We climbed into her automobile, and I pulled off the sweaty wig, then glanced at the rearview mirror, relieved to see the drug was still working.
“Ma’am, you’ll check on Jackson? Get word to him and Honey?” I asked again.
“I promised you. Now, put it out of your mind.”
Turning to the window, I pressed a knuckle to my mouth. I didn’t want to nag her. She’d already risked so much.Her life.
***
For several hours we drove without speaking, stopping only once to relieve ourselves in the tall grasses on an empty country road. The steady hum of tires slapped, grinding across our nettling thoughts.
Mrs. Claxton slowed as we passed a white bullet-ridden sign hitched to a tall oak post: STRANGER, DON’T LET THE SUN SET ON YOU.
I stole a peek at her and saw a fright rising.
At the next stop sign, Mrs. Claxton whipped the vehicle onto a dusty gravel road. She glanced into the rearview mirror then pulled her troubled eyes to the dashboard. Suddenly she groaned and parked the automobile off the road. “The needle is almost on empty. We’ll have to find a filling station. Hand me that book in the glove compartment.” Her voice shook.
I opened it and held up a small green book and scanned the cover.The Negro Motorist Green Book. Under the title was an outline of a scroll that had a long list stamped down it: hotels, taverns, garages, nightclubs, restaurants, service stations… At the bottom, it noted the book wasPrepared in cooperation with the United States Travel Bureau.
“No, I need the latest, the ’52 edition.”
I dug into the glove and saw several and grabbed the newer one,The Negro Travelers Green Book. On the bottom left was printed CARRY YOUR GREEN BOOK WITH YOU. YOU MAY NEED IT.
Confused, I had never come across one while on my Pack Horse route. I passed the book to her. “What is this—”
She held up a shushing finger and flipped through the worn pages, a finger chewing down the lists of names, her face creasingwith concern. Finally, Mrs. Claxton handed it back, and I placed it inside the glove box, wondering why it was so important.
The woman held a palm over her mouth and squeezed as if trying to think of what to do next.
“What is it, ma’am?”
She didn’t answer.
“Are we lost?” I leaned my head out, searching browned fields. Beyond several dead trees, I spotted a farmhouse and pointed. “Maybe we can go ask for help?”
“Chile, get into the back seat. We need to stop and buy gasoline now.” She darted her eyes to the mirror.
Puzzled, I stared at her.
“Go on. We’re losing time, and that drug’s not going to last much longer.” Again, she glanced in the rearview mirror, like she was looking for someone or something.
I stepped out of the automobile and folded myself onto the back seat. “Is something wrong? Does it have anything to do with the sign we passed?”
She turned around and draped a bony arm across the top of her bench seat. “You’re a white woman now, stopping in a hushpuppied town with your maid,” she warned as a stiffness settled across her straightening shoulders.
I tucked my chin and picked through her haunting words.
“I have to protect myself, chile. And if that color of yours returns”—she stabbed a finger at me—“it’ll make two easy pickings for the nightriders.” As she turned her key in the ignition, the motor roared to life.
She scolded herself, “Law, I should’ve filled up in Louisville like Jedidiah always does before traveling.” She thumped the big steering wheel. “Dammit, dammit.” The curses rolled off her tongue. “Lord help me, I done landed us in a sundown town.”
Numb, I stared at the back of her head, feeling helpless, the hairs lifting on my neck.
Minutes later, we pulled into the filling station, a rusted Shell sign blistered and peeling, her dashboard showing the fuel needlewas below the red mark.
“Sooner we get out of here, the safer I’ll feel,” she said.
“Yes, ma’am.” I looked over my shoulder out the back window, my own words winded and shaky.
