The Minstrel's Melody Read online

  “No, we don’t, because there is nothing to discuss,” Momma said sharply.

  “I see,” said Madame Meritta. She smiled at Orphelia. “You look so much like your mother. You look familiar, Miz Bruce. Have we met before?”

  “Certainly not,” said Momma. “Now you must excuse us. It’s getting late. We must get home. We don’t have coaches to tote us about.”

  “Madame Meritta, you need to get settled down, too,” said Miz Rutherford. She looked so disappointed. “You pull out of here before dawn, don’t you? You need your beauty sleep.”

  Momma spun around and walked away, holding on to Pearl and Poppa by the elbows. Shoulders drooping, Orphelia looked up at Madame Meritta, then at Momma’s retreating back. She’d never seen Momma act so rudely to anyone before. She grabbed Madame Meritta’s hands. “Thank you for asking, Miz Madame. I really, really prayed that I could have been in your show.”

  “I understand. But just remember that your time for fame may still come eventually I would have loved to have you for this World’s Fair show. Perhaps there’ll be another time.”

  “Orphelia, Momma said come on!” That was from Pearl behind her. Pearl clasped her hand around Orphelia’s elbow and maneuvered her away.

  Momma was probably really on fire now. Well, let her be! Madame Meritta had wanted Orphelia in the show! She said Orphelia had amazing talent! That was proof from a famous person’s lips. Maybe if Orphelia could just figure out what Momma had against the music she loved, she could still change Momma’s mind. She’d missed her chance at next week’s show at the World’s Fair, but the fair itself didn’t end until December. Maybe Madame Meritta would perform there again and would ask Orphelia to join her. And maybe by then Momma would have had a change of heart.

  Momma walked like somebody had slid a beanpole down her back. Poppa followed quietly behind.

  Pearl pulled at Orphelia’s elbow. They had hardly spoken to each other all day. “What’d you think of the Hannibal Twins? I wasn’t impressed.” She sucked her tooth noisily to show her disapproval. “They do the same song every time. But didn’t you just love Madame Meritta’s dress! Probably somebody from St. Louis made it just for her. I wish that she had sung something. She is prettier than what she looks like on the posters.”

  Orphelia, however, didn’t answer. With a quick look at her, Pearl hurried up to Momma. “I think I’ll be a seamstress and make fancy dresses for folks,” she said. “Momma, maybe we could go to St. Louis and see the fashions at the fair, and then Orphelia could play and—”

  “Be quiet!” Momma snapped. Pearl shut up. Momma turned around and faced Orphelia. “You are not going to be in that woman’s show ever, and that’s final. We are not going to the World’s Fair because I’ve heard that we colored will not be treated right there. And St. Louis is much too large and dangerous a city for proper people like us to visit.”

  “Those are some mighty big pronouncements you just made there, Otisteen,” said Poppa. “I wouldn’t mind going to St. Louis someday, to tell you the truth. But what I’m most concerned about is you saying that Orphelia—”

  “Are we going to argue about this in the road?” Momma folded her arms. “Thelton, the girl is not going to parade herself in a minstrel show.”

  “But, Momma, Madame Meritta’s shows aren’t like those—”

  “Don’t you dare dispute me!”

  “Otisteen, listen. You’ve let this thing build up inside so till it’s ruling you. Orphelia—”

  “Be quiet, Thelton.” Momma gripped Orphelia by the shoulders. “I said no! And if you keep disputing me, I’ll not even allow you to be church pianist-in-training, and you will never play any kind of piano again! So get this foolishness out of your head. I don’t care what this Madame Meritta says. I don’t care what Miz Rutherford says! And I don’t even care what you say, Thelton Bruce!”

  Poppa firmly pulled Momma’s hands from Orphelia’s shoulders. He held Momma’s hands in his, but Momma snatched them away. “If you know what’s best for you, you’ll let me be,” Momma said, so low that Orphelia could barely hear her.

  Poppa sighed. “The day is apt to come when we’ll be sorry we didn’t let her follow her dream,” he said in an undertone. “Orphelia, there’ll be another time, I promise you,” he said louder now, “but not this time. Now, everybody, let’s go home.”

