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“Cela, honey, we’d like to help, but not like this,” said another woman from the end of the table. She was older than the others, with a broad face and a bosom to match. “You know what they would do to us if we were caught helping with this crazy plan of yours, don’t you? More than a hundred people—our own people—were murdered last year in cold blood for doing nothing but trying to live. We’re barely through May, and this year’s numbers look every bit as bad. This here city is still simmering with unsettled anger from what happened less than two years ago after that plainclothes officer got himself killed.”
“Because we aren’t even allowed to protect our own women when a white man attacks them,” Aaron added.
The woman nodded in agreement. “You know what we lost during those days.” She pursed her narrow mouth. “Can you really ask us to risk starting all that up again?”
Cela kept her tone even, her gaze steady. “Hattie, I know exactly what we lost,” she told the other woman, emphasizing the word in a way that made it seem almost personal, and Viola couldn’t help but wonder what Cela and Abel had lost.
“Then you should know better to start trouble where there wasn’t none before,” the older woman told her, sitting back in her chair with her arms crossed, like the point was irrefutable.
Viola remembered the unrest two years before. A plainclothes police officer had been killed, and his death had started a chain reaction of violence. The trouble had been mostly kept to the Tenderloin, though, because the police’s violence had been focused on the colored people who lived there. It hadn’t really touched the Bowery, and it certainly hadn’t touched her. And anyway, Viola’d had her own troubles at the time.
Cela’s brother, Abel, had been listening quietly to the conversation without saying much, but he spoke now. “I can’t ask any of you to step up and put your lives at risk for a cause you don’t believe in,” he said quietly. “But for better or worse, Cela and I are committed. If you aren’t, I’ll understand, and we won’t hold that decision against you one bit. But if you don’t want to be involved, I think it’s best if you go now.”
Uneasy silence descended over the room as Abel’s friends suddenly seemed unwilling to look at one another. Aaron and his wife were the first to stand and go, taking their leave without apology or explanation. Three others followed, until it was only Cela, her brother, and Joshua. A moment later, though, Joshua stood as well, his cap in his hands.
“I’m sorry, Abel. I’d like to help, but…” He didn’t finish. Simply turned and left with the rest.
The three of them seemed stuck in the silence, until the sound of a carriage pulling up broke through their stunned disappointment.
“That’ll be Theo,” Viola murmured as the reality of what they’d failed to accomplish struck her. They would be alone against the Order, and they weren’t ready.
Cela went to let Theo in, and when she returned with him, he looked more troubled than usual. “Tell me you have good news,” he said.
“I’m afraid not,” Abel told him. There was still a bit of tension there between the two, Viola noticed. Abel held himself a little straighter, kept his voice a little more formal when Theo was around. He clearly hadn’t forgotten the first time they’d met, on the corner in the Bowery, even with Theo’s willingness to act as their spy.
“They’re all cowards,” Cela said. Her voice seemed to echo in the now-empty room. “Every one of them.”
Abel sighed and looked at his sister. “They’re not cowards, Cela, and you know it. Those are some of the bravest men I know, but I can’t blame them one bit for not wanting to put their necks on the line for this,” he told her. “And you shouldn’t either.”
“Of course I should,” Cela started, but Jianyu placed his hand on her knee to steady her.
“Why?” Abel asked, his brows raised. “What exactly has any Mageus ever done for us except get you wrapped up in their messes?”
“We are grateful for your help,” Jianyu said. “We understand that your friends have lives to protect.”
Abel nodded, looking even more exhausted. “They’re good people,” he told Jianyu. “I think they wanted to help, but Negroes all across this country have a hard enough time these days without inviting more trouble.”
“As though they’re the only ones who suffer,” Viola huffed, her words coming before she could think better of it. Once they were spoken, she felt immediately shocked that she had said them at all. They were words she had heard a hundred times before—her mother’s words and her brother’s. They were her family’s sentiments, but they’d surprised her by coming from her own mouth.
“Viola—” Jianyu’s voice was a warning now.
She felt every pair of eyes in the room upon her, especially Cela’s and Abel’s. Their understanding—their judgment of her—was clear. More, she knew it was deserved.
“I didn’t mean—” But Viola wasn’t sure that there was anything she could possibly say to retract the words. She had meant them, even after all the Johnsons had done for her and for Jianyu, and suddenly her cheeks felt warm with that knowledge. Irritation and shame all mixed together.
“Oh, I think we all know exactly what you meant,” Cela said, sounding even cooler than before.
“Cela…” Abel looked even more tired now.
“Don’t Cela me, Abel Johnson,” Cela said. “You put your reputation on the line to ask for help. The least this one here could do is be a little grateful for it.”
“We are grateful,” Jianyu said, stepping in before Viola could respond. He cut Viola a quelling look. “It does not stop our disappointment, though.”
Abel leaned back into his chair, as though he was too exhausted to stay upright any longer. “You have to understand their perspective.… What happens if this goes badly? Who pays the price?”
“It’s not a risk any of us takes lightly,” Jianyu acknowledged.
“But we don’t all take that risk equally,” Abel reminded him. “The Order will come for all of us if we fail, yes, but Hattie wasn’t wrong when she spoke of the lynchings.”
