The basement was a big space filled with women and children, all of them frightened and weary, but safe as they could be given the circumstances. A few electric bulbs were strung up overhead, and there were lit oil lamps scattered about. Claire drew two cups of coffee from a fancy silver urn set up on a wooden bench and handed them to Joseph and me. And that was the best thing I ever have tasted in my life, bar none—loaded thick with sugar, and so hot it scalded my tongue.

Then Claire put her arm around Ruby’s shoulders, saying, “Won’t you introduce me to your friend?” To which Ruby replied that Joseph was her brother, not her friend. And Claire shook his hand and smiled and told Ruby, “I bet these boys would like to sit down. Would you show them to a cot while I fetch Joseph a shirt that’s not cut to ribbons?” Her voice was soft and firm all at once, so that Ruby didn’t balk. She only said, “Yes’m, Miss Claire,” and led us over to an empty cot like the sweetest, most obedient child you ever did meet.

And she sat next to us, chirping on about how she’d set off to find Joseph after I warned her away from the shop. “You sounded for-real scared, Will,” she said. “Enough so I knew you weren’t just trying to get rid of me.” Then she scolded Joseph for not being in any of the places she’d gone looking.

After that, she turned somber and picked at the back of her hands, telling us how she’d hidden behind a shrub at the courthouse while the white people around her got angrier and angrier. And how a single gunshot had turned the crowd into an ugly mob surging towards Greenwood with murder on its mind.

“All except a few of them,” she added. “Like the man who snatched me up and carried me off.” Then she looked down at her toes, and for the first time ever, I heard something close to shame creep into her voice: “I scratched him pretty good. Bit him, too. But he didn’t put me down till we’d got away. Even then he kept hold of my wrist and told me he was taking me somewhere safe, ’cause otherwise I might get killed. He was a good man. That’s how I came to be here.”

“You mean to say you’ve been in this church most of the night?” Joseph said.

Ruby made a face like he was stupid. “Course I have, you big ninny,” she said. “Where’d you think I was?” Then Joseph cast a grateful look towards heaven and drank what was left of his coffee in one gulp.

After that, Claire returned with a white, high-collared clergyman’s shirt and said there was fresh-baked cornbread in the kitchen that Ruby should bring down. Joseph and I started to rise as well, but Claire assured us Ruby was up to the task on her own.

When Ruby had trotted off with nary a whisper of backtalk, Joseph asked Claire how on earth she’d managed to charm his sister. Claire smiled and sat down on the cot, saying, “Just lucky, I suppose.” Then her face darkened, and she said how my truck couldn’t stay where it was. For according to Mr. Geddison, word had gotten out to white rioters that the church was taking in Greenwood refugees.

“Mr. Geddison?” I asked. Claire rolled her eyes and pointed at the ceiling, saying, “Your ever-so-pleasant friend. The one with the hole in his leg.”

“You mean the roughneck?” I asked. And Claire nodded, saying, “Yes, though it’s a shame calling him that. Plenty of oilfield hands attend this church, and most of them are kind, decent men. Nothing like that ignorant fool.” Then she said how there had already been rioters sniffing around the church doors, banging and hollering how they’d been sent to gather wayward Negroes and deliver them to the proper authorities.

“We ignored them until they gave up and left,” she said. “Though if Mr. Geddison is to be believed, there’s another contingent on the way.”

“Which would make having a truck parked outside awfully inconvenient, seeing’s how you couldn’t very well pretend no one’s home,” I said with a sigh.

Claire smiled and brushed a bit of grass off my shoulder that must have come from Mrs. Tyler. The tenderness of it caught me off guard.

Joseph bumped his knee against mine. Said, “I don’t relish the thought of you going back out there, Will.”

“Can’t say as I do myself,” I replied, “but there’s nothing for it. I’ll just go straight home and hole up for the night. Come morning, I’ll be back for you and Ruby.”

Joseph actually smiled then, and stood up and offered his hand and held on even after he’d pulled me to my feet.

“Thank you, William,” he said. Only his words sounded stiff and formal to my ears. For after all we’d been through that night, the very least we should have been to each other was friends. And so, not knowing how else to show the way I felt, I got the balance sheet for his Victrola out of my pocket and asked Claire if she might have a pen. She found one, and I asked Joseph to turn around and used his back to mark PAID across the bottom.

