I have to smile. If only she knew how long it’s taken me to fall in love with our house. Maybe someday, I’ll tell her. As I head toward Rainie, I call to Paula over my shoulder. “Have Tara come over anytime!” I say. “We have a fenced yard!”
I have to practically drag Rainie away from her new friend, who apparently did more talking than I thought, because Rainie tells me they’re getting a puppy named Lily.
“Can we get one, too, Mama?” she asks. “Please, please!”
“Maybe,” I say. “Let me think about it.” Maybe a rescue, hopefully housebroken, would work out. “You’d have to help take care of it.”
“Yes!” Rainie says, swinging my arm. She knows I’m already on board. Maybe in the spring.
I imagine two little girls and two dogs playing in our vast forest. They could have all of it except the one spot that will be my private oasis. I hired a landscaper to do something with the empty circle in my woods. He had no idea how much history I was asking him to erase with his horticultural skills. “This is going to be your favorite place on your property,” he promised when he handed me his colored-pencil sketch. He’s already put the two black cast-iron benches in place at opposite sides of the circle, their curved backs matching the circle’s arc. He did some planting in the late summer and fall and will do more this spring. The ground will be covered with moss, and I’ll have hostas, colorful astilbe, Lenten roses, ferns, and anything else he can think of that will grow in the shade. A path of decorative stepping-stones will run through the circle. I picture myself sitting on one of the benches with a book. I hope he’s right about it becoming my favorite spot. We’ll see.
When we get home from meeting our neighbor, Rainie helps me finish icing the cookies. We’re running late. I want to make lasagna, my father’s favorite dish, for dinner. I think he’s going to be a bit down tonight, since Ellie left for San Francisco this morning. He and Ellie rekindled something the past few months, although he balks at the word “rekindle.” “Nothing was rekindled,” he said with a laugh when I spoke with him on the phone that morning. “This was just two sixty-something-year-old folks enjoying each other’s company, knowing it was really never meant to be. I’m a bit too staid for Ellie,” he added. “I think I always was.”
He may be right, but I love him the way he is. Rainie and I will give him a wonderful evening. We’re going to help him start over. We’ve gotten pretty good at it.
Author’s Note
I was fourteen years old during the summer of 1964 when I heard the news about three young civil rights workers who were murdered in Mississippi. Andrew Goodman, James Earl Chaney, and Michael Schwerner were spending the summer in the South to register Black voters. Their disappearance and tragic end may not have been the first time I’d heard about student civil rights workers, but it was the first time their work had an emotional and intellectual impact on me. The junior high school I attended in Plainfield, New Jersey, was well integrated, and I was awakening to the injustices faced by people who looked like my classmates. It was impossible to grow up in Plainfield during that era and be blind to the inequities, even in the North. I was moved by the courage and passion of those young civil rights workers who were willing to face danger to do what they felt was right.
When I reached high school age, I often found myself in the library stacks lost in books and articles about racial injustice. At some point, I stumbled across information on the SCOPE program. The memory of that program stayed with me and inspired Ellie’s story in The Last House on the Street.
Although much of the story related to the SCOPE program is based on truth, I took liberties with specific facts. For example, while the program was publicly announced by Hosea Williams in late April, Ellie learns of it a few weeks earlier. The orientation dates, however, are accurate, as is the orientation setting of Morris Brown College in Atlanta. Hosea Williams and Andrew Young were at the orientation and Reverend Young’s conversation with the young female civil rights workers is based on reality. Martin Luther King Jr. did indeed deliver a speech at the orientation.
The most dangerous work in SCOPE took place in the Deep South, but I wanted to write about my adopted home state of North Carolina, where SCOPE’s work was limited to the “Black Belt” counties of Martin and Warren. However, since I was creating my own fictional world, I invented Derby County and its various towns so that I was not constrained by real events. It is true that the KKK had a very strong and growing presence in North Carolina in 1965, inspired in great part by the Civil Rights Act of 1964. It’s also true that the registrars’ offices in those counties shut their doors prior to the August passage of the Voting Rights Act of 1965, which left the SCOPE students having to focus on community work other than actual registration.