Arly (11 page)

Seeing the grin on Brother's face, I turned around, even though I already knew the voice of Miss Binnie Hoe. She sure was suited up for Sunday. Her dress was a deep blue, darker than a thunder sky, with lace at the collar and cuffs. The lace was creamy, not white. On her head perched a hat, yet there weren't no bird on it, and no feathers either. To me, her hat looked as if'n it
was turned out of mule stable straw. On top, the hat-maker had poked in a few fake flowers that were red, white, and blue.

“You look righteous nice, Miss Hoe.”

“Thank you, Arly. Such a sincere compliment is always a welcome.”

Brother nodded, as if to say how proper she looked. As soon as he'd saw Miss Hoe coming our way, his hat got yanked off his head by a hurry hand. It pleasure me to notice.

“This morning,” Miss Hoe said, “I took myself a walk around Jailtown and inspected the lumberyard.”

“Good,” I said, knowing that Miss Binnie Hoe was laying a plan in her head to put up a possible new school. She sure had gumption.

“And,” she went on to say, “right now, if the two of you will come along as my escorts, we are going to take a stroll together.”

“Where to?” I asked her.

“Trust me,” she telled us. “But please come. I'll need both of you to hold me up if my knees decide to jack.” Behind her glasses, her eyes looked bluer and sharper than I'd ever earlier took notice of; our little teacher sported eyes like a pair of Okeechobees. “Let's be off,” she said.

Brother didn't ask her where we was going, so I had me a hunch that he already knew. Miss Hoe knew too. Which left only dumb ol' Arly Poole who couldn't reason enough to dump a pebble out a lame boot.

“Miss Hoe, where we be off to?”

“You shall very soon see,” she answered me. “As for now, I want you to munch on the mystery. Milk it for all it's worth.”

“Sure,” I said, knotting up my face. I walked along, milking away, yet coming to no clear reasoning. Miss
Hoe could be worse than a dredge when it come to riling my brain water into a muddy swamp.

As the three of us marched along in the Sunday afternoon, we must've looked like a strange crew.

For one thing, I wasn't wearing no shirt; only trousers that were still soaked wet from wading. Plus, when I'd kicked through the road dust, going to Brother's, my wet toes had gleaned up enough dirt to make my bare feet appear as if I was into earthen stockings. It was sort of fun, on account I'd never owned even one pair of stockings in all my entire life.

Brother Smith was also barefoot. Yet, at least, he was shirted and not bareback, like me. His shirt and trousers was a pale gray, sort of like two big clouds that could pillow around his big body. Miss Hoe'd ordered him to put his hat back on his head so's he wouldn't have to squint. So he final done it.

Whenever I'd seen Brother walking home with Miss Hoe, he'd always take care to walk behind her, on account it just wouldn't look proper for a colored man to walk beside a white lady. Papa usual telled me that if'n you be colored or a picker, best we know our place. Still and all, I feeled sort of belonging when I'd walk with Miss Hoe. In the rear, I knowed that Brother did too, like he was her watchdog.

I believe Brother Smith would carry Miss Binnie around in her porch rocker chair, wicker and all, if'n she'd asked it of him. He'd follow her, I was thinking to myself, all the way down to Hell or up to Heaven. I'd seen Brother lift up a kitten one time, hold it in the light palm of his giant hand, then touch its head, flower gentle, with the light-colored tip of one of his thick fingers. And that was also how my mind pictured the way Brother'd tote around Miss Hoe, as if she was a parcel too precious to drop to busting.

So the three of us must have more'n looked a mite strange to the rest of Jailtown. Not just to my eyes. As we walked through town, people turned to look at us, even from up on their porches where they'd sat in the shade.

Someday, I was thinking, I'd sure cotton to live myself in a house that sported a step-up porch on its front. Whenever my daddy talked, or dreamed, about his quit-work day, he always promised himself that he'd “ease back on the porch of poverty and salt away worry.” That was smack how he'd said it, righteous oft.

Papa spoke about
shade
like it was Heaven.

As we went walking through Jailtown, I still had no notion as to where we were headed. Miss Hoe led the way. Me and Brother Smith trailed a step behind, the two of us walking hip to hip. There sure wasn't one eye that miss us. They all stare.

Soon as we turn the next corner, I knowed.

