An update. :) Warning: this chapter will contain a description of a lynching. :( Feel free to skip this chapter completely or skip around within it.
"Do you want some coffee, sugar?" Mrs. Ann said. Her Southern accent was Roddenbery's Cane Patch Syrup on homemade biscuits and fried chicken and greens after Sunday service. It was love with love.
Abbie shook her head. "No, ma'am, but thank you. I just wanted to share my condolences. Stella was amazing."
She wasn't even intending to come in. They needed their space. Plus, Abbie didn't want to be a reminder of their loss, but Mrs. Ann, and her husband, Mr. Sam, insisted.
Stella always spoke so nicely of her aunt and uncle. She saw why. She's only met them once, when Stella introduced her to them after one of her classes. They thanked her for what she taught their niece, for what she taught other women.
"We sure do appreciate you coming by, sweetie," she said. "The funeral is next weekend. I told some of the girls who took your class to inform you."
Mrs. Ann put a plate of cookies in front of her, along with a glass of milk. Then she sat in her own seat. When Mr. Sam tried to help himself, Mrs. Ann swatted his hand away from the box and reminded him about watching his sugar. He frowned, took a seat, and settled for his cup of coffee. They were kind of like her parents.
"They told me. I'm so sorry I won't be attending."
"We understand. We expected a lot of declines from people. They said they didn't know how safe it would be to travel to Georgia."
"We're scared, too, but our family needs us," Mr. Sam squeezed his wife's hand, kissed her forehead. Abbie glanced in her glass. They were just like Mama and dad. Their love and support for each other was sweet on the tongue.
If it were Jenny, she'd travel to wherever to see her, even if it was for the last time. Stella was fearless, unafraid to try. That inspired Abbie to research more about self-defense and combat, to be the best teacher she could be for them, for Stella. Abbie had to honor her student; it was the least she could do.
"What time do you leave?"
As she walked into her apartment, Abbie wasn't sure how she'd tell Jenny about the funeral. Mrs. Ann and Mr. Sam needed the support, no matter how put together they seemed. Abbie also felt partly responsible for Stella's death, that what she taught her eventually got her killed. There wasn't a way to really unsettle that guilt. She had to go, to tell Stella she was sorry for cutting her life short.
Crane's scarf was still on the floor; Abbie grabbed it and slung it over her arm. Her sister wasn't in the kitchen. There wasn't dinner on the stove, no plate set out for her. After she changed her clothes, she braced herself to knock on Jenny's door.
"We need to talk. It's important."
Her sister stood in the doorway. "What?"
"I'm going to Stella's funeral."
"Fine."
"Her family could use the company down the road. We're taking a train."
"Be careful."
Abbie wanted Jenny to say that she'd go, too, even if she wasn't travelling alone.
Jenny didn't fix her lips to say anything, except, "Is that all?"
"Yeah."
Her aunt and uncle were leaving Friday and staying until Sunday. She wouldn't have to worry about paying for a train ticket, though Abbie was adamant she would pay her way. Mrs. Ann wouldn't hear of it. Once she crossed her arms, there was no further debating. Abbie thanked her numerous times before leaving.
"Jenny, about Crane—"
"Don't. We know where we stand."
"Nothing is—"
"Goodnight."
She hoped that when Jenny slammed the door it wouldn't hurt as much it did.
It was a quiet week at the library. No problems occurred. Abbie practically held her breath her entire shift. She wasn't fully relieved until it ended. Her and Crane crossed aisles a few times. They didn't speak, but they acknowledged the other. It was better for her that way, safer. She thought he began to understand that. After her shift ended each day and the library officially closed, they stood in their spots, on the lookout for the trolley. They made small talk. It was their routine. Sometimes, he told her a little bit more about his parents, like how they loved to watch old Christmas movies when it wasn't December. Abbie shared small pieces, too, like how hers had a thing for sweets and baked cinnamon rolls together every weekend.
"Good evening, Miss Mills. I hope you faring well today."
"I am. You?"
"Indeed. Is 'Romeo and Juliet' to your satisfaction?"
"It's interesting. I'm almost done. I've actually been writing in your book. I hope you don't mind."
As she read it, she marked lines and asked questions. In act 2, scene 2, she drew a balloon. That was Mama's favorite passage, one she often read aloud to her. As a child, she didn't quite understand what was being said there, but she understood the feeling behind the words. It was a little clearer now, though most times the dialogue still went over her head. Crane's annotations helped a bit. Romeo and Juliet loved each other from what she gathered. That's all there was to it.
