“Meaning?”
“Meaning,” he said, holding a finger up for each point he made, “we have five lawyers defending those murderers. We have every white person in Leflore and Tallahatchie Counties with their threatening eyes glued to the jury, daring them to side with those rabble-rousers called the NAACP and convict two of their own. And we have an all-white male jury. Of course we both know that neither women nor coloreds could be on the jury anyway. But that’s beside the point.”
“But what about Willie Reed’s testimony? He saw them. And he heard them.”
Hallelujah shook his head. “Won’t matter.”
I pointed toward the church. Even while Reverend Jenkins was preaching, folks were still waving and shouting. “Your daddy is a smart man,” I said. “If he didn’t think we were gonna win, he wouldn’t be in there stirring up the crowd.”
Hallelujah stared at the illuminated windows of Greater Mount Zion for so long it was as if he were in a trance. We could hear Reverend Jenkins, but we couldn’t decipher his words. Whatever they were, they were words of hope. Yet what Hallelujah was saying made sense, as if this whole trial were just for show. Emmett Till had been dead for less than a month, but the trial for his killers was almost over. One more day, Friday, September 23. From what Aunt Belle had told me, there would be something called closing arguments; then the jury would make a decision. I suddenly felt sick to my stomach as I watched all those people celebrate something that might not happen.
“Preacher knows,” Hallelujah finally said, his voice low.
“Knows what?”
“That those killers won’t go to prison.”
“Then why is he in there making people shout?”
“He’s not stirring them up over what he thinks might happen tomorrow. He’s trying to get them ready for the future.”
“Riddles,” I said, exhaling. “Talk to me straight. I’m not a philosopher like you. I don’t even go to school anymore.”
“Things are gonna change, Rosa. If Mose Wright and Willie Reed can stand in a courtroom and tell on white people, maybe people will be braver.”
“These people,” I said, gesturing toward the church. I fell back on the windshield and took a breath. “I doubt it.”
“Only time will tell,” Hallelujah said quietly.
“Did he ever want to be anything else other than a preacher and a teacher?”
“Preacher?” Hallelujah asked, his brows raised. He thought for a moment, then sighed. “He had dreams of going up north, he told me once. But that was when he had a wife. I don’t know if he’s ever wanted to be anything more than a preacher and a teacher, though. He sells the insurance policies for the extra, but he says colored folks don’t realize they need life insurance just like white folks do.”
“You think he ever wanted to be a lawyer?”
Hallelujah glanced toward the church. “Nah. He doesn’t care too much for arguing. Just teaching and preaching.”
“You think Mr. Evers might get to be one?”
“A lawyer?” said Hallelujah. “Sure, if he can ever get into a law school.”
“I wonder why people like Mr. Evers don’t just leave Mississippi,” I said as I thought about how much I wished I could leave. “Folks like him and that doctor in Mound Bayou could just pack up like Mr. Pete did and go. They could go anywhere they want. Instead, they’re here. Fighting for rights.”
Hallelujah sighed. “Preacher said it wouldn’t be good if everybody left. Imagine what this place would be like if everybody who could just up and went?”
I leaned back and stared at the sky. “Stars can’t shine without darkness,” I said.
“What?”
“Stars can’t shine without darkness.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I have no idea. I don’t even know where the words came from. But seeing those bright stars reflecting against that black sky, I thought about how my great-aunt Isabelle once brought this little boy from Saint Louis to Mississippi for the first time. He was surprised to see stars. He’d never seen a star in his life. He said Saint Louis didn’t have stars. Aunt Isabelle corrected him and said the stars couldn’t be seen in the city at night because of all the lights. The stars shine perfectly in Stillwater, especially out in the country, because there’s no light dimming their brightness.”
“And you accuse me of talking in riddles,” Hallelujah said, raising up on his elbow.
“I still don’t know what it means,” I said. “It just popped into my head as I was looking at the sky.”
“Let me know when you figure it out.”
“Well, it won’t be tonight,” I said, leaping off the hood of the car. “I’ve gotta get back inside before Ma Pearl realizes how long I’ve been gone.”
“Wait,” Hallelujah said. “I think I know what it means.”