building. In a few minutes he would be back again and on his way to Strawberry. I figured if I lit out running for home, Papa riding our mare, Lady, could overtake Stacey before he got there. But only part of me wanted to do that. The other part wanted to jump on that wagon and go with him, not only to make sure he remained safe, but to see firsthand what was to become of T.J. I knew that Stacey would never allow me to go, but if he went, I knew good and well that I was going too. After all, a whipping could last for only so long, and a day like this perhaps would never come again.
I made up my mind. “I’m gonna go with him,” I said. “Y’all go on up to school.”
“Unh-unh,” defied Little Man. “Y’all goin’, I’m goin’.”
“All y’all crazy!” Christopher-John declared. “Y’all know we can’t be goin’ all the way to Strawberry by ourselves!”
“Look, y’all just stay here. I gotta get on that wagon ’fore Stacey comes.”
I ran down the road. Little Man was right behind me and Christopher-John, coming at a slower, pudgier pace, behind him. For a moment I faltered, wondering if I should turnback because of them, then ran on telling myself that they would be all right. When the wagon came into view, I stopped. I didn’t see Joe, but sitting on the front seat turned sideways so that he saw us coming was Wordell Lees. Little Man, Christopher-John, and I glanced at each other, apprehensive about our proposed adventure and about approaching a figure as mysterious as Wordell. But there was no time to think about Wordell’s peculiarities now. There was a tarpaulin on the wagon. If we were going anywhere, we had to get under it before the others came.
“What you gonna say to him?” whispered Little Man.
I shrugged, not knowing, and went on. Little Man and Christopher-John came slowly behind. At the rear of the wagon I nodded at Wordell. He did not nod back. Deciding that there was no time to say anything but the truth, I blurted out: “You mind if we get under this here thing so’s we can ride into town with y’all? Stacey, he’s goin’ too, but he don’t want us to go, but we gotta go if he go, but he can’t know ’bout it till we get on down the road toward town so’s he can’t send us back. That be all right with you?”
Wordell stared at us, his sandy eyes unreadable; then he looked away into the woods as if it were no business of his. If the gesture was not one of permission, it was not denial either, and wasting no more time, I hurried into the wagon and under the tarpaulin. Little Man quickly followed my lead, but Christopher-John stood unmoving, staring up at us as if this time we really had gone mad.
“Ain’t y’all even thought ’bout what Papa gonna do when he find out? And Mama and Big Ma, they’s gonna be so worried—”
“We’ll be back by the time we usually get home. Now shut up and get up here if you going. You ain’t going, then get on back to school ’fore Stacey sees you.”
Christopher-John glowered angrily up at me, his face an anguish of indecision. I knew that he did not want to go, but I also knew that if the rest of us were committed to going, he would not be left behind.
“Well?” I demanded. “What you gonna do?”
Grumbling, he got into the wagon.
“How far is it, Cassie?” Little Man asked, filled with curiosity about this town he’d never seen.
“Twenty-two miles or so.”
“We gonna have to ride all the way there under this thing?”
“No—jus’ far ’nough so’s they can’t send us back. Now y’all both be quiet and don’t move and don’t say nothing till I tell ya.”
“We gonna sho’ ’nough get a whippin’. . . .”
* * *
The road to Strawberry was rough and the wagon bed hard. As far as I could figure, we endured almost an hour under the tarpaulin before being discovered. At first I was afraid that Little Man or Christopher-John—especially Christopher-John—would give us away during the
I made up my mind. “I’m gonna go with him,” I said. “Y’all go on up to school.”
“Unh-unh,” defied Little Man. “Y’all goin’, I’m goin’.”
“All y’all crazy!” Christopher-John declared. “Y’all know we can’t be goin’ all the way to Strawberry by ourselves!”
“Look, y’all just stay here. I gotta get on that wagon ’fore Stacey comes.”
I ran down the road. Little Man was right behind me and Christopher-John, coming at a slower, pudgier pace, behind him. For a moment I faltered, wondering if I should turnback because of them, then ran on telling myself that they would be all right. When the wagon came into view, I stopped. I didn’t see Joe, but sitting on the front seat turned sideways so that he saw us coming was Wordell Lees. Little Man, Christopher-John, and I glanced at each other, apprehensive about our proposed adventure and about approaching a figure as mysterious as Wordell. But there was no time to think about Wordell’s peculiarities now. There was a tarpaulin on the wagon. If we were going anywhere, we had to get under it before the others came.
“What you gonna say to him?” whispered Little Man.
I shrugged, not knowing, and went on. Little Man and Christopher-John came slowly behind. At the rear of the wagon I nodded at Wordell. He did not nod back. Deciding that there was no time to say anything but the truth, I blurted out: “You mind if we get under this here thing so’s we can ride into town with y’all? Stacey, he’s goin’ too, but he don’t want us to go, but we gotta go if he go, but he can’t know ’bout it till we get on down the road toward town so’s he can’t send us back. That be all right with you?”
Wordell stared at us, his sandy eyes unreadable; then he looked away into the woods as if it were no business of his. If the gesture was not one of permission, it was not denial either, and wasting no more time, I hurried into the wagon and under the tarpaulin. Little Man quickly followed my lead, but Christopher-John stood unmoving, staring up at us as if this time we really had gone mad.
“Ain’t y’all even thought ’bout what Papa gonna do when he find out? And Mama and Big Ma, they’s gonna be so worried—”
“We’ll be back by the time we usually get home. Now shut up and get up here if you going. You ain’t going, then get on back to school ’fore Stacey sees you.”
Christopher-John glowered angrily up at me, his face an anguish of indecision. I knew that he did not want to go, but I also knew that if the rest of us were committed to going, he would not be left behind.
“Well?” I demanded. “What you gonna do?”
Grumbling, he got into the wagon.
“How far is it, Cassie?” Little Man asked, filled with curiosity about this town he’d never seen.
“Twenty-two miles or so.”
“We gonna have to ride all the way there under this thing?”
“No—jus’ far ’nough so’s they can’t send us back. Now y’all both be quiet and don’t move and don’t say nothing till I tell ya.”
“We gonna sho’ ’nough get a whippin’. . . .”
* * *
The road to Strawberry was rough and the wagon bed hard. As far as I could figure, we endured almost an hour under the tarpaulin before being discovered. At first I was afraid that Little Man or Christopher-John—especially Christopher-John—would give us away during the
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