The irony was clear as water to Norwood: the Negro community’s greatest liability was that it did not act as a unified community. It was a fractured, fragmented coalition of bickering interests. Like any other community, really—but as far as the MacRae crowd was concerned, it was a single-minded threat stamped only by its color.

The children were all gone now. Mrs. Jenks came toward the door of her classroom. She looked wan and dispirited—he wondered how her own people treated her. He should have paid more attention, but there were so many good people to look out for. Her arms were heavily laden with books and themes.

“Mr. Norwood—I didn’t realize you were in today.”

“Oh? I’m always in at this time of day.”

She felt uncomfortable to be caught in the middle of this business again. Bad enough that Sam was in it up to his neck. “I just meant, with all that’s going on downtown—”

“What’s going on downtown?” Suddenly, his pulse quickened.

“Look, I steer clear of politics.”

“It’s a man’s business. But tell me, please.”

“Another meeting,” she said. “One of those white supremacy carnivals.”

“Not much we can do about that. Anyhow, the election’s over.”

She pursed her lips, wondering how much of what Sam had told her was supposed to be confidential. It couldn’t possibly matter now. She wasn’t obliged to keep his secrets. “They’re presenting some list of demands or something.”

“Who’s presenting?”

“The usual crowd, I guess.” Sam hadn’t been specific.

“To whom?”

Maybe they’d deliberately left him out. “To your people.”

My people, he thought. Your people. How easily we use those terms. “Oh? And when is all this supposed to happen?”

She shrugged, shifting the weight of the books in her arms. “The meeting was this morning. I don’t know about the rest.”

He stood in front of her unintentionally blocking her exit, nodding dumbly. How could he have been so naive? He should get to a telephone and call—whom? Maybe he ought to just get downtown as fast as possible and start asking questions. But what might he be walking into? He’d seen how that Colonel could get them worked up. No need to be the first black face they saw after a session like that.

Bare feet slapped on the pinewood floor at the end of the corridor. David King ran toward them with his crippled gait. “Mr. Norwood! Mr. Norwood! You got to come quick!”

“Calm down, boy. What is it?”

“There’s been an old tomatum.”

“Ultimatum?”

“That’s right, that’s right.” His arms were windmilling, and he couldn’t keep his head still. “They meeting at Jacobs’ Barbershop right now. Mr. Jacobs say to fetch you.”

David Jacobs was also the county coroner. “Thank you, David. Run along and get a drink of water.”