Leaving Lymon Read online

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Daddy

  One: Parchman Farm Sunflower County, Mississippi 1938

  Two: Vicksburg, Mississippi 1939

  Three: Vicksburg, Mississippi 1941

  Four: Vicksburg, Mississippi 1941

  Five: Milwaukee, Wisconsin 1942

  Six: Milwaukee, Wisconsin 1942

  Seven: Milwaukee, Wisconsin 1943

  Eight: Milwaukee, Wisconsin 1943

  Nine: Milwaukee, Wisconsin 1943

  Ten: Milwaukee, Wisconsin 1943

  Eleven: Milwaukee, Wisconsin 1943

  Twelve: Milwaukee, Wisconsin 1945

  Thirteen: Milwaukee, Wisconsin 1945

  Fourteen: Milwaukee, Wisconsin 1945

  Fifteen: Milwaukee, Wisconsin 1945

  Momma

  One: Milwaukee, Wisconsin 1945

  Two: Chicago, Illinois 1945

  Three: Chicago, Illinois 1945

  Four: Chicago, Illinois 1945

  Five: Chicago, Illinois 1945

  Six: Chicago, Illinois 1945

  Seven: Chicago, Illinois 1946

  Eight: Chicago, Illinois 1946

  Nine: Chicago, Illinois 1946

  Ten: Chicago, Illinois 1946

  Eleven: Chicago, Illinois 1946

  Lymon

  One: Chicago, Illinois 1946

  Two: Chicago, Illinois 1946

  Three: Chicago, Illinois 1946

  Four: Arthur J. Audy Home Chicago, Illinois 1946

  Five: Arthur J. Audy Home Chicago, Illinois 1946

  Six: Arthur J. Audy Home Chicago, Illinois 1946

  Seven: Arthur J. Audy Home Chicago, Illinois 1946

  Us

  One: Milwaukee, Wisconsin 1946

  Two: Milwaukee, Wisconsin 1946

  Three: Milwaukee, Wisconsin 1947

  Four: Milwaukee, Wisconsin 1947

  Author’s Note

  Acknowledgments

  Copyright © 2020 by Lesa Cline-Ransome

  All Rights Reserved

  HOLIDAY HOUSE is registered in the U.S. Patent and Trademark Office.

  www.holidayhouse.com

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Cline-Ransome, Lesa, author.

  Title: Leaving Lymon / Lesa Cline-Ransome.

  Description: First edition. | New York : Holiday House, [2020] | Summary:

  Raised by his grandparents, first in Mississippi then in Wisconsin, ten-year-old Lymon moves to Chicago in 1945 to live with the mother he never knew, while yearning for his father.

  Identifiers: LCCN 2019011659 | ISBN 9780823444427 (hardcover)

  Subjects: | CYAC: Family problems—Fiction. | Moving,

  Household—Fiction. | African Americans—Fiction. | Milwaukee (Wis.)—

  History—20th century—Fiction. | Chicago (Ill.)—History—20th century—Fiction.

  Classification: LCC PZ7.C622812 Le 2019 | DDC [Fic]—dc23

  LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2019011659

  Ebook ISBN 9780823446339

  v5.4

  a

  In memory of my own Auntie Vera (Ransom):

  kind, independent, supportive and a rock for us all

  September 30, 1929–July 3, 2019

  Daddy

  ONE

  Parchman Farm

  Sunflower County, Mississippi 1938

  MA and Grandpops didn’t tell me nothing ’cept we were going on the train. From our house I could sometimes hear the train whistle on quiet nights. Grandpops used to tell me stories about trains that carry people to places far away to a town I thought was called North. Turns out that wasn’t the name of a town at all, just a place people bought a ticket to.

  Ma made a mess of food. She spent all Saturday cooking, and the house smelled like frying grease and pickles and chocolate cake. I told her twice I was hungry, just to get a taste of something, but she hit me so hard on my backside, I stopped asking after that. Way past supper and bedtime, Grandpops came in my room whispering.

