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  Mama Hattie’s Girl

  Lois Lenski

  CONTENTS

  Foreword

  I Hibiscus Street

  II The Plum Tree

  III Good Luck

  IV Bad Luck

  V Bolt of Lightning

  VI Change of Scene

  VII Not Wanted

  VIII First Prize

  IX Hibiscus Street Again

  X The Looking Glass

  XI Outside the Circle

  XII Tomorrow

  A Biography of Lois Lenski

  “As my Angel Mother used to say, some of us are Christian folks and some are vagabonds, but all of us are people.” —Roland Hayes

  —from Angel Mo and Her Son, by McKinley Helm

  (By permission of Little Brown & Company and Atlantic Monthly Press)

  “There are thieves and murderers and wife-beaters among my people. There are also geniuses and saints and many Negroes who walk down God’s pathway. In other words, Negroes are human beings with exactly the same faults and virtues as members of the other races.”

  —from His Eye Is on the Sparrow, by Ethel Waters

  (By permission of Doubleday & Company)

  FOREWORD

  In the writing of this book I have had the enthusiastic help of children in three schools, two in the North and one in the South. But no attempt has been made to keep the settings or incidents exactly true to either location. My descriptions of both Northern and Southern life are composites, drawn from many sources, and from the experiences of many people.

  This story is an attempt to portray real life experiences which a Negro girl might have in her adjustment to North and South; these incidents having come from the lives of children who have made such a change. All characters are composites and actual experiences have been altered to fit the needs of the plot. Opinions expressed regarding North and South are opinions I heard, and are not necessarily my own.

  I wish to extend my appreciative thanks to all my many friends who contributed so generously to the growth of this story. It has been a rich and rewarding experience, and one I shall never forget.

  Lois Lenski

  September 10, 1952

  FAREWELL SONG

  Copyright 1953 by Lois Lenski and Clyde Robert Bulla

  FAREWELL SONG may be freely used or reprinted by any schools or teachers interested, for the use of their children. Its reprinting for any commercial use is, however, forbidden by copyright.

  CHAPTER I

  Hibiscus Street

  “Lula Bell! Lula Bell!” called a woman’s voice.

  “Yas’m!” answered the girl faintly.

  She was hanging, head downward, from the limb of a large chinaberry tree. The tree grew beside the door of a two-story building, which had a sign Andy’s Chicken Shack on the front. An admiring crowd of children stood below. It was a soft spring day in early March.

  “Look how she can skin the cat,” said Ernestine Hobbs.

  “Lula Bell! Lula Bell!” called the woman again.

  “You’re gonna ketch it!” warned James Henry Thorpe, an older boy. “Miss Hattie sounds mad. She’ll tear you up.”

  “No, she won’t,” said the girl.

  “Lula Bell’s the best climber on Hibiscus Street,” began Geneva Jackson, a small girl of ten.

  “The chinaberry flowers is just bloomin’ now,” said Lula Bell. She pulled some off and threw them down. “When the berries git ripe in summertime, we’ll string ’em and make us necklaces to wear.”

  “I’ll make me a popgun and shoot birds with ’em—pop! pop, pop!” said James Henry.

  “Lula Bell! Lula Bell!” The woman’s voice was sharper now. The children looked across the street to the porch where she sat. “Git down outa that tree. You wanna fall and break your neck?”

  “No ma’m!” answered Lula Bell. “I’m a-gittin’ down.”

  She moved her hands and feet along the limb like a sure-footed monkey. She dropped her feet to a lower limb. Then in a moment she landed smartly on the ground. She hitched up the belt of her blue jeans, which held her dress bunched in just below the waist.

  “Lula Bell, there’s your mama a-comin’ home from work,” said little Clarence Hobbs, pointing.

  Lula Bell flew up the street to meet her. “Hi, Imogene!” she called. The other children scattered.

  The young woman coming down the street was slim and graceful. She wore a flowered blouse and a tight-fitting black skirt. She took short steps on her high-heeled shoes. She opened her arms and Lula Bell flew into them. Then she frowned.

  “Girl, why you got those old patched pants on?” she asked.

  “I didn’t want to tear my dress,” said Lula Bell.

