So, he rode back with me in my little red Ford, but we didn’t talk. The tension in the car pressed down on my chest for the entire two hours of our drive. He stared out the side window as if he didn’t want to catch a glimpse of me, even in his peripheral vision. I thought of asking what are you thinking? but the truth was, I didn’t want to know. I didn’t want to argue about my decision any longer. My mind was made up.
Chapter 9
My parents were surprised to see me, and I made up some excuse for coming home, too nervous to tell them about SCOPE right away. I was afraid they’d say no and that would be the end of my dream for the summer. At dinner Saturday night, I finally got my courage up. I waited for a lull in the conversation between Daddy and Buddy about the work Buddy was doing on a neighbor’s tractor and then, before I lost my nerve, I blurted out, “I’ve decided to do volunteer work this summer.”
For a moment, no one said anything. From across the table I felt Buddy stiffen, his eyes on his fried chicken leg. He knew where I was going with this. Then Daddy turned to me. “That’s good, Ellie,” he said. “Volunteer work will look good on your application to graduate school.”
“You still need to give your father some hours in the pharmacy, though,” Mama said. It sounded like a warning.
I licked my dry lips, but before I could figure out how to respond, Daddy spoke again. “What’s the volunteer work, sugar?” He sounded calmer than my mother. More willing to listen.
“Remember that article you read about SCOPE?” I asked. “The white students helping to register people to vote?”
The three of them were silent. I felt my parents’ eyes on me, and Buddy shot me a look across the table that I couldn’t read but imagined said, There is no way in holy hell they’re going to let you do this.
“You’re not thinking of volunteering with them, are you?” Mama asked.
I nodded. “Yes. I’ve already spoken to the minister about it. The one who was quoted in that article. I can probably work right here in Derby County.”
“This is ill advised, Eleanor,” Daddy said in the calm voice he’d used my entire life when he was laying down the law. “You’ll only be asking for trouble if you try to help out with that sort of thing. No one wants that program here. Not the white folks. Not the colored folks. They’re fine with things the way they are, so—”
“How could they possibly be ‘fine with things the way they are’？” I asked. “I think you just tell yourself that to feel less guilty about their situation.” I couldn’t remember a time I’d spoken back to my father and for a moment no one said anything. Buddy finally broke the silence.
“It’s too dangerous,” he said. “The Klan’s probably gearin’ up to make those students turn tail and go back where they came from.”
“And exactly how are they going to do that?” I asked.
“You’re being na?ve,” my father said. “Buddy’s right. No one in Derby County is going to take kindly to that sort of interference and you have absolutely no need to be a part of it.” He set down his fork and leaned toward me. “Why the hell would you put yourself in that vulnerable position?”
“Daniel!” my mother admonished him for the curse word. I thought it was the first time I’d ever heard my father use it. His voice was still deceptively calm, which made his words that much more intimidating to me.
“Let the Martin Luther Kings of the world sort it out,” he continued. “It’s not your battle. If you feel so strongly about wanting to do volunteer work this summer, you could work at the Girls’ Club in town. Teach little girls how to sew or whatever they do over there.”
“I want to do something more important than that, Daddy,” I said. “I want to do something that makes a difference on a bigger scale. Not teach a girl how to hem a skirt.”
“Well, you’re not doing this,” my father said. He got to his feet, tossing his napkin on the table. “That’s my final word.”
It had been years since my father’d raised his voice to me. Buddy was the rebel in the family, not me. I felt close to tears and was angry with myself for my weakness. Right now, it seemed there was nothing else I could say. I could sit there and be cowed or I could leave the table. I folded my own napkin in silence, set it on the table next to my plate, stood up, and walked slowly and deliberately to my room, their silence following me like a ghost.