No Shadow of Turning

By Dr. Joyce D. Hightower

No Shadow of Turning is the story of Marshall Anderson, a black American whose life was turned upside down at the age of five, when his parents were killed by a drunk driver. He was then raised by his Christian grandparents in Southern California during the 1960s and 70s. Marshall struggles to make sense of his situation until he realizes that his life has a God-determined purpose, and he embarks on the road to let this become a reality.

Marshall leads us on a rich, multicultural adventure that begins in Californias quiet orange groves of Riverside, goes through the sometimes challenging streets of Los Angeles, the very risky interior of Sudan and Uganda, to the busy city streets of Nairobi and the rural area of Meru and Mombasa in Kenya. His path is by no means smooth as he maneuvers through racism, hidden agendas, unsettling self-discovery, life-threatening travel adventures, culture shock, the death of a loved one, and the challenges of friendship, family, and love. All along, he learns to views his life path through the lens of Gods faithfulness.

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: May 7, 2012
• ISBN: 9781449748647

Dr. Joyce D. Hightower

 Joyce D. Hightower is a medical doctor who, as a young adult, lived in Kenya, before returning to California with her three children. With her children grown, she moved to the Democratic Republic of Congo and began a ministry for orphans and widows. She writes songs, sings, and teaches.

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No Shadow of Turning

Dr. Joyce D. Hightower

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Copyright © 2012 Dr. Joyce D. Hightower.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

ISBN: 978-1-4497-4865-4 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4497-4864-7 (e)

ISBN: 978-1-4497-4863-0 (hc)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2012906945

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WestBow Press rev. date: 5/02/2012

CONTENTS

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Also by Joyce Hightower:

Come Walk with Me

To my mother,

who never ceases to inspire and encourage

Every good gift and perfect gift is from heaven, and comes down from the Father of lights, who has no variableness, nor shadow of turning.

—James 1:17

Chapter 1

If this was back East, Claire, this stifling heat would mean that it was going to rain soon.

"But this is summer in sunny Southern California. So there is a fat chance of rain, my dear Andrew. Let’s just get the pick-ups done before dark. Lord, there is still so much to do before we go."

Marshall watched his parents crossing to the other side of the road. He was tall for his five years of age, but his head was still below the top of the front yard fence. He peered through the old chain-link gate, holding on with both hands, waiting for a pause in their discussion to ask an urgent question.

Mom, are you coming back soon?

We’ll be back just as soon as we can, Marshall. You be a big boy and help Grandpa. Remember, we’ll be leaving for a whole year in another two weeks. Stay and help him as much as you can.

But Mom, I don’t want to stay.

Claire turned to Andrew with a silent plea for help. Andrew sighed and knowingly shook his head in answer. He motioned for her to continue toward the car as he turned to look back at Marshall.

You be good, young man.

Yes, Daddy, I will.

They turned to wave goodbye. As Marshall raised his hand to wave in return, he saw the dust cloud billowing out down the road behind them. He wasn’t sure if it was a car coming at that terrible speed or something else. Andrew and Claire stood in the road waving, unaware of the approaching danger.

Suddenly, Marshall felt paralyzed. He tried to call out a warning or to give some signal to alert them, but he could not move, could not speak. Frantically he struggled with every ounce of strength in his five-year-old body, but without success. Within seconds, the vehicle with its cloud of dust passed by, right in front of him. His eyes closed against the dust as grit peppered his face. He held his breath for what seemed like an eternity, then air exploded from his chest and he finally managed to scream.

Move! Run! Get out of the way!

When the dust cleared, he opened his eyes, frantic to see his parents—but the road was empty.

No! Mommy! Daddy! he screamed again and again as tears filled his eyes. He dropped to his knees in despair. His knees did not hit the solid ground in front of him but passed through the ground into darkness falling, ever downward, timelessly, irresistibly.

He woke with a start and opened his eyes, his heart pounding and body dripping with sweat. He looked around and recognized his own bedroom. Slowly he sat up and swung his legs over the side of his bed.

