Miss Hazel and the Rosa Parks League. Jonathan Odell

when he didn’t. Her father was conferencing late with his deacons, and Vida had to walk the two miles to her house, alone in the dark. Yet she wasn’t scared. Vida had walked the road hundreds of times with Willie.

      Mr. Bobber’s general store sat midway between Miss Josephine’s and Vida’s house, and when she passed, she saw the lights were still on. She had often gone inside the store by herself, but her father had solemnly warned her to never venture in there after dark, refusing to say more. Tonight she put the warning aside. With a robust Baptist refrain coursing through her blood, Vida marched right in to get herself an Orange Crush.

      The screen door slapped behind her, and the music fled from Vida’s head. The light was dim, and smoke floated thick and eerie. From the back of the store came the sounds of laughter, yet not the free and easy laughter of daytime. This was hard and coarse.

      Even the odors were different. No longer the clean bright scents of hoop cheese and mule feed and honey-cured hams and yard goods. The night smells were stale and rancid and clotted at the back of her throat when she tried to swallow.

      Leaning with one arm against the counter, holding himself at a tipsy angle, stood the young white man, his dark eyes swimming drunkenly in pools shot with red. He smiled. It wasn’t at her. His sideways grin was meant for the squat man behind the counter who was placing a Mason jar in a paper sack.

      Mr. Bobber frowned at his customer and said, “Boy, next time come around to the back, you hear?” He pushed the sack across the countertop.

      Several men sitting in ladder-back chairs in the rear of the store under a swirling haze of smoke made coughing sounds and moved about uneasily in their seats. They kept their eyes cut toward the business up front.

      “That’ll be three bits,” Mr. Bobber said to the man.

      Eyeing Vida, the man sniggered. “She come with it?”

      More laughing, hoarse and ragged, came from the back of the store.

      Mr. Bobber wasn’t laughing. “You got it or you don’t, boy?” He looked down at Vida and said, not unkindly with a firm warning in his voice, “You better get on home now, Vida. You know better than to come ’round here past dark.” He glanced warily at the customer and then at Vida again. “Now git, do you hear?”

      Vida found her legs and took two steps backward, bumped the screen, and fled the store, running through the yard for the dark of the roadbed. Her stomach had gone queasy from the way the man had looked at her.

      Vida raced down the road toward home. She needed her father to promise that nobody would ever dare hurt Levi Snow’s little girl. Then the headlights fell upon her.

      Nate tired of the spools and with his eyes narrowed and his bottom lip pooched out was pointing in the direction of his grandfather. Vida knew what he wanted—for her to fetch Levi’s watch chain. The boy loved gripping the two miniature praying hands that dangled from the chain. He couldn’t get to sleep at night unless he was gripping tightly to that gold chain.

      “Hands, Momma. Hands,” he pleaded.

      Vida didn’t move. She was waiting for her father to speak his mind. Waiting for him to say his first word since they had left the store.

      Her father finally broke the silence. “That was the one who got you bigged up. That white man at the store be Nate’s daddy.” Levi Snow wasn’t asking, he was telling, speaking with the same certitude as when he told his congregations that Jesus was coming to total up their books and they’d best settle their accounts today.

      These were not the words she wanted from her father, harsh and accusing. Trying to pretend she hadn’t heard him, Vida stretched out her legs so that the white baby-doll shoes caught the late-afternoon light streaming through the open window. The patent leather finish shone like the icing on a coconut cake.

      “I said, that be the man. He be Nate’s daddy,” her father repeated.

      Sweat had darkened the top of Levi’s white collar. Taking a handkerchief from his back pocket, he mopped his face. “Looka here, girl, and tell me the truth.”

      Tears welled up in Vida’s eyes. Why was he asking her to say the truth, now that he knew it? The night her father came home to find her crying and her dress torn, he had gotten quiet when she told him it was a white man who had done it. That had been enough truth for him then. He hadn’t even asked which white man it was.

      She wouldn’t have told him anyway. The man said he would kill her whole family if she told. For a while she made believe her daddy was protecting her by not asking, and that she was protecting them all by not telling.

      “Yessuh,” Vida answered finally. “He be the one.”

      “Oh, my sweet Jesus!” he said as she knew he would. “And now that man running for high sheriff. You know what that means?”

      Vida wouldn’t look up, yet from his angry voice, she figured it meant something about his standing as the Reach Out Man. That’s what they called him and what he was most proud of. If you needed something from the white man, Levi Snow was the one to go to. People bragged that he sure enough knew how to tickle the white man’s ear. Colored folks were always coming to her father for a favor. Mothers who wanted to visit their sons in jail, or sharecroppers who got cheated at settlement time, or families who lost their credit at the plantation commissary. Very seldom did Levi get what he asked for, but sometimes he got something, and in the coloreds’ eyes that was a pretty good record. Two years ago he even got the Senator to let Statia Collins put a little pea patch on her place to help feed her ten children, the first time the Senator had let any sharecropper raise something besides cotton and field corn for the mules. And the people knew that when the Senator’s wife died with a bad heart, it was Levi the big white man went to for consolation. Levi had made sure everybody knew that. Levi was favored above all coloreds.

      “I’ll tell you what it means.” Levi struck the tops of his legs with his fists. “If that peckerwood get voted high sheriff, it be the end of everything.”

      He bolted to his feet. “Let’s go. We got to go warn the Senator.” Calling to the back of the house, he cried, “Willie! Get out here.”

      Vida’s brother bounded into the parlor and did a marching step up to where his father stood, giving his father what he called his Texas Ranger salute. “Yes! Sir!”

      “Stop actin’ a fool. Go wipe down the car. I got to conference with the Senator.”

      “Can I go too, Daddy?” Willie begged, no longer a Texas Ranger, but a boy of eleven. “Let me drive y’all out there. I can drive good. I can reach the pedals now. You let Vida drive.”

      “This me and your sister’s business. Now hurry on up.” He turned to Vida. “Get my hat and brush it off. Need to look my best for the conference.”

      Vida finally looked up at her father, her expression pleading. Since she was a child she had heard stories about the Senator and how bad niggers disappeared into secret dungeons and how he ate colored babies for breakfast. “Daddy, don’t make me go,” she begged. “I ain’t got nothing to say to the Senator.”

      Nate toddled over to Vida and looked up at her with searching eyes. When she picked him up and held him close, he grabbed hold of her plait and with his other arm reached out toward Levi, opening and closing his fist, signaling for the gold chain. “Momma! Hands!” he cried.

      “You my baby,” she whispered to him. “You my baby and that’s the onliest thing that anybody need to know.”

      Levi turned his back to both of them and straightened his tie in the looking glass. He talked at his reflection. “You tell the Senator how that white man got you bigged up. When he hear that, he’ll show that cracker the fastest road out the county.”

      “He say he kill us all, Daddy!” she cried. “He say he burn us up alive!”

      Levi