  “Lymon, c’mon now. Time we get going.” He dressed me quiet in my church shirt and pants, wrapped my blanket ’round my shoulders, and carried me out to his truck. I remember the truck smelled like all the food Ma had been cooking, and that smell woke me up good.

  “We going on the train now?” I asked.

  “Sure are,” said Grandpops. Ma just closed her eyes, laid her head back against the seat, and didn’t say nothing. I thought she was tired from all the cooking.

  We drove quiet through the night till we pulled up to a small building.

  “Here we are, Jackson Depot,” Grandpops said.

  Grandpops lifted me out first, and kept my blanket ’round my shoulders. Then he helped down Ma. Last he got the basket of food Ma made. While Grandpops stood in line for tickets, I looked ’round at all the other folks. Most looking as tired as Ma and nearly all with food and bags and packages. The ladies had on fancy dresses. I grabbed Grandpops’ hand tight when I saw the lights from the train and heard its loud whistle when it pulled into the station, huffing and puffing smoke. Back home it sounded like a whisper, but here, it sounded it like a long scream. I covered my ears, and Grandpops laughed. I nearly peed myself, I was aching so bad to get on that train.

  “Stop that jumping.” Ma snatched my arm.

  The train was so tall, I didn’t know how we were gonna get all the way up there, but then a man opened a door and let down stairs. Grandpops helped me up the steps and I walked into the train car. It looked like it went on forever, and when we walked through, I ran my hand on the backs of the seats we passed. I didn’t care it was crowded and hot with people smells and food smells. Felt good to be going somewhere new. Skinny as I was, I sat on the hard seat between Grandpops and Ma.

  Train man yelled, “All aboard the Midnight Special!”

  “When we gonna get there?” I asked Grandpops.

  “You go on and sleep now. We got a ways. Be morning before we pull in.”

  Heard Ma suck her teeth and look away.

  I told myself I’d stay wake the whole time so I wouldn’t miss a thing. Liked hearing the train men in uniforms ask for tickets, and listen to the folks talking and babies crying. But it was so warm and tight in my seat, I couldn’t keep my eyes open. I woke with my head in Grandpops’ lap and heard the conductor shouting, “Parchman Farm.”

  “This it?” I asked, sitting up straight.

  Everybody got up to get off the train and there was a beat-up bus waiting and we all got on that. Wasn’t near as fun as being on the train, but Grandpops said, “Not long now,” and I mashed my face against the cool of the window.

  * * *

  In the back of the bus, someone started singing a song I sometimes heard in church. Few others joined in. Out the window, I saw rows and rows and rows of cotton as we drove up a long road and under a gate.

  As soon as we stepped off the bus, I heard someone shout, “Pops!” And there was my daddy. His face was so fuzzy in my head, I almost forgot what he looked like. He was smiling big and walking fast toward us. His black-and-white-striped pajamas looked too big for him, and I heard Ma breathe in fast.

  “Ma,” he said, kissing her on the cheek.

  “Grady,” is all she said.

  But Grandpops pulled him in close and hard. “How you makin’ it, son?”

  “I’m making it, Pops, I’m making it….”

  “And who is this young man growing tall as a weed?” Daddy asked looking down at me.

  “I’m Lymon,” I told him.

  “I know who you are, boy!” He laughed and swung me up high.

  Seemed like a big party. All the men there dressed i
n the striped pajamas like Daddy. There was music playing from a radio, and couples were dancing close and kissing too.

  “Stop staring,” Ma told me, and moved me away.

  We laid down my blanket under a tree, and Ma put out all the food she made. Daddy and Grandpops talked and talked. Ma barely ate.

  “You ain’t hungry, Ma?” I asked her. My belly was hurtin’ ’cause I ate too many deviled eggs. She didn’t answer. Just looked out past the trees. Daddy showed us where he and the other men slept. In one big house with beds all lined up next to each other. He held my hand when we walked. It was hard and dry and cracked, but it still felt good holding mine. After Ma cleaned up the food and cut the cake, Daddy took out a harmonica. He took his hands and made a cup around it and made music come out that sounded a lot like the train whistle back at the depot. As he was playing, more and more folks came over, standing ’round my daddy. His face got wetter and wetter the more he played. Folks were clapping and moving to the music. But then the white men with guns came over too, and folks quieted down some. When Daddy finished playing, one of the white men stepped forward.

