Stella by Starlight Page 11

  “I can rebuild a house,” Mr. Spencer added, “but our Hazel . . .” His voice broke, and he gave Stella what had to be his twentieth bear hug.

  Stella’s own parents couldn’t stop touching her shoulders, smoothing her hair, brushing off her dress. She tried to shrug it all off, but when Tony sauntered over, simply to say, “Impressive!” before heading back to help with the final cleanup, she couldn’t help but beam.

  Now that Hazel was found, the fire was contained, and the house was clearly a loss, a number of folks wearily started making their way home. Some, however, stayed behind to toss one last layer of water and dirt on the smoldering remains.

  “You know we’re all gonna help you rebuild, Hobart,” Papa told Mr. Spencer. “Every one of us.”

  “We’re mighty grateful, Jonah,” Mr. Spencer replied. He looked so very tired.

  Stella’s father had more to say. “Since my mama passed on last year, her house has just been sittin’ there empty. I want you to head on over there for tonight, for as long as you need. It’s small, but it’s got a solid roof.”

  Mr. Spencer’s face flooded with gratitude as he murmured his thanks once more.

  It was after midnight by the time Stella and her family dragged into their house, bone weary and covered with soot. But when Stella finally got most of the ash and smoke off and fell into bed, her sleep was troubled. She tossed and turned, dreaming about dragons and ghosts, about fire and water, about snakes and hidey-holes.

  Sunday morning came too soon, but their little church was packed. Families who usually came only for holidays filled the pews with scrubbed and subdued children. Men who usually skipped church to go fishing, and men who stayed late at the local bar and slept in on Sunday mornings, squeezed themselves in with the rest of the community.

  Just before the first note of the first song rang out, the Spencer family, all fifteen of them, made their way down the center aisle. Their clothes were the same soot-stained ones of the night before, but every face was scrubbed clean, every chin held high. Hazel was wedged between her parents. As they walked past, every single person in the church stood and applauded. Once the family was seated, Mrs. Hawkins raised her arms for the choir to begin. The song she chose was, to Stella’s mind, perfect. “Hush.”

  “ ‘Hush, hush,’ ” the bass and tenors sang first. “ ‘Somebody’s callin’ my name.’ ”

  The altos joined in. “ ‘Hush, hush, somebody’s callin’ my name.’ ”

  Finally the sopranos. “ ‘Hush, hush, somebody’s callin’ my name.’ ”

  Then everyone together: “ ‘Oh my Lord, oh my Lord, what shall I do?’ ”

  The next verse was sung with deep, growling passion. Stella joined in loudly.

  “I’m so glad that trouble don’t last always,

  I’m so glad that trouble don’t last always,

  I’m so glad that trouble don’t last always,

  Oh my Lord, oh my Lord, what shall I do, what shall I do?

  Hush, hush, somebody’s callin’ my name,

  Hush, hush, somebody’s callin’ my name,

  Hush, hush, somebody’s callin’ my name,

  Oh my Lord, oh my Lord, what shall I do, what shall I do?”

  When Pastor Patton finally came up to the pulpit, Stella could tell every single person there was wondering what he would say. He began with a prayer.

  “Dear Lord, You have seen us through good times and bad, through adversity as well as triumph. We thank You that no lives were lost yesterday, that You saved every member of the Spencer family. Houses can be rebuilt. People cannot.”

  A chorus of amens moved through the church.

  “Sometimes we’re not sure which path to take, whether it is time to fight, or time to wait. Help us to make the right decision, Lord, and help us to stand with nobility, no matter what, and to live without fear. Amen.”

  He looked across the pews. “Is it possible to be scared and brave at the same time?”

  Stella scrunched up her forehead, not sure of the answer.

  The pastor walked away from the pulpit, closer to the congregation. “I was fixin’ to preach about David and Goliath this morning, because David was young, and brave, and faced an enemy who seemed to be impossible to defeat. But I changed my mind. This morning is too important.”

  Stella picked at a hangnail, but for the first time in many Sundays, she tried to pay close attention.