Man! Am I ever going to stop having that nightmare? It’s been ten years. Marshall banged his fist against the mattress. He sighed, stood up to stretch, and then quietly slipped out of his room to the kitchen for a glass of water. What is wrong with me? He splashed water on his face before tipping the glass to his lips for a long drink.

Had another nightmare, huh? Grandpa asked from behind him. He had approached the kitchen door without warning, soundless in his sock-covered feet.

Yeah, I did. I’m sorry if I woke you up.

There’s nothing to be sorry about. I was just checking to see if you were okay.

I’m okay. It’s just that it always seems so real. I’m trying to warn them, but I can’t move.

You know that you were nowhere near the accident, when that drunk driver hit their car in town. There is no way you could have done anything.

I know, but try telling the dream machine inside my mind.

Yeah, that’s something you’ll have to work out with the Lord. I can fix most machines that I can see, but his dream machine that you got is something else.

Yeah, well I’ll let you get back to sleep, Grandpa. You’ve got to get up early. See you in the morning.

Good night, son.

Unable to go back to sleep, he sat on the side of his bed again. His thoughts flashed back to a few months after his parents were killed. While talking man to man with his grandpa, Marshall had shared some of his reflections about what was to become of him.

Grandpa, I decided that I’m not going to go and live at one of those places where kids who don’t have parents stay. I need to find a new mom and dad.

So you want a new mom and dad, huh? Where do you think you can find them?

I’m going to the hospital in town. Sometimes when we drive by, there is a lady going home with a baby. There must be lots of people who go there to get kids. Maybe someone will take me. I’m already big and strong, and I know Karate, so I can help them. I know a lot of things, so they don’t have to worry about teaching me much.

I see. Sounds like you’re quite a bargain.

Yes, that’s for sure.

Which hospital would you go to? How would you know whom to ask?

I don’t know, Grandpa; maybe you could help me. I’ve just got to find somebody before those mean people come and take me to scrub floors and eat bread and water. Oh please, Grandpa, can’t you help me?

Now, Marshall, I can try to find two real good people to take care of you, but they may not be what you want. You know what, Marshall? People don’t always get what they want.

But Grandpa, you have everything you want.

I do?

Yeah, I heard you tell Grandma that all you ever really wanted was to love her and have her love you.

I see.

I know you love her, because you tell her all the time. So I asked her if she loved you.

You did what?

"I asked her if she loved you, Grandpa."

What did she say?

"She was making biscuits at the counter. And she stopped and turned around. When she looked at me, she wasn’t mad or anything. She said, ‘Why ever would you ask such a question, young man?’ Marshall stood with his hands on his hips and his head tipped to the side in Grandma’s particular habit.

Grandpa started to chuckle at Marshall’s imitation of Martha, his wife.

I said, ‘because I want to make sure Grandpa gets what he wants.’

So what did she say then?

She just laughed, and then she said, ‘Marshall, you do not have to worry yourself about that. Joseph Bernard Johnston has everything he wants and more.’ Then she turned back and started making biscuits again.

Grandpa roared with laughter. Wiping his eyes he caught his breath.

Oh my goodness, I haven’t laughed like that in a long time. You can imitate your grandma exactly. She’s right. I do have everything I want, but there is one thing that I was not able to do, when I wanted to do it.

What do you mean?

Did you know that I always wanted to journey to Africa, the home of our ancestors, to see the beauty of the land they had to leave? I used to have dreams of watching the animals in the wild. I would act out scenes of being an elder sitting around the fire in consult with other wise and powerful elders. I wanted to see how people are living today over there, how it would be to grow up without the weight of a slavery past.

Well, Grandpa, why don’t you go?

Marshall, I believe to go to Africa, I’d have to go like I was visiting relatives from back home that I’d never seen before. I’d have to be strong mentally, because there must be a million things I’d have to learn quickly; things that people over there know from their childhood. I’d have to be physically strong, because I wouldn’t want them to bear the expense or worry of taking care of me. I’d have to be strong financially, because any traveler should have enough money to complete his journey. That means I have to be able to leave gifts for those I meet, and bring gifts back for those who were unable to go. When I was a young man, I had the mental and physical strength, but no money. Now I have the money, but my mental and physical strength is … well, much less than it used to be.

