Roll of Thunder, Hear My Cry by Mildred D. Taylor

Author:Mildred D. Taylor [Taylor, Mildred D.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 0140384510
Google: RBrPIGBMWcIC
Amazon: B00B1FG8RW
Barnesnoble: B00B1FG8RW
Goodreads: 18818442
Publisher: Puffin
Published: 1976-01-01T07:00:00+00:00

7

“Stacey, go bring me your coat,” Mama said a few days later as we gathered around the fire after supper. “I’ve got time to take up the sleeves now.”

“Uh-oh!” exclaimed Christopher-John, then immediately opened his reader as Mama looked down at him.

Little Man cupped his hand and whispered to me, “Boy, now he’s gonna get it!”

“Uh…th-that’s all right, Mama,” stuttered Stacey. “The c-coat’s all right like it is.”

Mama opened her sewing box. “It’s not all right. Now go get it for me.”

Stacey stood up and started slowly toward his room. Little Man, Christopher-John, and I watched him closely, wondering what he was going to do. He actually went into the room, but was gone only a moment before he reappeared and nervously clutched the back of his chair. “I ain’t got the coat, Mama,” he said.

“Not got the coat!” cried Big Ma. Uncle Hammer looked up sharply from his paper, but remained silent.

“Stacey,” Mama said irritably, “bring me that coat, boy.”

“But, Mama, I really ain’t got it! I gave it to T.J.”

“T.J.!” Mama exclaimed.

“Yes, ma’am, Mama,” Stacey answered, then went on hurriedly as Mama’s eyes glittered with rising anger. “The coat was too big for me and…and T.J. said it made me look like…like a preacher…and he said since it fit him just right, he’d…he’d take it off my hands till I grow into it, then thataway all the guys would stop laughing at me and calling me preacher.” He paused, waiting for someone to speak; but the only sound was a heavy breathing and the crackle of burning hickory. Then, seeming more afraid of the silence than putting his neck further into the noose, he added, “But I didn’t give it to him for good, Mama—just lent it to him till I get big enough for it and then…”

Stacey’s voice faded into an inaudible whisper as Mama slowly put the sewing box on the table behind her. I thought she was headed for the wide leather strap hanging in the kitchen, but she did not rise. In quiet anger she glared at Stacey and admonished, “In this house we do not give away what loved ones give to us. Now go bring me that coat.”

Backing away from her anger, Stacey turned to leave, but Uncle Hammer stopped him. “No,” he said, “leave the coat where it is.”

Mama turned bewildered toward Uncle Hammer. “Hammer, what’re you saying? That’s the best coat Stacey’s ever had and probably ever will have as long as he lives in this house. David and I can’t afford a coat like that.”

Uncle Hammer leaned back in his chair, his eyes cold on Stacey. “Seems to me if Stacey’s not smart enough to hold on to a good coat, he don’t deserve it. As far as I’m concerned, T.J. can just keep that coat permanently. At least he knows a good thing when he sees it.”

“Hammer,” Big Ma said, “let the boy go get the coat. That T.J. probably done told him all sorts—”

“Well, ain’t Stacey got a brain? What the devil should he care what T.

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