  “Your boy got talent,” he said to Grandpops.

  Grandpops looked down. “Yessir,” he said quiet.

  “He behave hisself in here, maybe he make you proud one day, right, boy?” he said to my daddy.

  “Yessir,” my daddy said, and put his harmonica back in his pajama pocket.

  Folks started moving away. I went and sat up close to my daddy.

  “So how’s my Lymon doing?” he asked smiling down at me.

  “Good, Daddy.”

  “How’s your momma?” he asked. I shrugged.

  “You know he ain’t seen her since she left. Why you asking foolishness? She’s there and he’s here. That’s how she’s doing.” Ma started coughing like she do whenever she starts yelling.

  “Alright now, Lenore. You getting yourself all worked up. Ain’t a need for all that today. He’s just asking a question is all.”

  Ma got quiet again.

  “Heard she went up to Chicago with her sister not too long ago,” Grandpops said into Daddy’s ear. “Got another one on the way.”

  Daddy whistled through his teeth and shook his head.

  “Vera and Shirley send their best,” Grandpops told Daddy. “Clark got a good job at the new foundry in Milwaukee. They told us to come up and join ’em.”

  “Y’all thinking about going?” Daddy asked.

  “Nah, I can’t get this woman to leave Vicksburg for nothing in the world, right, Lenore?” Grandpops laughed, looking at Ma.

  I saw a little smile at the corner of Ma’s mouth. First one all day.

  “Ain’t no need dragging my tail all the way to Milwaukee when I got all I need right here in Mississippi.”

  “She’s talking about me.” Grandpops leaned over and kissed Ma a big kiss on her cheek.

  She laughed then. “Stop that fuss, Frank. You are a fool.”

  One of the white man started clanging a bell and told everybody visiting time was over. Folks started picking up all their food and fixings and saying goodbye and kissing even more. I couldn’t help but stare then. And Ma didn’t stop me. Someone was crying loud.

  We stood up, and I hugged my daddy tight ’round the waist. “You coming home with us?” I asked.

  I saw the water in his eyes. “Not today, son, but I’ll be home soon,” is all he said.

  Grandpops took my hand. “Come on, Lymon.”

  When Daddy bent down to kiss Ma I heard him say, “Don’t bring him back here no more. I don’t never want to see him inside this place again.”

  Ma pulled away from Daddy. “You should have thought about that before—”

  “Hush, Lenore!” Grandpops said, mad.

  Me and Ma walked onto the bus as Daddy and Grandpops hugged goodbye. When the bus pulled down the long dusty road, my daddy was the last one in a line of men in pajamas walking back into their house.

  TWO

  Vicksburg, Mississippi 1939

  I knew it was Friday when Grandpops started cleaning his guitar. He worked all week at the mill, coming home every night tired and dirty. Ma had supper ready, and soon as Grandpops washed up, we’d eat. After the supper dishes were put up, Ma sat out front with me and Grandpops, watching the lightning bugs, and doing her crocheting, Grandpops talking a mile a minute and plucking his favorite songs on his guitar, Ma saying every now and then, “mmm-hmmm,” and tapping her foot. But on Friday nights, Grandpops didn’t eat supper with us. He’d come home, same as always, but he’d wash up, then polish up his guitar, check the strings, and one by one, his men friends would come by the house with guitars and harmonicas, one banjo. Ma would stay in the kitchen making sandwiches and put them on a big ole plate and bring out some soda pop to the front room. Later it got, after the sandwiches and pop were gone, the men took out jars of other drinks they passed around. When it was still early, Grandpops would let me sit with them in the front room and listen. Sometimes they did more talking than playing. But on a good Friday, when everybody was in the mood for playing, it could go on nearly all night.

