Page 6 of The Reformatory

“Only judge on the bench this time of mo’nin’ is Judge Morris. Courtroom’s up ahead.”

Finally—information! Gloria said a hurried “Thank you” and ran in the direction of the double doors the man had pointed out at the end of the hall.

“Don’t you go in them doors!” the custodian called. “Colored door’s to the side.”

Gloria stopped three strides short of the wooden doors and their burnished gold-colored handles. Sure enough, the COLORED sign was posted to the right, with an arrow pointing down a narrow corridor. A smaller door met her there, propped slightly open with a wad of cardboard. Inside, narrow wooden stairs rose in a dimly lighted stairway.

Gloria at last found her way to the courtroom balcony, in the gallery set aside for colored observers. The benches were empty. The walls smelled of sweat, chewing tobacco, and waiting. Gloria moved past the spittoon near the door to the first row of benches to peer down at the courtroom, so far below. Only four anxious spectators sat in the neat rows of white seating. The plump, thick-shouldered judge occupied his bench like Saint Peter in the clouds, but in a black robe instead of white.

A thin white man in an ill-fitting suit was standing before the judge.

“Billy, you promised me you’d give up corn whiskey,” the judge said, leaning forward, elbows propped. He hocked a wad of tobacco into his own spittoon.

“I know it, Your Honor.” The man’s voice was all trembling misery.

“Well, this time you’ve left me no choice.” The judge rapped his gavel, a sound so harsh that Gloria jumped. “Spend a year at Raiford, that’ll sober you up. Go on, now. You’re lucky nobody got hurt worse.”

“I sure do know it, Your Honor,” the man said, his head low. He was nearly in tears. The spectators all rose and went to him. One tearful older woman in Sunday dress, probably his mother, hugged him.

“I’m sorry, Doris, but the law has my hands tied,” the judge said.

“It’s not your fault, Judge Morris,” the older woman said. “We warned him ’til we was red in the face.” The grown man sobbed on the woman’s shoulder before a deputy led him away.

This private scene felt like the worst kind of omen. As the miserable man exited by a rear door with a deputy Gloria did not recognize, Robert appeared, hands still chained behind him.

The same deputy who had come to their cabin followed Robert, guiding him to the bench by his arm. Gloria suppressed a cry at how small Robert seemed, swallowed inside the massive courtroom. He looked for her, but he did not notice the gallery. She waved to get Robert’s attention, and he saw her but did not smile. He moved slowly, nearly too frightened to walk.

“Robert Stephens Junior?” the judge said.

Papa’s name rang in the courthouse, an indictment in his absence. The room seemed to quake with Gloria’s racing heart.

Far below her, Robbie mumbled. Speak clearly! Gloria’s thoughts screamed.

“Speak up.” The judge already sounded impatient.

“Yessir.” Hearing him speak, Gloria breathed.

The judge studied a page in front of him. “Did you kick Lyle McCormack?” Gloria’s shoulders hunched when she heard it aloud. And with none of the facts to explain it.

Robert hung his head again. “Yessir.”

“Why’d you do a fool thing like that?”

Say it! In Robert’s long silence, Gloria thought of her shock and anger at how Lyle McCormack had taken hold of her arm, comparing her to the colored whores who worked in cars behind the juke joint. And proposing they meet on a Sunday! Had Robert understood? Was that what had riled him senseless? Gloria wanted to rise to her feet and tell his story, but didn’t dare.

“Don’t know, sir. He…”

He pushed me. Say it! Gloria’s thoughts screamed. But Robert said nothing more. “Well, son, you’d be in a world of trouble if you’d run off from Red McCormack. Might be dogs after you right now. He said you stood there and took your whupping. Is that true?”

“Yessir,” Robert said. He was deathly afraid of the McCormacks’ dogs.

“Boxed your ear pretty good?”

“Yessir.”

Gloria’s heart surged. The judge’s questions had taken a turn away from confession to consequences paid: that could only be a good sign! Had she heard grandfatherly kindness in the judge’s voice? Maybe Robert would endure a stern lecture and be sent back home. Robert would still have time to go to school, and she’d make up an excuse to Miss Anne about why she was late. Their true day was about to begin as normal, with Robert sitting at his school desk and her wringing undergarments in the sink in Miss Anne’s laundry room.

“You know you’d be lynched in some counties for foolishness like that?” Gloria nearly gasped aloud. How could the judge speak that word?