Thursday night, all of us freedom fighters went back to the school to make posters for the protesters to use the following night. Miss Georgia and her children joined us along with a few other families. The Hunts had been registered to vote for years, and they were every bit as invested in helping others to register as we were. We all sat at the cafeteria tables with our markers and pencils and dozens of sheets of poster board, and we wrote LET US REGISTER NOW! and LET MY PEOPLE VOTE and OPEN THE REGISTRAR’S OFFICE! and LBJ! SIGN THE BILL TODAY!
DeeDee sat next to me, coloring in the big block letters that I drew, and we were nearly finished when Greg called my name. I looked up to see him in the doorway of the cafeteria, and he was not alone. Standing next to him was my father. My whole body froze.
I forced myself to stand up, smiling at Miss Georgia across the table as if to say, This is no problem. I’ll be right back. My fellow SCOPE workers watched me as I crossed the cafeteria, and Win caught my eye, his face blank of all expression.
“Hi, Daddy,” I said, when I was close enough to speak without being overheard by anyone other than my father and Greg.
He looked at Greg without greeting me. “Where can we speak privately?” he asked. I knew he was holding in his anger. I could see it in the tight line of his jaw. I pressed my hands together. My palms were sweaty.
“Take him to the storage room,” Greg said. He glanced at my father, then back at me. “Let me know if I can help.”
Daddy followed me to the storage room, which held a few chairs and desks and gym equipment. Mats and basketballs and baseball bats were helter-skelter on the floor. I closed the door behind us and motioned to the chairs, but my father didn’t sit down, so neither did I. I didn’t want him to have all the power by standing over me.
“You need to come home,” he said. “You haven’t written or called or told us a thing about what you’re doing. I wouldn’t even know where to find you if Brenda hadn’t told me. She’s the only person who’s heard from you. You left Reed high and dry. He’s been so good to you. Treated you so well.” It was a lecture, quietly delivered. I heard hurt behind the words and almost wished he’d yell at me.
“I’m sorry I haven’t written,” I said. “I’ve been so busy here and—”
“Eleanor,” he interrupted me. “I don’t pretend to understand why this is so important to you, but whatever the reason, it has to end. Now. Tonight.”
Oh no, I thought. There was no way I was leaving, not tonight or any other night.
“Daddy, you don’t under—”
“Byron saw you at a Klan rally,” he said. “What the hell were you doing there, Ellie? What does that have to do with getting people to vote? He said everyone there knew you were with this”—he waved his hand in the vague direction of the cafeteria—“radical group. Do you know what could have happened to you?”
“We were fine, Daddy. And doesn’t it bother you that Uncle Byron was with a bunch of racists?”
“Byron is a sheriff. He was exactly where he should have been, keeping law and order. You, on the other hand, were not thinking.” His voice was getting louder. He looked around the small room as if seeing our surroundings for the first time. The old gym mats. Puckered footballs. “Look,” he said firmly. “You need to just get your things. Then we can talk about this on the way—”
“I have a commitment here,” I interrupted him. “I need to honor it. I’m working hard and we’re making progress.”
“Progress at what? When Johnson signs the damn bill, people can register. There’s nothing you can do before then.”
“Yes, there is actually,” I argued. “We’re educating people. Getting them to commit to registering. I’d be letting everyone down if I left.”
“You’re letting your mother and me down if you stay.”
That hurt to hear and I bit my lip to keep from crying. “You don’t understand,” I said.
“Where are you sleeping?” he asked, catching me off guard. “Brenda said you’re staying in a Negro home.”
“I’m staying with a family on their farm,” I said. It sounded idyllic, coming out of my mouth like that.
“A colored family?”
“What does it matter? What are you so afraid of, Daddy?”
I saw his nostrils flare. He moved toward me abruptly, scaring me, and for the first time in my life, I thought he might hit me. But he kept his hands at his sides, even if they were knotted in fists.