“You should have had this all along,” I said, handing it to him. “What’s left is on us.”

Joseph accepted the thing without saying it was useless, and took his leather wallet from his back pants pocket and tucked the receipt inside.

“Saturday all right for delivery?” I asked.

Joseph said he likely could make that work. Then Ruby was back, toting a big basket of cornbread so hot and fresh that the smell drew a circle of children around her straightaway. But when she saw me and Joseph standing, she set that basket down on the floor and stomped over with her arms locked tight across her chest, asking what was going on.

“Will needs to take his truck home,” Joseph replied. “It’s not safe leaving it parked outside. The church has to look empty.”

“Why?” She pouted. “Can’t nobody mess with a church. That’d be a sin!”

Joseph tried to smile, but what he managed was closer to the mash-eyed look you get staring into the sun.

“You’re right,” I said quick. “But if I don’t get Pop’s truck home soon, he’ll hunt me down and string me up by my thumbs. And I have tender thumbs, Miss Ruby. Very tender thumbs indeed.”

Ruby giggled, just as I’d hoped she would. “Besides,” I added, “I’m coming back first thing tomorrow morning to fetch you and Joseph home. That sound all right?”

She stopped giggling and nodded.

“Good,” I said. “Then go get a good night’s sleep and I’ll see you when you wake up.”

“Promise?” she asked, real quiet.

“Promise,” I replied. After which Ruby pointed a finger at me, stern as a schoolmarm, and told me to wait. And she waded through the ring of hungry children circling the cornbread, plucked a piece out, marched back, wrapped it in her handkerchief, and took my hand in hers, saying: “You best take this now. Won’t be any left by morning.”

I squeezed her hand and thanked her, and told her she should stick close to her brother.

“Phooey,” she said. Then she tugged me towards her like she had a secret to share. I dropped to one knee and leaned close, expecting sass or a raspberry or worse. Only what I got was a peck on the cheek, quick and sweet. “Be careful out there, Will Tillman,” she whispered as she hugged me. “And don’t you forget to come back.”

Halfway home, on dark streets wearing their silence like a quilt, I remembered the dead man.

My hand reached back to confirm that the rolled-up tarp was still there, which it was. No one at the church had noticed, and between the Geddison fool cussing and carrying on and Ruby turning up, Joseph and I had forgotten about it altogether.

But there was no forgetting anymore, nor any simple solution to my dilemma. For though dumping the body by the river was the easiest option at hand, the whole reason Joseph and I had picked him up was to see that he was treated proper. The least the dead man deserved was a Christian burial and a person or two to mourn his passing, and I knew Mama would understand if I waited until morning to find his people. Things like that mattered to her, which I suppose was why they mattered to me.

When I pulled into the empty driveway at home, the kitchen lights burned bright. Mama met me on the porch with her arms wide, and there was so much strength in her embrace that if it hadn’t been for the evil I’d witnessed that night, I could have almost convinced myself that things were going to turn out all right. When she was done hugging on me, Mama took half a step back and put her cool palms to my cheeks and kissed my forehead, whispering, “Thank the Lord you’re home.”

In the kitchen, a half-drunk cup of tea sat next to an unfinished game of solitaire on Mama’s big butcher block. She poured me a glass of cold buttermilk from the icebox, which I gulped down. And she told me Angelina and her daughter-in-law and grandbabies were still safe in the back house, but there was no word about her son.

“Where’s Pop?” I asked.

Mama shrugged, lips tight. Said, “He called from the shop an hour ago, upset you weren’t there when he stopped by to check on things. He should be home by sunrise so long as things stay calm on Main Street.”

She wanted to elaborate; I could see it in the set of her body, hear it in her guarded words. But she only told me I should go upstairs and wash, which I did. And once my face and neck were scrubbed and I’d dropped my dusty clothes down the laundry chute, I slipped beneath the clean-smelling softness of my sheets and slept.

Even with a dead man in the back of the truck.

Even with Joseph and Ruby trapped in a roomful of strangers in the basement of a church.

Even with Clete and Vernon Fish and Reggie Gould still loose on the streets.

I slept.

Sunshine woke me the next morning. I threw on new clothes, washed the grit from my eyes, and wiggled the stiffness out of my jaw from grinding my teeth as I slept. Downstairs, Mama was sitting on the same stool by the butcher block where I’d left her. There was a haze in the room, and an acrid stink that set my eyes to watering.

