first minutes. When neither of them did, I began to wonder how two little boys who were usually so restless could remain so still. Eventually I found out as the sound of soft snoring disrupted the quiet which had settled over the wagon. Immediately, the tarpaulin was thrown back and we faced the shock and then the wrath of the four older boys.
“Y’all know what kinda trouble I’m in now!” Stacey fumed. “Me going to Strawberry by myself, Papa would’ve whipped me, but he’d’ve understood. But y’all comin’ along, he ain’t gonna understand that! Don’t y’all know I’m responsible for y’all?”
“Then you should’ve stayed at school,” I responded, feelingstiff from having had to lie so still and not at all like soothing his disturbed conscience.
He stared at me with fierce hostility, then turned gloomily back to the road. Everyone waited for him to say something. “Joe!” he called at last. “You gonna hafta go back.”
“Ah, Stacey, what they gonna get into?” questioned Little Willie. “Look, you gonna get a whipping anyways you look at it, so why don’t we go on in like we planned so’s we can be with T.J. and come on back ’fore your folks get a chance to be worried. We’ll all watch out for ’em.”
Stacey looked away, trying to make up his mind. I started to say something, but decided I’d better not.
“Things go for T.J. the way folks say,” Moe said softly, “we probably feel a lot worse than a whippin’, we don’t go.”
Moe’s statement settled it and we remained in the wagon.
By noon we were rolling down the main street of Strawberry. Christopher-John and Little Man stared out at it with bright, curious eyes, but the rest of us, having been there before, glanced around dully in a hurry to get on to the trial. Nothing much about Strawberry had changed since I’d first seen it a year ago. The verandas still sagged and the buildings still stared grayly out at the three-block asphalt road which, along with the spindly row of electrical poles lining it, brought the only touches of modernity to the place. The street, however, was strangely deserted. When I had come the one time before, it had been market day and the streets had been filled with country people and townspeople alike, sauntering along the sidewalks and in and out of the shops. Now the doors to the shops were closed, and the few people whom we did see seemed to be in a hurry to get someplace else.
We passed the Mercantile which had belonged to Jim Lee Barnett. I pointed it out to Little Man and Christopher-John. The shades were drawn as if it were closed, though I hadheard that Mrs. Barnett with the aid of her brother had kept the store open after her husband’s death. A farm wagon loaded down with a white family and household furniture was parked in front of the store. We glanced at them, then quickly looked away before they saw us. We guessed they had lost their farm. These days dispossessed farmers were not an uncommon sight. Another block down was where Mr. Jamison’s office had stood and where rebuilding was already underway. Across from his office was the courthouse square, but before we reached the square, Joe pulled up on the reins and stopped the wagon.
“What you stopping here for?” demanded Clarence. “The courthouse is down thataway.”
Joe’s eyes followed the direction of Clarence’s finger pointed northward, up Main, then looked back at Clarence. “This here’s far as I’m gon’ go thisaway.”
“Ah, Joe, go on down to the courthouse,” wheedled Little Willie. “It ain’t gonna take you but a minute.”
Joe shook his head with great animation. “Not me! No sirreeee! One time I gone farther’n this, up McGiver Street there, and Mr. Deputy Haynes seen me and he asked me what I was doin’ goin’ down that street on the white folks’ side of town and I told him I ain’t even knowed that there was the white folks’ side and he sez to me, he sez, ya knows it now. Then he
“Y’all know what kinda trouble I’m in now!” Stacey fumed. “Me going to Strawberry by myself, Papa would’ve whipped me, but he’d’ve understood. But y’all comin’ along, he ain’t gonna understand that! Don’t y’all know I’m responsible for y’all?”
“Then you should’ve stayed at school,” I responded, feelingstiff from having had to lie so still and not at all like soothing his disturbed conscience.
He stared at me with fierce hostility, then turned gloomily back to the road. Everyone waited for him to say something. “Joe!” he called at last. “You gonna hafta go back.”
“Ah, Stacey, what they gonna get into?” questioned Little Willie. “Look, you gonna get a whipping anyways you look at it, so why don’t we go on in like we planned so’s we can be with T.J. and come on back ’fore your folks get a chance to be worried. We’ll all watch out for ’em.”
Stacey looked away, trying to make up his mind. I started to say something, but decided I’d better not.
“Things go for T.J. the way folks say,” Moe said softly, “we probably feel a lot worse than a whippin’, we don’t go.”
Moe’s statement settled it and we remained in the wagon.
By noon we were rolling down the main street of Strawberry. Christopher-John and Little Man stared out at it with bright, curious eyes, but the rest of us, having been there before, glanced around dully in a hurry to get on to the trial. Nothing much about Strawberry had changed since I’d first seen it a year ago. The verandas still sagged and the buildings still stared grayly out at the three-block asphalt road which, along with the spindly row of electrical poles lining it, brought the only touches of modernity to the place. The street, however, was strangely deserted. When I had come the one time before, it had been market day and the streets had been filled with country people and townspeople alike, sauntering along the sidewalks and in and out of the shops. Now the doors to the shops were closed, and the few people whom we did see seemed to be in a hurry to get someplace else.
We passed the Mercantile which had belonged to Jim Lee Barnett. I pointed it out to Little Man and Christopher-John. The shades were drawn as if it were closed, though I hadheard that Mrs. Barnett with the aid of her brother had kept the store open after her husband’s death. A farm wagon loaded down with a white family and household furniture was parked in front of the store. We glanced at them, then quickly looked away before they saw us. We guessed they had lost their farm. These days dispossessed farmers were not an uncommon sight. Another block down was where Mr. Jamison’s office had stood and where rebuilding was already underway. Across from his office was the courthouse square, but before we reached the square, Joe pulled up on the reins and stopped the wagon.
“What you stopping here for?” demanded Clarence. “The courthouse is down thataway.”
Joe’s eyes followed the direction of Clarence’s finger pointed northward, up Main, then looked back at Clarence. “This here’s far as I’m gon’ go thisaway.”
“Ah, Joe, go on down to the courthouse,” wheedled Little Willie. “It ain’t gonna take you but a minute.”
Joe shook his head with great animation. “Not me! No sirreeee! One time I gone farther’n this, up McGiver Street there, and Mr. Deputy Haynes seen me and he asked me what I was doin’ goin’ down that street on the white folks’ side of town and I told him I ain’t even knowed that there was the white folks’ side and he sez to me, he sez, ya knows it now. Then he
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