Page 92 of The Reformatory

Miss Anne picked up the handset on the small tabletop and dialed the operator. “Hi, Maddie,” she said, and Gloria thought about how all the Gracetown ladies knew each other and Miss Anne was friendly with the woman who had lied about Papa too. “Good to hear your voice, too. Gracetown School for Boys, please.” After the operator’s answer, Miss Anne handed the receiver to Gloria.

The ring was loud and grating, as ugly as the place itself.

When the phone stopped ringing, Gloria noticed tears in Miss Anne’s eyes. But no time to worry about it; the woman who’d answered was already in a bad mood, and she was repeating herself because Gloria missed what she’d said after the distraction of Miss Anne’s tears.

“I’d…” Gloria straightened her shoulders to sound more confident. “I need to make an appointment on visiting day, please.”

“Your name?”

Gloria’s confidence melted. Not for the first time, she wanted to lie. “Gloria Stephens,” she said. “I’d like an appointment to see Robbie Stephens, please.” Robbie, not Robert. Not Papa.

In the long silence, Gloria noticed Miss Anne flick a tear away while she pretended to straighten an old framed map of Florida hanging on the wall.

“Too late to book an appointment for tomorrow,” the woman said. “Tomorrow’s full.”

“But… the social worker, Mr. Loehmann… he said I could see him.” Loehmann had also said something about how she would need to rush to make an appointment, but she’d been so busy with Live Oak and John Dorsey and the courthouse and worrying about Lower Spruce and her cabin burning down that she’d forgotten to plan for visiting day.

“Not tomorrow you can’t,” the woman said. “I don’t care if the man on the moon says it. You’ll have to wait a week.” She was so snappish that Gloria thought she might hang up on her.

“Can I get my name on the list for next week?” Gloria said, biting back tears. This was wrong in every way: she wanted to see Robbie tomorrow to tell him he would be all right because they were going to figure out how to break him free. She had hoped she might even be able to share seeds of the getaway plan Uncle June was mulling over based on what he remembered about the grounds. Uncle June had promised to help her draw a map.

The woman’s voice became muffled, and Gloria realized she was talking to someone else, muting the phone. Then she was back. “Oh no—we don’t take new appointments until Monday. And you have to come in person to put your name on the list.”

Drive to that awful place just to put her name on a list? The Gracetown Reformatory was a state school, not just for the county. Parents who lived hours away couldn’t be expected to come in person just to make an appointment for a visit. This woman didn’t want her to make an appointment. The woman probably expected Gloria to be too scared to come in person—and maybe she should be scared.

“I can’t make an appointment to see my twelve-year-old brother until Monday—for next week. And I can only make an appointment in person,” Gloria recited, to make sure Miss Anne heard. Miss Anne’s mouth dropped open, indignant.

Not liking the sound of her own words, the woman hung up.

Gloria wanted to scream or cry, but somehow she only slipped the phone back to the cradle, her hand trembling with rage and disappointment and too many other emotions to name. She thought of Mama’s photo albums and Sunday dishes and carefully folded hand towels embroidered with strawberries she’d kept in the drawers by the sink burning in the fire and could barely catch her breath.

“You lure a fly with honey, Gloria,” Miss Anne said, her voice sounding far away inside Gloria’s boiling thoughts. Siding with a stranger. Of course. “I only mean, you know how—”

“Yes,” Gloria said, “I know what you mean. I’m supposed to pretend like it’s fine.”

“I know it’s not fine,” Miss Anne blurted. “Fred came home drunk as a skunk a couple hours ago. He was out all night in Lower Spruce. He told me he went to see it didn’t go too far, but I don’t believe it and I’m so ashamed. Daddy would…” She didn’t finish, wiping away another tear.

Fred had always been trash. Mr. Powell had known it better than anyone. Gloria was not surprised and had nothing to say, so she stood up to leave.

“Wait,” Miss Anne said, grabbing her arm, and Gloria’s flesh turned taut as she waited for Miss Anne to go on. Miss Anne braved the anger in her eyes. “What will you do now?”

“Miz Lottie can drive me,” Gloria said. “I have to see Robbie. I have to get on the list. I won’t wait until Monday.”

“I don’t think you should go there, Gloria,” Miss Anne said. “I think you should keep out of sight altogether for a few days.” She hushed her voice. “Is it true you hired a communist lawyer with the money I gave you? And went to the courthouse?”

“The NAACP isn’t communist,” Gloria said, yanking her arm away. “You sound just like all the rest, Miss Anne. And that lawyer didn’t charge me a cent.”

Miss Anne’s eyes fluttered with embarrassment. “My phone was ringing off the hook last night from people asking me about you and a lawyer at the courthouse,” Miss Anne said. “Gloria, who was that you mentioned on the phone? Mr. Loehmann?”

“He’s the social worker who drove Robbie to the Reformatory. He’s from New York.”

“Yes. I know that name. Chan and I went to a meeting of Christians and Jews in Tallahassee, and I think he was there. His wife’s name is Rachel, if they’re the same ones. They must be. She was telling me how her kids get teased. Let me call her. Or, better yet, I’ll try calling him. Please let me do something to help.”

Gloria didn’t remember Loehmann’s number or have his card, but she remembered the agency he worked for, so Miss Anne took Gloria’s place in the telephone chair to try to get through to him. Gloria knew she could make the tedious call herself, but she was tired. They wear you down one wrong at a time, Mama used to say.

“Yes! Mr. Loehmann,” Miss Anne said, so giddy that she nearly giggled. She clutched the bulky phone receiver close to her ear. As soon as she introduced herself, Gloria heard Mr. Loehmann’s faint voice say, “Why yes, Miss Powell, it’s indeed a pleasure,” like he was Cary Grant at a cocktail party. He went on some about his wife, but Miss Anne cut short their small talk. “Mr. Loehmann, I have a frustrating dilemma… It’s about Robert Stephens Junior, the boy at the Reformatory. I have his sister, Gloria, here with me…”

The line went silent as he listened.