So you can’t go?

I talked it over with the Lord, and He told me I could go, in a way, by sending someone in my place. Your mom was planning to go, but you know what happened. Now I’ve got to find a new person to go for me.

Grandpa, maybe when I find my new mom, she can go for you.

Marshall, maybe you can let me look for a new mom and dad for you. You can start to look for someone I could send to Africa. You could stay right here with Grandma and me. If we can’t find a better set of parents than us, then we’ll be your mom and dad so that you don’t have to go to the orphanage. If you can’t find someone to go to Africa for me, then you’ll go yourself. How’s that, partner? Grandpa extended his hand for a shake on the deal.

That’s a deal, partner. Marshall solemnly extended his hand to shake his grandfather’s.

The deal between Grandpa and Marshall had gradually woven into the fabric of their lives. After spending countless evenings poring over every magazine story and library book about various countries in Africa, Marshall had fallen in love with the East African country of Kenya. He focused on Kenya’s current events and trivia regularly. This hobby allowed him to exchange his childish worry for a life’s dream.

Marshall yawned and lay back on the bed. His eyes swept across the room. There were windmills of every kind lining the shelves, occupying the windowsills, and even hanging from the ceiling. Over the last ten years, he had made each one by gluing plastic or wooden box models together. Initially, his small, clumsy fingers had worked under the supervision of Grandpa, but now he was adept at constructing the most complicated detail by himself.

It must have been some kind of therapy, making all those models of windmills, Marshall thought. The first one had been a gift from Grandpa, a replica of the one in the backyard. He picked up on how interested I was in how it worked. It was probably something we could do together to keep our minds off my parents. But thinking about windmills is not going to help me pass the test tomorrow. Better get some sleep, he whispered to himself. He snuggled the pillow under his head and somehow forced himself to sleep.

Hey Marshall, wait up.

Marshall turned to find Jerry hurrying down the school hall toward him, red curly hair bouncing with every step.

Hey, Jerry, what’s going on?

How do you think you did on the test?

I don’t know. It seemed okay?

All that I have to say is that it was hard.

Final exams are supposed to be hard. Marshall searched in his locker for his lunch and found it under a load of books.

Is your grandpa sending you to summer camp next month?

Man! Yeah, he is. Are you going?

I have no choice. My dad is set on me being at church summer camp, even though most of the kids are from other churches.

It’s the same with my grandpa. Well, sorry for you, but I am glad I’ll have at least one friend there.

The feeling is mutual.

Are you taking the bus after school? I was thinking of stopping at the Y to go swimming.

No. My dad is coming home today, and I promised to go back with him for the weekend to see his project.

That sounds nice.

Nice? The only thing worse than this place filled with fruit groves would be the scorching hot desert. Guess where we are going?

Your dad works in the desert?

You guessed it. That’s why my mom and I live here and he comes home on weekends.

You are lucky to have a dad that comes home at all.

I guess so. I’m sorry, Marshall. I didn’t mean it to make you feel bad or anything.

I know. So I’ll see you on Monday. It’s the last week of school.

That is, if I make it back alive.

If you spend some time in the desert sun, maybe your freckles won’t stand out so much.

That’s supposed to be my consolation? Sorry, but it works the opposite way—the more sun, the more freckles.

Sorry. I’m just trying to find something positive.

Okay, well thank you. Have fun swimming.

Thanks. It’s about the only fun I’ll have.

Shaking the water from his ears, Marshall got off the bus and started down the dirt road toward home. He planned how he would present his request to Grandpa for permission to attend the party to be held at the Y the following night. The flyer on the lobby wall promised a good time, although the hour was quite late. Despite his strategy, when he asked Grandpa, the answer was flatly negative.

No. I don’t know the people who are having this party. It’s too late at night anyway, seeing as how we have to be up early on Sunday for church. No. I don’t think it’s a good idea at all.

