Page 57 of The Reformatory

Gloria had known such talk happened, but this was a report from an eyewitness. Her heart and stomach curdled.

“Annie and I have a commercial property; it’ll be a winter resort with a few cabins for folks on a budget, very discreet. We haven’t opened yet because we’re still fixing it up. The way we’ve been delayed, you could stay there two or three months with no one to bother you. Give this time to blow over.”

“Where are the cabins?”

“Near Orlando. Not too far outside Eatonville. That’s about—”

Gloria knew about Eatonville because Zora Neale Hurston grew up there. She’d always hoped to visit one day, but not now. “That’s way downstate,” Gloria said. “Hours and hours.”

“Five hours. I drive it in four and a half, but I drive fast.”

“You think I’m gonna run off and leave Robbie here? Just run and give up?”

“It’s not giving up. You can still pursue legal channels from a distance.”

“Is that what you would do?” Gloria said. “If it was your kin? Or ‘Annie’?”

Miss Channing gave her a startled, sad-eyed look. Her face would make a yes a lie. Gloria went on: “Then you know I won’t either. So, thanks all the same for the very kind offer, but no. I won’t leave Gracetown. And I’m already planning on moving out of my house.”

Miss Channing looked back at her line, relieved. “I’m very glad to hear that.”

Gloria stared hard at Miss Channing’s profile tall beside her, so serene as she fished.

Mama used to say that unaired feelings ate you up inside.

“A word,” Gloria said. “One word from you is all it would take to help my papa. One word from you saying what happened.”

“That’s not true, Gloria,” Miss Channing said. “I know you think it is, but me telling isn’t what counts. There’s a legal term for it: hearsay. It’s her word that counts. And I can’t sway her. I offered to send her to stay at the cabins too if she’d recant and wanted to be away from that man. I promise I’ll never stop trying.”

Gloria didn’t understand how Miss Channing couldn’t see: it didn’t matter if a judge accepted her word—she could still talk to a reporter at the Gracetown Herald. She could mention it every time she ran into other white ladies in town, at the market, at the diner, at church, at the picture show. She could write it on a sign and carry it from one end of Main Street to the other. Someone would listen to a white woman, surely. Wouldn’t that stop some of the bar talk if white men’s wives took Papa’s side?

But Channing kept secrets, like Miss Anne—who had a friend and business associate even Miz Lottie knew nothing about. Gloria was almost sure Fred knew nothing about Channing Holt either. Did he know about the cabins near Eatonville? Did he know a woman called his sister “Annie” with softness in her voice and face? Robbie and Papa were lost inside these women’s other secrets from Gracetown.

“One day,” Channing said, “things will be different for everyone. You’ll see.”

“I don’t think so,” Gloria said. “Papa said we’d be farther along now if people weren’t so scared to tell the truth. Is that gonna change too?”

Miss Channing didn’t answer. Gloria hadn’t caught any fish, and the oversized boots were itching her sweaty thighs. She tried to think of anything else she could say to convince her to clear Papa’s name, which might help get Robbie free. She closed her eyes and listened to the herons fussing and the chorus of night frogs, waiting for the words, but none came. Her only thought was: Miss Channing’s scared. Maybe she should be more scared too.

When she opened her eyes, she realized how much darker it was now. A splash made her turn her head in time to see a leaping fish fall back into the water behind her, the sparkle gone from its gray scales. It was too dark for her to stay in the water. Gloria turned to trudge back toward the swampy shore. “Watch for gators,” Gloria said. “G’night… Chan.”

She said it because other white folks would gasp if they heard. “Good night to you, Gloria. I really am sorry about this mess.”

“Thanks for troubling yourself about Robbie,” Gloria said, an afterthought. She’d meant it sincerely, but Mama had been able to cuss people out using the politest words possible clenched between her teeth, and in that moment Gloria had sounded just like her.

“Did Channing tell you what you needed to know?” Miss Anne said once they left the dirt road from the swamp and returned to smooth blacktop.

“She said what she wanted to.”

“And you still want to go to Miz Lottie’s? You think that’s enough?”

Gloria nodded, and Miss Anne looked relieved. The grand escape to the secret cabins probably had been Channing’s idea, since it was hard to imagine Miss Anne as that daring. But she might be more daring than Gloria knew. Gloria had questions about Channing and the cabins they owned together, but she wasn’t curious enough to ask. It wasn’t her business.

“Do you… want me to drive by your house with you first? Pick out some things?”

The offer was tempting; it wouldn’t take Gloria much time to pack her clothes and toothbrush and sanitary napkins, and a few of her favorite books she’d brought back after she left Miz Lottie’s, carrying them between the two houses like memories. No McCormack, or probably anyone else, would bother her with Anne Powell standing watch—would they? But any offer from Miss Anne was sullied by her silence about Papa. And Gloria felt sullied too, because she needed Miss Anne. And Channing too. And Loehmann. No matter how little they had brought her, she couldn’t turn away anyone’s help. But she didn’t want to spend another moment with her while her mind was screaming about Miss Anne’s silence.

“Not tonight,” Gloria said. “Not while it’s dark.” Again Miss Anne seemed relieved.