Page 34 of The Reformatory

Gloria held her breath and didn’t move even to swat gnats from her nose. She felt sorry for Lyle, stuck with Mister Red for a father, but she felt sorrier for herself.

As Gloria realized this man would never grant her wish, she heard Mister Red say, “Well, bring her in. We don’t want to keep the Stephens Negress waiting, do we?”

And the shed door opened. Lyle was in the doorway, sweating like he’d been swimming. His father’s handprint was painted across his cheek in bright red. Lyle didn’t speak, but he gave Gloria a long stare and a nod, so she walked in. She was glad when Lyle didn’t shut the door behind her. Even the dogs had sense enough not to follow.

This was Mister Red’s hobby shed, full of wooden furniture he built himself: tables, chairs, a baby’s crib. The shed glistened with expensive machinery and stank of chemicals. He had two dark planks laid across the table where he’d been sawing. Like Lyle, he was sweating. His hair really was bright red.

He pointed his cigar at her. “Let me tell you somethin’, nigger—you are not welcome on this property, day or night. I catch you here again, I’ll send the sheriff after you too.”

Gloria nodded. “Yessir, Mr. McCormack.” She’d almost called him Mister Red, which was what Papa called him. She was sure it would sound too familiar.

Mister Red came from around his table, pulling off his gloves. He threw them down one by one before he folded his arms. Even the tiny hairs on his arms were red. He was stout like Lou Costello from Abbott and Costello in overalls. He pulled on a billed cap as he studied her. He smelled like wood pulp and cigar tobacco.

“You’re here now,” he said. “You came trespassing. Go ahead and talk.”

“Yessir,” Gloria said, and she began. She recited everything she’d planned to say in the courtroom, speaking slowly and clearly, the entire map of the situation—except she said Robbie “misunderstood” Lyle’s advance at the fence. Even so, Mister Red’s eyes shot over to Lyle and she felt him squirming behind her.

“So you see, Mister Red, justice has already been served and Robbie should be sent home right away,” Gloria finished. “He’ll never do anything like it again. I promise you that, sir.”

“Just like your goddamn daddy,” he said, and Gloria’s heart withered. Coming from Red McCormack, that couldn’t be a compliment. “I don’t have to ask where you got the nerve to march here and give me a damn speech.” He glanced over at Lyle again, who stood in the doorway at his own safe distance. “What she’s sayin’ is true?”

“Yessir,” Lyle mumbled. “I told you the kick was nothin’.”

“Well, what’s done is done. There’s a system to things, and six months won’t hurt him none. I still say any colored boy who’d kick my son is right where he belongs—even if Lyle needed kicking. But…”

Gloria’s heart was carried away and back in his long pause as he waited, thinking it over. “… I will do this: I asked Warden Haddock to give him twenty lashes. May be too late now, but I’ll call over and tell him never mind.”

Gloria smothered a sob in her throat. Twenty lashes! Papa mostly only threatened with his belt, so Robbie had barely had a whipping in his life except a paddling or two at school. She shivered with grief and outrage. Even after boxing Robbie’s ear and having him sent to the Reformatory, Mister Red hadn’t been satisfied?

“Thank you, sir,” Gloria choked out. “Yes—please do that.”

“And that’s the end of this matter. Don’t you come by here again.” He gestured toward Lyle with his cigar. “Lyle, you step outside. Close the door.”

Gloria looked at Lyle, startled, and he was as confused as she. But his eyes dropped from hers and he quickly did as his father asked. The door dragged against the soil as it closed.

“Come here,” Mister Red said, gesturing Gloria closer. Ash dropped from his cigar. Gloria fought every better instinct when she took three steps toward Mister Red, expecting him to hit her too. She didn’t like his eyes on her—assessing her up and down like she was in the display case in the window at Lily’s Dress Shop on Main Street. Or the butcher shop. He looked at her the way Lyle did.

“You knocked up?” he said.

It was the most shocking question anyone had ever asked Gloria Stephens—so shocking that, although she heard him clearly and knew his meaning, her mind wouldn’t accept the words.

“Speak up, girl. If you’re knocked up, I’ll send Doc over to take care of it.”

All Gloria could do was shake her head no. Mister Red scowled, not quite believing her. “Brown sugar’s one thing, but Lyle’s not claiming no babies. So if you get knocked up, I’ll send Doc—but that’s all you’ll get. You won’t see a penny otherwise. You hear? And don’t wait ’til your belly shows.”

Gloria’s face flared hot. Her own mother had never discussed such things with her: Gloria was a virgin, and this kind of talk came before marriage from a parent, not a stranger.

“We’re not… doing nothing.” That was all Gloria could manage.

Mister Red shrugged, not hiding his skepticism. He walked back around the table to his monstrous saw. “Remember what I said. Otherwise, just keep clear of here. Lyyyle!”

His raised voice made Gloria jump. The door opened again, and Lyle stuck his head in. “See to it she gets back to the road. And latch the gate.”

“Yessir,” Lyle said.

Sparks flew again as the saw roared.

Gloria and Lyle scurried in the dark across the field back toward the road, Lyle’s flashlight beam leading the way. Neither of them spoke, and Gloria noticed every detail about Lyle: his shallow breaths, a half whistle that sounded too merry, his five inches of height above her, a football player’s build. Gloria walked faster, and he matched her pace. She would take Mister Red’s advice and never set foot on his land again.