Ahead was the big white house, the one that people in Jailtown sometime called the Gingerbread Castle. Maybe because the house looked like it got carpented with boards of sugar and roofed with brown molasses cookies. I'd eaten one once.

Brother Smith stopped. “We best go no further, Missy,” he warned our teacher. “We go back.”

I said, “We can't go to Captain's house.”

Brother Smith and I waited.

We couldn't believe seeing Miss Hoe actual do it; trot up on the big porch, ring the bell, and then parade by that big wooden door when it opened. Miss Hoe said something and then went inside. Just looking at Captain's house made me back up a step. Both my lungs held back breathing until Miss Hoe come out again. She wasn't inside Captain Tant's too ample a time.

Out she come, and along beside her was Miss Liddy Tant, looking frail, like she snap easier than a dry twig. Miss Hoe walked down the steps and Miss Liddy come too. She waved a thin salute to Brother Smith and to me. I couldn't make my feet move, though I'd wanted to run away. The two ladies come closer and closer, so near that I could inhale Miss Liddy Tant. She smelled of lilac.

“Good morning,” Miss Liddy said in her fluttery voice.

As Brother Smith yanked off his hat, I wanted to hide behind it. Looking down at my ankles, I near to bended down to clean myself.

“We have good news,” said Miss Liddy. “You will have land and lumber, at no charge. Not a penny. And if Brother Smith can construct it, you shall have a new
school.” Smiling, she turned to our teacher. “And it shall be away from Mrs. Stout.”

Brother did a little dance. But I still didn't dare to do much more than breathe, without a sound.

“It's about time,” Miss Liddy said, “that Jailtown turns into a more fitting monument to our family. A school itself cannot do this. Yet it shall be our start.”

Miss Hoe nodded a firm nod. Then she snapped at me sudden.

“Arly Poole, the least you could do is quit staring down at your filthy feet, and say a thank-you to Miss Tant.”

My throat choked. All it could do was swallow, and when my mouth final opened, not a word come out. So I tried a grin, and it made Miss Liddy Tant smile too.

“I was shy at that age,” Miss Tant said. “And perhaps I shall never become socially at ease. But I intend to attend our business, and try to fill the Captain's shoes.”

Miss Hoe thanked her once again, and turned away. Brother Smith and I tagged along behind her. As we got close to Newell's Boarding House, she stopped, turned, and fired us both a pleased grin.

“Tomorrow morn,” Miss Hoe said, “lumber shall arrive by mule and wagon at your dock, Brother Smith. I'll be there. And I want you there too, Arly.”

“Yes'm.” I said. “But why can't we start today?” Brother poked me with his big finger. “Arly, it be Sunday. The lumberyard place be still resting.”

Miss Hoe nodded. “Allow me to suggest, by chance, if either of you chance to meet Miss Liddy, that you thank her properly for donating our lumber.”

“Maybe,” I said, “she done it because her pa order our school burnt.”

Miss Hoe shook her head. “No, he didn't. Miss Liddy told me, and neither of you are to repeat a word of this, that Captain Tant is quite ill. Perhaps this explains why his daughter is making her own decisions. Genesis Tant may be dying sooner than his town.”

I let out a slow breath. Miss Hoe's words was ample hard to swallow. “Is that his name? Genesis?”

“Yes, that's his Christian name.”

“It be a Bible name,” said Brother Smith. “First book, my mama tell me.”

Miss Hoe's little hand reached out to touch Brother's big one. “Correct. And perhaps the name of Genesis means a new start for Jailtown. A new beginning.”

“Sign from God,” said Brother, “maybe. Just like you, Missy Hoe. You be a gift to us from the Lord.”

As the three of us stood there on the street corner, sunlight sifted down through the green fingery leaves of a giant oak. It certain was, I thought, a Sunday sun. And inside I had a righteous good Sunday feeling.

“Thank you,” Miss Hoe said. “So, I guess that's about all we'll do for today. Brother Smith, you might as well return home and go fishing.”

Brother yawned. “Well,” he said, “I aim to go home and peaceful me a nap.” He bowed to Miss Hoe, turned, and amble his big body toward Okeechobee and his shack. As he walk away, his deep voice began to hum a hymn.

“Arly,” said Miss Hoe, touching my bare shoulder, “how would you like a present?”

“For
me
?”

“Come along, please.”

