Page 60 of The Reformatory

“Say it like you mean it, gal.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Like I told Lottie, I think I found a lawyer. There’s another colored fella I know in Jacksonville, but he won’t do pro bono. I want you to try this one first.”

Gloria’s despair vanished, and she remembered she was talking to Robert Stephens, the leader people trusted to address the wrongs done to them as far as three counties. She was surprised he’d heard about Robbie’s arrest so soon, and he’d already found a lawyer too? And knew of another?

Miz Lottie thrust a notepad and a pen to her, so Gloria rested the phone’s heavy receiver on her shoulder. She used the pen to trace the squiggles of ink at the top of the page where Miz Lottie had tested it. Miz Lottie had taken notes, but her handwriting was a mystery.

“Bob, tell her what you told me,” Miz Lottie called to the phone. “She’ll take it down.”

“His name is John Dorsey,” Papa said. “D-O-R-S-E-Y. He’s in Live Oak on another case, but if you can find him, he’ll listen. He’s with the NAACP in New York.”

“Where’s he staying?”

“Nowhere for Negroes to stay ’cept the Kinsey boardinghouse,” Miz Lottie said, at the same time Papa was saying it. “And only other place he’d eat is at Belle’s.”

“I can’t hear him, Miz Lottie,” Gloria said, shushing her. She was magically in the bosom of family again, with Papa and Miz Lottie talking over each other like they always did at the table. She’d felt horribly alone last night in her empty house, but no more.

“Does he know Robbie’s case?” Gloria said.

“Not ’til you tell him,” Papa said. “I’ve never talked to him. But when I called the New York office, one of the boys let it slip this Dorsey fella’s nearby. Maybe it’s a lucky break. He’ll give you the same rigamarole they give me about how they’re looking for capital cases, but I bet he’ll listen. He’ll know more’n we do about our recourse.”

“Papa, Miss Anne’s giving me money for a lawyer. All cash.”

The phone line crackled in Papa’s stony silence. He did not want to take money from the Powells. She waited for him to ask how much, but he didn’t.

“You damn well earned it,” Papa said. “Keep that money. But those NAACP lawyers don’t charge like other lawyers. And this won’t be the end of the line for us, but I’m hoping it’s a start. It’s a plan. Save that money for later.”

When Mama took sick, at first she’d thought her backache was from bending over with the washing, but after a year it drove her to bed and they learned it was cancer all along—and the whole while Papa had rallied the family with his plans: Give her a few days off her feet and she’ll be all right and then finally I just read about a new treatment called chemotherapy and each time they said, Yes, Papa, and hoped for the best, but the best never came. The days grew grimmer, the sunshine less bright, and Daddy’s plans that helped so many others in Lower Spruce and Marianna and Quincy did nothing to help Mama, the one he loved most.

“I’m sorry, Gloria,” Papa said, because he seemed to know her thoughts even now. “It wasn’t your burden. I’ve got no right to blame you.”

Gloria had never agreed with anything more, but she said, “It’s all right, Papa,” because his voice had knotted in a way that alarmed her. She didn’t know what she would do if Papa started crying.

“We’ll set it right,” Papa said, forcing new oxygen to his words.

“I know we will.”

“Lottie said Robbie looked good?”

“He looked fine,” Gloria said. But all that meant was he’d avoided a beating from the sheriff’s deputy and she’d seen him so long ago. She could have told Papa about her strong feeling last night that Robbie was taking a terrible whipping, a bloody one, but all day she’d tried to tell herself she’d imagined it. It wouldn’t do any good to worry him, or herself.

Then Papa said what she feared most: “I should catch a train—”

“No,” Gloria said.

“What he say?” Miz Lottie asked.

“Just to Live Oak,” Papa said. “Not to Gracetown.”

“No,” Gloria said, as angrily as she’d ever spoken to him, or as frightened, or both.

“He better not be talking no foolishness ’bout coming down here,” Miz Lottie said. “On my damn line, for half the street to hear.” Papa had heard her. He went quiet.

“We’ll go early in the morning,” Gloria said, speaking tersely for any listeners. “We’ll find him.”

“How’s Miz Lottie holding up? Don’t let on I’m asking.”