Chapter 1 Chapter 1 WHEN MY FATHER CAME HOME from work, he smelled of sandpaper and sawdust, of earthy notes mixed with wood stains and sweat. His carpenter''s hands were calloused but not as rough as some of the other men. He had started working for his enslaver, who was also his father. When he was old enough, he was brought here, to Holly Springs, Mississippi, to apprentice his carpenter trade. When the war ended, my father snatched his freedom. One of the beautiful moments from my father''s time in Marshall County, Mississippi, was meeting my mother. He married her while they were both still enslaved. And then married her again when they both had their freedom.
By the way his eyes twinkled when he looked at her, I figured he''d marry her over and over again. He opened his arms and wrapped them around Mama. "Come here and let me give you a squeeze." "Oh hush." Mama blushed, swatting him away. By the way she clamped down on her lips, though, I could tell she was amused. She turned back to her cooking, pots bubbling on the stove, and said over her shoulder, "Supper isn''t ready yet, but will be soon." "That''s all right.
I walked back with some of the other Masons to discuss the news. We''ll sit outside for a while yet." "Can I come too?" I asked. "Please? I finished all my schoolwork. Please?" "Listen to that child!" My mother chuckled by the stove. She looked over at me. "Just as persistent as the day she was born." Mama said I popped into the world with urgency, which seemed right.
As much as I enjoyed attending school, I loved listening to my father talk politics with the leading men of our community. The sun was setting on my childhood--at sixteen years old, I was on the cusp of womanhood. And I had as much interest in America''s Reconstruction as any man. This was a time of rapid change, a reintegration of the Confederate states into the Union and an establishing of equal rights for emancipated Black people. I folded my arms, waiting for permission. "Oh, all right, fine." Mama sighed and then turned back to her bubbling pot. I followed closely behind my father as he walked to the porch.
My sister Eugenia, who was sitting next to the fireplace, shrugged her shoulders at me. I returned her indifference with an eye roll. She didn''t understand why I bothered with politics instead of choosing to play with my friends. In fact, none of my siblings showed much interest in the news of the day. But I found it all very fascinating and important. I was almost an adult, and I felt an urgency that things were changing. I just wasn''t sure they were changing for the better. But I wanted to be at the center of it all.
My father reclined in his chair on the porch, surrounded by some of his friends, many of whom were also involved in the community. They were tired from working all day but still wanted to gather to talk about the things that were changing. The chapter of Radical Reconstruction, which had ushered in a whole bunch of Black politicians, congressmen, and even two senators across the South, promised hope and optimism in the days following the Civil War. With slavery ended, these Republican statesmen tried to construct laws that would protect the rights of formerly enslaved people and Black people across the country. But the rift between Democrats and Republicans remained as wide as the Mississippi River, and the new legal protections for Black Americans were already being chipped away. It was 1878 and only thirteen years had passed since the end of the Civil War, but it felt like things were moving backward. I could see the worry on my father''s face as he shifted in his chair. I sat on the porch near his feet, ready to hang on his every word.
"Why don''t you read tonight, Ida," he said as he unfurled his newspaper from his breast pocket and handed it to me. "Yes, sir." I reached for the paper. I couldn''t help the smile that tugged at my lips. Children weren''t usually permitted to be part of adult conversations, especially female children. But I happily jumped at the chance. So I sat on my perch in front of these men and read the news of the day to my father and his friends. Although they were all skilled tradesmen and community leaders, some of them did not know how to read.
Their weary spirits seemed revived as I confidently read out loud. My father''s eyes were alert. He was enlivened. His friends leaned forward, nodding me on in encouragement, maybe even admiration. But flipping the page to read the next headline, I stumbled over the words. I took a breath and read on. INNOCENT BLOOD SHED The two events of the past fortnight, which the Recording angel of God put down to the debt of this country, were the lynching of a colored woman in Virginia, charged with inciting a boy to burn a barn, and the hanging of two colored men in Delaware believed by nine out of every ten to be innocent. I paused, letting the words sink in.
Three people had been lynched-- murdered without a trial. I shifted uncomfortably, thinking about how frightened I was. There were laws meant to protect people from being condemned without a trial. But those laws did not seem to extend to Black people, not even innocent ones. "Let me see that," my father mumbled under his breath as he slid the paper from my hands. His eyes scanned the page and he tightened his lips in a scowl. He glanced at the surrounding men. "It was probably the Klan.
" I''d heard the name of this group before. Whoever they were, this KKK group had all the men looking tense. I heard my mother and father talk about them and knew they were the reason for the anxious way my mother walked the floor at night when my father was out at a political meeting. Yet as far as I knew, the Klan hadn''t burned down anything in Holly Springs. The floorboards creaked behind the front door, and I could tell that my mother was inside pacing now. She worried when my father was out at political meetings, but when he managed to have them here, she was doubly nervous there would be some retribution. "They aren''t claiming responsibility." My father rolled his eyes with a tight smile.
"They didn''t say they didn''t do it neither," said a younger gentleman named Timothy from his seat on the porch railing. "So the Klan is stirring up trouble again. How long you think we have until they come to Holly Springs, Jim?" The man looked at my father, his wide eyes filled with fear. "These men will come here ?" I gulped, grabbing my father''s leg. "It''s okay." My father grazed my cheek with the backs of his fingers. His face was tight with worry, but he looked into my eyes. He didn''t fool me, but I found comfort in his efforts.
He shook his head slightly and said, softly, "I won''t let them get anywhere near you." The front door swung open and my mother appeared, her anxious eyebrows upturned. She was slightly flushed, probably from all the pacing she was doing. "Come here, child." My mother snapped her fingers at me. She pursed her lips in a tight line and cocked her head to the side, waiting. "Well, come on then." "Listen to your mama," my father said as he nodded his head.
When he turned to look at my mother''s arched eyebrows, he sighed, his shoulders deflating. "She has to learn the truth somehow." "I don''t want the Klan mentioned in this house," my mother said. She stomped her foot on the threshold, emphasizing her claim on her own front door. "They''re already in the streets. I won''t have them casting shadows on this house and giving my babies nightmares." "But--" I started to say that I wanted to hear more about it. My father was right: I had to learn the truth.
But my mother raised a menacing eyebrow, one that meant for me to do as I was told. My time on the porch had come to a swift and decisive end. "Why don''t you all get washed up for supper," my grandmother said, leaning around my mother in the doorway. She didn''t live here. But when she spoke, my daddy listened. "All right, Mama, we''re finishing up here in a moment''s time." As the door shut behind me, I could hear the conversation continue, a little quieter than before, with hushed whispers of politics that my father didn''t want us to overhear. Of course, I had already overheard things around town on my way to school.
My parents couldn''t shield me from the world forever. When I came inside, I was met with the boisterous noise that often filled our house. We were a large brood, the Wells family. I had three younger sisters and three younger brothers, and we were never short of liveliness. Eugenia, Annie, Lily, James, George, baby Stanley, and I kept my parents busy. Eugenia, who was the closest in age to me, sat in her chair near the fire. Her legs, which had stopped working when she was younger, were covered in a blanket. She waved me over to join her.
"I was supposed to wash up for dinner and help Mother," I said, eyeing the long kitchen table where my brothers were fighting over a wooden toy and my sisters were engaged in a fit of laughter. "I think there''s enough going on there," Genie, the nickname I called Eugenia, said as she smiled mischievously and slid a book from underneath her blanket. She passed it to me. "I just finished reading this. It''s good." "Oh, Little Women !" My fingers grazed over the hardcover, itching to crack it open and begin reading. But Mama plucked the book away from me before I could even read the title page.