Song of the Trees Read Free Page A

echoing their epic tales.
    But now they would sing no more. They lay forever silent upon the ground.
    Those trees that remained standing were like defeated warriors mourning their fallen dead. But soon they, too, would fall, for the white X’s had been placed on nearly every one.
    “Oh, dear, dear trees,” I cried as the gray light of the rising sun fell in ghostly shadows over the land. The tears rolled hot down my cheeks. Mama held me close, and when I felt her body tremble, I knew she was crying too.
    When our tears eased, we turned sadly toward the house. As we emerged from the forest, we could see two small figures waiting impatiently on the other side of the road. As soon as they spied us, they hurried across to meet us.
    “Mama! You and Cassie was in the forest,” Little Man accused. “Big Ma told us!”
    “How was it?” asked Christopher-John, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Was it spooky?”
    “Spooky and empty,” I said listlessly.
    “Mama, me and Christopher-John wanna see too,” Little Man declared.
    “No, baby,” Mama said softly as we crossed the road. “The men’ll be down there soon, and I don’t want y’all underfoot.”
    “But, Mama ——” Little Man started to protest.
    “When Papa comes home and the men are gone, then you can go. But until then, you stay out of there. You hear me, Little Man Logan?”
    “Yes’m,” Little Man reluctantly replied.
    But the sun had been up only an hour when Little Man decided that he could not wait for Papa to return.
    “Mama said we wasn’t to go down there,” Christopher-John warned.
    “Cassie did,” Little Man cried.
    “But she was with Mama. Wasn’t you, Cassie?”
    “Well, I’m going too,” said Little Man. “Everybody’s always going someplace ’cepting me.” And off he went.
    Christopher-John and I ran after him. Down the narrow cow path and around the pond we chased. But neitherof us was fast enough to overtake Little Man before he reached the lumbermen.
    “Hey, you kids, get away from here,” Mr. Andersen shouted when he saw us. “Now, y’all go on back home,” he said, stopping in front of Little Man.
    “We are home,” I said. “You’re the one who’s on our land.”
    “Claude,” Mr. Andersen said to one of the black lumbermen, “take these kids home.” Then he pushed Little Man out of his way. Little Man pushed back. Mr. Andersen looked down, startled that a little black boy would do such a thing. He shoved Little Man a second time, and Little Man fell into the dirt.
    Little Man looked down at his clothing covered with sawdust and dirt, and wailed, “You got my clothes dirty!”
    I rushed toward Mr. Andersen, my fist in a mighty hammer, shouting, “You ain’t got no right to push on Little Man. Why don’t you push on somebody your own size—like me, you ole ——”
    The man called Claude put his hand over my mouth and carried me away. Christopher-John trailed behind us, tugging on the man’s shirt.
    “Put her down. Hey, mister, put Cassie down.”
    The man carried me all the way to the pond. “Now,” he said, “you and your brothers get on home before y’all get hurt. Go on, get!”
    As the man walked away, I looked around. “Where’s Little Man?”
    Christopher-John looked around too.
    “I don’t know,” he said. “I thought he was behind me.”
    Back we ran toward the lumbermen.
    We found Little Man’s clothing first, folded neatly by a tree. Then we saw Little Man, dragging a huge stick, and headed straight for Mr. Andersen.
    “Little Man, come back here,” I called.
    But Little Man did not stop.
    Mr. Andersen stood alone, barking orders, unaware of the oncoming Little Man.
    “Little Man! Oh, Little Man, don’t!”
    It was too late.
    Little Man swung the stick as hard as he could against Mr. Andersen’s leg.
    Mr. Andersen let out a howl and reached to where he thought Little Man’s collar was. But, of course, Little Man had no collar.
    “Run, Man!” Christopher-John and I