The Sittin' Up by Shelia P. Moses Read Free Book Online Page A

that was the only reason Papa would be with Mr. Gordon that early in the mornin’.
    â€œHe is gone,” Papa said without yelling but loud enough for Miss Lillian to hear him. The womenfolk began to weep and the menfolk tipped their hats.
    The white folk lowered their heads like they were saying a prayer. If they cared about any one colored from the Low Meadows, I reckon it was Mr. Bro. Wiley.
    â€œPapa, the white folk look sad too.”
    â€œThey-they sad for sure, child. Mr. Bro. Wiley was a good man. He somehow made people forget the color of his skin with his-his words of wisdom and love.”
    â€œI wonder if they love him?”
    â€œI don’t know if they loved him, but he had earned their respect.”
    â€œSometimes respect is all a colored man will get in this town, son,” Mr. Gordon added before making a sharp left onto Low Meadows Lane.
    Papa was watching me in the rearview mirror. He reached in the backseat and patted me on the knee. I cried. Not out loud. I cried inside my heart for the slave man who loved everybody, helped everybody, and taught us all something.
    Mr. Bro. Wiley always said, “The young are strong, but the old know the way.” Who was gonna show us the way now?
    Who?

S IX
    M a was standing on the front porch when we pulled into the yard. Miss Lottie Pearl was beside her along with half of the Low Meadows folk who sharecropped for Thomas Wiley. All the menfolk were lined up like soldiers on the right side of the door and the women on the left side. Pole stood with the womenfolk. I wondered if Mr. Thomas Wiley was on the way. Surely someone in town told him that death had come for Mr. Bro. Wiley.
    Maybe it didn’t really matter where Mr. Thomas Wiley was. The people who loved our friend the most were with us. They had known Mr. Bro. Wiley all their lives. People who hadn’t lived no place but the Low Meadows stood in sorrow. They knew the land they stood on. Land their slave ancestors worked until their fingers bled.
    â€œWe ain’t slaves, but sharecropping is still a part of our soul that ain’t free,” Mr. Bro. Wiley told me and Pole last fall while we were fishing.
    â€œHow so?” Pole asked.
    â€œâ€™Cause, child, by the time Thomas Wiley loans folk money, food, and a place to live all year, he still has his boot on their neck.”
    â€œWonder why the Wileys gave you that log cabin and make everybody else pay rent?” Pole asked.
    â€œGuilt, child. I remind them of their evil. I am the last former slave in this county,” Mr. Bro. Wiley said.
    â€œYou free from all that mess now,” I thought to myself as I looked at the Low Meadows folks.
    Me, Papa, and Mr. Gordon got out the car and stood for a minute. We just looked at all the love on our porch. Mr. Gordon put on his white gloves and opened the back door to the hearse so that TJ and LJ could pull the casket out. Then Papa, Mr. Jabo, and men from the funeral home walked up the steps carrying the empty brown casket. I headed towards Ma till Papa said, “Stand-stand with the men today, Bean. Stand with the men.”
    I crossed the porch. Deacon Ward and Miss Katie Lou’s boy, Ralph, who was fourteen, held my shoulder when I joined the men. Ralph was only two years and a month older than me, but he always acted like a man. I reckon ’cause he stopped school in the sixth grade and worked in the field. Papa didn’t think much of Deacon Ward letting Ralph quit school. He said we would never be so poor that I couldn’t get an education.
    Pole and Miss Lottie Pearl had their arms wrapped around Ma for support.
    The menfolk were in the house about fifteen minutes before we heard them coming back to the porch. Pole opened the door. The Low Meadows menfolk tipped their straw hats as the women began to sing. Miss Katie Lou led the hymn.
    â€œ
I woke up this morning with my mind straight on Jesus. I woke up this morning with my mind straight on