  Orphelia stood in the dusty road. Tears rolled down her face. Pearl took her hand and pulled on it. Orphelia followed her sister home.

  Later she lay in bed, watching the light from the kerosene lamp flicker on the wall. She wiggled her fingers under the covers, playing the “Lewis County Rag.” Momma had never screamed at her like she had tonight. Had she gone crazy?

  The last few weeks had been full of Momma’s criticisms. The more Orphelia progressed with her music and her act for the talent show, the angrier Momma had seemed to get with her. Would she really make her stop playing for the church? That would be the cruelest cut of all. If Orphelia couldn’t even play for the church, then her life was truly over.

  Madame Meritta had said she wanted Orphelia in her show anytime. She had also said Orphelia was blessed with a musical gift. Poppa said that now wasn’t the right time. But when would the right time be? Never, apparently, if Momma had her way.

  Orphelia sat up in bed. Pearl snored softly. Quickly Orphelia packed her schoolbag with an extra pair of underwear and stockings, and the music tablet from the Stone Shed. Slipping on the dress she’d worn to the talent show, she crept out of the house. Orphelia stood on the porch for a moment, listening for sound from inside. She stepped off the porch into the yard. Going to the weeping willow tree, she kicked it, then darted down the road into the darkness.

  Orphelia ran until she was far from the house. She slowed down when she realized fully what she was doing. Was this the right thing to do—to run away? Did she know where she was running to? A streak of fear flashed through her. Should she turn around? She could be back inside the house before anybody even knew she’d been gone.

  And risk never being able to play piano again.

  She quickened her step. When an owl swooped down over her head, Orphelia shrieked and broke into a run.

  She reached the Calico Creek school and church grounds. The coaches were still there. Nobody was in sight, and the horses were quiet. Now is the time and this is the place, she told herself. But what if she couldn’t get in? What if she got caught?

  Heart racing, she crept across the yard to the first coach and listened at the door. Snoring came from inside. She tiptoed to the next coach and heard deep breathing there, too.

  At the third coach, however, she heard nothing. Slowly and carefully she studied it. She tried opening the door, but it wouldn’t budge. She went around to the side, where there was a board covering a window-size opening. She lifted the latch on the board and peered inside, listening. Then, climbing up on the wheel, she dropped her schoolbag through the opening and pulled herself in. She tumbled headfirst into the coach and bumped her forehead sharply on something hard. Pain exploded in her head.

  Orphelia scrambled over boxes until she was at the back of the coach. Then she listened. Had anyone heard her? When no one came, she curled up on the floor against the wall of the coach, her schoolbag at her side, and cradled her aching head in her hands.

  Soon she drifted into a deep sleep.

  CHAPTER 4

  THE STOWAWAY

  A thin shaft of pale light filtering through the cracks of the coach fell upon Orphelia’s cheek and woke her up. Shivering as she felt around for her cover, she wondered why Momma hadn’t called her and Pearl to get up and help fix breakfast. And why was her head hurting?

  Then memory kicked in, and with a surge of panic she sat up. Last night’s horror scene of Poppa and Momma shouting in the middle of the road flared up in her mind. Did they both have hysterics? She pressed her fingers against her cheeks, looking around at the collection of greasy barrels and boxes, piles of dirty sacks and rags, the clu
tter of pans, rolling pins, and dishes. Finally she realized where she was and the bold thing she had done. I’ve broke into Madame Meritta’s food wagon! I’ve actually run away to join a traveling minstrel show and become what Momma would label a common gutter girl. Am I crazy?

  Had the coach moved at all, or was she still in the school yard, where Miz Rutherford and everybody would find her? How awful and embarrassing that would be—to have run away to the school yard! Orphelia peered out through a knothole. Light mist rose from unfamiliar wheat fields. She also vaguely remembered the swaying of the coach and the horses’ hooves thudding on the dirt road. I’m not in my old school yard anymore, but exactly where am I?

  She touched the big bump on her forehead. At least the skin wasn’t broken.

  Talk about trespassing! This was the second time in two days she’d gone into a place forbidden to her. She was truly a sinner now.

