24 Chapter 24 (2/2)

Miss Maudie said it. Two tight lines had appeared at the corners of her mouth. Shehad been sitting silently beside me, her coffee cup balanced on one knee. I had lost thethread of conversation long ago, when they quit talking about Tom Robinson's wife, andhad contented myself with thinking of Finch's Landing and the river. Aunt Alexandra hadgot it backwards: the business part of the meeting was blood-curdling, the social hourwas dreary.

”Maudie, I'm sure I don't know what you mean,” said Mrs. Merriweather.

”I'm sure you do,” Miss Maudie said shortly.

She said no more. When Miss Maudie was angry her brevity was icy. Something hadmade her deeply angry, and her gray eyes were as cold as her voice. Mrs. Merriweatherreddened, glanced at me, and looked away. I could not see Mrs. Farrow.

Aunt Alexandra got up from the table and swiftly passed more refreshments, neatlyengaging Mrs. Merriweather and Mrs. Gates in brisk conversation. When she had themwell on the road with Mrs. Perkins, Aunt Alexandra stepped back. She gave MissMaudie a look of pure gratitude, and I wondered at the world of women. Miss Maudieand Aunt Alexandra had never been especially close, and here was Aunty silentlythanking her for something. For what, I knew not. I was content to learn that AuntAlexandra could be pierced sufficiently to feel gratitude for help given. There was nodoubt about it, I must soon enter this world, where on its surface fragrant ladies rockedslowly, fanned gently, and drank cool water.

But I was more at home in my father's world. People like Mr. Heck Tate did not trapyou with innocent questions to make fun of you; even Jem was not highly critical unlessyou said something stupid. Ladies seemed to live in faint horror of men, seemedunwilling to approve wholeheartedly of them. But I liked them. There was somethingabout them, no matter how much they cussed and drank and gambled and chewed; nomatter how undelectable they were, there was something about them that I instinctivelyliked… they weren't—”Hypocrites, Mrs. Perkins, born hypocrites,” Mrs. Merriweather was saying. ”At leastwe don't have that sin on our shoulders down here. People up there set 'em free, butyou don't see 'em settin' at the table with 'em. At least we don't have the deceit to say to'em yes you're as good as we are but stay away from us. Down here we just say youlive your way and we'll live ours. I think that woman, that Mrs. Roosevelt's lost hermind—just plain lost her mind coming down to Birmingham and tryin' to sit with 'em. If Iwas the Mayor of Birmingham I'd—”

Well, neither of us was the Mayor of Birmingham, but I wished I was the Governor ofAlabama for one day: I'd let Tom Robinson go so quick the Missionary Society wouldn'thave time to catch its breath. Calpurnia was telling Miss Rachel's cook the other dayhow bad Tom was taking things and she didn't stop talking when I came into the kitchen.

She said there wasn't a thing Atticus could do to make being shut up easier for him, thatthe last thing he said to Atticus before they took him down to the prison camp was,”Good-bye, Mr. Finch, there ain't nothin' you can do now, so there ain't no use tryin'.”

Calpurnia said Atticus told her that the day they took Tom to prison he just gave uphope. She said Atticus tried to explain things to him, and that he must do his best not tolose hope because Atticus was doing his best to get him free. Miss Rachel's cook askedCalpurnia why didn't Atticus just say yes, you'll go free, and leave it at that—seemed likethat'd be a big comfort to Tom. Calpurnia said, ”Because you ain't familiar with the law.

First thing you learn when you're in a lawin' family is that there ain't any definite answersto anything. Mr. Finch couldn't say somethin's so when he doesn't know for sure it's so.”

The front door slammed and I heard Atticus's footsteps in the hall. Automatically Iwondered what time it was. Not nearly time for him to be home, and on MissionarySociety days he usually stayed downtown until black dark.

He stopped in the doorway. His hat was in his hand, and his face was white.

”Excuse me, ladies,” he said. ”Go right ahead with your meeting, don't let me disturbyou. Alexandra, could you come to the kitchen a minute? I want to borrow Calpurnia fora while.”

He didn't go through the diningroom, but went down the back hallway and entered thekitchen from the rear door. Aunt Alexandra and I met him. The diningroom door openedagain and Miss Maudie joined us. Calpurnia had half risen from her chair.

”Cal,” Atticus said, ”I want you to go with me out to Helen Robinson's house—”

”What's the matter?” Aunt Alexandra asked, alarmed by the look on my father's face.

”Tom's dead.”

Aunt Alexandra put her hands to her mouth.

”They shot him,” said Atticus. ”He was running. It was during their exercise period.

They said he just broke into a blind raving charge at the fence and started climbing over.

