The Girl on the Outside Read online

  As the dress was being fitted, Eva stood still but her mind was on what she might have to face, not only at school, but at home as well.

  Finally, she said, “Aunt Shirley, I’m glad I have you to talk t’. I don’t want to upset Mama anymore than she already is. But I don’t know what to expect at that school. I’m just wondering if I’ll know how to act.”

  “Honey, you don’t have t’ act. Jist be! Now, me and your grandma, we had t’ act. I can remember when I used to work in a house that had little children. As soon as the little girls passed twelve, I’d have t’ start callin’ ’em miss-so-en-so. Now mind y’, no matter how old I got, I was still Shirley. Well, when they got ’round ten or so, I’d pick out some kinda sweet name for ’em, peaches, honey-chile, anything, jist so long as I didn’t have t’ call ’em no miss.”

  “Aw, Aunt Shirley,” Eva laughed.

  “Yeah, I did it. But you don’t have t’ go through all that. Y’ as much student as anyone o’ them. Jist be y’self, that’s all!” She stepped back and looked at Eva to see how the dress fitted. “Eva, honey, that’s a nice dress. You gonna knock ’em dead, girl.”

  As Eva sewed the markings, she thought, As the pieces of this pattern have fallen into place, so will everything else. A smile spread over her face.

  Chapter 7

  Later that morning, Sophia rode with Burt as he drove through the main street headed toward the outskirts of town. Already the sun was blazing, and the air blowing in the open windows was hot and humid.

  Sophia hugged the corner and squinted her eyes trying to shut out the glare of the bright sun. The air shimmered in waves, and the heat made a mirage on the road in the distance that looked like black ice.

  She glanced at Burt out of the corner of her eye and as always was amazed at his relaxed composure. His one hand loosely held the steering wheel and his body seemed to be one with the machine. Had he ever taken a girl down to colored town, she wondered as she looked at him. What would he think of Arnold—taking her down there? Her father would probably call a conference with Reverend Armstrong if he knew.

  She sighed and slumped in the seat. She wanted to talk to Burt, to ask him so many things. How could he know so much about Negroes? Had he ever been in one’s house?

  Looking out at the passing cars, she suddenly realized that many of them on the road had out-of-state licenses. She took note: Mississippi, Louisiana, Tennessee, and Mississippi again, and again. “Lots of people from Mississippi in town today,” she said.

  “Yeah, I’m afraid trouble’s brewing. Those visitors probably feel we won’t be able to take care of ourselves come tomorrow and the school integration.”

  “Oh, Burt, can you think of nothing but integration … I don’t want to hear it.”

  Burt laughed. “Okay, what do you want to hear?”

  Sophia flushed. The tone of his voice let her know that he knew there was little else she wanted to know about. She sighed.

  Burt looked at her and asked, “What happened with you and Arnold?”

  “What’d you mean—what happened?”

  “Come now. This is a holiday and he’ll be leaving in a few days. Why are you spending a whole morning with a horse?”

  “Grit needs some attention.” She sat with her eyes on the road, tense and alert to control every muscle.

  There was no sound except the hum of the motor and of the tires on the road. She felt more than the heat from the sun. Cold sweat poured down her sides from under her arms and her scalp tingled. What had happened with her and Arnold?

  She thought of how she had listened for the ring of the phone, hoping he would call. Why hadn’t he? He had insulted her. “Have you ever been down in South End?” she asked Burt. The words coming from her lips surprised her.

  “Many times. My work carries me all over.”

  “I don’t mean like that. I mean … go there like to … you know what I mean.”

  Burt turned to her with a quizzical look on his face. “No, Sophia, I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Well, like to church. To hear them sing.”

  “Oh, yeah. I’ve done that.”

  “Would you take a girl there?”

  “Of course, if she were a close friend.”

  “Have you?”

  “Yes.”

  She slumped in the seat and did not look at Burt. She wanted to tell him what had happened with Arnold, but she was so ashamed now of the way she had acted. But then Arnold had not told her, or even asked if she would like to go.

