Mine.”
Her bottom lip trembled. Then she turned around in her chair and faced the window. If she did not have another resume in her drawer at that moment, I knew that she would soon.
TWENTY-FOUR
The secretary led me into the small meeting room, where I found Mrs. Ralsey waiting with a young white man with brown, curly hair. He had taken his suit jacket off and his armpits were sweating. I guessed he was a police detective. Or a hospital administrator. I didn’t know why Mrs. Ralsey had called me into her office. She’d only said she wanted me to meet someone.
“Please have a seat, Civil.”
I sat down in a chair across from the two of them.
“Civil, this is Lou Feldman. He’s going to be taking the lead now.”
I looked back and forth between them. “Lead on what?”
She cleared her throat. “I’ve been called to go work on the Tuskegee case. A group of lawyers is assembling to take action on behalf of the men’s families. There are hundreds of victims. This experiment goes all the way back to 1932, and they need all the help—”
“I’ve read about the experiment, Mrs. Ralsey. I know the details.”
“Then you understand they’re going to need a big legal team.”
“What I understand right now is that a little Black girl’s life in Alabama ain’t worth as much as a man’s.”
“Civil.”
“I don’t mean to be rude, Mrs. Ralsey.”
“Both cases are important. Lou is a civil rights lawyer. He’s the right person for this case.”
“And he’s . . . he’s—”
“I’m white,” he blurted. “And I’m not what you expected. I know that. But I’m asking you to give me a shot.”
He kept moving around in his chair, as if uncomfortable in his clothes. His unruly brown curls fell into his face, and he pushed them back. When he raked his hair, I could see that his nails were short and bitten to the quick. His narrow eyes peered at me through his glasses, watching me watch him. I didn’t know where Mrs. Ralsey had found this young whippersnapper, but he was probably just another opportunist.
“How old are you?” I asked.
“Twenty-eight.”
He was only a few years older than I was. “Have you even tried a case before?”
“Of course.” He pushed his glasses up his nose.
“Did you win?”
“Civil.” Mrs. Ralsey sent me a second warning signal, but I didn’t care.
“I’ll be honest: I’ve never been the lead on a case before, but I’ve worked for some very good lawyers. I’m ready.”
“These are children. They’ve never won anything in their lives. Not even a cake in a church raffle. You know what I’m talking about?”
“I wouldn’t recommend him if I didn’t think he could handle it,” said Mrs. Ralsey. “Lou comes highly recommended by people I know and trust.”
I knew what she was saying. She had checked him out, and he had proven that he was on our side—not some wolf in sheep’s clothing. I got the wink loud and clear. Still, I couldn’t wrap my head around it. He couldn’t take the lead on this. The case was too important.
Meanwhile, Lou Feldman had not taken his eyes off me. “Their names are India and Erica Williams. Erica is the older one. She is thirteen years old. She’s enrolled in summer school at George Washington Carver Junior High. Her favorite ice cream is chocolate. India just got accepted to the school at St. Jude’s. She loves dogs. And dolls. She’s particularly attached to one doll with yarn hair. India doesn’t speak, but the doctor who tested her believes she has promise. She adores her big sister, and the two are inseparable.”
“So you interviewed a few folks.”
“Their mother’s name was Constance Williams. She died of breast cancer a few years ago. The father is Mace Williams. He worked on Frank Adair’s farm until recently. Now he’s working at the Whitfield pickle factory. His supervisor says he is never late and he’s a good worker.”
I jerked a thumb at him. “Because he got good grades, you’re putting him on the case?”
“Their grandmother is Mrs. Patricia Williams. She loves to cook, and she has started a garden with the other grandmothers who live in Dixie Court.”
“A garden?”
“Between Buildings 8 and 9. She speaks highly of you, by the way.”
These were my people. I was supposed to know that Mrs. Williams had started a garden. I was supposed to know what the owner at the pickle factory thought about Mace. It was just like Mama said—strangers traipsing up in there like the family was a sideshow. “You’re putting him on the case because you think it will be better if they have a white lawyer,” I said suddenly.
“That is enough, Civil Townsend. You are out of order, and I will not tolerate it. I know your parents raised you better than that.”
Lou scooted his chair closer to mine. “You’re right. I’m young. I’m inexperienced. I’m white. I’m just one step out of law school. I couldn’t find a match to my navy sock this morning, so I’m wearing one brown sock and one navy. My wife calls me a mama’s boy, and she’s probably right. But this I can tell you—I can do this case precisely because I am a mama’s boy. My parents left Europe and came to this country fearing for their lives. And from the moment I was born, right here in Montgomery, they raised me to fight for what is right. It’s in my blood, Civil. And I will follow whoever did this to hell and back to see justice for those girls.”