Grandpa, this is just ridiculous. How am I ever supposed to have friends? I never get to spend time with anyone except kids at school.

You meet kids every summer at the Y, and I hear you are a pretty good swimmer.

How is that supposed to help me out here with dirt and orange trees? You just want me to be here forever.

We are planning on you going away to college in a couple of years. That will be soon enough for you to find some good friends that have a future and maybe even a nice young lady.

If my mom and dad were still alive, I would live in a real house in a real world. What kind of girl would be crazy enough to dance in the dirt under an orange tree and be happy?

"You would be surprised at what life can bring. Anyway, you’ll be going to the church camp Pastor Pete is organizing pretty soon. He says there are kids coming from all over Southern California. It’s a big deal, Marshall. I am sure that you will meet some interesting people. At least it will be a sampling of what’s out in the real world as you call it."

You just don’t understand. I feel like I am in prison. The problem is, I don’t know where I would go if I could escape.

There is a purpose for each of us. God knows what that is when he put us here on earth. You’ve been doing well with what He’s given you so far. If you want to know what’s next, then you will have to ask Him.

I have no idea what I would do if God thundered an answer from heaven or had some heavenly being bring me an answer. I would probably be scared out of my natural mind.

Knowing that God is not in the scaring business, I guess He’ll not get your answer to you that way, then. If you ask Him, He will find a way to answer you.

Yeah, and in the meantime, I’ll be out in the greenhouse with the new tree grafts.

Are there any problems? Are some of them not taking?

No, they look okay. I just like being out there.

Oh? You used to hate the place, said I was a slave driver.

You haven’t changed. Guess I must have changed. It’s comforting somehow to sit there in the middle of all of those small trees that are now the best of both worlds; forever changed by something that I did.

You know your mom used to have a favorite spot in there, too?

Really, she did?

Yes. That’s a fact. I used to find her in that back corner by the grafts, too.

That’s funny isn’t it? Anyway, I’ll be out there alone and in the silence.

I’ll let your grandma know, so she can call you for dinner.

That’s fine. Thanks, Grandpa.

Enjoy where you are, Marshall. You never know how much longer you’ll have to stay there.

Out in his favorite spot in the corner of the greenhouse, Marshall busied himself checking the new grafting sites on a hundred small orange trees. The graft was a sweet-flavored orange tree branch into a stock tree that was hardy and disease resistant. These young trees would be purchased by farmers wanting to replant and replace older trees that had been rooted up. The saplings from this nursery were in high demand and valuable. He had begun learning about grafting from Grandpa even before he’d started school, and often thought about the great potential the grafted trees had.

Thoughts carried him back to some of his earliest memories. There were visits to his grandparents’ home with his mom and dad. There was that fateful fifth summer of his life, when his grandfather had called him in from playing in the backyard. The expression on Grandpa’s face made five-year-old Marshall think that maybe Grandpa’s rheumatism was acting up again, such pain. Grandpa’s tone had changed when Marshall had hopped up on his lap and snuggled close.

Marshall, boy, I’ve got something sad to tell you. He spoke slowly. Your mommy and daddy had a bad accident on the road and … well, they were hurt so bad, son. The crack in his voice made Marshall look up to Grandpa’s face. Tears were on his cheeks.

Grandpa, what’s wrong? Why are you crying?

Quiet, child. he spoke tenderly, I’m trying to tell you that your mom and dad got hurt so bad that they won’t be coming back anymore.

Why, Grandpa? What did I do? I’m sorry, Grandpa. I won’t do it again. Please tell my mom and dad to come back. Please, Grandpa, please! He was yelling frantically.

Grandma had run in because of the yelling.

Baby, she said, picking him up off Grandpa’s lap. It’s not because of something you did. She hugged him close to her as she sat in her rocking chair. Your mom and dad can’t come back.

An explosive, "No!" seemed to rip through his chest.

He sat for what seemed like hours sobbing in Grandma’s embrace as she wiped his tears and her own. Finally, too tired to cry anymore, he slept there. Grandma rocked him often during the following months, but there was no further loud sobbing, just silent tears. Softly, Grandma would hum, How Great Thou Art to various rocking speeds. His thoughts returned to the present.

