Stella by Starlight (16 page)

Mama narrowed her eyes but let the subject drop. The three of them marveled over ladies who sported hair curled tightly into the latest bobs, high-heeled shoes, and dresses made of cotton and crepe. The hemlines stopped exactly halfway between the knee and the ankle, and most of the dresses were cinched tight at the waist with belts.

In the children's clothing section, the dresses, worn by smiling blond children, had lace collars and patent-leather belts. One dress, in a pale, sea-green color, made Stella trace its outline with longing. “That dress is just plain beautiful,” she whispered.

“A dollar ninety-four for a dress!” Mama exclaimed. “I could buy a whole bolt of cloth for that much.”

“Yes, but look how pretty these are,” Stella said. “They've got rickrack and buttons and bows.”

“You think I can't make a dress that pretty?” her mother asked.

“Oh, I know you can, Mama,” Stella said quickly. “It's just the ones in this book are
store-bought
!”

Turning more pages, they came to a full-size sewing machine sitting atop a wooden cabinet with six drawers. “Ahh,” Mama said. “Now
that's
a beauty!”

“ ‘Eighteen dollars and seventy-five cents,' ” Stella read, shaking her head.

They looked at toys for a quarter, shoes for two dollars, rifles for forty-seven dollars, and even plans for a whole house for one thousand, eight hundred and seventy-four dollars.

“I gotta be rich when I grow up,” Carolyn said,
folding her arms. “I gotta have money!”

“Don't aim for riches, child,” Mrs. Mills said gently. “Aim for happiness.”

“If I get rich, I will be happy!” Carolyn declared.

“Maybe. Maybe not.” Mama turned another page, saying, “Just a few more minutes now, Stella. We have chores to complete.”

“What would you buy right now if you could?” Stella asked her friend.

“Let's see.” Carolyn turned a couple of more pages, then flipped back to earlier in the catalog. “First a bicycle, so I wouldn't have to walk to school. That would only cost me twenty dollars.”

“Only.”

“Oh, and I'd get a lot of fancy clothes—like Paulette Packard has.”

At the name, Stella frowned. Paulette probably never had to play the “what would you buy?” game. She just went out and bought it, most likely.

Carolyn nudged Stella. “How about you?”

“Everything you said,” Stella replied slowly, “plus a big, fine house for my family to live in. Then I'd choose books to read—books I can keep. Plus one pretty dress
to wear to church. The pale-green one.” She stopped Carolyn at the page with the dress she'd loved.

“Ooh, I'll take the blue one,” Carolyn added, caressing the dress with her finger.

Stella laughed and paged through the clothing section again, her face slowly growing more serious. Finally she said in a low voice, “Did you notice—I didn't see even one single person who looks like us in this big old book.”

“Everybody knows colored folks don't have money to buy the stuff in this catalog,” Carolyn reasoned. “It's pretty much a book for white people, so that's who's in it.”

Stella looked at her friend in frustration. “But colored people need shoes and hammers and nice dresses. They spend their money too.”

“That's why I'm gonna be rich,” Carolyn asserted. “So it doesn't matter what color I am.”

“Why don't you two take your little colored selves outside and get those bush beans and collards in here before it gets dark,” Mama said, edging the book out from under their fingers. “Carolyn, I'm sure Stella would be mighty obliged for the help.”

The two girls scurried outside. Like Mama had said, that cabbage was ripe and ready, and they picked the beans and greens in record time. As soon as they were done, they washed their hands extra carefully at the pump to make sure not a speck of dirt would smudge the catalog.

“All done, Mama. May I walk Carolyn home?” Stella asked as Carolyn fetched the book.

“That will be fine. I tell you what, Stella,” her mother replied, “run this plate of fish down to Mrs. Bates's place while you're at it, while it's still warm. We have more than we can eat, and it won't keep.”

“Yes, M'am.” Stella took the plate. “Can I visit at Carolyn's house after I take the fish?”

“For a few minutes. But I want you home before dark. Got that?”

“I will,” Stella replied, hurrying out the door after Carolyn.

“Oh, it's getting late,” Carolyn said, looking at the sky. The sun would soon be sinking into a dusky evening, like it, too, had been working all day. “I gotta go milk the cow.”

“Let me get this plate to Mrs. Bates, then I'll meet
you at the barn,” Stella said as both girls picked up speed.

“Well, Stella Mills. How you be, sugar?” Mrs. Bates said as she opened the screen door a few minutes later. She was a thin, tired-looking woman, reminding Stella of a squeezed-out dishrag.

“My daddy caught a huge mess of catfish this morning and we can't eat it all, so Mama sent you some.” Stella handed her the plate.

“Bless yo' heart, child. That's right kindly of your mama,” Mrs. Bates said, her face lighting up. “Tell her I truly appreciate it. So will my boy Randy—can't seem to keep him filled up these days.”

“Tell Randy I said hello,” Stella said, “and I'll see him at school on Monday.”

“I sho nuff will. He's out back in the woods with Tony Hawkins. They told me they'd be lookin' for coons and snakes and other critters. They best be gettin' back up here 'fore dark,” she said, scanning the sky, worry crossing her face.