  “You climbin’ trees again?” asked Imogene. “When are you gonna learn to be ladylike?”

  “I can climb higher’n anybody on Hibiscus Street,” bragged Lula Bell.

  The girl ran on ahead and soon came back to the porch where her grandmother was sitting. Across the front and at one end was an array of potted plants. In the yard, a large oleander tree and a gardenia bush grew on the left side of the walk, and a plum tree in full bloom on the right. A green hibiscus hedge, dotted with red Turk’s-cap flowers, fenced in the yard. Inside the house, a radio was blaring noisily.

  “Go in and turn that thing off, Lula Bell,” said Imogene. “It’s so loud, it makes my head ache.”

  Lula Bell ran in and the noise stopped abruptly.

  Imogene sank into a porch chair. “How you doin’, Mama?” she asked.

  “I ain’t much—how you?” answered the woman who sat there.

  “Tired—wore out,” said Imogene. “What you been doin’?”

  “Nothin’. I got nothin’ to do all day long but set here on the porch and look.”

  Lula Bell’s grandmother, known to the neighborhood as Miss Hattie, sat in a well-worn but comfortable rocking chair. She was large heavy woman, wearing a plaid cotton dress, bulging and overflowing her chair. Her face was full, her features strong, and her dark eyes penetrating. Her half-gray hair was platted in a neat braid like a crown across the top of her head. There was, in fact, a regal air about her. She sat like a queen, and she ruled her little world like a queen.

  “Lonnie and Eddie home yet?” asked Imogene, inquiring after her two brothers aged fourteen and twelve.

  “I ain’t seen ’em,” said Mama Hattie. “Musta hitchhiked out to the golf links. Both their bikes is broke.” On her lap lay an open mail order catalogue. “I’m fixin’ to order me a new dress—a flowered rayon with a flaring skirt.”

  “Why don’t you buy the goods and make it yourself?” suggested Imogene. “Then you could get it to fit right. It would be cheaper too.”

  “I can’t sew since my eyes got bad,” said Mama Hattie. “Now if you loved your old mother, you could make it for me …”

  “No, thank you, ma’m,” said Imogene. “After I sew all day long for Mrs. Netherton, and fuss and fuss to get everything just so, I’m too tired to sew at home at night.”

  “What did you sew today?” asked Miss Hattie. “Anything purty?”

  “Evening gown for the banker’s wife—jade satin with a silk lace overdrape,” said Imogene. “We couldn’t get it to hang just right—but it sure was pretty.”

  Lula Bell, at her grandmother’s feet, turned the pages of the catalogue. She came to the girls’ dresses.

  “Buy me a new dress, Imogene,” she begged, pointing. “Buy me this one.”

  Imogene got up from her chair and opened the screen door. “You wear out your old ones first,” she said. “I’m not
buyin’ you any new dresses until you stop climbin’ trees like a boy. I got too many bills to pay.” She banged the screen door behind her.

  “After working hard all day long, I gotta come home and cook supper, I suppose.” Her voice from the room inside sounded irritable. “Some folk’s ain’t got nothin’ to do but sit on the porch and look. Jest sit on the porch and look.”

  Lula Bell leaned on her grandmother’s lap and looked up into her eyes. “You’ll buy me a new dress, Mama Hattie, won’t you?”

  “I sure will, honey.” The old woman put her hand on the girl’s shoulder. “Why, if it wasn’t for me, this chile wouldn’t have a stitch to her back. I buys her ten times the clothes her own mother do. Yes ma’m, honey, I’s gonna order me a new flowered rayon dress with a big wide full skirt. And I’ll order you the purtiest dress in the catalogue.”

  “Can I pick it out now?” Lula Bell turned the pages. “Will you send in the order tomorra?”

  “Not jest now, honey,” said Mama Hattie. “We’ll pick ’em out now, and we’ll order ’em soon’s I git me some extry change. I’ll go fishin’ tomorra and ketch a big bunch o’ fish and sell ’em. Then you can go to the postoffice and buy a postal order …”

  The new dresses were a pleasant dream. The woman’s hand rested gently on the girl’s shoulder. A loud clatter of pans and dishes came from inside the house.