"I do not in the slightest. Feel free." He paused. "I see you are taking quite the liking to my scarf."
She laughed, tied it a little tighter. "You're not getting this back."
"I didn't think I would. I hope you enjoy it. How is Miss Jenny?"
Her smile got smaller. "Fine."
"Are you certain?"
"Yeah. We just got into a fight recently."
"I'm so sorry to hear that. If you don't mind me asking—"
"I'm not talking about it."
"Very well."
Since Jenny was still mad at her, Abbie found herself making her own dinner.
"Will you two be at the bakery this weekend?" he said.
"No. Jenny will probably be at home. I'll be out of town."
"Are you going on vacation? Perhaps some place warm?"
"I wish. I'm going to Georgia for a funeral. Someone close to me died a few weeks ago."
"I am very sorry for your loss, Miss Mills. You have my deepest condolences."
"Thank you."
He wiggled his fingers. "I hope this isn't too forward. However, I pray you will have safe travels and a safe stay."
She smiled and wanted to grab his hand or pat his arm to reassure him. That would be inappropriate, especially with the trolley turning the corner. The riders had to notice their interactions by now. No one said anything if they did. Her and Crane couldn't forget themselves. It was easy to do that.
Abbie could only give him her word. "I will."
It was early Friday morning. The trip was roughly 14 hours, so they had to depart around 3a.m. to get there by evening. Though Jenny was still asleep, Abbie went into her room anyway. She wouldn't leave without saying goodbye. That was her sister. She shook her.
"What? What time is it?"
"Early. I'm about to go. See you in a couple of days."
Jenny pulled the covers up to her ear.
Abbie sighed at her stubbornness. "I'll call you, okay? Love you."
She kissed her hair and left her room. With her suitcase, she waited by the door, hoping Jenny would run from her room, hug her tight, and worry over her being gone so long for the first time. That didn't happen, so Abbie left, thinking of Jenny's closed door.
Mr. Sam decided to sit behind her and Mrs. Ann. He wanted to let them have their "lady time" as he put it. Mrs. Ann called him an old fool, and he just laughed, said he was her fool.
"That you are," she said.
Abbie learned more about Mrs. Ann and Mr. Sam during their train ride. Mrs. Ann was a nurse while her husband was an English teacher. Both of them were from Georgia and moved to Sleepy Hollow seven years ago. They wanted to settle in the city, but it was too expensive and hectic. Sleepy Hollow was quieter. Stella moved with them after they got comfortable enough. Her parents and younger brother planned to move to Sleepy Hollow, too, but they could only afford to send Stella at the time. They were saving more money to move for good.
"They still plan to come here, even more so now." She paused. "Sam and I wanted better opportunities for ourselves. That's why we left. The South was nothing but stifling, horrific. I've seen things, sugar. Worse things down there than up here."
"I'm not so sure. I've seen things, too. Up here."
"What have you seen, honey?"
She stared out the window, thinking about her family's welts of pain. "Too much."
Mrs. Ann squeezed her hand, said something that reminded her of Mama, "It'll be okay, baby. It'll be okay."
She believed her.
It was evening by the time they arrived in Georgia. The weather was bearable. Not as chilly as New York. Stella's parents greeted them at the train station. Her mom, with lovely dark brown skin and a petite figure, hugged them all and thanked them for coming. Her dad, tall with full lips, did the same.
"You can call me Ella, Abbie. This is Carter." She grabbed his hand.
"Stella said only nice things about you. We're glad you're here."
"Everyone's at the house. I know y'all are hungry," Ella said.
"We could eat," said Mr. Sam. "You made your sweet potato pie, Carter?"
"You know I did."
"My man."
They laughed while Ella and Mrs. Carter shook their heads. They were kind of like Corbin and her dad. Abbie smiled.
As they drove through town, Abbie saw the "Colored Only" and "White Only" signs plastered on diners, movie theaters, grocery stores, gas stations, and every public facility she could think of. It was impossible to forget herself here. Her place was shown to her in every building she saw. Crane's scarf knotted around her neck itched; she untied it.
"You okay, honey?" Mrs. Ann said.
They three of them were scrunched in the back seat. Abbie was in the middle.
"Just a little warm."
"It's an adjustment, I know." She squeezed her hand.
"Yeah," she said.
Cars lined down the sidewalk in front of their home. Some of their relatives ate on the front porch, holding their dinner plates in their laps and setting their cups next to their feet. They sat in plastic, black folding chairs. Stella's parents introduced her to everyone outside and inside. Cousins and in-laws hugged and kissed them, joked with Mrs. Ann and Mr. Sam. Though their luggage was still in the trunk, Ella and Carter showed them their rooms for the weekend. Mrs. Ann and Mr. Sam will stay in the guest room while Abbie will sleep in Stella's.
