Legacy of the Sacred Harp

Chapter 21. Homecoming

Legacy of the Sacred Harp 220 Chapter 21 Homecoming We left Richmond early on Saturday morning, wearily facing a long drive back to Atlanta. The road trip was like a time travel journey from the days of our nation’s beginning, through the interim years, and into the present. My mind dwelt on the significance of Sir George Yeardley’s contributions as governor of Jamestown Colony and the far-reaching consequences of his actions. The overriding message of love came from Lady Temperance. With the changing Virginia scenery, other faces came to mind, others I also knew well though we’d never met—Phil and Caroline; Reverend Dumas’ white grandmother; Grandma’s grandfather, Jeremiah Dumas; and his goldseeking brother, Davie. They appeared to be as helpless as the bye-blows Lady Temperance had assisted. Mother had warned me about digging in the past. Carine had cautioned of problems left unsolved in a lifetime. When I pondered the sum of their lives, I was reminded that though we are known by our deeds only God can see into our hearts. Of some hearts, I had no question. I saw Ralph Freeman, the freed-slave preacher; Reverend eric Leake and Reverend Dumas; Jeremie Dumas, the martyred Huguenot advocate; and his grandson, Benjamin Dumas I, reading his Margent Bible in a new land. I saw edmund Dumas and Grandma singing their unending, eternal Sacred Harp songs. Doug and I stopped for a quick lunch in Greensboro, North Carolina, and opened the map to review the remainder of our trip. I recognized the line of a bold green marker that had plotted my route the day I talked with Reverend Dumas, a journey only an hour farther down the road from Greensboro. How pleasant it would be to pull off the road, introduce Doug, and enjoy a nice, long chat. But we had many miles ahead of us. I felt a pang of sorrow as we passed the exit to Granite Quarry. I pictured the welcoming branches of Reverend Dumas’ great oak tree and imagined his greeting with outstretched arms at the gate. My thoughts flew like a bird a few miles farther south to the driveway of Asia’s cheerful home in Mount Gilead. We might never prove a bloodline, but a love-line is even stronger. I 221 wondered if I would ever pass this way again. Suddenly I thought of the imagined bye-blow baby, born in Temperance’s young lost years. I asked Doug what he thought might have happened to such an infant. “Don’t you know a mother would have been tormented in wondering about that little one?” “I thought of that when you told me,” he said. “A child abandoned in england in those ocean-going days could have ended up anywhere in the world.” Only God knows where such an infant might find a home. The child could be anyone’s ancestor, any one of us. None of us knows our full ancestry. We’re all illegitimate, and everyone is our brother. It was raining when we arrived in Atlanta, but on Saturday morning, the sun was breaking through clouds as we left for the almost-forgotten prayer breakfast, scheduled weeks before, which was held at an old depot building near Underground Atlanta. We recognized no one from our church. But folks from all over the city were there, and admittedly, we could hardly lay claim to being frequent church-goers. The occasion offered a chance to become involved in the fabric of our home community, which we’d missed since leaving Dallas. I greeted one familiar face who turned out to be our congressman, Representative John Lewis, someone whose picture I’d seen in the news. He had worked on a bipartisan measure with our former congressman in Texas, Steve Bartlett, a personal friend. President Carter spoke in heartfelt terms of the bleak prospects for even a minimum standard of living for many of the most vulnerable in our community. I’d expected him to be a good speaker. But I’d not expected his proposal for a workable solution to the problem. It had imaginative, feasible possibilities. There was a front-page story in Sunday’s Journal-Constitution about President Carter’s proposal for a broad volunteer program that would be called “The Atlanta Project” or “TAP.” He described an amazing amount of work that is routinely done by volunteers. The objection that most people voice to becoming a volunteer is lack of time...