  What would Momma and Poppa and Pearl be saying at home right now? They had to have realized by this time that she wasn’t there. Had Poppa gone to the sheriff and rounded up a search party, or had he just walked to the outhouse and smoked his cigar? Or sat down in his chair and read the newspaper? Had Pearl become so guilty over her lies that she finally told the truth? Or was she telling some bigger ones?

  And Momma. Is she glad her troublesome youngest daughter is gone, or madder at me now because I’ve run away? One thing Orphelia knew for certain: Momma had to be saying, “Ran away! Absolutely not the kind of behavior for proper young Negro women, according to the standards of the day!”

  The thought made Orphelia smile a little until a mouse ran across her foot. She almost screamed. Then she heard something rattle the coach door. Hide! She had just enough time to crawl to a corner behind the door and bury herself under a huge pile of flour sacks and burlap bags. Too late she saw that her schoolbag still lay in full view.

  Someone opened the door, shoving it against her. A man, she figured from the heavy footsteps, had stepped in and was moving barrels and boxes around. One fell inches from her head. He yelled something in a strange language right above her. She held her breath. Had he seen her, or her bag?

  The door closed. The man was gone. She let out her breath in relief but stayed where she was. In a few minutes she heard a low murmur of voices, and horses whinnying. She smelled coffee and heard the sizzle of salt pork, which made her stomach growl. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, she heard the jangle of horses’ harnesses and felt the coach lurch forward and begin to move. She pulled her schoolbag to her and slipped the strap around her neck. She reached inside and found a carrot left over from yesterday’s lunch. Grateful for the food, she munched on it. Soon the coach was swaying again, and she dozed off.

  Orphelia woke with a jolt when the coach stopped, but this time no one opened the door. The coach was hot and stinky, and she had to use the outhouse. She could also smell apples and fish and wanted to search the coach for them, but her need for the outhouse was stronger.

  Orphelia pushed aside the rags and hid her schoolbag beneath them. She found an overturned metal washtub and stood on it. Looking through the small window where she had entered, she could see outside. The other coaches were gone. Maybe Madame Meritta and her folks had gone into some nearby town for a matinee performance.

  She tried to push open the door, but it refused to budge. It was locked from the outside, Orphelia figured. Going back to the window, Orphelia squeezed herself through it and dangled headfirst above the wagon wheel. She grabbed a handlebar that ran alongside the coach, righted herself, and climbed down the wheel to the ground. Straightening her clothes, she looked around and saw no one. She scampered a short distance to a clump of trees and relieved herself.

  Orphelia was glad to be out in the fresh air. She wandered back to the storage wagon and walked around to the other side of it. She noticed that its paint was peeling, the lettering had faded, and some of the walls had holes in them. She hoped that Madame Meritta’s coaches back in St. Louis were in better condition than this one was. She could see where one whole section had been completely boarded up, except for the spot where the “window” was.

  Orphelia mulled over her situation. The World’s Fair performance was next Saturday. If Orphelia could remain undetected until they reached St. Louis, Madame Meritta would have to let her stay on. And then Orphelia could also find out where Madame Meritta’s maids and butlers and fancy coaches were. And after Orphelia got famous, she’d come back to Calico Creek in furs and feathers and with her own entourage. Wouldn’t Momma and Pearl be surprised! Momma would have to be proud of her then.

  Wondering what she’d wear during her performance at the World’s Fair, and wishing she’d thought to bring along her best dress and shoes, she skipped around the corner of the storage wagon—and froze. A tall man in a tattered gray jacket and black hat stood not two feet from her. He glared at her out of his right eye. His left eye was closed and sunken, the eyelid thick, moist, and wrinkled. He gripped a large bowie knife in his hand. With her heart doing a tap dance in her chest, Orphelia began stepping backward slowly, away from him, until her back struck the coach wall. Trapped!

  The man raised his knife. Orphelia flung her arm over her face and tried to scream, but no sound came out. The man reached into his pocket with his other hand, brought out an apple, and cut it in half with his knife. He pushed one half of the apple, including the core, into his mouth and chewed with his mouth open. A line of slobber slid into the black stubble on his chin. Then he sat down on an overturned bucket, chewing and staring at her.

