Read Celeste's Harlem Renaissance for Free Online

hands touching one another’s shoulders. “We pledge to be beautiful and pure in spirit, thought, word, and deed,” we said together. We lifted and lowered our arms like we were fluttering our wings. “Moment by moment, hour by hour, day by day, week by week, month by month, year by year, decade by decade, score by score. This is our solemn promise one and all.”
    I tried to think about how I should be excited, going to the Big Apple. I didn’t feel excited. Just scared.
    When I reached home, I saw Momma’s sweetgrass basket sitting on the sideboard in the parlor. Aunt Society was in her wheelchair, her head bent over a bundle of white muslin, sewing furiously. She wore her red-and-white-checkered apron dress. Poppa stood with his valise in his hands, biting his lip.
    I grew cold inside. “What’s going on?”
    “Mr. Smithfield found tickets,” Poppa said. He tried to smile at me. “You have to leave this afternoon. It’s time.”
    He pointed to the basket. “Mrs. Smithfield fixed your food. Check your valise to make sure your aunt’s packed what you want. We’ll try and send more later.”
    Leaving now? I hadn’t even said good-bye to everybody! Numb, I opened the valise. I found our family picture and my Bible. Most of the clothes I’d set out were missing. That ole bat had packed heavy, long woolen stockings and underwear, and heavy sweaters. Was New York chilly all year? I wore my only pair of shoes. When I glanced around at Aunt Society, she dropped her eyes and wouldn’t look back. She wanted me to look as dull as she looked when she stood by Aunt Valentina.
    In the kitchen I wrapped echinacea leaves, sassafras bark, goldenseal root powder, and other herbs in scraps of brown paper. I didn’t know what kind of medicine Aunt Valentina might have, so I figured I should be prepared. I hardly ever got sick, but I sure didn’t want to in New York. I carried the herbs back to the parlor and tucked them in my schoolbag.
    New York! This couldn’t be real! My heart pounded with excitement and fear.
    Just then I heard Mr. Bivens’s bell outside. “Come along, Celeste.” Aunt Society finally spoke. “Don’t make Mr. Bivens wait.”
    Wringing my hands, I rushed into my room. I pulled my journal from under my mattress — where it had been safe from the ole bat’s nose — picked up my one precious
Brownies’ Book
magazine, and hid my journal in it. I strapped my only belt around my violin case so I could carry it more easily. My China-head doll? My parasol? The embroidered picture of the fishermen? All too big for the valise. Momma’s shawl? No, Poppa might need it. Handkerchiefs! My dresses!
    “Celeste!”
    “Good-bye, room,” I whispered. I carried my things into the front room and packed everything into the valise except for my violin. My heart twisted when I looked at Poppa. He rested his hand on my shoulder, then picked up the valise.
    “Say good-bye to your aunt,” he said. I dragged myself over to her and kissed her stiffly on her wrinkled cheek.
    “God be with you till we meet again,” she said. Her nose was unusually red. “You behave, stay out of the hot sun, and don’t take on any of — her — sinful ways.”
    “Yes, ma’am,” I said. When she dabbed at her eyes, my tears spilled out. I’d even miss her, I realized. She followed us out to the wagon, and handed Mr. Bivens my lunch basket. Poppa and I climbed into the wagon. When Mr. Bivens clucked, ole Lissa slowly drove us away. I looked around and waved at my aunt. She waved once, then returned to the porch.
    I had a million things to say to Poppa, but I couldn’t put anything into words. We silently leaned against each other until I saw the train station come into sight. “You’ll be all right with Aunt Valentina,” Poppa said. Then he burst out, “I wish she could have come down here, but she couldn’t. I don’t like you being so far off, but it can’t be helped.”
    I lowered my head. Tears fell onto my clenched