  “It’s near-about time for my program, Lula Bell,” said Mama Hattie. “Go in and turn the radio on. Them pots and pans is so noisy, it makes my head ache.”

  The next day when Lula Bell came home from school, she stopped at the corner and looked. Mama Hattie was not sitting on the porch. Her usual chair was empty.

  “Come on, go to Miss Lena’s store with me,” begged Geneva Jackson. “I gotta buy my mama a loaf of bread.”

  “O. K.,” said Lula Bell. “I’ll git Mama Hattie a grape soda.”

  Arm in arm, the girls strolled down to the tiny grocery store in the middle of the block. Mrs. Lena Patton, tall, angular and stern-looking, sat in a rocking chair out on the sidewalk. This made it easier for her to keep an eye on both her store and her home, which stood side by side. She left her chair and came in the store.

  Geneva bought her bread and paid for it. Lula Bell asked for grape soda, saying, “Put it on the book.”

  Miss Lena looked at her. “Miss Hattie send you for this?”

  “Yas’m …” began Lula Bell. Then she added, “No, ma’m, but she likes it and I think she wants some.”

  “You hand that grape soda right back here, girl.” Miss Lena took it from her quickly. “Don’t you come buyin’ nothin’ at this store unless you been sent to get it.”

  The girls ran out quickly.

  “When I get rich,” said Lula Bell, “I’ll buy out Miss Lena’s store and give all her grape soda to Mama Hattie to drink.”

  The girls came back to the Chicken Shack and sat down on the unroofed porch, which had a cement floor. A crowd of children soon gathered round, chattering noisily.

  “I got an aunty up north,” bragged Lula Bell. “She’s rich and purty and wears fine clothes. Her husband’s my Uncle Theodore Copeland. They had three children but they all died, so they’re gonna adopt me. I’ll be their very own child. Every Christmas and birthday, they’ll give me beautiful presents …”

  “What are you gonna do with your own mother?” asked little Clarence Hobbs.

  “Oh, phooey!” cried James Henry Thorpe. “She jest makin’ that up.”

  “My mama’s cousin Lee Roy and his wife live in Chicago,” said Josephine Crane, a quiet eleven-year-old. “They got a big high three-story house and two radios and a television set.”

  “Everybody’s rich up north,” said Floradell Pearson. “My Aunt Dora stayed six months and made a heap o’ money.”

  “I’m goin’ up north when I git big,” announced Geneva Jackson. “I’ll study to be a nurse in a big hospital.”

  “I’m goin’ up north to live with my Aunty Ruth and Uncle Theodore,” repeated Lula Bell, “and be their little girl.”

  “I got lots o’ money to go up north,” said a little boy nicknamed Popsicle, digging in his pocket. “I got seven pennies and a nickel and a dime.”

  “I got a dime and a nickel and another dime and five pennies,” said little Clarence Hobbs. “I’m goin’ on the train when I goes up north.”

  All their lives, the children had heard stories about up north. Some member of every family had been there and brought back glorified reports. The difficulties were always made light of or forgotten. Only the nice things were remembered and magnified. Up north became a Heaven within reach on earth, especially in the minds of the children. They loved to talk and dream about it. Only now and then some child broke the balloon of fancy and stayed on solid earth.

  “You can’t go fishin’ up there,” said James Henry. “There ain’t no bayous to fish in—only sidewalks and apartment houses. I’ll stay here and fish in Gray Moss Bayou.”

  “My aunty’s rich,” said Lula Bell. “She can buy her fish.”

  “My Aunt Dora couldn’t git a decent meal of fish up there,” said Floradell. “She paid thirty-nine cents a pound at a fish-market for a fish that looked like grouper, but she couldn’t eat it. When she come back down south, she was so hungry for red snapper, we had to go right out and ketch her a mess.”

  James Henry started climbing up the chinaberry tree. “Who’s comin’? Bet nobody can go up as high as I can,” he called out.

  “I dare you, Lu-Bell!” cried Floradell. “Go up higher’n him.”

  Lula Bell still had her pink chambray dress on. She looked over home and saw that her grandmother was not on the porch. She knew it wasn’t time yet for her mother to be back from work. She started up the tree.