Right in front of them—”

”Didn't they try to stop him? Didn't they give him any warning?” Aunt Alexandra's voiceshook.

”Oh yes, the guards called to him to stop. They fired a few shots in the air, then to kill.

They got him just as he went over the fence. They said if he'd had two good arms he'dhave made it, he was moving that fast. Seventeen bullet holes in him. They didn't haveto shoot him that much. Cal, I want you to come out with me and help me tell Helen.”

”Yes sir,” she murmured, fumbling at her apron. Miss Maudie went to Calpurnia anduntied it.

”This is the last straw, Atticus,” Aunt Alexandra said.

”Depends on how you look at it,” he said. ”What was one Negro, more or less, amongtwo hundred of 'em? He wasn't Tom to them, he was an escaping prisoner.”

Atticus leaned against the refrigerator, pushed up his glasses, and rubbed his eyes.

”We had such a good chance,” he said. ”I told him what I thought, but I couldn't in truthsay that we had more than a good chance. I guess Tom was tired of white men'schances and preferred to take his own. Ready, Cal?”

”Yessir, Mr. Finch.”

”Then let's go.”

Aunt Alexandra sat down in Calpurnia's chair and put her hands to her face. She satquite still; she was so quiet I wondered if she would faint. I heard Miss Maudie breathingas if she had just climbed the steps, and in the diningroom the ladies chattered happily.

I thought Aunt Alexandra was crying, but when she took her hands away from herface, she was not. She looked weary. She spoke, and her voice was flat.

”I can't say I approve of everything he does, Maudie, but he's my brother, and I justwant to know when this will ever end.” Her voice rose: ”It tears him to pieces. He doesn'tshow it much, but it tears him to pieces. I've seen him when—what else do they wantfrom him, Maudie, what else?”

”What does who want, Alexandra?” Miss Maudie asked.

”I mean this town. They're perfectly willing to let him do what they're too afraid to dothemselves—it might lose 'em a nickel. They're perfectly willing to let him wreck hishealth doing what they're afraid to do, they're—”

”Be quiet, they'll hear you,” said Miss Maudie. ”Have you ever thought of it this way,Alexandra? Whether Maycomb knows it or not, we're paying the highest tribute we canpay a man. We trust him to do right. It's that simple.”

”Who?” Aunt Alexandra never knew she was echoing her twelve-year-old nephew.

”The handful of people in this town who say that fair play is not marked White Only;the handful of people who say a fair trial is for everybody, not just us; the handful ofpeople with enough humility to think, when they look at a Negro, there but for the Lord'skindness am l.” Miss Maudie's old crispness was returning: ”The handful of people inthis town with background, that's who they are.”

Had I been attentive, I would have had another scrap to add to Jem's definition ofbackground, but I found myself shaking and couldn't stop. I had seen Enfield PrisonFarm, and Atticus had pointed out the exercise yard to me. It was the size of a footballfield.

”Stop that shaking,” commanded Miss Maudie, and I stopped. ”Get up, Alexandra,we've left 'em long enough.”

Aunt Alexandra rose and smoothed the various whalebone ridges along her hips. Shetook her handkerchief from her belt and wiped her nose. She patted her hair and said,”Do I show it?”

”Not a sign,” said Miss Maudie. ”Are you together again, Jean Louise?”

”Yes ma'am.”

”Then let's join the ladies,” she said grimly.

Their voices swelled when Miss Maudie opened the door to the diningroom. AuntAlexandra was ahead of me, and I saw her head go up as she went through the door.

”Oh, Mrs. Perkins,” she said, ”you need some more coffee. Let me get it.”

”Calpurnia's on an errand for a few minutes, Grace,” said Miss Maudie. ”Let me passyou some more of those dewberry tarts. 'dyou hear what that cousin of mine did theother day, the one who likes to go fishing?…”

And so they went, down the row of laughing women, around the diningroom, refillingcoffee cups, dishing out goodies as though their only regret was the temporary domesticdisaster of losing Calpurnia. The gentle hum began again. ”Yes sir, Mrs. Perkins, that J.

Grimes Everett is a martyred saint, he… needed to get married so they ran… to thebeauty parlor every Saturday afternoon… soon as the sun goes down. He goes to bedwith the… chickens, a crate full of sick chickens, Fred says that's what started it all. Fredsays…”

Aunt Alexandra looked across the room at me and smiled. She looked at a tray ofcookies on the table and nodded at them. I carefully picked up the tray and watchedmyself walk to Mrs. Merriweather. With my best company manners, I asked her if shewould have some.

After all, if Aunty could be a lady at a time like this, so could I.