Page 57 of In These Hills

Laughter rippled through the room as she motioned for them to be seated.

“I deeply appreciate the pastor’s kind introduction and the opportunity to be with you today. I was recently asked by a Southern white woman—an enthusiastic worker for votes for white women— What can the Negro woman do with the ballot?” She paused. “And I answered her with a question of my own: What can she do without it?”

Josephine’s breath caught.

“When the ballot is placed in the hands of the American woman, the world is going to get a correct estimate of the power of the Negro woman. It will find her a tower of strength of which poets have never sung, orators have never spoken, and scholars have never written.”

A chorus of “Amen!” and “That’s right!” rose around Josephine as emotion blurred her vision.

“The ballot, wisely used, my brothers and sisters, will bring to her the respect and protection that she needs. It is her weapon of moral defense. Under present conditions, when she appears in court in defense of her virtue, she is looked upon with amused contempt. She needs the ballot to reckon with men who place no value upon her virtue, and to mold healthy public sentiment in favor of her own protection!”

The words washed over Josephine like water on parched ground.

“You may be asking yourself, Well, Miss Burroughs, what does the ballot for women have to do with Galatians chapter six, verse seven?” She leaned forward, hands braced on the pulpit. “This is a Scripture the Lord has not merely written on my heart, but has engraved on it. Be not deceived; God is not mocked: for whatsoever a man—or woman—soweth, that shall he—or she—also reap. What we do with our lives matters. Not only for us, but for generations to come. The seeds we sow will one day manifest themselves in either a harvest of righteousness or a crop of weeds. Which shall it be? This is not a rhetorical question. No, it is a question we must ask ourselves every day, and every day we must answer it with honesty and clarity.”

Josephine leaned closer to Calla. “Who is this woman?”

“Someone I knew you’d want to hear,” Calla whispered, her eyes bright with knowing.

“We must stop calling this land ‘Christian’ and the government thereof a democracy,” Miss Burroughs continued. “The fact is, brotherhood and fellowship among coloreds and whites are not the practice in most American churches. Although I am overjoyed to find it is the practice here in Lynchburg, at least at this fine church. You may be a town far from the rest of the world, and a little difficult to find—”

More laughter followed. Curious, Josephine glanced back at Dodge Coburn, seated at the far end of a pew. His focus was fixed on the pulpit, his expression rigid. She looked for Bethie beside him, but the girl wasn’t there.

“—but you are far ahead of this nation in that regard. And I thank God for you.”

As Miss Burroughs spoke with boldness and clarity, Josephine found herself leaning forward, wanting more.

“Finally, in closing, my dear brothers and sisters . . .” Miss Burroughs patiently looked around the room, her gaze passing over Josephine before briefly moving back. “Let us go forth in power with the biblical—and scientific—truth that God hath made of one blood all races of men to dwell on the face of the earth. The New Testament reaffirms this fact when Jesus declared, One is your master, even Christ; and all ye are brethren.

“America could practice these teachings of Jesus Christ in human relations and brotherhood; justice and goodwill could be applied in education, labor, civil rights and religion without making the white race any blacker or the black race any whiter. As Booker T. Washington, one of the wisest men of this generation, would say it, The races can be one as the hand, and as separate as the fingers thereon. So let us lock arms together—black and white, men and women—and move forward boldly in the Kingdom of our Lord Jesus Christ for his glory, and his alone. May God bless you all and give you boldness as you walk in his will.”

The congregation rose in applause, or most did, and none more enthusiastically than Josephine, her heart ablaze. The few people who didn’t, sat quietly, staring ahead. Dodge Coburn was standing, at least, but his applause was anemic, and Josephine could well imagine what was going through his mind and how he felt about the sermon.

“Sorry I didn’t tell you before,” Calla whispered, bringing Josephine’s attention back. “About her speaking today.”

Josephine stared.

“Your pillowcase needed washing a couple of days ago so I grabbed the sheets off your cot, too, and—” Calla’s voice lowered to a whisper. “That’s when your voting sash slipped from beneath the mattress. I figured you wanted that kept quiet.”

“So that’s why you wanted me to come with you today.”

Calla smiled. “That, and I’ve taken a liking to your company.”

Josephine gently squeezed her arm. “I’ve taken a liking to yours, too.”

After the benediction, the pastor dismissed the congregation, and Josephine looked toward the pulpit, hoping for a chance to meet Miss Burroughs.

“Auntie Calla! Let me hug your neck!”

To Josephine’s surprise, Miss Burroughs slipped up behind them and wrapped her arms around Calla. The two embraced warmly, both talking at once.

Calla looked over. “Mrs. Josephine Dunham, I’d like to introduce Miss Nannie Helen Burroughs, my dear friend’s daughter who is setting the world on fire! Nannie, Mrs. Dunham here is visiting Lynchburg for a while.”

“Miss Burroughs, it was an absolute pleasure listening to you this morning. It’s hard to find the words to tell you what your message meant to me.”

Miss Burroughs’s smile turned conspiratorial. “Then I suspect we are kindred spirits, Mrs. Dunham. And call me Nannie, please.”

“Indeed, we are . . . Nannie. And it’s Josephine, if you would.”