“I recall it was the hens doing most of the chasing.”
A smile wrestles the corners of her mouth, but she shakes it off with an exasperated sigh. “This is a grave situation.”
I nod. “Especially for them.” I jerk my chin at the crypt.
This time, she snorts, and then the snort slips into a wheeze. Then suddenly we are giggling like our heads are full of soda water.
When we emerge from the tomb, I cannot say I like Caroline Payne any better. Only that my perspective of her has shifted. It’s like how climbing up on a horse makes the world look less threatening and gives a clearer view of the road ahead.
—
IFEEL TROUBLErumbling down the street before the streetcar arrives. Then again, my visit with Billy Riggs has had me feeling like there’s a tiger on every corner. Old Gin discreetly passes his hand around the base of a statue of some dignitary, but not finding any coins, he dusts off his hands. I haven’t had a chance to speak in earnest with him in days. I hug my cloak to me, trying to work out how to broach the topic of our debt. “I ran into some friends of yours today on my ride,” I begin conversationally. “Leo Porter and his son.”
“You went to Piedmont Park?”
“Yes.”
He hooks his hands behind his back, and his eyes stop tracking the ground. I blurt out, “You’re not trying to sell Sweet Potato, are you?”
“Why would I do that?”
“To pay debts owed.”
Silence falls like a stone into water. I’m reminded of our skirmish again and brace myself. “I am not selling Sweet Potato. Please trust me, hm?” Thehmdoesn’t assure me as it usually does.
The streetcar arrives with its usual brassy clatter. When it stops before us, the new sign on its flank jars me more than theclanging bell:WHITESONLY,ROWS 1–5. The words hardly sink in, only buzz like angry bees before my eyes. Old Gin sighs.
“This isn’t right.” My words drop out.
“Rightandwrongdon’t have much say in these parts,” says someone in the back. “Willandcanare in charge.”
Some of the regulars squeeze into the already packed back rows, while others begin walking.
A traveling salesman in the third row shifts his bulk, causing the streetcar to bounce. “Well, the coloreds in Atlanta are sure fresher than the ones out in the country,” he says, his voice high and amused. He cracks a sunflower seed with his teeth and spits the shell onto the sidewalk.
I wait for Old Gin to decide where we should sit, but he hasn’t budged from the sidewalk, and his face has become pinched in the center.
Sully stands up in his seat and glares at Old Gin, his conductor’s cap looking like a squashed fist. “For the love of leeches, Old Gin. Bend your perpendiculars so we can go home.”
“There is a problem,” says Old Gin. “Rules do not cover Chinese.” I stare at him in shock. Old Gin has never spoken up like that before, but there he stands, steady as a lighthouse in a rough sea. “I am brown like a potato, but Jo is white as you, though easier on the eyes, hm?” A few chuckle. “Bad rules create chaos.”
Sully looks more red than white right now. “You ain’t colored. Hitch your saddle up here, old man.”
The moment feels heavy with held breaths and tight with discomfiture. Most people avoid our eyes, but they are all watching with their ears.
Old Gin surveys the roomy first five rows, and then the last, packed close as cigars. He moves up to the third row, empty of all save the traveling salesman and his bag of sunflower seeds.
The salesman stretches a thick hand along the back of his seat. “You ain’t colored, but you ain’t white neither.”
Folks in the first rows have turned around, their faces rigid, some with impatience as they stare at Old Gin and me standing behind him. The crabby gardener who chastised Maud Gray sweeps a leathery hand at us, his eyes jumpy like fleas. “Dogs have no need for streetcars. Git.”
The traveling salesman’s head draws back. With a sudden jerk, he whuffs out another seed.
Old Gin’s hand flies to his face. His thin shoulders cave.
The salesman wheezes out a laugh. “Got him right in the eye, that’s how!”
“Why, you grotesque lump of flesh—” I begin to sputter, but Old Gin puts a hand on my arm, leading us back to the sidewalk.
