Page 91 of The Reformatory

“Y’all heard me, now,” Sheriff Posey called out. “It’s time to get dressed and out to work.”

No one moved or answered him. He hadn’t come to hear their complaints about broken windows or threats keeping them up all night. He hadn’t come to promise justice for the fire.

Sheriff Posey went on, his voice angrier. “If I come back and see y’all here in an hour, I’ll have my deputies run you in for vagrancy. See how you like it when you get locked up like her brother. And locked up is where he’s gonna stay—until someone helps us find his daddy.” He spoke more loudly so the crowd of whites could hear at the end of the street.

Gloria was so angry, the world went red. Then Sheriff Posey turned to look at her—and winked. A true politician, he was performing for his audience.

“Be smart,” Sheriff Posey said, gentler. “I’ll see he makes it to trial and the trial’s fair.”

Sheriff Posey took his time during his long walk back to the intersection, careful not to show fear. As he walked, he signaled to the waiting white men and boys at the end of the street. Most of them climbed into the truck, and a few walked to their cars. A chorus of car doors slammed just out of sight.

“Fool,” Miz Lottie muttered from the window. “Ain’t fit for a badge.”

“You shouldn’t have named Mister Earl,” Uncle June chided Waymon. Mister Earl, who ran the tack and feed, was Klan to his bones. Negro farmers drove to Marianna or Quincy when they needed feed, fearful Mister Earl might poison their stock.

“But I did it, huh?” Waymon shrugged. “He’s the sheriff, ain’t he? Fighting crime?”

“Now you sound like a damn fool.”

Slowly, as the whites left, neighbors waved at June and went inside.

Gloria had not moved since Sheriff Posey’s wink, rigid with anger. But she realized she was grateful to him for confirming everything she had learned yesterday: Gracetown would not free Robbie. She could stop wasting her time with lawyers and judges.

Gloria waited until she saw the sheriff climb into his car, and then she said, “Uncle June, you worked at the Reformatory. Didn’t you?”

Uncle June’s jaw tightened. He wasn’t proud of his time at the Reformatory. He’d never told her what he’d done, but she felt something near his mind almost as bad as his war memories. Worse, maybe. “Few months,” June said, voice low.

“So you know how boys would run sometimes.”

Uncle June looked at her. “If they wanted to get whipped, shot, or ripped up by dogs.” Knowledge of things he’d done flared quietly, but she didn’t want to know. Not yet.

“But those boys… they didn’t have help, did they? They didn’t have someone who worked inside once who could tell them how to go. Or someone to drive them away once they were out.”

Waymon let out a joyful hoot, patting Gloria’s back too hard. “You sho’ is kin to Robert Stephens. I’ll say that much.”

June glanced back at Miz Lottie. If he was looking for an objection in her face, he didn’t find one in Miz Lottie’s steely eyes. “Told you,” Miz Lottie said to June. “She’s just like Bob and her mama.”

June turned back to Gloria. “Naw, I guess they didn’t have nobody helping them like that.”

Gloria gazed at the smoke rising where her home and family had once lived. For the first time, she understood the liberation of having nothing left to lose.

“We’re gonna help Robbie run,” Gloria said.

“ ’Bout time,” Waymon said. Maybe he and Uncle June had argued about it already.

Uncle June glared at the morning, making sure the last trucks at the end of the street had driven away. “It won’t be pretty. We can’t count on no one else. We sure we’re ready for that?”

“Damn right,” Miz Lottie said.

Deciding was that easy. But the rest, Gloria knew, would be, oh, so hard.

25

Miss Anne showed no surprise, only relief, when she opened her kitchen door and saw Gloria waiting on the rear stoop. Without a word, she stepped aside to let Gloria in, lingering to scan her backyard for spies watching beyond her prize rosebushes that ringed the house. The kitchen smelled like brewing coffee, but no one else was up. Only Fred’s wife, Nell, had a job, but Miss Anne always got up early and dressed as if she expected visitors. Gloria could tell by the stricken look on Miss Anne’s face that she knew about the trouble on Lower Spruce, and she might even know about the cabin. But Miss Anne didn’t say anything, gently closing and locking her door with a sad sigh Gloria barely heard.

“Can I use your phone?” Gloria said, keeping her voice low. “I want to call that place. The social worker said I have to get on a list to see Robbie on visiting day.”

Miss Anne didn’t ask why she couldn’t use the phone at Miz Lottie’s house. Instead, she led Gloria to the wooden telephone chair just beyond the kitchen entryway. She gestured for Gloria to sit down. She didn’t want to be too loud either.