The Road to Memphis by Mildred D. Taylor

talk of changing jobs.
    “Well, yes, ma’am. But the thing is, Mama, I never planned on making a life’s work at the box factory. Trucking pays more money. It’d be a good job, I can get it.”
    Mama slowly nodded. “Well, anytime you can improve yourself, you need to do that, but I think you need to thinkabout the fact you’ve been at the box factory for over two years now and you’ve had steady work. Also, you need to keep in mind you just bought yourself a car. Maybe now isn’t the best time to quit the box factory.”
    “Can’t be a better time, Mama. All kind of jobs are opening up and all kind of factories for defense. Now, you know the white folks, they get first crack at all those defense jobs, but they’re leaving some good jobs to take those on. That means we get a chance at some of the jobs they’re leaving. Some good jobs, too, and I figure to get myself one. Course, I don’t figure to quit the box factory until I actually get hired on at the trucking company. Could get hired next week. Could be a couple months yet, but I can wait.”
    Papa nodded his approval. “Leastways that’s something good coming out of this war talk.”
    “Maybe,” said Mama. “But I still don’t like this talk of sending our boys to fight.”
    Stacey shrugged off the possibility. “We aren’t going anyplace, not yet, anyways, Mama. It’s just talk.”
    Big Ma grunted disparagingly. “It was just talk, too, when your Uncle Mitchell and your Uncle Kevin gone off to fight some twenty odd years back and got theyselves killed, and your Uncle Hammer, he gone off and got hisself all shot up in the leg.”
    Stacey reached for more chicken. “Well, it’s not going to be that way with me. I’m going to have myself a good job soon. I’m not planning on anything spoiling that.”
    “I hope nothing does,” said Mama. “I don’t want my boys in a war.”
    “I wouldn’t mind going to fight,” said Little Man. “Seem mighty adventuresome to me.”
    “Not to me,” said Christopher-John. “Things adventuresome enough right here. ’Sides, I wouldn’t want to be pointing a gun at anybody.”
    “Would if I had to,” said Little Man.
    “Now, boy, you hush!” ordered Big Ma. “You ain’t going to fight no war! Ain’t none of y’all boys goin’!”
    Stacey laughed. “Just make sure you let President Roosevelt know that, Big Ma.”
    Big Ma grunted. “Maybe I’ll do jus’ that!” she said. Then she laughed. We all did.
    We were still laughing when there was a knock at the back door. It was Sissy and Harris Mitchum. “Have some supper with us,” Mama said as Christopher-John and Little Man got chairs for them.
    “No, thank ya, Miz Logan,” said Sissy, sitting down. “We just come back from takin’ some cookin’ up to Reverend Gabson’s place, and we headed home. Just thought we’d stop by and holler at y’all.”
    “Reverend Gabson?” said Stacey. Reverend Charles Gabson was the pastor of Great Faith Church, and he had been ailing for some weeks now. “He still not up yet?”
    Big Ma shook her head. “Fact to business, he doing right poorly. I been up to they place trying to help out most everyday this week myself. Like for you to run by and see him while’s you here, Stacey. He always askin’ ’bout you.”
    “Yes, ma’am, I’ll sure do that. I’ll go on by there tomorrow after church.”
    “Harris,” I said, “what time you and Clarence going hunting?”
    Sissy took it upon herself to reply. “Why you askin’, Cassie? You not going, are you?”
    “I was figuring on it.”
    “Well, you gonna figure yourself right out of a boyfriend pretty soon here, Cassie, goin’ huntin’ all the time.”
    I turned on Sissy. “Well, that don’t make me no nevermind!” Mama cast me a reproving look, not because of my pronouncement, but because I had totally fractured my speaking. Mama, being a teacher, had been hard on the boys and me—especially me—these last few years about speaking