Mockingbird Summer: A Novel by Lynda Rutledge

Author:Lynda Rutledge [Rutledge, Lynda]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Lake Union Publishing
Published: 2024-01-30T00:00:00+00:00

12

A few minutes later on the Southside, Reverend Washington knocked on the door of the small, cream-colored, square house a block over from his church.

America opened the door. “. . . Brother Washington?”

“America, I have a package for you.” He handed her the sack Corky gave him. “I am told it has a note inside.”

Opening the sack, America recognized the track shoes and pulled out the note to read:

America,

Here are the cleats you used at the track in hopes you will run this summer. Use our school cinder track with my permission. If you can’t, dirt roads will do. The school system buys these for our track team to use. And I would have you on mine if I could. I am proud to say I saw you run.

Coach Trumbull

She looked up at her pastor.

“Is it good?” he asked.

She couldn’t answer. She didn’t quite know how. But the pleased, wide-eyed look on her face made Reverend Washington smile. “I also have a message for you from Miss Corky Corcoran. She says that she ‘didn’t understand and now she does.’ I hope that makes sense to you.”

For a moment, America looked away. Glancing back at the big man, she nodded.

“Pastor?” Evangeline appeared from the kitchen.

“Evangeline, how are you? Is everything going okay?”

Evangeline sighed softly in response.

Reverend Washington smiled again. “Ladies, if you need me, you know where I am.” Opening the picket fence’s little gate to leave, he waved at them as they closed the front door.

Still holding the sack, America waited for her mother to ask what was in it. Evangeline didn’t. That was exactly what had happened with the sneakers. It wasn’t like her mother at all. But America knew why. Her mother was waiting to hear from America’s father about his job search. America watched her wander back to the kitchen, where she paused in front of the kitchen wall phone as if willing it to ring.

“Mamà,” America said, standing in the doorway.

“Oui?” her mother mumbled.

“Would you like to try on the Sunday dress I made you? It’s almost finished,” America tried.

“No, not tonight, chéri.”

At that moment, the kitchen phone rang.

Evangeline grabbed the phone receiver. “Rayford?”

America headed to her room down the short hallway. Passing their Singer sewing machine in its closed treadle cabinet, she ran her free hand over it lovingly. Then she went on into her room, leaving the door open a crack. Still holding the sack of running cleats, she gazed over at the new sneakers in her closet and couldn’t help thinking how odd it was that everyone was suddenly offering her shoes.

“How did things go?” she heard her mother ask from the kitchen. America strained to hear more but caught nothing until finally she heard her mother ask, “When will you know?” A very long pause followed until Evangeline suddenly said, “If not, how will we get by?” And she heard her mother quickly correct herself. “Oh, I didn’t mean it that way, chéri mwen! We’ll get by. We always get by, don’t

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