Page 115 of The Reformatory

“You the lady who went to war?” Miz Lottie said. June looked surprised by the question.

“Me again. My late husband and I enlisted together. We hoped it would make a difference at home.”

Waymon poked his head out from the hall. “But it didn’t work out that way, huh?”

No one answered that. Mrs. Hamilton pursed her lips. Her face seemed to lose color. “Sorry for your loss,” Uncle June said. He cleared away a folded pile of blankets from Miz Lottie’s couch to make room for her to sit. The couch, like every other surface, was mostly for storing things. If Mrs. Hamilton was shocked by the condition of the living room and its collections of Coca-Cola bottles and piles of mail, she kept it from her face. The room looked like a long life turned inside out.

“You say Robert’s doing fine?” Gloria probed.

Mrs. Hamilton smiled. “He’s a natural on the trumpet. I hope he’ll keep up his music study once he’s out.”

So many surprises at once: learning that Robert played the trumpet, which he had never mentioned, and hearing a stranger talk about him getting out. Gloria couldn’t help exchanging glances with Uncle June and Waymon. Did she know about the escape plan?

“Why’re you callin’ on us?” Waymon said pointedly. “What do you want?”

“Did Haddock send you?” Uncle June said, and noted her surprise that he knew the name of her boss. “I used to work out there. Groundskeeping crew.”

“No one sent me,” Mrs. Hamilton said. “I’m here on my own accord. I just…” She paused, choosing which words to share. “I’m a longtime admirer of the work of his father to try to make Negro lives better in northern Florida. He once helped my father get a job. So… since I have an inside view, I thought you’d appreciate hearing that someone is looking out for him.”

“Looking out from what?” Gloria said.

“The Reformatory can be a dangerous place, especially for colored boys,” she said.

“He told us he got beat,” Gloria said.

Mrs. Hamilton gazed down at her folded hands as if she had held the strap herself. “Yes… I know,” she said, raising her eyes to Gloria’s. “He spent a night in the infirmary. That’s where I met him to recruit him for the band. I’ll do my best to see it doesn’t happen again. The last time Superintendent Haddock called for him, I accompanied him to his office. I’ll advocate for Robert at every opportunity.”

Uncle June was agitated, shifting from side to side. “What’d Haddock want him for?”

“I’m not quite sure,” she said, and hesitated. “I thought I might ask you. The superintendent has taken a special interest in him. I admit I tried to listen through the door, but I couldn’t quite make out what it was.”

Uncle June took a step toward her, so sudden that she jumped. “What did that SOB—”

“He didn’t hurt him,” Mrs. Hamilton said. “But the superintendent has excused Robert from regular work detail. The rumor is”—strangely, she almost smiled—“Robert’s helping the superintendent find ghosts. That’s what all the boys are saying.”

“The hell you talkin’ ’bout?” Waymon said. “What’re you really doin’ here, lady? Did the sheriff send you? That boy don’t play no trumpet. You need a better story than that. Ghosts? You must think we’re some real dumb country folks, huh?”

Gloria’s ears were buzzing with a rush of blood as her heart sped. She gazed back at Miz Lottie, who was still standing in the hall entrance. Miz Lottie took a step closer to her.

“He said he was seeing haints,” Miz Lottie said. “He looked scared out his mind.”

“Mama, don’t listen to this bull—” Waymon started, but Gloria cut him off.

“If he says he’s seeing haints, he is. You don’t know, Waymon.”

“I don’t know what? Crazy talk?”

“You ain’t from here,” Miz Lottie told him. “You was too old when you moved in with me. So you don’t know ’bout Gracetown. Young people here, they can be touched by spirits.”

“Y’all are ‘touched’ by something all right,” Waymon muttered.

“Robbie could feel Mama’s ghost,” Gloria said. “He said it all the time.”

“If any place ever should be haunted,” Uncle June said quietly, “it’s that one.”

Waymon looked at all of them, lips curled with scorn. “I’m not listening to this…,” he said, and retreated to the back of the house, walking with exaggerated heavy footsteps toward the kitchen and complaining all the while about backward country folk.

“How long did you work there?” Mrs. Hamilton asked Uncle June.