“He took them,” she said, all dull and quiet. Which I didn’t understand until I saw Angelina through the back window, slumped in the doorway of her quarters. And it felt like a punch to the gut, realizing what the man who’d raised me had done.

Pop had taken Angelina’s grandbabies away.

Mama mumbled something about breakfast and rose from the chair, holding her body sideways.

“What’s wrong?” I asked. She didn’t reply. Then my voice came harsh, asking, “What did he do?” And Mama shook her head and said, “He came home half an hour ago and found Angelina’s family.”

Which wasn’t what I’d meant.

I caught her up in my arms as she tried to get to the icebox, and felt my insides seize at the sight of the puffy, reddened flesh around her right cheekbone and eye.

Mama stopped my hand as I reached towards the bruise, looking at me with a clarity and resolve I didn’t expect. Then she touched my own cheek tenderly and said: “I couldn’t keep him from taking them away, but I told him if he put Angelina in that truck, I wouldn’t be here when he got back.”

I started to speak. Mama pressed her finger to my lips, saying, “Whatever happens between your father and me is mine, William. I’ll handle it how I see fit. Right now, there are other matters that need tending to. I want you to tell me what went on last night. Tell me everything.”

I pulled my hand back, then sat down and did as she’d asked. The whole story came out, starting with Joseph besting Pop in negotiations for the Victrola, ending with the body in the back of the truck. Nothing changed or got better while I spoke. Still, once I’d finished, Mama smiled a tired smile and told me I’d done right and she was proud.

“I’ll fix you breakfast,” she said. “Then you go to the church and fetch your friends and take them to Angelina’s quarters at the new house. There are only boards in for the floor, but the walls and roof are sound. I’ll call the construction foreman and tell him to send his boys to another job for a few days. Those two children should be safe enough holed up there for a while. I only pray they’ll have a home to go back to once this is over.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

And Mama turned, loaf of bread in one hand, knife in the other. “Can’t you smell it?” she said, her voice far away and sad. “They’re burning Greenwood to the ground.”

Mama called the church while I wolfed down my toast and eggs. Turned out the pastor’s wife knit caps for babies, too, and she and Mama were acquainted through a ladies’ luncheon group on top of that. By the time I’d mopped up my yolks and put my plate in the sink, Mama was back with the whole plan arranged.

“Joseph and Ruby will wait for you at the same door you used last night,” she said. “They’re safe for now, but you’ll have to be careful; there are gangs of men about town, gathering up Negroes and taking them to McNulty Park and Convention Hall.” Her eyes darted to the back window.

“I’ll have to smuggle Angelina upstairs,” she murmured to herself. Then she directed me to fill Pop’s and my canteens with water, and loaded our picnic hamper with bread, cheese, and apples, plus a whole Virginia ham she’d bought special for Pop. She put in a carving knife, too, and filled a rucksack with blankets and two pairs of clean skivvies from my dresser drawer.

After that, Mama handed the supplies to me through the side door underneath the porte cochere and I loaded them into the Model T. Lastly, she handed me a drop cloth from the basement.

“They’ll have to ride on the floorboards, covered up,” she said. “Model Ts weren’t made to conceal much.”

I said I understood and touched her cheek just below the swelling. She closed her eyes, squeezing them ever so slightly. “Go quickly now,” she whispered. “And come home safe.”

Then I was off, driving too fast and shifting gears as if I’d been doing it all my life. There were no police about, nor any other people at that early hour, either. Yet someone must have been watching for me at the church, for Claire opened the side door as soon as I arrived, and Joseph and Ruby scurried onto the floor of the Model T’s backseat and covered themselves with the drop cloth. Neither said a word. Not even Ruby, who looked like she’d just woke up.

Claire came out, too, and touched my elbow where it rested on the car. “Be careful,” she said. Then she favored me with a brave, weary smile so beautiful that the memory of it lodged deep inside me. I told her I would, and drove off fast enough that not five minutes later I had the Model T backed up as close to the new house’s servants’ quarters as I could get. Joseph and Ruby hopped out and sprinted to the door, dodging stacks of new lumber and bricks. It wasn’t until we were inside, breathing the smell of fresh-cut wood and smoke, that Joseph finally spoke.

“They’re putting the torch to Greenwood, Will. Shooting anyone who resists and taking whatever they want.”