"I couldn't possibly," she said. "It's not my place."
"We insist," Carter said.
"You have no idea how crazy Stella was about you," said Ella. "She wouldn't mind in the slightest. You showed our baby girl the strength she didn't know she had. Thank you, Abigail."
Ella hugged her and went to the bathroom for tissue. Carter followed. Abbie stepped into her room. It was blue, like her ribbon. Trophies and 1st place certificates draped a shelf on her wall. There was a photo of her riding a horse on her dresser. Another was with her friends at a park, one at prom in a blue strapless dress, and one as a little girl with two missing teeth, smiling on a tire swing. Abbie didn't deserve to sleep in her room, didn't deserve to even be here really.
"Don't blame yourself, sugar. They don't."
"How do you know I—"
"I thought it was my fault, too. I let her go to your class." Mrs. Ann sat on the bed. "Maybe if I hadn't, she'd be here. I'm tired of losing our family, our friends, our community at the hands of white people. There's nothing we can do to protect our own."
"Are you afraid someone may come for Stella's parents and brother?" She sat beside her.
"I am, sugar. They don't deserve this, especially Stella. She was defending her brother, trying to keep him safe. And the way that cop…" She covered her mouth and cried. Then she breathed deep. "My sister lost her baby. I lost my niece. You lost a student. That cop was vile. We know he won't get arrested. That's how it is."
Abbie didn't tell her it would be okay, but she did squeeze her hand.
They joined the rest of the family downstairs. Abbie stuffed herself with fried tilapia, creamy potato salad, crispy and lightly salted fried okra, molten mac and cheese, and chilled coleslaw. She drank sweet iced tea from her cup. For dessert, she relished in a slice of homemade of sweet potato pie. It's buttery, crunchy crust and cinnamon-y, sugary, nutmeg-y orange filling was something she couldn't forget. The red velvet cake was more than heaven. It was moist and the smooth cream cheese icing made her stomach cozy. Bits of pecans stuck between her teeth, but she didn't care.
"You've never had cooking like this before, have you?" Mr. Sam said.
Abbie laughed. "I'm not telling. It was amazing, I'll say that."
She wasn't about to pick between her Mama's cooking and theirs. Not at all.
She had a good time with Stella's family. One of her uncles shamelessly flirted with her while everyone else laughed at him and said he didn't have a chance. Her little cousins showed her a new hand-clap game and she braided a doll's hair. She taught some of her relatives a few self-defense moves while they showed her how to do Chubby Checkers' twist. She and Jenny didn't have a big family. They didn't know their cousins or aunts or even their grandparents. It was just them and their parents. She enjoyed this, liked the snug and comforting feeling of relatives.
After a while, she excused herself to call Jenny.
"Hey," she said. "I'm here. Got in a couple of hours ago."
"Good. Are you okay down there?"
"Yeah. Her family's very kind."
Not to mention they can cook their asses off, but she still wasn't picking who was better.
"Cool."
"How are you?"
"I'm fine up here."
"I'll be home Sunday evening."
"Okay. Stay safe. I'm about to head to bed."
"I think I will, too. Big day tomorrow."
"How are you feeling with that?"
She sighed. "It hasn't hit me again, you know?"
It helped being surrounded by people who loved Stella. The pain wasn't as bad. She wasn't alone. When their parents died, they didn't get a full house of people. It wasn't quite this many, but it was enough to soothe her for the moment. They could just be and remember all the quirks of Mama and dad and remember the importance of loving.
"Call me if you need me."
"I will."
Speaking with Jenny felt different. This wasn't them. They joked and had fun. But this was detached, like a crab leaving its shell behind. She wanted her sister back. But she didn't know how to get their relationship back to what it was. She had a feeling it would get worse.
"Jenny—"
"I don't want to talk about library guy."
"I already told you it's—"
"Abbie, we're not talking about this."
She sighed, decided not to argue. "Goodnight then."
"Goodnight."
Abbie sat down at the table again with Mrs. Ann, Mr. Sam, and Stella's parents. Everyone else began to leave, hugging them and taking to-go plates before they did so.
"What's going on with May?" Mr. Sam said. "The whole family's been talking about her."
Carter sighed. "Rumors."
Ella said, "I hope so. She knows that dangerous."