All of my potential was wiped out in seconds. Marshall spoke aloud, his frustration spilling out of him. No chance for karate lessons, no city home and schools, no life. I guess I should be glad for Grandma and Grandpa. I didn’t end up in an orphanage, but what can I possibly do from way out here? No wonder I have nightmares—my life is a nightmare. God, it’s not that I’m not thankful for a lot of things. It’s just, I’m not sure that what I have left in life is enough to satisfy what I had the potential to do. I would like to go to Kenya to do something to help. Not medically like my mom and dad were going to do, but something that will make a different kind of difference. I want to do something really cool.

Marshall, the table is ready. Grandma’s voice floated out from the back door.

I’m coming, Grandma. After one more glance at the small trees, he carefully closed the greenhouse door and headed in to wash up before taking his seat at the kitchen table.

The time flew through the final week of school. Before he knew it, summer vacation was in full swing, and it was time to leave for camp. Still groggy from a night interrupted by the nightmare, he barely managed to get everything out to the car, where Grandpa was waiting to take him to the church parking lot. Grandpa fully concentrated on going as fast as he legally could to arrive before the bus left. As they pulled up behind the bus, Pastor Pete looked at his watch.

Marshall. You are the last one. Get your gear stowed quickly. We will be late if we don’t leave now.

I’m sorry, Pastor Pete. Marshall handed his bag to the driver loading the undercarriage compartment and hurried up the steps onto the crowded bus. He hesitated for a second, trying to see if he recognized anyone. A few faces were vaguely familiar. His attention was attracted to a hand waving near the back just above a head of red curls. He made his way back to the seat Jerry had saved for him.

Man. Marshall, why are you so late? I thought I was going to end up at camp alone.

Alone? This bus is full of people.

You know what I mean.

I got up late this morning. I was up late last night.

Well, I’m glad you’re here.

Thanks, Jerry.

The driver started the motor, and Marshall noticed Grandpa was standing on the curb next to a man with short, wavy, red hair.

That’s my dad. He’s probably boring your grandpa with stories of the windmill project he’s working on, Jerry said when he followed Marshall’s gaze.

Windmill project? Your dad works with windmills?

Yeah, I told you he works out in the desert on this prototype power-generating project for the government.

You told me he works in the desert, but you didn’t say anything about wind generators.

Well, I didn’t know that you were so interested.

I know everything about them. I mean, I have read everything I could about them. I wish that I could go and see them in action.

You, my dear friend, are in luck. I know my dad will probably want to adopt you in my place when he hears this. When we get back, we can ask him to take you to the desert next time instead of me.

You would be willing to do that?

I’d be willing to sacrifice for a friend.

Sacrifice for a friend, huh? Okay, tell me everything you know about the project and everything you saw there.

This is gonna cost you.

I think I have some valuable trades.

Okay then, this is the first of its kind on this large of a scale. That’s why he is building a prototype area to begin with. The actual project will start in about two to four years. When you first see it, it looks like a grove of trees with twirling tops.

Wow. So which kind of generators are they using?

They talked the rest of the bus ride. Marshall discovered that Jerry actually knew a lot more about power generation than he was willing to admit. His father’s work was going to change the future, but according to Jerry, his family was paying a price in the present.

He should build a place for you guys up there and run it on the power he is generating. That would show that it works.

Yeah, he says that’s what he wants to do after the prototype, but my mom says that things like school and sports activities and shopping can only be made convenient where there are lots of people.

I hope they work it out, to have the best of both.

Yeah, they’re both pretty smart. I’m sure they will.

The bus continued its valiant struggle up the small, winding mountain roads.

Man. You would never imagine that these gigantic pine trees and cool breezes are a bus ride away from our hot, orange tree–filled world.

One day I want to live some place like this, with a forest of trees not planted in straight lines the same distance apart; where you don’t have to go to the top of the mountain to get away from the smog.

