No Ordinary Sound: A Classic Featuring Melody. Denise Lewis Patrick

Momma shrugged, but Melody saw a twinkle in her eyes. Before Melody could ask anything, she heard the back door of the house open and shut. Poppa’s heavy footsteps crossed the floor.

      “Hello!” his voice boomed. Poppa always talked loud. Melody’s mother said it was because of his work around all the loud machines years ago at the auto factory. Melody liked the sound—it reminded her of drumbeats.

      “Guess who I brought to dinner!” Poppa called from the kitchen.

      Everyone turned in his direction. He opened the door wider, and there stood Yvonne with a huge smile on her face.

      “Surprise!” she sang.

      “Vonnie!” Melody ran around the table to give her big sister a hug.

      “We didn’t expect you till next week!” Mrs. Ellison said. Melody could tell that her mother was very happy. Yvonne had been gone since January.

      “I took all my exams and I finished my last paper early, so I caught the bus,” Yvonne explained. “Poppa picked me up at the Detroit terminal. Boy, that ride from Alabama takes forever!” She barely took a breath before dropping her bag and greeting everyone. “Wow, Dee-Dee. Did you get taller? Got any new sounds, Dwayne? Lila, are those new glasses? Dad, you’re wearing the birthday shirt we gave you! Big Momma, that roast smells really good. And Mommy, I know you made your triple-chocolate cake. Can we eat?”

      Melody laughed. College hadn’t changed Yvonne’s habit of talking a mile a minute.

      Big Momma brought the roast in and everyone took their places around the table, with Poppa at one end and Daddy at the other. And now the family was truly all together, the way their Sundays used to be.

      “Dee-Dee, why don’t you sing grace for us?” her father said.

      “Yes, Daddy,” Melody said. She felt comfortable singing in front of this crowd. She bowed her head and sang in a strong, clear voice:

       By Thy hands must we be fed;

       Give us, Lord, our daily bread.

      Table Talk

       CHAPTER 2

      o,” Yvonne said, “what’s the news? What have I been missing?” She glanced around the table.

      “I’m doing double shifts at the factory again this week,” Daddy told her.

      Melody opened her mouth to speak, but Mommy beat her to it.

      “There’s a lot of talk about some of the city schools only having half days next year,” she said.

      Everyone looked up at that. “Really?” Yvonne asked.

      Mommy nodded. “Can you believe that? School three or four hours a day? Children need as much time as they can get to learn. We teachers are against it, but the district says there may not be enough money for full days.”

      “Wish they’d shortened the days when I was in school!” Dwayne grunted.

      “I have news…” Melody started to say. But Yvonne nodded in Dwayne’s direction.

      “What’s up with you?” she asked him.

      “Not much,” Dwayne said, leaning over his almost empty plate.

      Melody looked at him curiously. When he wasn’t working at the factory, Dwayne was always busy singing with his friends or writing new music—and playing Big Momma’s piano every chance he could get. Why would he tell Yvonne “not much”? She wanted to ask him, but she also wanted her turn.

      Melody waved her fork in the air at her sister, trying not to see Mommy frowning at her poor table manners. “Vonnie, I was going to write you, but now I can tell you in person.”

      “Spill it, Dee-Dee!” Yvonne laughed.

      “I’m going to sing my first solo!”

      “In the Mother’s Day program next week?” Yvonne asked.

      “No, Miss Dorothy picked me for the Youth Day program. I have the whole summer to learn a song.”

      “That’s great!” Yvonne said. “Now you can show that girl—what’s her name? The one who always tries to boss the other singers around?”

      “You mean Diane Harris?” Melody made a face. Diane was in the same fourth-grade class as Melody and took piano lessons from Big Momma. She had a nice voice, but she wasn’t at all nice about that.

      “I hear she’s a solo hog,” Dwayne mumbled with his mouth full.

      “We can’t be jealous of other people’s gifts,” Mommy said to Dwayne sternly. She turned to Melody. “Besides, didn’t you just say that Miss Dorothy asked you to sing a solo?”

      “Yes.” Melody looked down, twiddling her fingers in her lap. “But I’m really not as good as Diane.”

      “Who says that?” Daddy asked.

      Melody said out loud what she’d been thinking since Miss Dorothy’s request. “Well, Diane has a big, grown-up voice, and I only have a girl voice.” She looked at Dwayne, expecting him to remind her that she was only a girl. He didn’t say anything.

      “Everybody’s got a right to shine, baby chick,” Big Momma said. “Diane does and you do, too. You’ve got a beautiful voice, and plenty of other gifts.”

      “What about that green thumb of yours?” Poppa reminded her.

      Lila said, “I bet Diane can’t name every car off the Ford line, the way you can!”

      Melody smiled. It was true that she was good at all those things. And she liked being good at them, too. But Diane was so sure of herself when she sang! She could hear a song once and sing it without one mistake. Melody remembered music easily, but she had to practice and practice to get the words right.

      “You’re a hard worker, Melody. That’s a gift, too,” Mommy said, and then turned to Yvonne. “Speaking of hard work, how was your second year at Tuskegee?”

      “Yes, Vonnie. Did you study all the time?” Melody asked. Mommy had gone to Tuskegee, and this year Dwayne had applied and been accepted. Melody knew that her parents hoped all their children would graduate from Tuskegee one day, too.

      Yvonne shook her head so that her small earrings sparkled. “There’s so much more to do at school besides studying,” she said, reaching for more gravy.

      “Like what?” Poppa asked, propping his elbows on the table. Melody held back a giggle when she saw Big Momma frown the same way Mommy had, but Poppa paid no attention.

      “Well, last week before finals a bunch of us went out to help black people in the community register to vote,” Yvonne said. “And do you know, a lady told me she was too afraid to sign up.”

      “Why was she afraid?” Melody interrupted.

      “Because somebody threw a rock through her next-door neighbor’s window after her neighbor voted,” Yvonne explained, her eyes flashing with anger. “This is 1963! How can anybody get away with that?”

      Melody looked from Yvonne to her father. “You always say not voting is like not being able to talk. Why wouldn’t anybody want to talk?”

      Daddy sighed. “It’s not that she doesn’t want to vote, Melody. There are a lot of unfair rules down South that keep our people from exercising their rights. Some white people will do anything, including scaring black people, to keep change from happening. They don’t want to share jobs or neighborhoods or schools with us.