As the pair of us walked toward Newell's Boarding House, I wondered what kind of a present she had in mind. And then she busted out and let it leak.

“Perhaps you know that Mrs. Newell is a widow.
Her husband died. We had a chat this morning, and it seems that many of her late husband's clothes are still hanging upstairs in a closet. Unused. Verna Newell said it was a shame, and I agree.”

“Yes'm.”

I didn't dare to speak more. As we reached Mrs. Newell's, my teacher ordered me to hurry around back and wash. There was a bar of brown soap on the pump rail, so I rubbed almost all of myself creamy with lather. Then rinsed off. Standing in the sunshine, I waited to dry my skin proper, then climbed the steps of the outback porch.

The back door opened and out came Miss Hoe and Mrs. Newell, a lady even smaller than my teacher. Mrs. Newell was holding an orange shirt. It near to blinded me with its pretty.

“Here ya go. Arly,” said Mrs. Newell. “My husband was a small man, so maybe you can grow into it.”

I had to force my hand to courage up and take it. All I could do was hold the shirt and feel all its finery. Before I could say as much as a sneeze, Mrs. Newell and Miss Hoe snaked me into it, buttons and all. It was a mite too large, but I didn't care a bug's worth about that. “Wow!” I said. “I feel orange all over.”

Both ladies laughed.

“Miss Hoe's been telling me about you, Arly. She says you can already read letters and words. Your daddy oughta strut proudly of you.”

“I'm proud of Papa too,” I said. “Thanks for your shirt, Mrs. Newell. I won't never take it off.”

“Except,” said Miss Hoe, “for soaping.”

I grinned. “Yes'm, I'm to tend it proper.”

Mrs. Newell looked sudden sad. “Elbert, rest his soul, cherished that orange thing. Wore it the day we went to Moore Haven, to the fairgrounds. There's a
bottom button missing, Arly, yet I don't guess you'll turn fretty over it. I recall how that button come off, the day Elbert and I went …” Her voice trailed off to empty. “Come inside, the both of you,” she said. “I could do with a cup of tea.”

I'd never been inside a house so grand as Mrs. Newell's. There was even boards and cloth to walk on. In the hallway, I didn't even dare to move for fear I'd nudge something over to breaking. There was nobody in the parlor. All the boarders must've been out or upstairs, sleeping their Sunday.

“You got a
piano
!” I said.

Mrs. Newell nodded. “Elbert use to play it, evenings. I can't as much as even finger a single note. It's been closed for years.”

I ventured a step closer to the piano. “Golly,” I said to Mrs. Newell, “you should hear Knuckle Knapp play
his
piano machine. Have you ever been inside the Lucky Leg and heard…?” My hand flew up to cover my mouth.

Miss Hoe smiled. “Knuckle Knapp is not the
only
piano player in Jailtown.” As she said it, her fingers wiggled as if trying to loosen their age.

I saw Mrs. Newell look at her. “Do you play?”

It took Miss Binnie Hoe less than a breath to open that machine, sit on the three-legged pie, and bless the keys with music. She even sang a song, called
When the Organ Played at Twilight
, warbling out the words in a birdy voice.

Mrs. Newell and I clapped.

Miss Hoe crooked a skinny finger at me. “Come over here, Arly.” As I stepped closer to the piano machine, Miss Hoe stood up from the stool, ordering me to sit down on the round wooden pie. “You're too high,” she said. “Up.”

Soon as I stood up again, she spinned the seat around in circles, sat me down and laughed at the way my face must've looked. I was shorter. Then I spinned myself around, one time, just for the fun of it.

“Arly,” said Miss Hoe, “you may touch the keys.”

Being right cautious, I press down about seven or eight, yet no music pop out.

“Harder.”

“No,” I said, “I'll bust it.”

She lifted my hands and then pushed them downwards on the keys. It made noise. But what I sounded be more like mud than music.

“It ain't too ample pretty,” I said.

Miss Hoe smile at me. “That, my boy, will brighten as soon as I teach you which notes to play.” Taking my pointing finger, she rest it to one of the white keys. “If you can count up to eight, you can play a piano.”

“Honest?”

“It's easy as eating. One, three, and five blend together to rhyme a chord. Press these three.”

I did what Miss Hoe tell me. She was right, like usual. My three notes rung out like sisters.