Pastor Pete blew his whistle. Listen up. Everyone has to sign in at the registration table and officially get assigned to a cabin. I want you to get your gear settled in your assigned room and hustle back down to lunch. It takes a while to clean up, and each cabin is responsible for their area in the dining hall. The first speaker starts at three this afternoon, right after lunch. Now this is important. If you do not get everything set up for breakfast in time this evening, the dining hall will be locked, and in the morning you will be the last served and be behind all day long. Tonight’s service will be a bit long because we have a special guest speaker. So hustle. The timing was perfect as the bus then pulled up to the unloading area at the famous Camp Pine Mount.

Marshall and Jerry succeeded in being assigned to the same cabin, choosing to be bunk mates.

Marshall, you are so much taller than me, I think that you should take the top bunk.

No argument from me, Mr. Short-Stuff. But let’s hurry down to lunch. Remember what Pastor Pete said. It seems like the others have already gone.

Lunch was chaotic with people meeting former friends, arguments about how things should be done, and new instructions and assignments for mess hall duties. Finally everyone was fed and duties were done. There was just time enough to run back to cabins for Bibles and notebooks before the three o’clock speaker. Once the service was over, there was a quick cabin-duty meeting and only a few minutes for unpacking in preparation for the night, before the dinner bell rang.

After dinner, the set-up for breakfast was complicated by the fact that one of the assigned cabins did not show up. The extra work took so much time that when they were done they barely had time to run back to the cabin for notebooks and Bibles. Despite running, Marshall and Jerry were among the last to arrive at the chapel auditorium. Seeing no two seats together, they split up to sit wherever they could squeeze in. Singing started in rowdy camp fashion, preparing everyone to sit and listen to the speaker.

The auditorium was hushed from the moment the speaker began. He had had such a hard life—he’d been abandoned by his teenage mother and had bounced from home to home, missing out on schooling and friends, and suffering emotional and physical abuse. Marshall thought it was a miracle the man was sane and standing in front of them, speaking of the power of God. After forty minutes of telling his story, he issued a challenge to the three hundred high school boys and girls

"I know some of you sitting here tonight feel that you are damaged goods. You feel that, because something so awful happened in your life, you can never be repaired. Because of this, you think you will never be able to do what God has created you for. There is such an abiding deep sadness inside of you, even when you are happy on the surface. I am here today to tell you that God has promised a garment of joy for this spirit of sorrow and beauty for your ashes of hopelessness. Don’t leave here tonight still doubting that God is able to do exactly as planned, no matter what horrible thing has happened. Don’t believe the lie that He does not have a plan of good things for your life. Maybe you feel you can’t trust God because He was not there when you needed Him or that He does not have the power to protect, because He let certain things happen. Do you actually know what is good for you? Do you know your future? Do you know what the bigger scheme of things looks like? Do you know or have the power to change where you will be even two minutes from now? If you are honest, the answer will be no. You can’t trust yourself, so who can you trust? Rest assured that He was there when the unthinkable occurred, and He did not leave you alone. You are alive today, because He has good things planned for you. He’s not some big giant waiting to smash you with His thumb of condemnation when you do something wrong. No. He is your biggest fan, cheering you on to great things. Ask Him what He wants you to do. Exchange today your ashes for His beauty. Exchange today your sorrow for His joy. Exchange today the self-label of ‘damaged goods’ for a label of ‘ordered of God.’ Come down to the altar and ask Him why you are still alive."

Marshall walked down to the front of the auditorium, tears rolling down his cheeks. As he kneeled at the altar, his life took on a new direction.

Chapter 2

Son, you just need to go ahead and make up your mind.

Marshall looked up from the letter in his hands as his grandfather spoke. Grandma and Grandpa sat watching him intently from across the kitchen table, which had been cleared of the breakfast dishes so that the all the college letters could be spread out for consideration.

This is getting more and more exasperating. I’m just reading and rereading these college financial aid offer letters. There are so many that they are starting to melt into each other. Here, you can help me eliminate some of them.

Quickly, he began to match the aid offer with the acceptance letter from the same school and place the pair alternately into one of three piles, one in front of each of his grandparents with the third in front of himself.

