Page 51 of The Reformatory

“It can take students weeks or months to hit that note. You’re a natural, Robert. In fact, there’s a young man like you from New Orleans who was sent to a boys’ home. And he picked up a trumpet, just like you, and could play it right away—a cornet, actually, but they’re much the same. You know who it is?”

Robert shook his head. He didn’t know.

Mrs. Hamilton leaned closer. “It’s my friend Louis Armstrong. He may just be the greatest trumpet player in the world. Do you think you’d like to be like him?”

Robert was almost too frozen in place to nod his head. He knew that name, of course.

Mrs. Hamilton was friends with Louis Armstrong? She didn’t fit the picture he’d had in his head of jazz people: women in sparkly evening gowns, smoking cigarettes in nightclubs.

“Good. Then I’d like to see you at band practice tomorrow.” She glanced at Redbone. “You too. So I can hear you play that drum. Maybe you play like Art Blakey.”

“But…,” Redbone began, and Robert looked at him wildly, hoping he wouldn’t ruin it. “We got to work the fields tomorrow, ma’am.”

Robert’s spirit quaked. He’d been so hypnotized by talk of music that he’d forgotten.

“I’ll take care of that. You’ll work in the morning and go to school. Band practice is at oh sixteen hundred—that’s two hours before dinner. Every day. The colored music hall is directly behind the bleachers. Don’t miss practice or you’re out of the band. Understood?”

“Were you in the Army?” Robert said. Mrs. Hamilton wasn’t a ghost, but she wasn’t ordinary. Only soldiers in war pictures told time in such high numbers.

“As a matter of fact, I was—the 404th ASF Women’s Army Corps. Good guess.”

“The Army!” Redbone said, as if she’d said the sun. “How come you’re here now?”

“This is home,” she said. “I grew up on Lower Spruce before the war. I’ll be teaching at the high school in the fall, but I’ll come here after school to teach music. And this summer you can get a head start for the parade. Feeling proud of yourselves will make your time here easier. Once you leave, you can take music wherever you go. And learning something will help you realize you can learn anything—anything else you put your mind to.”

Her words were so soothing that Robert’s bloody welts stung a little less and he almost forgot the pain that still lingered in his ear from when Mister Red had hit him.

The nurse peeked in from the doorway. Mrs. Hamilton noticed her and reached for the trumpet to return it to the cart. Robert hated to let it go. The younger boys’ laughing stopped when the nurse stuck her head in.

“Sorry for the noise, Nurse,” Mrs. Hamilton said. “I just found a trumpet player for my band. This young man has a very promising embouchure.”

“Those boys are violators,” the nurse said.

Mrs. Hamilton glanced at Robert and Redbone, especially the bandages on Robert’s back. Her jaw flexed hard before it relaxed again.

“I can see they’re being punished. But I’ll clear it with Superintendent Haddock. He wants to show off this Christmas.”

Robert noticed Mrs. Hamilton had brought up Warden Haddock’s name to overrule her.

And the nurse, like him, had no idea what that word embouchure meant, and maybe Mrs. Hamilton had used the fancy word on purpose. Robert tried to keep his smile from showing.

“This is an infirmary,” the nurse said, “not a juke joint. They’re here to rest.”

Mrs. Hamilton gave Robert and Redbone a warm look, as if their faces gave her strength. “You’re absolutely right.” She turned, precise on her heels. “If you could direct me to the schoolhouse…?”

They watched Mrs. Hamilton and her cart of instruments until she pushed it out of sight. The younger boys stayed in the doorway to see her as long as they could. Once she was gone, it was harder for Robert to imagine Mrs. Hamilton than the ghost floating above his bed.

Redbone pulled the sheet back to gather up the playing cards.

“Won’t band be fun?” Robert said.

Redbone shrugged. “Band might be all right.”

“You really play drums?”

“Can’t be hard to learn to bang sticks.”

“She’s nice, huh?”