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, yes,” she said. “He has buckets of money. Have you seen his house?”
“No,” I said.
“I guess you’d call it a mansion,” she said. “Room after room.” She lifted the little book to her breast and began to rock gently from the hips. “I won’t stay there,” she said. “I’ll run away.”
I took a long drag on the cigarette. Then I crushed it on the side of my shoe heel and tucked the butt in my pocket with the match.
“It’s a big change,” I said. “Maybe after a while it will feel like home.”
“That’s not likely,” she said.
“I was sent away when my mother died, but it turned out all right,” I said.
She stopped rocking. “Did they send you into a viper’s pit?”
“No,” I said. “Not anything like that.”
Her eyes gleamed, like a bird’s trapped on a limned twig.
“Do you mind if I call you Charlie?” she asked.
“No,” I said. “Do you mind if I call you Harriet?”
“No,” she said. She began to rock again, faster, clutching the book. Then she stopped.
“Charlie, my uncle uses me,” she said. “For his