Mrs. Ann shook her head. "I don't approve one bit, honey. I pray it's not true. Does she know what will happen to her? Even rumors are enough to start trouble around here. We don't need that."
"Who is she?"
"She goes to Ella and Carter's church sometimes and lives in the neighborhood over," Mrs. Ann said. "She frequents this grocery store in town often. There's a white clerk who works there. Some people say they've seen the two flirting, that he's given her a few items free of charge. Someone else said they saw her pass him a note or two. I don't know how much of this is true. May is smart. She knows better than to even get tangled in this. No one is sure how long this has been going on."
Abbie thought about Crane and their small talks, their tangling. And that fear slithered in her chest and belly for what could happen to May, to her.
Breakfast was quiet. What could be said? Stella was gone; today was her funeral. Her family has to live without her. Abbie couldn't do anything.
The parking lot was already crowded. People stood in line outside the church, wearing their Sunday's best and scarves. They held crumpled tissues, sniffed, and wiped their faces. Abbie stood in line behind them. Before they left, Ella and Mrs. Ann insisted she sit with them, but Abbie refused. They let her be. Guests let Stella's family make their way to the front. Two ushers opened the doors; the line began to move.
Ella kissed her cheek and cried on her daughter's chest. Carter kneeled in front of her casket to pray over her. Her little brother put a toy next to her and wiped his face. His parents said he was handling it the best he could, but of course he was traumatized by the event and had nightmares. He was consoled by Mrs. Ann and Mr. Sam, who stared and cried hand in hand.
Abbie didn't cry when she got to the front; she couldn't feel anything as she viewed her body. Stella was dressed in blue, from her ribbon to her bracelet to her dress. Her curly hair hung over her shoulders. She was beautiful. Still. There was bruise on the side of her forehead. She excused herself to the bathroom, where she cried and gagged like in the school room. Her legs shook, so she sat on the toilet seat. She could've even fathom what her parents felt. How were they still standing? Still so strong? How did she and Jenny even survive without their parents? She recited a small prayer for them before returning to the sanctuary.
Everyone left blue daisies on her casket at the grave site. The pastor said a prayer; her mother sung. Family members shared stories about Stella like they did in church. Abbie walked to the front with her flower.
"I've taught Stella for three years. She was such a lovely girl. Sometimes clumsy." They smiled, laughed, nodded their heads. "But she had passion and drive. That's what I respect most about her. Mrs. And Mr. Nelson, I'll never know your grief. I'm so sorry this happened to her and to your family." She laid the flower on the casket and took her seat.
At times, Abbie considered Stella as her other younger sister, someone else to look out for. She couldn't keep Jenny safe that night, so when she met Stella, Abbie believed she protected her by giving her the tools to take care of herself. She tried to protect all the women through teaching. But like with Jenny, she failed Stella, too.
The ride back was quiet until Mr. Sam said, "Lord, have mercy. That can't be…"
"Jesus," Mrs. Ann put her hand on her chest. "May."
Abbie couldn't unsee her. A rope wrapped around her neck. Her body lightly swung next to another, a man. Both of them beaten and branded. Her stomach slashed open. A tiny body beneath her feet.
Pieces of Abbie splintered. Her arms and legs rattled. Her eyes blurred and blurred. Fear slithered in the nooks of her bones and the corners of her spirit.
Someone gripped her. Her head was on something soft. She smelled breathy peppermint. Barely heard a voice.
"I've got you, sugar."
And then she fell into the black.
She woke up in Stella's bed with a cool towel on her head.
"Glad to see you're awake, darling. Made you some tea," Mrs. Ann sat in a chair next to the bed. "You went into shock."
She didn't want to remember them, yet their ghosts wouldn't leave her. They clutched and clutched. Just like her parents. Just like Jenny's brokenness. Just like Stella. She wept for them. For the loved ones she lost and couldn't save. For the brutalized couple and their love that was choked and quieted. She wept for the friendship she couldn't have with Crane.
"You've been through it, I know, baby." Her arms secured around Abbie again. "You've had to be strong, haven't you? Just be now, baby. Just be."
In the late evening, she woke up again. She smelled fried chicken and cabbage and other dishes. Heard multiple voices downstairs and records playing. It was only her in the room, with covers up to her chest and a cup of steaming tea on the nightstand. Crane's scarf was swathed around her neck. She took it off, refusing to take comfort in it and in the idea that Crane was a genuine, sincere white man. She didn't believe they could be acquaintances or good pals, lovers even, especially after…. When she finished folding his scarf, she was supposed to tuck it in her suitcase and never wear it again. Instead, she found herself playing with its fringes.