  The man with the banjo was Mr. Joe from church. He came every week with the same old beat-up overalls and worn-through shirt. He looked old enough to be my grandpops’ daddy, but if you closed your eyes when he sang, his voice sounded young and sweet as a girl’s. He hiked one leg up on the chair while he played his banjo. Tilted his head back and sang:

  Got to New York this mornin’, just about half-past nine

  Got to New York this mornin’, just about half-past nine

  Hollerin’ one mornin’ in Avalon, couldn’t hardly keep from cryin’

  Avalon, my hometown, always on my mind

  Avalon, my hometown, always on my mind

  Pretty momma’s in Avalon, want me there all the time…

  On those nights, I’d see Ma standing in the doorway of the kitchen, her hand tapping her thigh in time to the music.

  My grandpops would strum along behind Mister Joe’s singing and you could hear the other men saying low, “c’mon now, Joe,” and “tell it,” just like we were in church on Sunday morning. If it got too good, I couldn’t stop myself from clapping. One time Grandpops pulled me onto his lap.

  “You remember that song we been working on?” he asked.

  I nodded.

  “Go on ahead then,” he said. Grandpops set his guitar on my legs, and I started right in playing. I looked around and all the men were nodding their heads, smiling and making me feel like church again. When I played the wrong note, they said, “That’s alright, son.” I felt like one of them then, as big as my grandpops and his men friends. When I finished, they all clapped and shook my hand. “Nice work, little man.”

  “We gonna need to pull up another chair soon,” my grandpops told me. “But for now, you need to get on to bed.”

  My ma took me in and got me washed up. When I settled in, I laid awake listening to them play, thinking wasn’t nothing better than my grandpops, Friday nights, and music.

  THREE

  Vicksburg, Mississippi 1941

  MY aunt Shirley told me I was gonna love learning my letters and numbers at school, but that wasn’t what I liked best. First day of school, Grandpops drove me all the way to the school-house in his truck. I was thinking it’d be one of those big brick buildings like I see in town, but it wasn’t much bigger than our house with a lot of the paint chipped away. ‘Long the way, we saw Little Leonard and Fuller walking, and Grandpops pulled over and picked them up too. I mostly only saw them in church at Sunday school, but those were the two I played with most. Once, out in back of the church after service, I wrestled with Fuller, and when we came back in, Ma slapped me on the back of my neck for dirtying up the knees of my church pants. Fuller laughed behind his hand, till his momma did the same to him. Fuller and his big brother, Little Leonard, got a mess of sisters and girl cousins. Their family takes up two whole rows of pews at Sunday service.

  I’m �
��bout the only one who don’t have brothers or sisters, just Ma and Grandpops. My cousins Dee, Sis, and Flora are too big to play with. Never get a chance to play tag and hide-and-seek when I ain’t at Sunday school or maybe when I go visiting with Ma. Most times I’m fine being by myself or sitting with Grandpops. I like the quiet of it. But at school, having a field with balls to kick and rope for tug of war, I could have played all day. Sometimes, when we’d get going good, Teacher, Miss Stokes, called us in to go back to our desks before we started getting “too wild,” she said. I didn’t like sitting at long tables and hard benches copying the numbers and letters Miss Stokes wrote on the chalkboard half as much as I like playing outside in the schoolyard.

  Every day, after that first day, Grandpops asked me, “How you doing with your letters?”

  And every day I told him, “Fine.” But truth was, when everyone was writing on their papers, I was looking out the window, just waiting to go on out and play. Miss Stokes said I wasn’t trying hard enough, but every time I did, I’d get the letters all mixed up in my head. Sometimes she’d lean over me, smelling like cocoa butter and lemons, and put her hand, so smooth and dark brown, over mine to trace the letters on my paper. “There you go, Lymon,” she’d say smiling. I thought she had to be the prettiest teacher there ever was, even though she was the only one I ever seen. With her next to me, felt like I could write every letter of the alphabet with my eyes closed, but soon as she walked away to help someone else, the letters would get mixed up again.