Page 22 of The Reformatory

Gloria turned down the radio until the announcers’ voices were too low to hear. She didn’t mention that Fred was a grown man now and too old to go. “You’ve heard bad things?”

“It was the boogeyman for my boys: ‘Don’t mess up or you’ll go straight to the Reformatory.’ Kept them in line. But not Fred. Nothing keeps Fred in line. He blasphemes.” She sounded heartbroken. “You remember that fire in 1920, Lottie—don’t you?”

Gloria shook her head. She decided there was no use in correcting her.

The old woman sighed. “All those boys dead. Just a scandal. They ought to have shut it down back then. But they didn’t.” She pointed a craggy finger toward the radio. “Turn that back up. I want to hear.”

“But can you tell me—”

“Hurry up and do what I say! Why is everything a negotiation with niggers nowadays?” Old Lady Powell’s voice trembled, her face red. To Old Lady Powell, Gloria’s “insolence” was more evidence of the world that had left her behind. The old-timey days gave Miz Lottie nightmares, but memories were Old Lady Powell’s only comfort.

“Sorry, ma’am,” Gloria said.

She turned up the radio, gathered the old woman’s dishes, and slipped through the door. Miss Anne was waiting on the other side.

“I just don’t understand you, Gloria. You’ll sneak phone calls all the way to Tallahassee—”

“All the way to goddamn Tallahassee?” Fred mocked Anne from where he lay on the couch as Gloria and Anne passed him from the staircase. “Seventy whole miles away! She’s tryin’ to bankrupt us.”

Nell laughed beside him, stroking his hair. Since his summer break from Florida State started, Fred often napped downstairs with a Gracetown Herald across his face, claiming he was looking for summer work. He loved teasing Anne, and Nell loved laughing at his jokes. As far as Gloria could tell, that was the basis of their marriage. They’d only wed because Nell was with child, but when she miscarried after three months Fred could hardly hide his relief. Miss Anne thought Fred was running around on Nell during her waitressing shifts at the diner. Gloria knew more about them all than she wanted to.

“Miss Anne, that call will come out of my pay,” Gloria said.

“But you won’t tell me what’s going on with Robbie? As long as I’ve known you and your family?” Hurt shined in Miss Anne’s blue eyes. “Come with me, young lady.”

While Fred and Nell snickered behind them, Miss Anne walked Gloria down the hall to the room at the far end that she kept as her father’s shrine: Mr. Powell’s office. This was the same room where she had lectured Fred after the deputy came, as if its history gave her authority beyond her own. Miss Anne flipped on the overhead light, but this room too was dark from the drawn shades. Everything was brown: mahogany desk, paneled walls, wooden filing cabinets.

Please don’t let her fire me, she thought. Not today.

“Miss Anne, I quit,” Gloria blurted before Miss Anne could fully close the door.

“Quit?” Miss Anne repeated, whirling to face her. “What for?”

“Aren’t you fixing to fire me?”

Again hurt glowed in Miss Anne’s face. “Do I seem that petty to you?”

In truth, she did. “No.”

“I wanted us to have privacy so Fred and Nell don’t blab your business all over Gracetown. You know they will, don’t you?”

“Yes, Miss Anne.”

Miss Anne walked closer to her—closer than Gloria was used to anyone standing near her. Close enough for Gloria to smell the washing detergent on her hands. Miss Anne seemed so soft now that Gloria almost wished she could hug her the way she’d hugged Miz Lottie.

“Now tell me. All of it.”

So, Gloria did: starting with Lyle McCormack on the road the day before, she ran through the horrible series of events. Miss Anne listened with pursed lips, a shake of her head, a sigh, and widening eyes. Afterward, Miss Anne paced the room in thought. Tears streamed Gloria’s face again.

“Six months is ridiculous,” Miss Anne said. “He’s so young! Fred did worse than that every weekend of high school and never got sent to that awful place. It’s always Negroes. Or poor white boys.”

“I know it, Miss Anne,” Gloria whispered.

For a moment they both stewed in the unfairness of it.

Miss Anne spoke in nearly a whisper. “All right, then. We’ll just have to bail him out. How much money will it take?”

While Gloria stared, dumbfounded, Miss Anne reached into her skirt pocket for her key ring and unlocked a drawer on her father’s old rolltop desk. She pulled out a book of checks. Gloria was so surprised, her eyes stung. She doubted that even Fred knew where his sister hid her checks. She doubted Miss Anne would trust Fred enough to show him.