  Orphelia took a deep breath and eased a few more feet from him and the coach. “Hello. Um, is Madame Meritta here?” she asked. The man didn’t answer. “Is anybody here? I mean, besides you? Where are we?”

  Still not answering, he shoved the other half of the apple into his mouth. A seed stuck to his lower lip. He pulled out a second apple. When he stretched out his neck to swallow, she saw that a thick, ropelike scar ran from one side of his throat to the other. Goose pimples popped out on her arms.

  “Well, I guess I’ll be going,” she said nervously and turned as if to walk away, hoping that he would, too. But the man stayed put. Now what? I can’t climb back in while he’s watching! Her stomach rumbled.

  “Little Paradise,” the man said, chewing with his mouth open.

  “Huh? Oh.” It took her a second to realize he was answering her last question. Relieved to recognize the name of the town and glad that he was talking, she relaxed a little. “That apple looks mighty good,” she said. “Did you get it from this wagon?”

  “Mine!” The man jumped up, knocking over the bucket, waving the knife, and holding the apple high over his head. “Mine, mine, mine!”

  “Don’t—mister, don’t get upset! I—I don’t want your apple!” Orphelia held up her hands palm side out to him, hoping to calm him down. But he didn’t seem to understand. Instead he whirled around. With great leaping steps in oversized boots and flapping coat, he bounded through the wheat fields and on into the woods. He looked like a human scarecrow.

  Orphelia leaned against the wagon in relief, fanning herself with her hands. Great grumpity gracious, what a creepy fellow! Momma would have a fit if she knew her daughter was talking to a strange man, and a hobo at that! He certainly couldn’t have been a member of Madame Meritta’s minstrel show.

  At least she knew where she was now. Little Paradise was a tiny crossroads somewhere south of Hannibal. It was even smaller than Calico Creek, and it didn’t even have a church or a school. A few Negro families farmed around here, but she didn’t know any of them.

  Using the overturned bucket as a stool, Orphelia climbed back through the window of the storage wagon. Inside, she stacked up boxes and barrels to make a wall that she could hide behind. Then she dumped a pile of flour sacks and burlap bags onto the floor for a bed and to cover herself with. After she had made her nest, she found some apples in a bag hanging from the ceiling and some salted fish, salted pork, and dried b
eef in barrels against the wall. She ate a handful of fish and a handful of beef. Both were good and curbed her hunger, but now she was thirsty.

  Water! She’d have to go back outside. She hadn’t seen a lake or stream nearby, but a source must be close because the horses had to have it. Once again she climbed out the window. Within reach of the horses were two barrels cut in half lengthwise and full of water. Cautiously she approached the horses, who paid no attention to her. The water looked clean enough. Though she didn’t care for horse spit, she’d drunk horse water before, when she and Pearl were in Canton one dry day and were thirsty. She scooped up some water in her cupped hands, sniffed it, then drank.

  Once her thirst was quenched, she hoisted herself back into the storage wagon and slipped behind the barrels and boxes. Then she settled herself in among the flour sacks for a long wait.

  Her fingers twitched. She pulled the composition book from her schoolbag and studied the music. Was the composer a musician that Madame Meritta might have known? Orphelia would have to show her the book and ask. She lifted her hands to her imaginary piano and began to sing and play.

  As she played, Orphelia wondered about the other people who might have lived in Calico Creek long ago. Hardly anybody in Calico Creek had ever said much about Negro history in Lewis County, except to say how happy everybody was when Emancipation came after the Civil War. Everybody who lived in Calico Creek was Negro anyway, except for that white family who had lived in the Stone Shed. She knew when Calico Creek Missionary Baptist Church and Training School was established, in 1880. She knew about the history of the Stone Shed, or at least part of it. But what about the rest? How did those instruments and that music book get into the Shed?

  The horses whinnied outside. Soon Orphelia heard the creaking rumble of wagon wheels and knew the other coaches were returning. Hide! She covered herself with flour sacks. Had that evil one-eyed man returned? Would he tell Madame Meritta that she was in their camp? Orphelia heard the sound of the coach door opening.