In My Father's House (Vintage Contemporaries) by Gaines Ernest J

Author:Gaines, Ernest J. [Gaines, Ernest J.]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
ISBN: 9780307830371
Publisher: Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group
Published: 2012-10-23T16:00:00+00:00

8

Later that evening Phillip drove back to St. Adrienne still thinking about Chippo. Tomorrow he would go into Baton Rouge to find him, and Chippo would explain everything to him. When he came into town he stopped at the St. Adrienne bake shop and ordered a chocolate cake. Tony, the little Italian baker, had heard about his fall and commented on how fast he had recovered. Phillip told him that a little sun was peeping through the clouds. Tony had been outside to dump a garbage can only a few minutes before, and the sky had looked as black as ever. Maybe the minister had some hidden meaning in the words sun and cloud. After taking his money for the cake the baker told Phillip that he wished him the best of luck with Old Chenal on Friday. He said Chenal was a disgrace, and all the good white people of St. Adrienne were ashamed of him. Phillip wanted to say, “To hell with Chenal. My mind is on something more important than all your Chenals.” He nodded, gratefully, to the baker, then took the little chocolate cake out to the car and drove home.

When he turned off Choctaw Drive onto St. Anne Street, he noticed the car of his assistant pastor, Jonathan Robillard, parked before his house. Alma was standing on the porch when he drove into the yard. She held the screen door open for him as he came up the steps. He could see that she was worried, and that she had been crying.

“Something the matter?” he asked her.

“Mr. Howard and them inside, waiting to see you.”

“See me about what?”

“What do you think, Phillip?”

“I don’t know.”

“Don’t you, Phillip?”

He gave her the box with the cake and went by her into the house. Five members of the St. Adrienne Civil Rights Committee were waiting for him when he came in. Tall, gray-headed Howard Mills sat on the couch with his hat on his knee. Mack Henderson, a small baldheaded man, sat beside Mills. Peter Hebert, who had been trimming his fingernails with a small pearl-handled knife, was the third man on the couch. Sitting in a chair next to him was the secretary of the committee, a light-skinned, heavy-set man called Aaron Brown. Jonathan Robillard was the only one in the room not sitting. He had been pacing the floor the past half hour, and now he stood away from all the others near the piano. Everyone looked at Phillip when he came into the room, but no one said anything until after he spoke.

“Gentlemen.”

“Reverend.”

Everyone except Jonathan spoke to Phillip. Jonathan was angry.

“Something the matter?” Phillip asked.

“Seems like Chenal up there having himself a little party,” Mills said.

“A party?” Phillip said, taking off his hat and overcoat and handing them to Alma, who had followed him inside. Alma took the things from him, but she didn’t leave the room.

“ ’Varice daughter say he’s up there handing out cigars to men, cup cakes to the ladies,” Mills said. “Even gived them a hour off to celebrate.

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