  Just then Lonnie and Eddie passed by. They were her uncles, but seemed like older brothers. They considered themselves too old to play with the younger children on the street.

  “Git down outa that tree,” shouted Lonnie, “or Mama’ll tear you to pieces.”

  “You shut up!” retorted Lula Bell.

  “O. K. then,” laughed Lonnie. “Go ahead and break your neck.”

  “We’ll come to your funeral,” grinned Eddie.

  “Bet you can’t climb up to this tip-top limb where I am,” dared James Henry.

  Lula Bell couldn’t stand it to let that smarty James Henry beat her. She kept on climbing. She caught her dress on a sharp stub. She heard it tear, but she kept on going up, higher and higher. She saw James Henry grinning down at her, mocking her. She’d show him. Then she heard it.

  “Lula Bell! Lula Bell!” A woman’s piercing scream reached her ears. It happened every single time. “Now you git right down outa that tree! How many times have I told you …”

  There was no use ever trying to do anything. She always got stopped in the middle of it. Lula Bell moved backwards and slid quickly to the ground. “Where’s she at? I don’t see nobody. Whatever I do, Mama Hattie always sees me. She’s got eyes in the back of her head—that woman. Where’s she at?”

  No one was on the porch across the street, or at the door or windows.

  “There!” Geneva pointed. “She been out fishin’ with Aunty Velma Henshaw. “Let’s go see what they got.”

  Two women were coming leisurely up the street from the bayou at the lower end. Aunty Velma was fully as large as Miss Hattie. They both wore large straw hats on their heads and carried long bamboo fishing poles. They walked slowly with an easy grace, each holding a string of fish in her hand.

  “Where you-all been, Mama Hattie?” asked Lula Bell.

  “Out in a boat,” answered her grandmother. “We got sheepshead and red snapper. Ain’t they purty? Miss Callie Crane, Josephine’s mother, let us go up the river in her boat.” She panted, out of breath. “Here, girl, help me git home. I’m so tired, my legs is about to drop off under me.”

  Aunty Velma said good-by and turned off round the corner, while Geneva ran on home.


  “You feelin’ bad, Mama Hattie?” asked Lula Bell.

  “Let me grab holt of the porch post,” said the old woman. “See if you can lift my foot up to the next step. It’s so heavy, I can’t budge it no more.”

  With the girl’s help, the old woman made her way to her chair on the porch. She hung the string of fish on a nail on the nearest post.

  “Goody! We’re gonna have fish for supper,” said Lula Bell, “and bread and butter and mashed potatoes.”

  Miss Hattie shook her head. “Not if I can sell ’em and git me a little change. Once I caught a redfish at the river and got a dollar and a quarter for it. Got a sheepshead that wide. I’ve sold as high as three dollars’ worth in a day. If I go fishin’ in the mornin’, people know I been fishin’ and they come to buy. I’ll jest set right here and sell ’em all. My friends will help me out.”

  “Red snapper’s good,” said Lula Bell. “Gimme that big one and I’ll go scrape the scales off. I’ll cut it down the middle and and clean the insides out. Then when Imogene comes home, she can fry it quick.”

  “No, girl, I’m gonna sell ’em,” said her grandmother. “I need a little change. It took me forever to catch ’em, we started out so late. Run in and turn the radio on, Lu-Bell. It’s about time for When a Girl Marries. I can’t miss my program.”

  Fishing was her greatest pleasure. The old woman kept on talking even after the loud radio voices began. “I like to go about four o’clock, when the tide is low. Tide moves, and when it gits ready to turn, that’s the best time to ketch ’em.”

  “Them fish fresh?” A man crossed over the street to look.

  “Jest pulled ’em out of the bayou,” said Miss Hattie.

  He paid her a quarter and took three small ones. She put the money in the pocket of her dress.

  “Fiddler crabs is best for bait,” Miss Hattie went on. “I don’t like shrimp. Fish eat shrimp off the hook as fast as you can drop ’em in the water.”

  All at once Miss Lena Patton stood at the porch step.

  “You sellin’ fish, Miss Hattie?” she asked.