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We shuffled along, following behind Hiram in his pine box, out the narrow front door. The choir took up an old hymn.
I sing because I’m happy.
I sing because I’m free.
For His eye is on the sparrow
And I know He watches me.
And I know He watches me.
Chapter 64
A BLINDING LIGHT CAME. Then another bright flash.
We were leaving the church, just making our way down the rickety steps.
Another stunning flash of light came.
At first I thought it was lightning, then I realized lightning doesn’t come from a clear blue sky. I blinked, trying to regain my power of sight, and then saw what was causing it: Scooter Willems and his camera, with its flash-powder apparatus.
Beside him were three large men I did not recognize, white men with twisted smiles on their faces, guns at their sides.
Moody left the line of mourners and marched straight over to Willems, right up to him.
“Show some respect,” she said to him. “This is my brother’s funeral.”
“Sorry, Moody,” Scooter said, almost pleasantly. “I thought you might want a photograph for your memory book.”
“I don’t need no photograph to remember this,” she said. “I’ll remember it fine.”
The pallbearers were sturdy young men about the same age as Hiram. They slid Hiram’s coffin onto the back of a buck-board. I made my way over to where Moody was glaring at Scooter and his bodyguards.
Scooter turned to me. “Moody’s all het up because I wanted to take a memorial photograph of the funeral.”
“Too bad you didn’t take a memorial photograph of the lynching,” Moody said. She turned on her heel and fell in step with the other mourners behind the wagon.
“Leave her alone, Scooter,” I said.
Scooter frowned. “Like I said, I just wanted to commemorate the event.”
I turned to leave, but Scooter wasn’t quite finished talking.
“Hey, Ben, how’s about I take one of you against this ocean of colored folks.”
I spun around at him. “Put your damn camera away. Go back to Eudora, where you belong. Leave these folks alone.”
I noticed two little black boys listening to our conversation. As I turned to leave, Scooter spoke to them.
“Hey, little boys, I’ll give you each a nickel to let me take your picture.” He held out his hand with two nickels in it.
I pulled nickels out of my own pocket and handed one each to the boys. “Y’all run on,” I said.
They did.
And I went to join Hiram’s funeral procession.
Chapter 65