  The pastor continued. “We sang this morning about somebody calling our name. That song is about listening to the voice of the Lord, about being ready when we are called.”

  Jojo elbowed Stella and pointed to his left foot. A thin line of brown ants was crawling across his big toe, and he was trying not to giggle. Stella clamped her hand over her mouth, stifling her own snickers.

  Without warning, the pastor called out loudly, “Stella Mills, please stand up! I’m calling your name!”

  “Huh? What’d I do?” Her heart thudded as every last person turned to look at her. She touched her hair, positive it was a mess, and wondered if the pastor had seen her laughing at the ants.

  “Get up, Stella,” her mother urged, nudging her.

  Slowly Stella stood. In the center of the fifth row of pews, she stood, nervous, wondering what was going on.

  “This young person is going to be the subject of my sermon today,” Pastor Patton said.

  Stella’s knees nearly gave out. “Me?”

  Her parents looked just as dumbfounded.

  “Stella Mills is eleven years old,” the pastor continued. “But she represents all the children here today—her own brother, the children of the Hawkins family, the Winstons, the Bateses, the Malones. Little Claudia Odom. All the families with children—too many to mention them all. And all thirteen of Brother Spencer’s brood—which is practically a small town in itself!”

  Out of the corner of her eye, Stella caught Tony and Johnsteve and Randy pointing at her and grinning. She wanted to disappear under the floor.

  “Yes, this little girl represents all of us. She is youth. She is promise. She is the reason we get up each morning and go to jobs where we are underpaid or mistreated, to work in fields that are dry and parched and refuse to yield. She stands there for all our children.”

  As Stella gaped at him, she sensed her mother sitting up a little taller, her daddy, too.

  “Yesterday, in the midst of the heat and the flames, Stella Mills showed absolute bravery and courage as she ran toward the fire to rescue little Hazel Spencer.”

  Stella blinked. She didn’t think what she had done yesterday was brave or courageous at all.

  “And now, Hazel Spencer, stand up,” the pastor said. “Stand up, honey. Now I’m calling your name.”

  Stella was relieved when all eyes moved to look at Hazel, who stood up and gazed around with as confused a look as Stella imagined she herself had on her face.

  “Because of Stella Mills, Hazel Spencer is with us this morning. Because of Stella Mills, we know what bravery looks like. Because of Stella Mills, we give thanks that this child is with us. Because of Stella Mills, we know why we must keep on believing in our future.”

  Please stop talking about me and making me seem like something I’m not, Stella felt like screaming.

  “I want all the children to stand now,” Pastor Patton said. “All of you, get up! We value you. We honor you. We sacrifice for you. We’re calling your names!”

  As Jojo got up, a bright-blue marble clattered noisily to the wooden floor and rolled away. Mama shot him that how dare you? look, but he just grinned sheepishly and stood with the rest of the children. Stella was mighty glad to be joined by the others. They all looked from one to the other with pleased satisfaction.

  “We promise to teach you, and to guide you,” Pastor Patton told them. “Each of you is a David, and you will face many Goliaths in life. The job of the adults is to prepare you. And we will.”

  The grown-ups in the church started to clap and cheer. Then they al
l began to stand as well, and hug their children, other folks’ children, and even one another.

  “Come to the front, children,” Pastor Patton called out above the cacophony. “Come and sing for us. Mrs. Hawkins, will you lead them in “ ‘Get on Board’?”

  Stella and the others moved uncertainly to the front of the church. But Mrs. Hawkins took control right away, moving the group quickly up to the stage, placing the little ones in front and the taller ones in the back. She gave the signal to Mrs. Grayson at the piano, then lifted her arms, and the children began to sing.

  “The gospel train is a-comin’

  I hear it close at hand

  I hear that big train movin’

  And a rumblin’ through the land

  Get on board, little children

  Get on board, little children

  Get on board, little children

  There’s room for many a more

  I hear that train a-comin’,

  It’s comin’ round the curve

  It’s loosened all its steam brakes,

  And straining every nerve

  Get on board, little children

  Get on board, little children

  Get on board, little children

  There’s room for many a more

  The fare is cheap and all can go

  The rich and poor are there

  No second class on board this train

  No difference in the fare

  Get on board, little children

  Get on board, little children

  Get on board, little children

  There’s room for many a more.”

