Never Stop Singing. Denise Lewis Patrick

could find a house of their own. They’d moved to Detroit from Birmingham in May, and it was taking them a long time to buy a house.

      Before Melody could ask Val anything else, Pastor Daniels stepped up to the pulpit.

      “Good evening!” the preacher said. His voice was always loud and clear, and he never needed to use a microphone.

      “Good evening!” everyone answered together.

      Pastor Daniels peered out at the crowd over the tops of his glasses. “A week ago, many of us received gifts,” he began. “Isn’t that right?”

      “Yes, sir!” a young voice answered from the back. A few people laughed, and Melody turned to look.

      Pastor Daniels chuckled before he continued. “Well, New Hope church family, at midnight everyone here will receive another gift. When the New Year comes in, each of us will receive a new opportunity to make a difference in the world. That’s a special gift. And I want each one of you to ask yourself: What will I do with my gift? What will I do to help justice, equality, and dignity grow in our community?”

      Melody sat up a little straighter. She thought of the seeds she and Poppa planted in their gardens every spring and of the work it took to make those seeds grow and blossom. Can a person really make justice, equality, and dignity grow, too? she wondered. How?

      Pastor Daniels kept speaking. “In honor of all those hopeful souls who first sat watch for their freedom so long ago, now is the time for every one of us to use this gift we receive tonight. I want each of you to pick one thing you can work on, just one thing you can change for the better, right here in our community.”

      Murmurs rippled through the congregation. Melody saw Lila scribbling notes on a corner of her program.

      “I want you to give this idea some serious thought,” Pastor Daniels said. “But don’t take too long. When Reverend Dr. King visited with us here in Detroit last summer, he said, ‘Now is the time to lift our nation.’ Now is the time, New Hope, for us to lift our nation. Now is the time for you”—he pointed one way—“and you”—he pointed the other way—“and you! To take action!”

      Melody was sure he was looking directly at her. She held her breath.

      “The new year, 1964, is a season of change. Change yourself. Change our community. Change our nation!”

      Miss Dorothy, who directed Melody and her friends in the children’s choir, began to play the piano. The adult choir rose and began to sing. Melody sang along, clapping in time with the rhythm.

       We’ve come this far by faith,

       Leaning on the Lord,

       Trusting in His holy word,

       He’s never failed me yet.

       Oh, oh, oh, can’t turn around,

       We’ve come this far by faith.

      At the conclusion of the song, to Melody’s surprise and delight, the church bells sounded, drowning out the final piano notes. It was midnight! It was 1964!

      “Happy New Year!” Pastor Daniels shouted.

      “Happy Birthday, Melody!” Val shouted, too, squeezing Melody in a hug. But in the din of bells and cheers and applause, only Melody heard.

      The Watch Night celebration continued downstairs in the church hall, where everyone greeted each other saying “Happy New Year!” Melody, Val, and Lila stood in line with Yvonne to get cookies, while the rest of the family found seats at one of the tables. Melody tried to spot her best friend, Sharon, in the crowd, but the room was packed.

      “There’s Diane,” Val said.

      Melody saw her friend Diane Harris helping her little sisters carry cups of punch. Across the hall Melody saw Miss Esther Collins sitting with a group of other elderly people. Miss Esther was a neighbor who loved gardening just as much as Melody did. She looked up and waved. Melody smiled and waved back.

      Yvonne nudged Melody when the lady behind them commented on how pretty the amaryllis flowers were.

      “Were they Poppa’s idea, or yours?” Yvonne asked.

      “Poppa’s. But it was my idea to tie the gold ribbons around each pot,” Melody said proudly.

      Yvonne nodded. “They match your dress,”

      “Hey, she’s right,” Val said.

      Melody grinned and tried not to yawn. She didn’t want anyone to think she was still too young to be at Watch Night.

      With cookies stacked on napkins, Yvonne led them back to a table in the corner where everyone else was sitting. There weren’t enough chairs, so Melody sat on Big Momma’s lap. She hadn’t done that in a while, and tonight something felt different—either Big Momma’s lap was getting smaller, or Melody was getting bigger. Well, I am double digits, she thought.

      “Everyone is talking about the decorations,” Yvonne said, passing around the cookies. “And Pastor Daniels’s Challenge to Change. I think this thing is going to be big!”

      Daddy nodded at her. “‘Challenge to Change.’ I like that, Yvonne. You know, sometimes when people listen to the news, they think all the change in the way black people are treated only needs to happen down South. But there’s plenty of change work to do here in the North, too.”

      “You’re right about that, Will,” Val’s father, Charles, said.

      “Yes,” Val’s mother, Tish, said, “like the fact that decent, hardworking people can’t get a real estate agent to show them certain houses just because they’re black!” Tish sounded angry. Although she owned her own hair salon and Charles had a good job as a pharmacist, they were having trouble buying a house.

      “You two aren’t the only ones facing that battle,” Melody’s mother said. “Come to our next Block Club meeting. Someone from the Fair Housing Practices Committee is coming to talk to us.”

      “Is that so?” Charles said.

      “We’ll be there,” Tish said.

      “Housing laws need to change,” Melody’s mother agreed. “But Pastor Daniels asked us to change ourselves, too. I think I might start tutoring after school again.”

      Yvonne nodded. “I’m going to take Pastor Daniels’s challenge with me when I go back to school. I’m not sure what I’ll do on campus, but I know what I can do in the community—well, a community in Mississippi. There’s talk about students going there this summer for a civil rights project. I want to go.”

      Melody’s mother shifted in her seat. “What exactly would you all be doing?” she asked.

      “A bunch of things. I heard there will be more voter registration, and volunteers will talk to black folks to remind them that they have a say in how this country works. I think they’ll also be setting up community centers and schools. I might try working with kids.” Yvonne was speaking fast, the way she did when she was excited about an idea.

      “Teaching?” Melody asked. “Just like Mommy!” Melody looked at their mother, who looked pleased.

      “I thought you were studying business,” pointed out Lila, who liked to get all the facts straight.

      Yvonne laughed. “I am, Lila. But let’s just say that I want to make it my business to help teach black history. Schools are really poor down there. Lots of kids in black communities don’t know about the contributions black Americans have made.”

      “You mean, like Dr. King?” Melody asked.

      “And many others,” Big Momma said. “Harriet Tubman,