his neck, then puts it around my neck.
"There," he says. "Now you're safe."
"What about you?" Little Bit says.
"Momma will make me another one."
He asks me my name and I tell him.
"Addy," he repeats after me. "Sounds like Adam. What's it short for?"
"You're the first person in the whole world who ever asked me that," I say, smiling. "It's short for Adeline, but nobody ever calls me that."
"Then
I
will," Jess says. "Wanna race, Miss Adeline?"
And we do. Back and forth, the three of us run and run just for fun.
Mr. Tempy and Zula leave the following day, way before sunup. They want to get an early start so they can get a good amount of cash for their hogs in Mobile. That night, me and Little Bit, we go back to that little schoolhouse church, and we keep going back almost every night after that like it's our very own treasure. The first few times we use our map to make our way back, but after a while, we know the way by heart. Seems like every night they're singing, or listening to the preacher, or having some kind of get-together. And every time we go, Jess Still is there, happy to see us.
I tell him he's lucky because they have such a good preacher.
"But every time he starts, I fall to sleep. Every time," he says, snapping his fingers. "Like clockwork, Miss Adeline."
Jess Still reminds me of me before I met Mr. Frank and Miss Irene, only Jess is happier because his ma and pa aren't like mine. He doesn't wear shoes and he talks the way he talks without anybody bothering to correct him. We catch crickets and butterflies and then turn them loose. We three soak our feet in the creek. He teaches us the words to the church songs we like best. Because Jess's ma made him and Little Bit both a new asafetida bag, we three even smell alike. In no time flat, Jess Still is my second friend.
On Sunday there is the biggest crowd, and Little Bit and I stay just to hear the extra-special good singing.
But then all at once, in the middle of an amen, we hear horses and men shouting. I hear a familiar man-voice, but I can't place it. I hear him say, "We have to fight for our life, boys, more desperately than at Shiloh and Vicksburg. What is called for here is loyalty, courage, and grim determination."
"Well, peas and rice," Little Bit says. "It's just getting good. What is it now?"
Little Bit is right. The singing is just getting good, when out of the woods come these folks wearing old Confederate
uniforms and white or dark gray cloth masks over their heads with cut-out spook faces. At first we want to laugh at the cutout eye, nose, and mouth holes, but then we see that these men are not here for fun but to do something mighty fearsome, and too soon they begin to foul the air with curses.
"It's them Ku Kluxers that Mr. Tempy was talking to Mr. Frank about a while back," I whisper.
At the hem of a long patch of tall grass, we duck under the scrub bushes and get a good look at the passing men. And I am relieved to see that they are just men. These are not the spooks they mean to appear to be. Nor are they wildcats or worse. They are just men. White men, all of them.
Some of the men get down off their horses. Some of the men stay on their horses, howling and yelping and shouting out ugly things. The men on the ground set to work. They take a pine log over thirty feet high and lash another, shorter arm to it. They set the big pole into the ground and there stands before us the tallest cross I ever seen. They soak burlap bags in turpentine I can smell, then they wrap the bags all around the wood.
It is dark and hard to see. I move closer.
"Addy, don't," Little Bit whispers. "We don't know those men. We don't know what they would do to us."
"What about Jess?" I say. "Where is he?"
"He's inside," Little Bit whispers.
The wind starts up, the clouds clear, and the moonlight lights up what there is to see. One man has the fanciest hood, with extra slits above the eyes, mouth, and nose, like worry lines. He crouches, then
"There," he says. "Now you're safe."
"What about you?" Little Bit says.
"Momma will make me another one."
He asks me my name and I tell him.
"Addy," he repeats after me. "Sounds like Adam. What's it short for?"
"You're the first person in the whole world who ever asked me that," I say, smiling. "It's short for Adeline, but nobody ever calls me that."
"Then
I
will," Jess says. "Wanna race, Miss Adeline?"
And we do. Back and forth, the three of us run and run just for fun.
Mr. Tempy and Zula leave the following day, way before sunup. They want to get an early start so they can get a good amount of cash for their hogs in Mobile. That night, me and Little Bit, we go back to that little schoolhouse church, and we keep going back almost every night after that like it's our very own treasure. The first few times we use our map to make our way back, but after a while, we know the way by heart. Seems like every night they're singing, or listening to the preacher, or having some kind of get-together. And every time we go, Jess Still is there, happy to see us.
I tell him he's lucky because they have such a good preacher.
"But every time he starts, I fall to sleep. Every time," he says, snapping his fingers. "Like clockwork, Miss Adeline."
Jess Still reminds me of me before I met Mr. Frank and Miss Irene, only Jess is happier because his ma and pa aren't like mine. He doesn't wear shoes and he talks the way he talks without anybody bothering to correct him. We catch crickets and butterflies and then turn them loose. We three soak our feet in the creek. He teaches us the words to the church songs we like best. Because Jess's ma made him and Little Bit both a new asafetida bag, we three even smell alike. In no time flat, Jess Still is my second friend.
On Sunday there is the biggest crowd, and Little Bit and I stay just to hear the extra-special good singing.
But then all at once, in the middle of an amen, we hear horses and men shouting. I hear a familiar man-voice, but I can't place it. I hear him say, "We have to fight for our life, boys, more desperately than at Shiloh and Vicksburg. What is called for here is loyalty, courage, and grim determination."
"Well, peas and rice," Little Bit says. "It's just getting good. What is it now?"
Little Bit is right. The singing is just getting good, when out of the woods come these folks wearing old Confederate
uniforms and white or dark gray cloth masks over their heads with cut-out spook faces. At first we want to laugh at the cutout eye, nose, and mouth holes, but then we see that these men are not here for fun but to do something mighty fearsome, and too soon they begin to foul the air with curses.
"It's them Ku Kluxers that Mr. Tempy was talking to Mr. Frank about a while back," I whisper.
At the hem of a long patch of tall grass, we duck under the scrub bushes and get a good look at the passing men. And I am relieved to see that they are just men. These are not the spooks they mean to appear to be. Nor are they wildcats or worse. They are just men. White men, all of them.
Some of the men get down off their horses. Some of the men stay on their horses, howling and yelping and shouting out ugly things. The men on the ground set to work. They take a pine log over thirty feet high and lash another, shorter arm to it. They set the big pole into the ground and there stands before us the tallest cross I ever seen. They soak burlap bags in turpentine I can smell, then they wrap the bags all around the wood.
It is dark and hard to see. I move closer.
"Addy, don't," Little Bit whispers. "We don't know those men. We don't know what they would do to us."
"What about Jess?" I say. "Where is he?"
"He's inside," Little Bit whispers.
The wind starts up, the clouds clear, and the moonlight lights up what there is to see. One man has the fanciest hood, with extra slits above the eyes, mouth, and nose, like worry lines. He crouches, then
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