  Mrs. Hawkins led them though a dozen verses, each one faster and more spirited than the first. By the time they got to the final verse, the children were clapping in rhythm, the grown-ups were singing with them, and Stella could tell that the whole church was filled with a joy that hadn’t been there when she walked in.

  30

  Church Ladies

  Stella rode home with her family in a daze, not sure what had really happened. She heard a loud droning sound and glanced up.

  “Look, Stella, look!” Jojo said, pointing. “An airplane!”

  “Well, that’s the cat’s pajamas,” Mama said, shielding her eyes.

  Papa pointed as well, but in the opposite direction. “I’m lookin’ at that eagle, flying low and slow. I ’spect he’s not happy about an airplane takin’ over his space.”

  Stella watched the eagle circle and glide, and thought back to Spoon Man’s story.

  “I bet you felt like you were gonna pass out at church,” Jojo teased her once both the airplane and eagle had flown out of view.

  “I almost did!” Stella agreed. “But then you dropped that marble, and folks looked at you instead.”

  “About those marbles . . . ,” Mama began.

  Papa interrupted gently. “Leave the boy alone, Georgia. Today is Stella’s day. I get a good feelin’ right here when I think about what you did, Stella girl,” he said, tapping his chest.

  “ ’Cause she didn’t upchuck or faint?” Jojo asked.

  “No, silly. Because she was brave.”

  “But I really wasn’t, Papa,” Stella insisted. “I just figured out where Hazel was hiding.”

  “Ah, but you pushed away your fear in order to figure, that’s what you did,” Papa said. “Speaking of which, I think the preacher did a fine job getting rid of the anger and fear this morning.”

  Mama drummed her fingers on her knees. “But he never really gave any answers about what to do about the Klan.”

  “There are no answers,” Papa said. “You just gotta keep goin’ for your family, like the pastor told us. Sometimes bravery is just doin’ what you gotta do.”

  They weren’t home five minutes—Mama hadn’t even had time to stoke the fire—when Dusty began to growl. A knock on the door followed. Dusty jumped up, barking fiercely. The dog didn’t recognize whoever was at the door. Stella, alarmed, ran to quiet him, but he broke away, his hair standing up in stiff tufts on his back.

  Her father swung the door open while Stella grabbed the dog more tightly this time.

  “How do,” Papa said in his deep voice.

  Stella tiptoed behind him to see. She didn’t recognize the two mousy white women who stood there.

  Clearing her throat, the first woman practically squeaked as she said, “My name is Annie Lou Summers, and we are looking for Mrs. Mills. We heard, well, we heard, um, that she could direct us to the Spencer family.”

  “And I’m her sister, Mary Lou,” the second lady said, hardly speaking any louder. “We are here from the Bumblebee Baptist Church.”

  Stella’s mother hurried over to the door. “Come in, ladies,” she said cordially. “Don’t let our dog frighten you. We just got home from church services ourselves. Please come and sit a spell.” Her mother offered them both a chair at the table. “Would you like some sweet tea?”

  “Oh, you’re very kind, but no, thank you,” the ladies said almost at the same time. “We will be leavin’ directly.” They glanced nervously from corner to corner. Stella wondered what they thought of their house, then decided she didn’t care.

  The first woman, Annie Lou, told Stella’s mother, “We heard about the terrible fire last night, and the women of our church decided we want to help that poor family whose house was destroyed.”

  Stella’s first thought was to wonder if they knew any of the Klan members. She figured they probably did, probably went to church with some of them. Then she chastised herself for thinking mean thoughts—after all, these ladies were here to help.

  Mary Lou added, “We’ve brought food, plus we have collected a pile of clothes for the children. And some pots and dishes and aprons for the lady of the house. It’s all sitting out front in our automobile.”

