As we passed through the first car, I kept my eyes lowered, not wanting anyone to see my face too directly. But as we entered the second car, I glanced out the window toward the yard. It was then that I saw my daddy, and I stopped. He was standing on the platform with Robert and Willie Thomas, talking to Ray Sutcliffe and two others. Ray Sutcliffe was all red and angry-looking and gesturing wildly. My daddy wasn’t red or gesturing, but I could see anger in him too. I could tell just by the way he was standing. There was a stiffness in him, and I knew that was because of me, because of my disobedience and this added trouble that now had men searching the tracks for Mitchell and me. In that moment when I saw my daddy, I wanted to throw down the bags I was carrying and run to him. No matter how angry he was at me, I knew he’d protect me if he could. Yes, he’d certainly whip me, but maybe that was better than this unknown course upon which I was about to embark. But then I thought about Mitchell and our greater trouble. Mitchell had hit a white man and taken his money. There was no easy solution to that.
Mitchell could hang.
All that flashed through my mind as I stared out at my daddy. Then Mitchell gave me a poke, nudging me on, and I seared forever into my memory the picture of my daddy standing on that platform, and walked on. When we reached the women’s car, the silver-haired woman motioned us to put the baggage on two sets of seats facing each other. As we did so, she leaned toward us and whispered, “You boys pretend to be arranging the baggage underneath the seats, but leave the bags out, and when I say so, the two of you slip under the seats yourselves. Pull what bags you can in front of you.” The woman and her daughters then took up their hatboxes and their cloaks and began putting them in the overhead rack.
There were only a few people in the car, and I noticed that everyone was busy putting away luggage and preparing for the journey. No one was paying attention to Mitchell and me. They were concerned with their own matters. I hoped none of them would notice if Mitchell and I had come or gone. I suppose that’s what the silver-haired woman was counting on. As she and her daughters placed their belongings overhead, a man stopped and offered his assistance. The women accepted. One of the younger women at this point stepped back between the seats, partially concealing Mitchell and me, while the others remained in the aisle. The man arranged the boxes and the cloaks, then asked if he could be of further assistance. The women thanked him graciously and said they could manage now. The man touched his hat in respect to them, then walked on toward the next car. If he had seen Mitchell and me, he paid us no attention.
The women continued to stand, as if postponing sitting for a long journey that would see them seated most of the way. They took out fans from their purses and began gently fanning themselves. After a few minutes the older woman glanced casually around the car and, turning toward one of her daughters in the aisle, smiled at her, then glanced down at Mitchell and me. “Now,” she said. With that, Mitchell and I each scooted underneath a set of the wooden seats. The women still didn’t seat themselves as they talked about casual matters, while Mitchell and I, stuffed under the seats, tried to adjust to our discomfort. I looked across at Mitchell and met his eyes. There could be no more words said.
After several minutes the women took their seats and arranged their luggage around themselves. Then they hid us from all view with their tremendous skirts. I was shrouded in darkness. I couldn’t see Mitchell underneath the seat opposite, and certainly we couldn’t talk. It was hot and suffocating as we faced the unknown; but it got worse. Men searching for Mitchell and me had now boarded the train, and Ray Sutcliffe was one of them.
So was my daddy.
I heard my daddy’s voice, and I wanted to cry out to him. I heard someone who identified himself as the conductor explain to the four ladies hiding us that a search was being conducted for two boys, one black, one who looked white. The conductor politely asked if they had seen either of us. The older woman politely said they hadn’t. The conductor thanked them, and the men moved on—all the men, including my daddy. As they left, I found myself crying. No sound came, just tears. I couldn’t afford to be heard; still, I cried. I knew a part of my life was passing now, a part of my life I would never know again, the part of my life that was my daddy.
Some while later the train began to move. I lay still and tense waiting for a sudden halt, waiting for the women to betray Mitchell and me, waiting for us suddenly to be yanked from our hiding places and lynched from the nearest tree. I waited, but the women remained true to their word. When one of them left her seat, the others rearranged their skirts so that they covered any sight of Mitchell or me; no one ever knew we were there.