Stella said her good-byes and started strolling back to Carolyn's when she noticed a strange glow about half a mile ahead. She stopped short—it was like the
setting sun, but the bright orange image pulsed and undulated like no sun she'd ever seen. A flicker of fear raced through her as she thought back to the night the Klan had burned the cross. This was a fire, and it seemed a whole lot bigger than that cross. She bit her lip, then realized with a gasp . . . the Spencer house! It was the Spencer house! The Spencer house was on fire!

27

Oh my heavens! The Spencer house. It's burning!
Stella could smell it now as well. She broke into a run. At the same time, riding toward her, away from the fire, were three figures on horseback. Bearing down swiftly, dust pluming around them, the horses pounded in her direction. Stella stopped in her tracks, mouth agape.

The horses were nearly upon her, but more terrifying were the horsemen. Each wore a white full-length robe. And a pointed white hood. And each carried a flaming torch in his left hand. The Klan.

Stella scrambled to the side of the road just as they reached her. They reined back to an abrupt halt, the horses snorting and whinnying. Stella could smell the
sharp sweat of the heaving animals, the acrid kerosene that kept the flames bright. Even the horses were covered with white sheets, from head to rump.

The tallest rider pointed his torch directly at her. “Tell your daddy and the rest of those boys they were told to expect trouble,” he spat out. “The Grand Dragon is watching.” Then he added ominously, “Everything will burn.” Despite her fear, and despite the fact that the man's voice was muffled through the fabric of the hood, Stella was sure she'd heard it before. And that saddle . . . the saddle was shiny and silver-studded, not worn and brown like the other riders'.

Stella scuttled farther away, stones cutting into her palms. But she never took her eyes from the eyeholes in the face cloth that hung from the man's pointed hood. The man who spoke to her had green eyes—emerald like a summer leaf, but cold as a winter snow. Black saddle. Green eyes.
She knew who he was!

The man signaled to his cohorts, and in unison, all three horses reared. Stella curled into a tight ball, waiting for the hooves to pummel her, wondering if it would hurt very much when she died. But oh, thank the Lord, thank the Lord, she felt their thunder on
the earth beside her. She dared not even peek until she was certain they were far down the road.

Stella wanted to run for help, wanted to run to the Spencers', wanted to run home to her mother. But she couldn't get her body to do any of those things. Her arms pressed against her head, she couldn't move a muscle.

“Stella!” a familiar voice cried. “Stella! Are you hurt? I'll go get my father!”

It was Tony Hawkins, running toward her. A moment later he and Randy were standing over her, their faces strained. Stella couldn't hold it back any longer—she burst into tears, not caring a whit who saw her.

“Is anything broken?” Tony asked.

“No. I'm fine. I'm fine,” she said, trying to pull herself together. She pressed her hands against her eyes to stop the tears.
Be a stone! Be a stone!

She checked to ensure that the men were gone. “It was the Klan. They torched the Spencer house!”

“We saw them! They rode lickety-split right past us,” Randy exclaimed, helping her up. “They would have mowed us over if we hadn't gotten out of the way!”

“The Spencers!” Stella cried out. “Their house! It's on fire! We gotta help them!”

A few neighbors were already racing out of their homes, grasping buckets and rushing toward the Spencers'.

“Randy, go to Mrs. Malone's and tell her to use that telephone of hers to call the fire brigade! Hurry!” Tony said. “I'll go get the rest of the families in town to come help.”

“You say you could run like the wind, Tony,” Stella reminded him. “So run!”

The two boys dashed off away from the fire, and Stella turned on her heel and raced toward it. Even in her panic she couldn't help noticing that Mrs. Odom, who never seemed to walk farther than her own mailbox, dashed right past her, a bucket under each arm. And Randy's dad was hobbling along at a surprising speed, also bearing a bucket. But when she got to the Spencers' house, the entire house was already engulfed. Flames seemed to be bursting out of every window.

Still, without planning or discussion, as more and more neighbors arrived, a bucket brigade had begun.
Two lines of people stretched far down the road, all the way to the river, each person from the first line passing a bucket of water to the next, the last person tossing the water onto the blaze. The second line passed the empty buckets back to be refilled from the river. Even children helped, filling buckets from wells and troughs in the nearby yards.

“Did the family get out?” Mrs. Winston asked Mrs. Hawkins, both still wearing their kitchen aprons. “All them children! Are they safe?”

“My husband ran to make sure, but I think that's them gathered down the road there,” Mrs. Hawkins replied, pointing to a huddled cluster in the distance.

Stella could see Mrs. Spencer, a frenzied look on her face, with Hannah and at least half of her siblings, huddled together, staring at the inferno. Stella couldn't begin to imagine what they were going through.

“They gonna have some mighty big needs come morning,” Mrs. Winston said, glancing at the women in line beside her. They nodded with understanding. She passed a bucket to Stella. Stella's eyes went wide—she was being included with the women! She wedged herself into the line and passed the bucket on.

“Where's that blasted fire company?” Mrs. Bates asked in exasperation, heaving a sloshing bucket to Mr. Malone, who had just run up to join them.

He wiped his forehead. “They're not coming,” he told them. “Y'all know them firemen are volunteers, and y'all know they're all white. When Gloria called, they just laughed at her and said they were too busy.” He spat angrily in the dirt.

The bucket being passed to Mrs. Bates nearly slid out of her hands. “That can't be!” she cried, catching the bucket at the last minute.

How can anybody be so mean?
Stella thought in fury as she swung the heavy pail to the next person.