One Fine Voice
All her life, Esther Hopkins has been told she has a mighty fine voice.
Still, she can't believe her luck when just days after moving to town, she's invited to sing a solo at the 1923 Independence Day picnic.
But the group sponsoring the picnic is not the benevolent fraternal order they claim to be. Worse, they've recruited her father, the town's freshly ordained Baptist minister, to become their chaplain.
When they target the immigrant family of her new best friend, Esther must risk her father's anger, the KKK's revenge, and her family's safety to follow her conscience, salvage her friendship, and find the strength to speak truth to power even if it costs all she holds dear.
Excerpt
Chapter 18
In the distance something moved. I couldn’t make it out, but by its height I knew it was a person. Along the sidewalk, now crossing toward the park. I held my breath. The figure grew closer then stopped near the benches. I couldn’t see the face, but I had to risk it. “Over here,” I whispered.
She walked toward the sound of my voice. I reached out to touch her shoulder. “Someone saw us the other night. The man in front of the office was Dr. Arnell. Did he tell your family?” I asked.
She shook her head. “No, he wouldn’t risk his Protestant soul being seen at the house of a Catholic.” She laughed. “Probably afraid we’d try to convert him and make him pray to a saint or something.”
“What about you?” I asked. “Did you get home before your family noticed you were gone?”
“It all worked out. Mama and my grandparents went to her friend’s house to celebrate afterward.”
That was a relief. Like I’d figured, Dr. Arnell wouldn’t be caught dead at Lombardi’s Feed, even to tell on Mrs. Lombardi’s daughter. “Listen,” I said. “I’m in serious trouble. I can’t see you until school starts. Punishment for sneaking out that night.”
Anne-Marie sucked in her breath. “I didn’t mean to get you in any trouble.”
“It’s okay. I just didn’t want you thinking for the rest of summer I wasn’t your friend anymore.” I paused. “Maybe by September it’ll all blow over. That okay? Still friends?”
In the dark I saw her head bob up and down. “Always friends. I didn’t think you’d come, new girl. Thought you’d be like all the others.”
I winced, hoping she couldn’t see me in the dark. “I have to tell you something,” I said.
A pair of headlights turned onto the town square. I pulled Anne-Marie against the cover of the tree. The truck rounded the town square slowly, its headlights sweeping along the street before turning back the way it came.
“That truck just about scared me to death,” Anne-Marie squeezed my hand. “We better get going.”
“Wait. I gotta be honest with you.” Talking to her about it was easier in the dark since I couldn’t see the disappointment I knew my words would bring. “I tried to get out of that singing, but I have to do it. Not because I want to.” I kicked the grass with my toe. “Because my father and Mr. Westin are going to have it in for me if I don’t. Please don’t be mad at me.”
Anne-Marie’s silence was shattered by a distant noise. Voices whooping and hollering. The volume growing louder, closer, angrier, coming at us. “Run!” she screamed and pushed me away.
She ran toward the feed store, disappearing from view, swallowed in the darkness. I sprinted across the street, my foot hitting the sidewalk pavement just as the headlights swept around the corner, barreling toward me. I dove behind the wooden Indian standing guard at Holland’s store. Peeking from behind the shelter of his carved arm, I saw the back of the pickup was now filled with white-hooded men. Angry and agitated, their hate-filled slurs and obscenities slashed the night’s once gentle slumber.
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Rebecca Langston-George
