The Well by Mildred D. Taylor Page A

Joe.
    Now Joe McCalister worked at the Simmses’ place most days. They ain’t paid him much—they couldn’t afford to pay much—but Joe, he done whatever they said. There was some talk that Joe was somehow kin to the Simmses. It was said that Old Man McCalister Simms’ given name come from his mama’s family nameof McCalister. It was said too one of them McCalisters was Joe’s granddaddy. Anyways, whatever the truth of the matter was, Joe was always up at the Simmses’ and Old Man McCalister, he put up with him. Charlie and Ed-Rose, though, they was always making fun of Joe. Joe, he just thought they were being friendly.
    â€œâ€™Ey, Joe!” said Charlie one late afternoon. “Ya know the Reverend Jones ’specting you to open up the church for service tonight ’bout sunset.”
    â€œT’night?” questioned Joe. “Ain’t nobody said nothin’ ’bout no service t’night.” Joe had a right to question since, after all, he was caretaker at the church. He took on that job early and he was good at it. He was proud of it too.
    â€œWell, that’s ’cause it come up on a sudden like,” Charlie went on. “Seems there’s a bunch of sinners done seen the light and they wants t’ join the church. Reverend said he calling a special church meeting just so’s he can get ’em in the House of the Lord soon’s he can. He come by here earlier lookin’ for ya to tell ya to get the church ready for the service, but you was out in the fields so he told us t’ let you know. Now he said no need to ring the bell.”
    â€œNot ring the bell?” asked Joe, and he was sounding mighty disappointed. Joe loved ringing that bell. “Why not? I always rings the bell!”
    â€œWell, I don’t really know, Joe,” said Charlie.“Maybe the reverend’s ’fraid it might scare them sinners and they’ll run off. Anyways, don’t you fret ’bout it. You just be sure you don’t ring it. You go on now, light up the church, and you wait there ’til him and them sinners and the church members show up. Said he was countin’ on ya now. Can ya do it?”
    â€œYes, suh, Mr. Charlie. Ole Joe, he’ll be right there. The pastor, he know he can count on me.”
    â€œCourse he do,” said Ed-Rose.
    â€œWait, Joe,” said Hammer. “Don’t you see they foolin’ ya? They don’t want you ringing the bell ’cause folks would come if ya did. There’s no church meeting.”
    â€œYou callin’ me a lie?” said Charlie.
    Hammer ain’t said nothing and Ed-Rose demanded, “’Sides, this your business?”
    â€œI’ll make it my business,” said Hammer.
    â€œAnd get yo’self whipped?”
    â€œLeave him be,” said Hammer.
    â€œHammer,” I warned, “leave it alone.”
    â€œJoe! What you doin’ still standin’ up here?” asked Charlie. “Don’t you let these two smart-talkin’ boys get you in trouble. Now you go on and tend to your business.”
    Joe did as he was told and we watched him go, knowing it was most likely one of Charlie’s and Ed-Rose’stricks; but there was little we could do to stop it. Joe was free to go. We weren’t.
    We worked on, and about sunset when we were getting ready to start for home, a wagon pulled up to the Simmses’ place. It was our wagon and Papa was driving. We were two happy boys, Hammer and me. We ran to Papa as fast as we could. We climbed on the wagon and hugged him just as Old Man McCalister Simms came out of his barn. Mr. McCalister Simms squinted at Papa as if trying to make out who it was we were there hugging, and he hesitated as if not quite sure. After all, Papa looked like a white man. He was small built, a bantam weight, had straight brown hair, a fearsome kind of mustache, and cream-colored skin. He was colored, but he