“Almost a year now.”
“This is hard to read. I think I need glasses. Have you worn yours a long time?”
“Since grade school.”
“Do you think glasses would make me look old?” she asked.
“No,” I said. “I think you would look very attractive. I mean, you are very attractive.” I could feel myself blushing. She dropped her eyes, then shot a glance back.
“That’s sweet,” she said.
“Yes, ma’am.”
In the lobby I smoked a cigarette and made notes of Montague’s comments.
I had carried The Pilgrim’s Progress with me in the breast pocket of my coat. I decided to stop by Mrs. Wright’s to leave it for Harriet.
The steam ferry to Newport News was right on time. The day had turned sunny. I took off my cap and put my feet up on the rail. There was a slight chop and the breeze freshened over the Roads. On a tall piling ospreys were building a nest. At the landing I caught the trolley to the Wrights’ neighborhood and started walking.
Approaching on the sidewalk was a man in his thirties. He was not wearing a hat. His black hair was slicked back straight from a broad forehead. His moustache was black and curled at the ends. He was wearing a dark blue suit and he handled the umbrella he carried like a cane. His stride was brusque and powerful. He looked as fit as a wrestler.
“Mr. Hobbs?” I said. “I’m with the Times-Herald.” It was a lucky guess.
“Not now, boy,” he said. “I don’t have time.” He brushed past me and turned the corner. I looked after him for a moment and continued on my way.
As soon as I got to the street, I recognized the cottage. I opened the gate and stepped up the walk to the stoop. I removed the volume from my pocket and knocked at the door.
Mrs. Wright opened the door immediately. She looked at me and smiled faintly. She seemed distracted.
“Mr. Mears,” she said. “This is a pleasant surprise.”
“I won’t keep you, Mrs. Wright,” I said. “I brought this book for Harriet.” I held it out to her.
She started to take it but hesitated. She folded her hands together as if to pray.
“Wouldn’t you like to give it to her yourself?” she asked. “Sadie’s back in school, but Harriet’s not quite feeling up to it. Why don’t you go round back to the garden, and I’ll bring her out. A little sunlight might brighten her up. Just follow the path.” She closed the door before I could speak.
I followed a stone path around the cottage. At the back I passed through a trellis with climbing roses. Daffodils nodded in a bed of periwinkle. There was a small patio of flat stones and a bench.
The back door opened and Mrs. Wright led Harriet out by the hand. Harriet blinked her eyes against the sunlight. The breeze lifted her long black hair about her face. She brushed it back with her fingers.
“Here she is,” Mrs. Wright said. Her voice was bright. Harriet took a step down onto the patio. Mrs. Wright put her hands on the girl’s shoulders. “You know, Mr. Mears, we had a very nice thing happen,” she said.
“Yes, ma’am?”
“The afternoon Momma was laid to rest, some colored people came over from the Ebenezer Baptist Church. They stood outside the gate on the street and sang hymns. Just for a few minutes. It was nice,” she said. “I’m afraid Uncle Lewter put a stop to it. He was having tea with us and told them to move on. That evening my husband took a donation over to the church. Did you see Uncle Lewter on your way? He was just here.”
“Was he carrying an umbrella?”
“Yes,” she said.
“Then I did see him,” I said.
“Harriet, you’re shivering!” Mrs. Wright said. “Do you want a sweater?”
Harriet moved free of her sister’s hands. “No, I’ll be all right.”
“I’ll leave you two, then,” Mrs. Wright said. “Look, Mr. Mears brought you a present, Harriet.”
She raised her eyes to look at me. I held out the book. She took it.
“Thank you,” she said.
Mrs. Wright fidgeted with the door latch until it opened. She went inside.
“Is Mrs. Wright all right?” I asked.
“She’s just nervous,” Harriet said. “Uncle Lewter makes everybody nervous.”
“Oh,” I said.
“Have you seen the Delectable Mountains?” she asked.
“So you’ve read it,” I said.
“Not an illustrated edition,” she said.
“I’ve seen something like,” I said. “The Blue Ridge. Near Charlottesville. A friend lived there.”
She smiled. “I haven’t seen the mountains,” she said. “I’ve only been to Richmond.”
“Someday,” I said.
“Would you like to sit down?” she asked.
“Thank you,” I said.
We sat on the bench. There was a sweet fragrance. I noticed white clematis blooming against the wall.
“Have you seen Virgie?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said. “I got a book for her.”
“She can’t read, you know.”
“A picture book,” I said.
“She likes to have someone read to her,” she said. “I used to afternoons, when she was hanging wash. Maybe you could read to her. Is she scared?”
“Yes,” I said.
“People want to kill her, don’t they?”
“Yes.”
She studied the bed of daffodils. “We have the same birthday. August fifteenth. Did you know that?”
“You and Virgie?”
“Yes,” she said. She began to leaf through the book, stopping at each illustration. “This is pretty,” she said.
“Do you mind if I smoke? Would Mrs. Wright mind?”
“Pauline? No, George smokes out here all the time. She won’t let him in the house, though.”
I lit a cigarette with a match cupped in my hands and held the match till it cooled. I tucked it into my pocket. She watched my face as I inhaled and exhaled the smoke. “I think I would like to smoke,” she said. “But Pauline says it isn’t ladylike.”
“No,” I said. “I suppose it isn’t.”
“I think I’d like to drink whiskey, too,” she said. “Do you drink?”
“No,” I said. “It isn’t godly.”
“Godly?” she said. She turned away. I saw her chin tremble. She shut the pages of the volume. “No,” she said. “I suppose it isn’t.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I meant no offense. It’s just what I believe.”
She nodded, and wiped her face with the back of her hand.
“Pauline says Sadie and I must live with Uncle Lewter and his family,” she said. “He’s Momma’s only brother.”
“I visited his offices,” I said. “He must be very successful.”
“Oh,