The door knocker landed with a heavy thud as Della let it fall for the third time. No answer. Leaving her suitcase on Aunt Marie’s front porch, she strolled to a little gate on the side of the house, reached over it and undid the latch. A stone-paved path ran into the back yard, and she followed it to a covered porch with pots of red and pink geraniums hanging from its eaves. She went to the back door and banged on it.
“Aunt Marie, are you here?” she called. “Aunt Marie, can you hear me? Aunt Marie!” Again she knocked and shouted as loudly as she could, but no one answered. Going back to the front, she banged her fist on the door and dropped the knocker several times.
“I’ll sit here and wait awhile. She’s probably visiting,” she muttered. The smell of wieners and hamburgers grilling in the back yard of a house across the street wakened hunger pangs. Down the street a fire cracker hissed as it soared into the dusky sky with an explosion of light.
A fireworks show? She picked up her suitcase and walked toward the falling stars. About fifty people gathered in an empty lot behind a small church building, and she approached them slowly. She stopped. She didn’t know these people. No one had invited her.
A young Negro man ran toward her. “Hey, who are you?” He looked at the suitcase in her hand. “What you doing here?”
“Just lookin’, that’s all. I’m leavin’ now.”
“Leaving? No, you’re not leaving.” A matronly Negro woman took her by the arm. “You just come on over here and join us. Let’s get you a hot dog and a drink.” She turned to the young man. “Danny, you stash this lady’s suitcase while she eats. What’d you say your name is, dear?”
“Della.”
“I’m Bess Huston, but everyone calls me Sister Bess. Where you from, Della?”
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