Free Feathers by Jacqueline Woodson

the snow coming down. And it made me think about you.”
    “The snow?”
    “Not the snow,” I said. “The feeling. It felt holy. All peaceful and quiet. All promising. It made me think that must be what you feel when you stand in the school yard reading your Bible or sit in your daddy’s church listening to him promise the whole congregation . . . something . . . something better coming along.”
    “Yeah,” Samantha said. “When I’m sitting there, it’s like there’s not anything else in the whole world. Just me and God and heaven. You remember that time you came to my house and we were having corn bread and greens and you asked where the chicken was?”
    I nodded. Then I said, “Yes.” I’d been so embarrassed when I left Samantha’s house that day. There wasn’t any chicken because there hadn’t been any money for chicken. But I didn’t know that until I got home and Mama explained.
    “When I go to church, it’s like there’s always some chicken there, you know. Or steak or roast beef or pork chops or fried fish. It’s like there’s always something there to go with the greens and the corn bread.”
    I had gone to school the next day and apologized to Samantha, but she’d just said, Forget about it, there’ll be chicken on Friday when my mama gets paid. You could come for dinner then if you want to. And that next Friday I went to her house and ate her mama’s baked chicken and we’d never talked about it again. Until now.
    “If you want me to go to church with you, Samantha, I’ll go,” I said, sorry I’d gotten so mad with her.
    “Can you come to church with me, Frannie?” Samantha asked, her voice so soft it was hard to hear. “Just ’cause I want you to.”
    I let out a breath. “Yeah,” I said. “I guess so.”
     
     
    Samantha’s father’s church sat between a Laundromat and a diner. And just like the diner and the Laundromat, his church was a storefront. ONEPEOPLE was written on the big glass window and under that it said REVEREND JOSEPH H. BROWN in gold letters. Before it became a church, OnePeople had been a candy store and hanging above the window was a rusty sign that said DRINK NEHI.
    As we drove to OnePeople, Samantha’s father talked on and on about how the church was growing.
    “God has his hand on my arm,” he said, smiling while Samantha’s mother nodded. “He’s leading me to a bigger church, a better place.”
    “Amen,” Samantha’s mother said softly.
    I stared out the window, watching the snow coming down. Mama had combed my hair for me so, underneath my hat, I had four cornrows going from front to back. When she’d finished, she’d held my face in her hands and kissed my forehead. “Glad Samantha can get you to church, because Lord knows we can’t,” she said. Then in the same breath she said, “Is she making you go? Because you know you don’t have to.”
    “I know. I want to.”
    Mama stared into my face. After a minute had passed she said, “When I go to church, I come out feeling good—like there’s some reasons to keep on going.”
    “But I thought me and Sean and Daddy are the reasons you keep on going.”
    She thought for a moment. “You are, boo. But it’s more than that. I feel . . . I feel hopeful. Church makes me remember that tomorrow’s always going to be just a little bit better than today.”
    I nodded.
    “So that’s why I go. And that’s why I ask you and Sean to go sometimes. But I don’t know why you want to go today. With Samantha. You know I don’t like her daddy’s church.”
    Mama stroked my hair. Her hand felt good.
    I wanted to say, Because Samantha saw the real Jesus in the Jesus Boy and maybe I wanted to see that too. I wanted to tell Mama that Samantha always seemed to be walking around all hopeful and sure of the something better coming. I wanted to tell Mama about the boy’s eyes, how they took in every single thing and didn’t change.
    “Because Samantha asked me to,” I said. I pulled my coat on and