  “Mrs. Spencer will be very pleased,” Stella’s mother said graciously. “It’s mighty kind of you all.”

  “We’d like to do more . . . all those children. . . ,” Mary Lou said, looking as if she wasn’t quite sure what to say. “We just wanted to make sure they wouldn’t, um, they wouldn’t be offended, um . . .”

  Stella almost smiled at their discomfort, but her mother filled in smoothly. “The Spencers will be very thankful for whatever you and the kind women of your church have to offer.”

  “The ladies decided they would try to be a blessing to the family, because of, uh, because of . . .” Now Annie Lou’s cheeks blushed bright pink.

  Stella started wondering what she would feel like in their living room.

  “Well-a-mercy, we hear there are thirteen children!” Mary Lou finished for her sister, who was now fanning herself with her handkerchief.

  “That’s true,” Stella’s mother confirmed. “Would you like to meet them? They’re staying in a house right next door for now. I’ll walk over yonder with you.”

  “Oh, thank you, thank you kindly!” Annie Lou said, standing up quickly. Both she and her sister looked extremely relieved the conversation was over.

  “These here are my children, Estelle and Jonah,” Mama said.

  “Would you two like to join us?” Annie Lou asked.

  Stella and Jojo were at the door before the words were out of her mouth.

  “Can we, Mama?” Stella asked.

  “Yes, but leave the dog here. And mind your manners!”

  “Yes, M’am.”

  “We’ll help you ladies tote stuff,” Jojo told them.

  “Why, thank you, young man,” Mary Lou said, smiling.

  Stella wasn’t going to pass up this opportunity. “Uh, do you think there’s a chance we could maybe have a ride in your motorcar?”

  “Stella!” her mother said sharply. “I’ll have none of that!”

  But Mary Lou seemed to understand. “I’ll make sure you get a ride down the road before we leave,” she whispered as they whisked out the door.

  Stella was in heaven.

  31

  Riding in a Car

&nbs
p; After she helped her mother wash and put away the dishes, Stella curled up on her bed and pulled out her notebook. Her family paid no attention to her scribblings, and Stella surprised even herself—today she could hardly wait to write down what had happened.

  RIDING IN A CAR

  Two white ladies let me and Jojo ride in a car today. Miss Mary Lou said it was a Model A. Nothing in Bumblebee smells that rich—nothing. I kept my hands balled into fists so I couldn’t axidentlly accidentally touch the wrong thing and get it dirty.

  Jojo touched ran his fingers over everything. He even rolled the window up and down with the knob on the side door passenger door.

  It roared. Loud enough so that everyone on Riverside Road could hear. They all came outside to see us. Dust blew up around us as Miss Mary Lou stepped on the gas pedal and galloped zoomed down the road. She even blew the horn! It sounded like “Ga-OOH-uh. Ga-OOh-uh!”

  I wonder if cars automobiles will ever replace horses and buggies. Some people say so, but I don’t think it can happen. How can a fancy car go through the fields and help a farmer plant or pick?

  And what would all the horses do?

  32

  Winners and Losers

  All week the donations trickled in for the Spencer family, coming from the Riverside Road folks, as well as from the larger community. Another white church in Bumblebee sent a couple of boxes of goods, as well as both Negro churches in Bumblebee, and even one in Spindale. Clothes, food, bedding, shoes—everything a family could need—was thoughtfully and quietly left for them on Stella’s porch or at the doorstep of what was once her grandma’s house. Even building supplies started to pile up. Nails. Tar paper. Plaster. A sawhorse. Hammers and other tools. Wood. Wood. And more wood.

  As another stack of two-by-fours landed by her porch, Stella couldn’t help but think about how folks had come together when Spoon Man showed up. This time, however, they managed to do a cook-up for a whole house! Nobody had everything, but everybody had something to offer.

  Mrs. Spencer knocked on their door several days later, a good-size box in her arms. “Mornin’, Georgia,” she said, setting the box on the table. Stella, braiding her hair into cornrows, came close.