gaze moved to the blacks clustered over books in the yard, then back to the reporter. “I didn’t know you ever left Washington, Mr. Mendelsohn. Are you on assignment?”
Ted said, “I’m covering the students who came down on the voting rights drive.” He looked at the restless young men behind Kilbrew. “I guess you and your buddies are not part of the movement.”
Kilbrew wrinkled his nose and stared at the farmhouse. “Certainly not.” He nodded at the others. “We’re all from Millsaps. We were just wondering who was living here and decided to drive over to see.”
Jimmy said, “Why don’t you get out of the sun and sit down on the porch?” His voice was careful. “We don’t often have the chance to welcome white visitors. They’re usually in a hurry to leave.”
Timmy Kilbrew led the group to the shady porch. They stood, nervously scrutinizing the students in the yard and the piles of books on the porch, continuing their restless vigil even after Kilbrew settled on the top step. “We had questions and thought we’d come to the source for answers. Reading the papers about you doesn’t help a lot. Are you really a Communist conspiracy like it says in the Clarion?”
Jimmy suppressed a smile. “Kind of a shabby place to have a Communist conspiracy. Not at what we’re getting paid!” For the first time the young men laughed, and settled on the porch steps.
Kilbrew’s eyes swept the gaggle of kids in the yard. “So, what are you hoping to do in Shiloh?”
“We spend most of our time talking with the families we’re living with,” said Jimmy, “trying to convince them that they have the right to vote down here. You have questions, Kilbrew? Ask away. We’ll tell you what you want to know.”
“Senator Tildon is leading the fight against the Voting Rights Bill and our group thinks that he’s doing a hell of a job, protecting the states’ rights to determine who should vote.” Kilbrew gazed steadily at Jimmy. “It’s fair to say we resent people who don’t live here who come down and tell us how to live differently.”
Jimmy said, “I’m sure that’s true. Feelings run pretty deep, on both sides of the highway.” He met Kilbrew’s unblinking eyes. “About six hundred thousand Americans died arguing about that. But we didn’t come all the way down here to fight the Civil War all over again.”
Kilbrew pressed forward. “To a lot of the folks here, your coming down, acting high and mighty, feels a lot like an occupation we remember very vividly. It’s humiliating. And we’re not about to sit still for it.”
Mendelsohn looked quizzically at Timmy Kilbrew. “Didn’t think you were old enough to remember the occupation, Timmy. But that’s your prerogative. That’s what the courts are for. That’s what the laws are for. That’s the system we all established, and the Constitution we ratified. That’s what brought me out of Washington.”
“I’m old enough, Mendelsohn,” Kilbrew said, his voice rising, “to recognize that you’re down here covering only one side of the argument.”
“That’s not so,” said Ted. “I’m a journalist. I get paid to do this. So I’m reporting about Negro Americans who are trying to achieve equality of the franchise, and honestly telling about the obstacles they have to overcome. The people have a right to know that.”
“That’s crap!” Kilbrew was clearly aggrieved. “Then the people ought to be told that white Mississippians are daily being portrayed as savages and brutes who hate black people because they object to race mixing. There’s never a word about kindness and generosity by the white community.”
Ted nodded. “That may be so, but the headlines are more likely to be about three nonviolent students who have disappeared and are probably dead. Or about the Sojourner Chapel which was attacked while I watched, by violent men hurling Coke bottles at the black parishioners.”
Jimmy studied the faces of the Millsaps students, “Can you guys justify that violence?”
“Of course not!” snapped Timmy Kilbrew. “We believe in law and order, same as you. People who commit crimes should be held responsible. You may think of us as a lynch mob, but you’re wrong. We just know from our history that the state is a better vehicle to provide law and order than a detached federal bureaucracy. We have our traditions and we respect them. We know our people and trust them to elect candidates who share those beliefs. Those are the people who vote in Mississippi.”
“The people who vote in Mississippi,” said Jimmy in a cool voice. “The people who have been allowed to vote in Mississippi.”
Kilbrew turned to Ted. “Mr. Mendelsohn, you know that I work for a senator who has committed his whole public career to keeping the federal government off our backs. He believes that saving this state’s integrity is a public trust.”
Ted nodded. “That’s Senator Tildon.” He stood and walked with the students to their car. “So you believe that only white Americans should vote in our elections, Timmy?”
“No,” said Kilbrew. “Just Americans who share our values.” He climbed into the driver’s seat and extended his hand to Mendelsohn. “I remember the old Wheeler farm very fondly,” he said, starting up the Ford. “It was a friendly place. I’ll tell Grandfather Oscar that I saw you at the Freedom House.”
The rooster outside Mendelsohn’s window had startled him awake at sunrise, so Rennie’s call from the bedroom door came as he was already dressing. “Somebody been messing with your car I think, Ted. I couldn’t see, it was before sun up. When I went to the window, wasn’t nobody there. But I heard somethin’.”
Mendelsohn went outside and gingerly inspected the Chevy, flinching as he inched up the dusty hood and explored with his fingers under the dash. Rennie was watching from the window, so he waved reassuringly and then eased down, sliding under the car. Explosives? What the hell did he know about explosives? Nothing. And unless they were labeled EXPLOSIVES he’d probably not know them when he saw them. He crawled back into the driver’s seat and stared at the ignition key, willing himself to turn on the motor. When he closed his eyes and turned the key, the Chevy purred to life. He was wringing wet and grinning with relief when he stepped from the car. Rennie and Sharon were smiling and waving from the house. And then he saw the slashed rear tire. With a sigh, the car tilted, the last air finally escaping. By the time he’d jacked up the car and removed the damaged wheel, he was greasy and dripping with sweat.
“No place to go except Kilbrew’s,” Rennie said. “Not that they’ll be any help. Next place is seven miles away, up in Ruleville.”
He left the Williams yard, pushing the damaged wheel before him. At the Sojourner Chapel he paused for breath and then headed across Highway 49 to the Kilbrew Gas and Auto Repair. “Anybody here? Hello!”
The door opened, and a demure young woman stood at the entrance. Carrying a small linen purse and dressed in a white cotton shift, she seemed foreign to the scene and appeared uncomfortable. She stared at him and then said softly, “Good morning.”
“Good morning. Wasn’t sure anybody was here. Somebody who can help me with this tire? I’m staying across the highway and when I came out this morning somebody had—” He stopped to look around the deserted station. “Well, this tube has got to be repaired