  “Why do you ask that?” Burt asked.

  “Oh … nothing.”

  “You know, when May and I were small, Mom and Dad used to take us over to a Negro college to concerts.”

  Sophia sat up and placed her hands under her thighs on the edge of the seat.

  “I remember how dressed up the people were,” Burt said. “And it always surprised me how dark some of them were and how some were as white as us. They all were together really having a great time.”

  “Mom and Dad?”

  “Yeah, we went there a lot. But they never came to our school or our church.”

  “And you weren’t scared?”

  “No. They welcomed us. But here lately, I’ve wondered why they did. But I guess they knew already what I had to learn the hard way.”

  Sophia waited, but he did not go on. She looked at him. He was in the mood that he was often in these days—serious, almost solemn. “What did you learn?” she asked.

  “That there are so few real human beings in this world that we can’t afford to miss out on knowing one because his or her skin is a different color.”

  The car entered the dirt road that led to the stables where Grit was boarded. Soon they reached the gate and Sophia got out to walk the distance to the horses. She waved good-bye, thinking of what Burt had said, wishing she understood her brother, knew what he was about.

  As she walked up the road, her mind was in a state of confusion. “So few human beings.” What did Burt mean? The world is full of human beings, she told herself. Why does he think they are so hard to find? And there are at least ten whites to one colored. One can relate to just so many people at a time. Anyway, she thought, Burt’s weird.

  The sun blazed down and sweat poured off the side of her face. The cotton shirt she wore clung to her back. Her old twill riding pants absorbed the moisture and she felt the cool dampness around her legs and thighs.

  It was nearing ten o’clock when she reached the stables. The place was busy with riders taking advantage of the holiday. The air was close, humid with the sour smell of horses. To Sophia that air was sweet. As she passed between empty stalls she was surprised that so many riders were already on the trail. When she neared Grit’s stall she whistled softly.

  Grit turned his head toward her and Sophia quickened her step. They met at the edge of the stall and Grit looked her over with his bold questioning eyes, then flung his mane and lifted his arrogant head high.

  Sophia laughed. “Oh, Grit,” she said, stroking his velvety upper lip, “you sweet devil. We’re going out for some fun.”

  She went out to find Rod, the groom and all-around handy man at the stables. He was nowhere to be seen. Sophia was annoyed. She hadn’t planned on grooming Grit and saddling him up in all that heat. But it was late. If she were going to ride she’d have to do it.

  As she led Grit out into the sun, his coat gleamed even though she had not curried him yet. Grit moved with lively grace as he turned his head to look around and about. Sophia led him to the cross tie near the tack room and started to get him ready for the saddle.

  She was startled when Rod appeared next to her, as if he had stepped out of thin air.

  “Oh!” Sophia said. “Golly, Rod. Shouldn’t scare me like that.”

  “Sorry, Miss,” he said. “Thought y’ might need some help.”

  “I do. I’m late starting. Where were you?”

  Rod ignored the question and set to work. He had small hands, but his l
ong delicate fingers touched Grit with such assured kindness and firmness that Grit seemed to know exactly what Rod wanted from that touch. Rod was not a tall man. But because he was short from the waist up, his long legs gave an appearance of great height. His arm reach was unusual for one as short as he.

  He put the saddle on. As he adjusted the bridle, his dark face, wet with sweat, had a reddish glow. His eyes, a startling, clear light brown, with a blue ring around the pupils, reflected whatever colors were nearby. People were often amazed at the change of color in Rod’s eyes. Sometimes they were blue, sometimes green. As he saddled up Grit his eyes were amber reflecting the sheen of Grit’s reddish-brown coat that now shone like satin in the sun.

  Sophia climbed into the saddle. She looked at Rod as he made final adjustments. It was as though she were seeing him for the first time. Rod was a Negro.

  The jolt of this recognition passed from her to Grit. He reared up and broke toward the trail. Rod had to move quickly to keep from being sideswiped. Sohia struggled to bring Grit under control as he sidestepped dangerously, light foam at his mouth.