I said I’d heard the same, but that there was no telling truth from rumor just then. Then I tried to change the subject, asking if they’d heard anything about their ma. To which Joseph replied that the best they could hope for was that she’d been taken to McNulty Park or Convention Hall, or possibly the fairgrounds. That’s when Ruby chimed in, saying: “Anyone hurts our ma, I’ll hunt ’em down and kill ’em myself.”

“Hush now,” Joseph said softly. Ruby sniffed and scooted backwards against the wall.

“I’ll find her for you,” I said. “Just promise you’ll stay put until me or Mama comes back to give you the all clear.”

Joseph frowned. Said, “You really think we’re safe here?”

“Safe enough,” I replied. “Just stay out of sight and you should be fine.” Then I managed to distract Ruby a little, telling her how Mama had put two pairs of my skivvies in the rucksack. “I ain’t wearing no boy’s unmentionables!” she said, and stuck out her tongue. Which I took as a positive sign.

After that, I told them I’d best be going. Joseph thanked me again, and Ruby looked at me square. “You’re a good man, Will Tillman,” she said. Which sounded silly and overserious coming from her, but wonderful all the same. And those words buoyed my spirits all the way back to the Model T, until the smoke-filled northern sky and the gravity of the task I’d undertaken pulled them right back down again.

Cars were parked chockablock along the southern edge of Greenwood. White men and women milled about in the smoky haze, carrying baskets and sacks filled with stolen treasures from Negro homes: clothes, silver, lamps, china, paintings. Looters picked through the smoldering remains of buildings like vultures after a battle. I left the Model T just south of the worst of it and walked north to Jasper Street, where the Goodhopes’ house should have been.

Ash and rubble and a shattered posy dish were all I found. I’d been on a fool’s errand from the start, and my heart ached at the prospect of telling Joseph and Ruby their home was gone. Still, I hadn’t given up on finding Mrs. Goodhope. So I headed back south, planning to look for her in the detention centers, until hysterical shrieks stopped me short.

It was Eunice, running up the street in a pale green dress too fine and formal to be streetwear. Stolen, no doubt, from some poor Booker T. girl who’d never get to wear it to her prom.

“They shot him, Will! They shot him!” she wailed. I ran towards her then, and when we met up, she clawed at my arm and dragged me towards a crowd of gawkers standing tight in a circle. “Move!” she screamed. And enough did so we could press through to the center. Which is where we found Clete.

At first I only stared, for the sight of the boy I’d grown up with, lying gutshot and bleeding in the street, was the stuff of dime novels and cowboy movies. Then Clete’s eyes flickered open, and he whispered something so faint that I dropped to my knees and lifted his head onto my lap.

“It’s all right,” I told him. “Just you hang in there while someone fetches a doctor.”

“You always were a terrible liar, Will,” he whispered. Then his lips pulled back in pain and his body shivered in my arms and he spoke again, so soft I had to put my ear to his lips to hear.

“Vernon’s gonna kill that brother and sister you got.”

He coughed weakly, sending a fine spray of crimson onto his chin. I told him to hush and save his strength, but he shook his head, saying, “No. Listen. While I was home changing clothes this morning, Mother picked up the telephone and overheard your mama talking to that pastor’s wife on the party line. She told me what you were planning to do, and I told Vernon.”

A gurgle caught at the back of his throat. He tried to cough, but only succeeded in quickening the flow of blood from his belly.

“Oh, Will… I’ve done bad things, and now I’m on my way to stand judgment…”

The sound in his throat closed down to a rattling gasp. And before I could lie and tell my friend I knew God would forgive him, he was gone.

The crowd pressed tighter. I set Clete’s head down gentle on the street and shouted for them to get away. Only they didn’t, so I screamed at them again and again until they’d cleared a space for me to push past them.

Eunice sat on a curb, weeping. When I asked her who’d shot Clete, she started crying harder. I lifted her up and shook her by the shoulders till she screamed how she didn’t know, that the bullet had come from one of the houses. And I wanted so much to slap her then that it scared me. But I only pushed her backwards, and she cursed me and looked down and caught sight of my bloody handprints on the shoulders of her stolen dress and loosed a demon’s shriek.

I stumbled off, numbed clear through to my soul, until the fact of Clete dying hit me full-on, along with what he’d said about Vernon Fish being out to kill Joseph and Ruby.

Then I ceased my walking altogether.

And ran.