Angel of Greenwood by Randi Pink

Author:Randi Pink
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Feiwel & Friends

THURSDAY, MAY 26, 1921; 5 DAYS BEFORE

ISAIAH

Angel chose Up from Slavery; The Secret Garden; Peter and Wendy; Harriet, the Moses of Her People; and The Story of My Life, and Isaiah chose The Souls of Black Folk; The Talented Tenth; The Negro; The Philadelphia Negro; and The Wonderful Wizard of Oz. In the end, the books made up a good balance of power and humor, Isaiah thought, a good mix for varying ages. And since he hadn’t actually read The Secret Garden before, he’d taken it home with him that night. He’d never share this fact with Angel, but the book made him cry so hard he had to warm-iron the pages because they’d wrinkled so from his tears. He held the book to his chest and hurried out the door, heading for Miss Ferris’s home.

“Going to work, Ma!” he said, attempting to leave before she called after him.

“Come here a minute,” she replied. “I’ve made morning glories for you.”

He hung his head and respectfully headed to the sweet-smelling kitchen. Isaiah had heard long ago that all mothers had a sixth sense for their evading children, but his mother was a cut above. He sat across from her at the table and folded his hands, knowing to expect questions.

“How was your first day, yesterday?” she asked, pouring herself a cup of tea. “You got in late last night.”

For time to think, Isaiah stuffed a muffin in his mouth. “Just fine.” He spat bits as he spoke. “You know, work.”

She took a skeptical sip. “The Secret Garden? That’s a unique choice for you. Beautiful book.” She thumbed through the pages with a sweet smile.

“I really need to get to work, Ma.”

“I understand,” she said with much disappointment in her voice. “No time for your mother anymore. At least take another muffin for the walk.”

Isaiah owed her so much more than this. Stronger than anyone he’d ever known and more patient, too, she deserved better. He settled in. “I have a few minutes to spare, actually. I’ve wanted your opinion on something for a while, and never quite found the time to ask.”

That was a lie. He’d had the opportunity thousands of times, but was afraid that her response would be disappointing.

“Anything,” she said, eager to connect. “Ask away.”

“Last week, in Sunday school…,” he began. “You told me that I was behaving in a way that was contrary to our cause. What does that mean exactly?”

His mother looked overcome with something intensely new. Something so new that he couldn’t put his finger on it. She exhaled before speaking.

“Isaiah,” she said, giving herself a moment to close her eyes for a brief prayer, and a few more to admire her only son. “You have always been a fighter. Sometimes fighting battles that you shouldn’t fight with young men you shouldn’t associate with. I respect the fight inside of you. It’s without limits, but you waste it at times.”

“What do you mean, waste it?”

“Even though you know exactly what I mean, I’ll try to explain.

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