  She knew she had to quell her own fear and confusion if she were to control Grit. When it was all over and Grit was in hand, Sophia did not look back but dug in her heels and set off at a gallop.

  She rode hard until she came to the path that was wooded on both sides. There she reined in. Grit slowed. Leaves on the trees that had been bright green in early summer were now dark in the heat. It was as though they were dulling themselves before robing in the reds and golds of autumn.

  Sohia’s mind was awhirl with confusion. How could it be that she had never before been aware that Rod was Negro?

  Her thoughts flashed to the day she had rode a horse for the first time. Rod had given her that experience almost nine years ago.

  Grit was then young, lively, hard to handle. Sophia had walked straight up to him and looked him over. She touched his firm shank and her hand quivered. She moved her hand up his strong back along the side until she was up to his fine, intelligent head. Looking Grit in the eye, she smiled and touched the white patch on his nose. Grit stood without moving a muscle.

  “He likes y’,” Rod said in his quiet way.

  Sophia put her hand up to her mouth and squealed. She walked away reeling, looking back often. From then on, she behaved like someone in love. She was in love—in love with Grit.

  Her patience knew no bounds. She worked hard learning to talk to Grit, to acquaint him with the world of things so that he would not get scared or spooked.

  Rod was always there to help her learn grooming, tacking, and to show her how to put Grit through the trail course.

  Without Rod’s help, she would have given up on learning to ride, for Grit was as stubborn as she was firm and patient. Twice he threw her, but each time Rod insisted she must ride him again. And she had won.

  Now, though Grit was a spirited horse with a long, swinging stride, she had him under control. And all of this had been done with the help of Rod, who always called her “Miss.”

  She rode on the path heading uphill through the silent woods. The whole world seemed to be sleeping in the heat under the noonday sun. A lone butterfly soared briefly, then flitted from flower to flower. Sophia was reminded of the dry, dusty valley in her dream.

  Walking with a steady gait, Grit climbed up the trail until they reached a wide bluff that looked down upon a stream far in the distance. Sophia climbed off Grit and, holding the reins, walked to the edge of the bluff. The stream below gleamed like molten silver. Off to one side, she could see an orange bridge spanning the stream to carry freight across. A train slowly puffed its way to the other side. The motion in silence seemed unreal. Then the train’s whistle sounded, echoing faintly in the hills.

  Now all was still again. Sophia stood, hearing only Grit’s breathing and feeling the heat of his strong body. “How happy you must be, Grit, old boy, not knowing all the troubles of my world,” she whispered.

  Her eyes filled with tears and she moved around and stood leaning against Grit’s flanks, her head on her arms. Grit stood still, as though he were sharing the misery of her confusion. Sophia’s sobs sank into the silence of that place.

  Chapter 8

  By the time Sophia got home, the sun was well across the sky, but its power had not diminished. Sophia now wished she had not promised to meet Marsha and her other classmates at the skating rink. She would just like to fold into herself like the four-o’clocks, little flowers that end their day at four. She was exhausted.

  Why was she so tired? she asked herself as she moved up the walk, waving good-bye to a neighbor who had given her a ride from the stable. How many times had she spent the same number of hours with Grit and afterward felt on top of the world? Was it the heat? she wondered.

  The quiet stillness of her house with blinds drawn against the glowing sun brought back the loneliness she had felt on the bluff with Grit. It was not just the heat, it was her state of mind.

  If only she could understand what was happening inside her. Her thoughts wandered to how she had heeled Grit into a gallop when she should have gone back to see if Rod was all right. Maybe facing Rod would not have been so difficult on returning from her ride if she had stopped then.

  On her return, many of the horses were in their stalls and only a few riders were still about. Rod was waiting. She dismounted without looking at him. Even though Rod went through the same procedure—quietly unsaddling Grit, bringing the basket of oats—everything to Sophia seemed different.

