it into a snowball. “Sharon’s right,” she said. “You don’t have to have your own house to be part of the community. You still belong.”
Val was silent as they walked the rest of the way to Big Momma and Poppa’s house. Melody tossed the snowball from one hand to the other.
As they climbed the snowy steps to the front door, Val said, “I’m in the church choir with you already. I heard some kids talking about a drama club at my school. Maybe I could be part of that. I kind of like that stuff.”
“Like plays and musicals?” Melody was excited for her cousin. “Go for it!”
Val smiled. “I think I will. And I’ll keep hoping for my bubble-gum-pink bedroom, too.”
Melody laughed. “Good,” she said brightly, tossing her snowball into the front yard. “Now, don’t you hope Big Momma has some of those oatmeal raisin cookies left?”
The Block Club
Once a month, several families from the neighborhood got together. The kids played games while their parents talked about what was going on in Detroit and in their community.
“How many chairs do you need, Mom?” Dwayne asked, brushing dust off his pants.
“Four should be enough, with the dining room chairs,” their mother said, plumping up the sofa cushions.
Melody stopped stacking Daddy’s newspapers for a moment and looked at her brother, remembering last summer, when he had worked at the auto factory after graduating from high school. He’d come home from his shift dirty then, too. Now he was almost always neat and clean and had a fresh haircut. She giggled.
“What?” Dwayne smiled.
“Nothing. It’s just so great that you’re at home for a while,” she said.
“Home?” Lila shook her dusting rag in Dwayne’s direction. “He’s never at home. He’s always over at Motown, acting like singing is real work.”
“Sure it is! We don’t just sing. We have classes on how to dress up, how to talk if we get interviewed by reporters, even how to eat in a fancy restaurant. And…” Dwayne spun in one of the new moves that he’d learned. “We get dance lessons from a real choreographer.”
Mommy was nodding her approval. “Mr. Berry Gordy must care a lot about how his performers behave,” she said.
“Yes, he does,” Dwayne said.
Lila shrugged and kept dusting.
Dwayne snapped his fingers in her direction. “If you feel like that, Lila, I guess you don’t want an invite to see Hitsville U.S.A. up close, and get a tour of the Motown studio, huh?”
Lila froze. “Wh-what?”
“I do! I do!” Melody shouted.
“So do I,” Mommy said.
“I’ll see what I can do,” Dwayne answered. Melody thought he sounded very important.
Dwayne looked at his watch. “Speaking of the studio, I gotta run. The Three Ravens are doing backup for a new singer. Bye!”
Melody’s mother had a funny look on her face as Dwayne pecked her on the cheek and rushed away. After he left, Mommy shook her head. “I do wish Dwayne were going to college,” she said, almost to herself. “Still, he’s turning into quite a young man.”
“Does Daddy think so?” Lila asked.
Melody was wondering the same thing.
“Your father is proud of all of you,” Mommy said firmly. “Let’s get the sandwiches made. People will start showing up in less than an hour!”
They were all heading to the kitchen when the doorbell rang. “I’ll get it,” Melody said, wondering who was arriving so early.
“Miss Esther!” Melody said when she opened the door. “Come in.”
“I know I’m early for the meeting,” Miss Esther said, tapping her way into the living room with her cane. “But I have something for you.”
Melody took Miss Esther’s coat and hat. The scent of gardenias from Miss Esther’s perfume filled the air. It reminded Melody of summer. “Please sit down,” Melody said, using her best company manners. But Miss Esther didn’t really feel like company. She felt like family.
“I’m so sorry I missed your birthday celebration,” Miss Esther said. She sat on the sofa with her big brown purse upright on her lap. “So tonight I came before the others to give you a belated gift.” She opened the purse with a loud snap, and took out two small burlap pouches that were no larger than Melody’s hands. One had a red drawstring cord, the other a green one.
“Thank you,” Melody said, sitting down on the sofa. She peeked inside the red-corded pouch. “Seeds!” She smiled up at Miss Esther. “What kind are they?”
“Those are hollyhocks, and they’re very special. They’re called ‘heirlooms.’ They grow from seeds that are collected from plants every year and passed on from generation to generation.”
Melody’s face lit up. Poppa had taught her about heirloom plants. He’d taken her many times to the botanical gardens at Belle Isle Park. He said some of the plants came from seeds that were a hundred years old. “My grandfather calls heirloom plants ‘great-great-grandflowers,’” Melody said.
“Is that right?” Miss Esther laughed.
“Oh, I can’t wait to plant these,” Melody said.
“They’ll grow almost as tall as you are,” Miss Esther said. “I brought them up from my mother’s garden in Alabama when I first came to Detroit as a young woman. I had a big, beautiful garden at my first home here in the city. Now I don’t have the space—or the energy—for one.”
Melody wanted to ask lots of questions, like where in Alabama Miss Esther came from, and what kind of garden she had, and what her other Detroit house had looked like. But before she could say anything, Miss Esther pointed to the other pouch.
“That’s a type of bean. It’s called Good Mother Stallard.”
Melody laughed. “That’s a funny name for a bean! Is it an heirloom, too?” She poured a few of the seeds into her palm to look at them more closely.
“Yes, it is.” Miss Esther sat back and smiled. “Did you know that planting is one of the traditions we keep from some of our African ancestors? Thousands of years ago they were growing beans—and okra and squash, and yams.”
“Yams came from Africa?” Melody thought of the yams Big Momma baked at Thanksgiving. “No, ma’am. I didn’t know,” Melody said, admiring the pretty maroon-and-white beans. Was it her imagination that they seemed to tingle in her hand?
“Well, gardening is a very good thing to carry on. I knew I’d picked the right young person to hand these heirlooms down to. We can talk more about how and where to plant them another time, all right?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Melody said, putting the seeds back in the pouch. Miss Esther’s confidence in her made Melody feel special. It reminded her of the conversation with Yvonne on New Year’s Eve when Yvonne had said that Melody was a responsible person.
Right then Melody’s mother came out of the kitchen holding a plate