"Okay, the final decision on which college I will go to will be made today."

The evening sunlight brilliantly shone on the much reduced but still sizable number of college brochures covering the kitchen table.

"It seems to me that you have nice offers from some mighty fine schools, Marshall. Any one of them would be a good choice. Grandma and I know that it is you who’s going to live there for the next few years. So you’re the one that’s got to be comfortable. We’re going to be pleased, whichever one you choose to go to, as long as you’re happy and do well."

You guys just don’t care do you?

No, Marshall, that’s not true at all. It’s just we don’t want to make a mistake. Let your grandpa tell you about another time we were facing this type of decision. I’ll get some orangeade to cool us off.

What is she talking about, Grandpa?

She’s referring to your mother, when she was about your age.

Really? You haven’t mentioned this before.

It’s not exactly one of my finer moments.

Well?

Your mother was such a joy. She was always such a good child and did well in school, just like you. One of her teachers got it into her head that she should go to a university in the South. I’m not proud to admit it, but when she told me that she wanted to go south for college, it was like something exploded in my head. She tried to explain why it would be a good thing for her, but I was dead set against any child of mine going down south. I didn’t care what she said.

But why were you so set against her going, Grandpa?

I was wrong for so many reasons, but I couldn’t see it. I was blinded by my fear and lack of understanding. Most of all, I had so little faith in that situation, I didn’t pray before I gave my answer.

I don’t get it. What were you afraid of?

"You see, Marshall, I left the South—Mississippi, to be specific—practically running for my life. A young white lady named Miss Priscilla had come down from Detroit, doing a whole lot of talking about racial equality. Now it may be something that everyone talks about these days, but back in ’31, it was just trouble. People started getting all riled up. Some of the young Negros started going to hear her speeches. There was an air of hopefulness as more and more people, even a few whites, started listening to her. Soon all that changed, as early one morning one of the Negro boys who had been attending Miss Priscilla’s meetings was found hanging from a tree in the woods right outside of town. Miss Priscilla and her group declared that they were not going to be frightened away from their cause. It took a few weeks before a couple more boys from her group were found strung up. My mom said she could see the writing on the wall and if Miss Priscilla did not have the good sense to help save people’s sons from being lynched, somebody else had to.

To avoid attracting attention, my mom waited for a moonless night to send me and my younger brother Amos off on a journey of no return. She packed our few things, told us how to find the riverboat, a nights walk away, and to make our way to her cousin Thelma May in Cleveland, Ohio. I was sixteen, and my brother Amos was fourteen. We didn’t want to go. Leaving my mom nearly broke my heart. However, her mind was made up. She said, ‘I would rather never see you again and live with the hope that you were alive and doing well than live with the sorrow of you being lynched for nothing, right in front of me.’ "

What a choice for her to have to make, Grandpa.

Now let me finish. Things went fine on the riverboat going up the Mississippi for the first few days. When the captain said that we would be docking for three days, I decided to try to get some work so that we could buy food. I left the little food remaining from my mom’s sack with Amos and told him to stay in our little corner on the deck until I returned. I got a job washing dishes at a café, and I worked hard for two days. I was so glad to have enough money to last the rest of the trip that I struck out running to the dock. It was the shock of my life to find the boat was gone, and with it, Amos. No sign of anything. At first, I was sure that whatever happened, the boat would be back, so I sat down and waited. By the time another riverboat docked, I was finally convinced that the boat with Amos had left early. I thought that the best thing to do was to follow it as quickly as possible to find my brother and then to deliver us both to my mother’s cousin. Not finding the boat there when I arrived, I went straight to the place where my mother’s cousin was supposed to be. The people around there said that Thelma May had moved away two months before, when she lost her job, but no one knew where she could be found. They also said that they had not seen anyone like Amos asking about her. To this day, I have never seen my brother again.

Wow. What did your mom say?

"I was afraid to write my mom for a long time. I just hoped that, as I looked for work, I might see Amos in the area. Finally, I had no choice but to write and tell her what had happened. I waited reluctantly to receive