Francie (15 page)

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Authors: Karen English

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We'd been in a rush all morning, scared we were going to miss the local for sure—and our connection in Birmingham. I'd never seen Mama in such a state. She paced. She stammered out instructions. “Prez, you need to get Juniper over to Auntie's before Uncle June gets here. Francie, don't take them rags out of your hair until the last minute. Prez, don't walk so hard—you gonna make Daddy's cake fall.”
She'd fried a chicken for the trip, then worried that the grease smell had gotten into her hair. She'd yelled at me for having my nose stuck in my book of poetry by Langston Hughes, even though there wasn't really anything that she had for me to do. We'd done it all. She'd made up her face twice, but the sweat was still pouring
off in little streams down her powdered cheeks. Finally, she decided to just scrub her face, dab on a little lipstick, and let it be.
In the excitement of the past few days, Mama had been eating like a bird and had lost weight from her nerves. Now, at last, she sunk down at the kitchen table and sipped coffee, her eyes glassy with tears.
I went over to her and hugged her. “It's gonna be okay, Mama.” The few suitcases and parcels we were taking were out on the porch, waiting on Uncle June. Mr. Griffin, our landlord, had already come by to look at the house and determine that we weren't leaving it any worse for wear and we weren't hauling off any of the few sticks of furniture that had come with the house. He had stomped off grim and in a bad mood. He hated to lose a tenant who'd always had that rent money in his hand on the first of every month, rain or shine.
Mama got up to pace some more. “Uncle June's gonna make us late for our train for sure if he don't get here soon,” she said, staring out the window, then turning her worried face back to me. I felt calm, though I could hardly imagine not spending any more of my life within these walls. I felt guilty that I wasn't sadder than I was.
Prez, in his excitement about Chicago, was only sad about leaving Perry and Juniper. He'd finally gone to take poor Juniper down to Auntie's, and then he'd be coming back with Uncle June.
I got up and moved to our bed to sit on it for the last
time. My throat got tight and my eyes welled. While I sat on the bare mattress, I dropped my face in my hands and cried.
We were leaving
everything.
And what were we going to do? What if we couldn't get used to such a big place? What if Chicago coloreds laughed at us? We wouldn't talk like them or dress like them.
And Daddy had already told me I'd be going to school with white children. Sitting right next to them in the classroom—learning what they were learning. I couldn't imagine such a thing.
I ran my hand over the mattress. My last time sitting on this bed … my last time.
A loud horn sounded. “Uncle June's here!” Mama called out from the porch, where she'd gone to check on our belongings. “Hurry, Francie—we gotta get going. Help me get our things out to the car.”
Mama was bending over the bulging bags and cases on the porch and rearranging stuff. The cake and fried chicken and potato salad and pickled peaches and jars of lemonade were boxed and tied with string. I'd left out the
War and Peace
Clarissa gave me. I planned to start it on the train. I should have said goodbye to her. And to Serena and Miss Lafayette, too. I was as bad as Jesse and Alberta—just moving on like I was. Just pointing all my attention on what was ahead and almost forgetting about who and what I was leaving behind. Even the jars still in the woods. We'd be long gone by the time anyone found them.
I had on my new yellow dress. I'd pulled the rags out of my hair, and greasy curls that I wasn't to comb out until just before we reached the station covered my head. Prez and Perry leaned their heads out of the car. Auntie, with Janie on her lap, scooted close to Uncle June to make room for Mama. Prez jumped out and shouted, “Come on and get in, slowpoke.”
Uncle June, in clean overalls and a big-brimmed hat, got out and opened the trunk for our belongings. “Hey, Miss Priss.” He smiled down at me. “You ready to leave Noble?”
“I think so,” I said, my voice sounding uncertain to my own ears.
“We sure gonna miss you,” he said.
I smiled and got into the car, pushing Prez on the shoulder so he would give me more room. The car started up with a noise that was like a loud horse's snort. We moved out over the bumpy road. I looked out the window at the fields beginning to race by. The woods whizzed goodbye.
“We going on a train!” Prez said, punching Perry in the shoulder softly. The grownups in the front seat laughed. I looked out the back window then to say goodbye to the house on Three Notch Road, secretly.
Mr. Grandy was coming up behind us. He honked.
“Uncle June, Mr. Grandy wants us,” I said. “Uncle June, pull over.”
Uncle June stopped the car and all of us looked back
and watched Mr. Grandy climb out of his truck and walk over to us. “I thought that was you, June.” I noticed a small envelope in his hand. “How you doin' up there in Benson?”
“Doin' pretty good. Finally movin' my family up there.”
“I heard. We all gonna miss Lil and Lydia, and the children, too.”
My eyes latched onto the envelope he was using to gesture with. “How you doin'?” he asked Mama and Auntie.
“Fine,” Mama said, speaking up first. “Just trying to get to our train before it go off and leave us.”
“Oh, sure,” Mr. Grandy said, bringing the letter up near his eyes. “I saw this being put in your mailbox right after you pulled away. Francie almost missed it.” He handed it to me while everyone turned their puzzled faces to me. I checked the postmark, just as puzzled. California. My breath quickened. All waited. Mama and Auntie and Uncle June had practically turned all the way around in their seats.
“It's from California,” I said.
“California,” they said together.
Mama recovered first. “Open it, Francie. See who it's from.”
I knew who it was from. Even before I tore off the end of the envelope, blew in it, and let the contents fall in my lap. Prez tried to grab the postcard that had fallen out, but I was quicker.
It was just a picture postcard. Of an orange grove. For the second time that day, my eyes filled with tears, and I looked out the window to hide my face, then realized Mr. Grandy was out that window, looking right at me.
“Who's it from?” Mama said impatiently.
I brought the envelope up to my face as if I didn't know and had to read the return address. Of course there wasn't one. My name was written in a child's script, full of struggle, it looked like. Then: Three Notch Road. Then: Noble, Alabama. Jesse hadn't been in school long enough to learn to write. Someone must have helped him.
“You gonna tell us who that postcard's from, Francie?” Uncle June asked.
“It's from Jesse Pruitt,” I said.
Mama opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Auntie looked at Uncle June, and Prez and Perry said “Wow!” at the same time.
“He got himself out to California,” I said.
“Well, why you crying?” Mama asked.
“I didn't think he ever would …”
Mama smiled at me. Mr. Grandy backed away from the car and let us get going. He waved at us and we waved back. I slipped the postcard in my
War and Peace
, deciding I was going to use it for my new bookmark. That way, I'd be looking at that picture of oranges growing on trees for a long, long time and thinking about Jesse
making it
and deciding—I could, too.
Copyright © 1999 by Karen English
All rights reserved
 
 
eISBN 9781429929646
First eBook Edition : April 2011
 
 
First edition, 1999
The excerpt from “Dreams” is reprinted by permission of Alfred
A. Knopf, Inc., from
Collected Poems
by Langston Hughes.
Copyright © 1994 by the Estate of Langston Hughes
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
English, Karen.
Francie / Karen English.—1st ed.
p. cm.
Summary: When the sixteen-year-old boy whom she tutors in reading is accused of attempting to murder a white man, Francie gets herself in serious trouble for her efforts at friendship.
ISBN 0-374-32456-5
1. Afro-Americans—Juvenile fiction. [1. Afro-Americans—Fiction. 2. Race relations—Fiction. 3. Schools—Fiction. 4. Friendship—Fiction.] I. Title.
PZ7.E7232Fr 1999
[Fic]—dc21
98-53047

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