Melody Ellison 3-Book Set. Denise Lewis Patrick

CHAPTER 7

      hen Poppa pulled up to his house, Daddy, Dwayne, and Cousin Charles were already leaning against Charles’s Ford Fairlane, talking and laughing. The mothers were walking slowly up the driveway, talking and laughing. Melody knew that the day was going to be full of talking and laughing.

      “Look at you, man!” Charles thumped Dwayne on the back. “You weren’t this tall last summer! Are you still singing?”

      Melody saw Dwayne duck his head, but he answered, “Yeah, yeah I am.”

      “He’s just playing with that music business in his spare time,” Daddy said. “He’s going to college in September.”

      Dwayne opened his mouth to say something, but then closed it again. When Melody sighed, Val looked at her curiously. “What’s that about?” she whispered.

      Melody shook her head. “Tell you later. Look! Your mother and Big Momma have Yvonne cornered!”

      Big Momma and Cousin Tish were standing on either side of Yvonne on the porch steps, studying her Afro while Mommy looked on.

      “Oh!” Val whispered. “I wonder what Mama is saying.” Cousin Tish had owned a hair salon in Birmingham. Melody loved the fact that she never knew what Tish’s hair would look like when she saw her next. Each time it was a different style and color: curly and red, long and brown, short and black, or piled high and wavy like today. What would she think of Yvonne’s crinkly crown?

      “Let’s hurry up so we can hear!” Melody said.

      “Now, how did you get it to stand up?” Big Momma was asking.

      “I have a special comb,” Yvonne said.

      “Some people don’t like natural hair because it looks so different from what we’re used to,” Tish said. She looked at Yvonne thoughtfully. “I think that style suits your face. I’m going to open a salon here as soon as I find a spot. I wonder if my future Detroit clients would like a style like that?”

      “I’m not sure how many young women are as radical as our Yvonne,” Mommy said, opening the front door.

      “What does ‘radical’ mean?” Melody asked.

      “It means somebody who’s willing to raise her voice,” Yvonne said.

      “Willing to raise her hair, too!” Mommy said as she went inside.

      Melody and Val followed, but they all bumped into a traffic jam just inside the living room. Everyone was looking up at the arch where Poppa had quickly hung Melody’s colorful construction-paper signs all the way across, saying “Welcome Charles, Tish, and Val.” Underneath, on a small round table, was the Mother’s Day flower arrangement Melody had made at Poppa’s shop.

      “Oh!” Tish clapped. “Who made all this loveliness?”

      “Melody did,” Lila said, peering around for her sister.

      “Melody?” Mommy called, and Melody made her way to the dining room with Val right behind.

      “Thank you, honey!” Tish gave her a hug. “There’s nothing like being around family.”

      “And there’s nothing like Big Momma’s fried chicken,” Charles said, as Yvonne and Mommy brought plates and bowls of food from the kitchen.

      “Come on, everyone,” Big Momma called. “Let’s eat.”

      There was so much talking and laughing that dinner went on and on. Everyone was so busy catching up on cousins and old friends that Big Momma served a second round of cake and ice cream.

      “Say, Frances!” Charles said, scraping the last of the crumbs off his plate. “This reminds me of the first time you made a triple-chocolate cake. It was kind of lopsided, remember?”

      “Lopsided?” Dwayne laughed. “Are you kidding?”

      “No, he’s not kidding,” Mommy said. “And yes, I remember. I was a new wife, and I didn’t bake very well.”

      “What your mother did was nothing to laugh at,” Daddy said. “I had dreamed about chocolate when I was overseas during the war. I saw a cake like that in the window of a bakery in town the day I got back.”

      “Why didn’t you just go into the bakery and buy it?” Melody asked.

      Mommy poured more coffee for the grown-ups. “I tried,” she said. “That bakery refused to serve Negroes. I was so angry that I decided to try to make the cake myself.”

      Daddy said, “There we were, fighting for freedom for the world, and we didn’t have it when we got back home.”

      “But you two were Tuskegee Airmen!” Dwayne said. “I mean, you got a medal, Dad!”

      “Yes. I was the most highly trained mechanic in my unit. I kept those planes in top flying condition. But when I left the service, I couldn’t get a job in my hometown. I had to move all the way to Detroit, and even up here I had to start at the bottom doing the most backbreaking jobs at the auto factory.”

      Charles sighed. “Things sure haven’t changed much. Here I am, moving to Detroit for the same reason.”

      “What do you mean?” Daddy asked.

      “The black hospital where I worked closed down,” Charles explained. “I tried to get a job at one of the white hospitals, but no one would hire me. I’m a licensed pharmacist, but it seemed as if people only saw me as some black man they couldn’t be bothered with.”

      Melody thought about what had happened to Yvonne at the bank. “That’s wrong,” she whispered to her sister. Yvonne looked at Melody and nodded. So did Mommy.

      Charles’s face was serious. “I got stopped by a cop when I was on my way to a job interview. I was wearing a suit and tie, not doing anything wrong, but the police still treated me like a criminal. When the hospital closed, I just felt it was time for us to get out of Birmingham.”

      “But if everybody like you and Tish leaves, who’s going to stay and fight?” Yvonne asked.

      “Girl, if you miss a day of work to participate in a march or a protest, you can lose your job,” Charles said. “I have a family to support. I couldn’t risk it.”

      “But things are changing,” Yvonne insisted.

      “Yes, but things are also getting tense,” Charles said. He put his coffee cup down. “It was bad enough when white people threw food at peaceful protesters or pulled them off their seats at a lunch counter. But now the police are setting dogs and fire hoses on people!”

      Tish tapped her bright red fingernails on the table. “Charles and I have been talking about this for months. There’s a lot of good happening in the South, but some of it is getting dangerous. The police turned those hoses on children. Children!”

      Melody knew what Tish was talking about. Everyone did. It had happened last week, and news of it was still on the TV every night. Melody had seen black schoolkids in Birmingham, singing and carrying signs. Then policemen chased them, and turned giant hoses on them. The blasts of water were so strong that they knocked the children to the ground.

      Melody glanced at Val. Val looked down at her dish of ice cream.

      “Those police in Birmingham were wrong,” Big Momma said. She reached over and gently raised Val’s chin with her hand. “And those children were very brave.”

      “I don’t see why we have to fight fire with fire, as the old saying goes,” Mommy said. “Dr. King speaks against hatred and fear. He believes we can change hearts and laws without violence.”

      “He’s