Bibi Belford - Crossing the Line

Also by Bibi Belford

Canned and Crushed

Copyright 2017 by Barbara Belford

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are from the authors imagination or used fictitiously.

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Excerpt from STRENGTH TO LOVE by Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., reprinted by arrangement with The Heirs to the Estate of Martin Luther King Jr., c/o Writers House as agent for the proprietor New York, NY.

1957 Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. renewed 1985 Coretta Scott King

Scripture quotations marked (NIrV) are taken from the Holy Bible, New International Readers Version, NIrV Copyright 1995, 1996, 1998, 2014 by Biblica, Inc. Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved worldwide. www.zondervan.com. The NIrV and New International Readers Version are trademarks registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office by Biblica, Inc.

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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available on file.

Cover illustration by Michael Lauritano

Cover design by Sammy Yuen

Print ISBN: 978-1-5107-0800-6

Ebook ISBN: 978-1-5107-0801-3

Printed in the United States of America

Dedicated to Eugene Williams

March 10, 1902July 27, 1919

Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.

Martin Luther King, Jr.

Chapter One

M Y DA S UNIFORM HANGS IN the closet, squeezed in between scratchy wool coats and my mas ratty fur. He went straight to the hospital after the Great War. Never came home. When I press my nose to his brown jacket, I cant smell him anymore. Only mothballs. And aint that just like life. Stinking stuff that overshadows all the good in the world.

When the Great War ended, people were happy. At first. But now things are going belly-up. Maybe all over the country, but Chicago, for sure, is in a fine kettle of fish.

The gangsters are shooting up the streets. Thugs like Diamond Jim Colosimo and his wifes nephew, Papa Johnny Torrio, are getting away with murder. The police who shoulda been taking them down are running the numbers for the lawmakers, who are inviting the thugs to join their clubs and bring in votes.

President Wilson is off in France writing a peace treaty. The influenza epidemic is taking its toll on families already burdened with their soldier sons dying in the war, and every day trains full of migrating black Southerners are pulling into Chicago Central Station.

My friend Timmys da come back from the war. Ready to roll up his sleeves and get back to work. But his job is gone. Given away to those Southerners.

Timmys da is looking for a new job, but its hard, Timmy tells me. His das old boss at the steel mill aint got nothing for him. So me and Timmy keep shining shoes at Central Station. Shining shoes for pennies that buy bread and sausage.

I feel safe and warm in the cave of coats, next to my das uniform. Then the closet door opens and the light floods in on me. Billy, Ma says to get ready for church. Its my sister Mary. Big Bossy, I call her. Get out of the way, she orders as she pulls out her coat.

I aint goin. I step out from between my das uniform and my mas fur. Out from the warm closet and into the chilly front room.

William Jarlath McDermott, for the love of God, you best get your church clothes on and help your sisters with their coats. My ma marches past me and down the hall. When Ma means business, she uses my christened name. And she means business right now.

The thing is, what good did church do for my da? And all that praying we did for him? Hes still sitting in that hospital, and he dont remember who he is. Shell shock, they call it. Almost a year and all those candles Ma lights aint done him no good.

Can we go see Da at the hospital? my sister, Anna, asks while I button her coat.

Ma bustles into the room. Not today. Tie those shoes up. We used to visit Da every Sunday, but during the two months after Christmas weve slacked off. The walk is cold and the trolley costs money.

Da doesnt know us anymore. But the doctor says his memory might improve with time. I sure hope it does. He should know I aint a little shaver anymore. He should know Im the man of the house now.

Sometimes I think hes faking it. Just being lazy so he dont have to go back to work. So he dont have to come home with the blood under his fingernails. The blood from the butchering they done at the packinghouse.

The worst part of me wishes hed died in the war and been a hero. Im ashamed about that part. Timmy never says it, but I know what people think. Shell shock means my da is yellow, not man enough to be strong and fight the war memories. Not man enough like Timmys da, who come back from the war more fighting mean than when he left. Not man enough to work so his wife can raise the family. Not man enough to be looking for a job, even.

When I grow up, Ill be man enough to be a soldier that dont get shell shock. Ill save my unit, maybe my whole company, and still come back to take care of my family.

On the way to church we walk past a group of high school boys, hanging around on the street. People call them the Hamburgs. Theyre all joined up in an athletic club.

One of them tips his cap to me. Its Mickey. I seen him before.

Dont you be thinking the likes of them is something, Billy, my ma hisses and shoos us along faster. Theyre trouble. You stay away.

Da never had no good words for them Hamburgs, neither. Too big for their britches, he used to say. Looking for trouble.

But I dont know. Last time Ma sent me to the meat market, Mr. ODoulle only give me two puny slices for my pennies. Mickey grabbed my arm on the way out the store and stuck a foot-long, four-inch-round beef stick into the crook of my elbow. Then he run off with his gang.

Course, I never told Ma where the meat come from. They prolly pinched it, what with me busy at the counter with Mr. ODoulle. I wasnt born yesterday. But still, it was grand they give it to me, wasnt it? They sure aint no cowards, those Hamburgs.

We round the corner and I see our parish, Nativity of Our Lord, right across from where Ma gets her spices and stamps. I look up and up and up, just like always, until I see the tiny windows in the little dome under the cross. Someday I aim to find the stairs to those windows and have me a look-see.

Mary gives my back a shove and we all troop up the steps. Timmy waits for me in the back of the church.

Is it okay, Ma? I ask.

She nods and pushes my sisters ahead of her to the front. She keeps flipping her head round to see we dont sit in the last row. Course, we dont want to sit in that row, anyway. We got to be closer to the front to heckle our friends, Connor and Kevin, the altar boys for today.