An Elderberry Fall by Ruth P. Watson Page B

to the stage to thunderous applause from the patrons. With an interlude of humming, she began to belt out the words. Everyone stood on their feet. Simon and I stood too. After a few seconds, we all sat down and listened to her and the band fill the room with soft music that had everyone swaying their heads. Willie stood on the side and watched with the inflated chest of a proud man. Simon casually waved to him, and he smiled in return.
    â€œShe is singing tonight, baby,” Simon whispered in my ear.
    â€œShe is better than she was last time.”
    Simon reached over and took my hand in his. I grinned, and squeezed his fingers.
    The mood was so relaxed, a few patrons stood around at their tables slow-dancing cheek to cheek.
    The white man I had seen with Pearl stood right behind Willie. It was as if Pearl was singing to him too. Who could tell?
    Ms. Pearl continued singing and then shifted her eyes to theother side of the room. It was strange to me, since it was obvious Willie was enjoying her gazing at him from the stage.
    All of a sudden, there was a large pop, and several thereafter. I panicked.
    The crowd started screaming. Ms. Pearl rushed off the stage, her band members protecting her. Simon grabbed me and pulled me to the cold floor. The crowd was frantic. One lady tripped to the ground. She grabbed her ankle. “Please help me,” she said and a large man came to her rescue. He lay on top of her, and told her to stay down. We stayed under the table until the shots stopped. Afterward, Simon and I raised up off the floor. The rest of the crowd did the same. He took my hand and coaxed me through the hysterical crowd that was scrambling and pushing toward the front door.
    My heart was thumping, my chest heaving up and down. Everybody had incredulous looks on their faces. It was a horrid scene. People stood around watching. Pearl was slumped over a body crying, “Oh, Lawd; oh, Lawd!”
    â€œWho is that on the floor?!” someone yelled, as we pressed toward the front entrance.
    â€œIt is Willie Brown!” another replied.
    â€œWho?” the voices echoed.

Chapter 11

    A s I turned to look behind us as we traveled west out of the city past the large sign advertising the Nehi Grape, I became a little concerned. The further away we drove from the city, the warmer I became. Beads of sweat trickled down the sides of my hairline. As we passed the last house alongside the road and then a two-lane highway became a narrow road, I was reminded Jefferson County was closer than I needed it to be.
    â€œYou all right?” Simon asked, tapping my thigh.
    â€œI’ll be all right directly,” I said, swallowing.
    â€œWhat do you mean by that?”
    â€œI wasn’t planning on going home so soon. For some reason, I wanted Jefferson County to be a memory only,” I said.
    Simon reached for my hand. “You’ve got family there. Try to put all of that stuff behind you.”
    â€œI don’t know how some of the townsfolk are going to treat me.”
    â€œMost people are good.”
    â€œWell, not to me.”
    â€œBelieve me, I am not going to let anything happen to you.”
    â€œI know.”
    The ride lasted only two hours. We traveled right past the fueling station and then onto a dusty two-lane road past Mrs. Ferguson’sfarm. The closer we came to the big white mansion with large columns on the outside overlooking a lawn with neatly trimmed shrubbery, the more old memories were ignited, mainly of Mrs. Ferguson treating my momma as if she were less than her dog, which she cared for better than any human being. Many days when Momma forced me to go with her to the house, Mrs. Ferguson, in bright red lipstick, would walk behind Momma like a shadow giving out orders. “Mae Lou, now clean the mantel good today. I am inviting guests over. I don’t want them to feel I have a poor maid,” and Momma would only say, “Yes, ma’am.” Her ruby-red lips