nothing ever happened, his reappearance was cause for much excited discussion.
Everyone expressed shock and concern for what would become of the poor boy,
but Olivia could see that most of them were overjoyed to have him back. Every
day since Mourning had been taken away, Reverend Dixby had come into
Killion’s General complaining that he couldn’t find anyone to sweep and scrub
the floor of the Congregational Church.
Now the good Reverend lost no time in calling a town meeting to be held in
his un-swept and un-scrubbed church. The Mourning Free situation must be
discussed. Olivia and Mourning hid outside, beneath one of the open windows at
the back. Reverend Dixby started it off by speaking at length about their
Christian duty to pitch in together to ease the situation of this poor orphan. He
thought the best solution would be for the whole town to take care of him.
Mourning was right; he could go back to working like before. Whoever he was
working for would give him his dinner that day.
Mrs. Brewster was the first to respond. “That’s ridiculous. Saying everyone
will take care of him is the same as saying no one will. I don’t know how people
who call themselves Christians could even consider such a thing. He isn’t even
ten years old.”
“All right then.” A male voice called out from the back of the church. “How
’bout you adopt him? Tuck that Nigra boy between your clean white sheets
every night?” This evoked a wave of snickering.
Reverend Dixby raised his voice. “Gentlemen, please, we are trying to have a
serious discussion, in a Christian spirit.”
“That boy’s been taking care of himself long as I remember,” another man
said. “Tell you one thing – he’d survive on his own better than you would, Dixby.” Several men hooted and women hushed them. “Besides,” the man
continued when the laughter had died down, “the Negro race is used to that kind
of thing.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Mrs. Brewster asked.
“Look at all them slave children get sold away from their parents and get along just fine. And them tribes over in the jungles of Africa don’t know which
children belong to which parents any more than them monkeys do.”
“What can you possibly think you understand about the suffering of slave
children torn from the arms of their mothers?” Mrs. Brewster retorted. “And I’ve
no doubt the hitching post knows more about Africa than you do. You couldn’t
find it on the map for a dollar.” This drew even louder laughter.
“So what do you think we ought to do with the little darky?” a different voice
called out.
“There are plenty of good Negro families over in South Valley,” Mrs.
Brewster said. “I’m sure we could find one willing to take him in.”
“What makes you think he won’t run again, just like he done from Goody
Carter’s good Negro family?” A voice Olivia recognized as that of Mr. Bellinir,
