Slick Jones stepped from the side hall carrying his tenor sax in one hand and alto in the other. He took his place near Meadowlark and waved the tenor sax in the air. Setting the alto down, he placed the tenor sax to his lips and blew out some jazz. The crowd cheered. Slick set down his tenor, lifted his alto sax, and played an impressive trill. Then, laying the horns down, he went to the set of drums and began a series of snappy, bright, crack sounds on the snares, then beat the bass drum with a slappy, thuddy thumpadumpa. He pushed the pedal on his high hats, which clinked together in a tight, tinny sound. Continuing the beat established on the cymbals, he used his oak percussion mallets, unleashing a series of rhythms that soon had everyone clapping. Maizie waited behind the stage for her introduction, finding it difficult not to move to Slick’s rhythms.
Peeking through the curtains from backstage, Maizie saw a white woman in a simple belted green dress enter the fellowship hall. She was alone and walked with a sense of purpose. She found the last available seat near the front and sat down between two colored men. She drew some mild attention to herself, but those seated in front of her and behind quickly resumed watching Slick. She removed a folded handbill from her pocket and looked at it one more time, tracing something on the page with her index finger. She sat calmly in her chair, straight-backed with ankles crossed, and slowly looked up from her handbill.
Maizie saw Meadowlark return to the mic. This was her cue to step forward onto the stage, nodding hello to Meadow and Slick as she took her place. Meadow whispered into Maizie’s ear. She looked at him and nodded as he approached the mic. Again she looked at the woman sitting in the front, the woman’s eyes locked with Maizie’s, and she smiled and waved. Who is she? Maizie thought to herself.
“Please welcome a native of Vicksburg, brothers and sisters, Miss Maizie Freedman.”
The audience clapped politely as Maizie walked to the mic, touching a fabric rose in her hair as the crowd waited. She smiled briefly at both Meadowlark and Slick. Turning toward the audience she looked out into the hall and connected to every section, back and front, left and right and for reasons she did not understand, nodded at the white woman in the green dress sitting on the edge of her chair, the handbill still clutched in her hand.
“My name is Maizie Sunday Freedman.” The white woman sat even straighter in her chair. “I do believe I was born here near a church in Vicksburg. That’s what my mama told me.” That was all Maizie said. She looked at Meadowlark apologetically, but she could say no more. Her emotions were surfacing, she could feel her throat tightening. Meadowlark noticed and stepped to Maizie’s side. “We’re going to play our best for you. You ready?” he yelled. The crowd sent back a resounding roar and the concert began. “Just do your best. Knock ’em out, Maizie,” Meadow said.
The final program, as expected, was the best of the three. The large crowd, standing room only, was emotionally engaged with each song. From the delta blues favorite “Mama Don’t Allow No Easy Riders Here” to Maizie’s interpretation of “I Got a Right to Sing the Blues,” the musicians connected with the crowd. Slick’s antics with his saxophones were great entertainment, and the fast and furious “Rock Island Line” nearly brought the house down.
Then it was time for Maizie and Meadowlark to sing “Up a Lazy River.” Before they began Meadowlark said, “You got something you’d like to say about this song, Maizie?”
Maizie looked out into the audience and could sense they were waiting for her to speak. “I think about my mama when I sing this song. Up a river is how she left Vicksburg, we think. It’s nice to think about the two of us walking up a lazy river under blue skies. I’m not sure that was the way it was, but like I said, it’s nice to think about.” And then they sang together, Meadowlark and Maizie, pathos in every note.
The white woman near the front watched Maizie’s every move and listened intently to every note. Tears fell from her eyes.
During the final number, the spiritual “Joshua Fit de Battle of Jericho,” the concert goers jumped to their feet and sang along, clapping rhythmically. At the conclusion a loud cheer went up in the hall. Meadowlark, Slick, and Maizie all took their turns bowing as the now standing ovation continued.
The white woman, smiling broadly, waited near the front of the hall as the crowd filed out the door. When the crowd had gone and all the fans offering praise to the performers had dissipated, the woman in the green dress came forward. She stopped just in front of Maizie. She took a long, slow look into Maizie’s distinctive blue eyes. “Maizie Freedman, I’m Millie Camden. Your mama was my best friend.”
Chapter 90
A Troubling Tale
"She was?” asked Maizie. “I mean, what makes you think that?” The tone and volume of Maizie’s voice alarmed Sugar, and she stepped toward Maizie.
The woman in the green dress responded, “Vicksburg ain’t that big a place. I know you’re Caroline’s child. I know it ’cause of your last name, your looks, and the fact you was born near a church.” Millie Camden’s smile turned into a solemn, tight line, but her eyes exuded warmth and caring.
“Caroline,” Maizie said quietly.
“Only first name I know she had.”
“I called her Mama, of course, but yes, Caroline was her name. She told me that.”
“Why, it is so good to meet you. What is Caroline