  Other times she had felt free, talkative, happy, watching Rod’s silent ritual that ended with Grit in his stall, being rewarded for a good ride with the oats and a surprise. The surprise was usually an apple or a carrot provided by Rod. But today her self-consciousness in Rod’s presence had been almost unbearable. She had tried to talk to Grit, but halfhearted mouthings rattled in her throat. Finally an awesome silence settled around them.

  Upon entering the house she found no one home in the cool quietness. The shy humiliation that bordered the fear, which she experienced as Grit ate in the silence, came over her again.

  A note near the phone on the small table beneath the stairway said her parents were at May’s. Sophia could either join them, or find food on her own. No one had called.

  On the way to the kitchen she thought of Arnold. Why hadn’t he phoned? But standing in the glare of the open refrigerator’s light, her mind flashed back to the stables. Suddenly she realized that Rod was usually quiet, seldom speaking to riders unless asked something specific. With the horses he was different—a perfect hand, gentle, yet firm. Rod had not changed.

  She stood for a moment, gazing into the glaring whiteness of the refrigerator, not seeing, not remembering what she had wanted. Blinking back the tears, she made her way up to her room.

  Without thought of the beautiful candlewick spread, she lay upon the bed, fully clothed, glad no one was there to ask, “How was your ride?”

  Again she thought of Arnold not having called and her mind wandered to the conversation with Burt in the car. Mother must have known of Grandma Stuart’s warning: “They are not our kind.” Then why had she taken Burt and May to hear Negroes sing? Why was I never taken, she wondered. And why was I never told that it happened? Could Burt be lying? Did he dream that when he was a little boy and think it was real? Burt’s not crazy—anything but—she thought.

  If only somebody would straighten things out. Her world had turned upside down. And it was all because those people were forcing their way into her life. She sighed and pulled off her boots.

  Four forty-five by the clock; she had a few moments to rest. If no one came to give her a ride, she would walk to the skating rink. It was only ten minutes away. She sank into the sofa bed, her body heavy with fatigue.

  She dozed. She was on Grit, thundering wildly through a wooded path, escaping from Rod. Suddenly she sprang up rubbing sleep from her eyes. It was now a quarter to six. To meet Marsha on time, she must hurry. />
  In the shower she decided to skate in her very special outfit—the white one trimmed with green. Arnold might be there.

  The house was still quiet and lonely as she ate graham crackers and drank some milk. Suddenly she realized she was really hungry. She hadn’t eaten since breakfast, but there was now too little time. Enjoying the cold air from the refrigerator, she scooped homemade ice cream out of the container with a soup spoon. She had to hurry.

  The noise at the skating rink was almost bedlam when Sophia arrived. The place was crowded even in the recessed carpeted area where she walked, scanning the circle of skaters looking for Marsha. Marsha was not among them. Sophia decided to change; then she could skate, while she looked.

  The girls’ locker room was also crowded and noisy. As soon as Sophia entered, Marsha rushed to her screaming in delight, “Sophia, we thought you’d never get here.”

  Sophia was immediately surrounded by Kim, Stephanie, and Lila. Meredith stood back. Her large marine-blue eyes shadowed by long black lashes looked beyond Sophia and the others. Sophia held up her hand to the crowd and said, “Hey, hold off, let me get dressed.”

  “Yeah, and hurry,” Kim said. “There’re loads of guys out there.”

  Sophia, pretending not to notice Meredith’s aloofness, said, “How’re things, Meredith?”

  A half-smile spread over Meredith’s naturally light brick-red lips. Aware of her freckles and her open enthusiasm, Sophia flushed, wishing she could achieve such a cool effect.

  As Sophia dressed and adjusted her ruffled collar in the full-length mirror, she knew she had on the most attractive outfit by far. The green trimming did wonders for her red hair and bright brown eyes. The long fitted sleeves and the special collar played down her full short skirt and tight fitting panties beneath it.

  How pleased she was when Meredith fingered the ruffle and said, “That’s a nice outfit. Where’d you buy it?”

  “Our dressmaker designed it.”

  “Oh, I just knew it had to be made special. It’s lovely.”