James off to a place where the boys have to earn their keep instead of getting it by the kindness of the Tennessee Children’s Home Society.
“A boy who is oldt enough to pursue after the girls is oldt enough for work and too oldt to be wanted by a goot family. Mrs. Murphy will be havingk none of this behavior between boys and girls here. Each of you knows of our rules.” She slaps the spoon hard against the table, her breath coming in heavy snorts that make her wide, flat nose flare out. We jerk upright like puppets with strings bolted to our heads. She leans toward the boys’ side of the table. They duck and stare at their empty bowls. “Andt for the girls”—the spoon and the jiggly arm come our way now—“so much shame to you for causing trouble to the boys. Mind yourselfs, keep down your skirts, and behave as little women shouldt.” The last word comes with a hard look at me. “Or I do not want to think of what may happen to you.”
Blood rushes hot up my neck and burns in my cheeks. I feel bad for getting James sent away. I shouldn’t have been his girlfriend. I didn’t know.
The workers don’t bring Stevie down for breakfast either. He’s not on the playground. The other kids tell me he has to stay in his bed because he wet it again last night. I see him in the upstairs window later with his nose pushed against the screen. I stand in the yard and whisper up at him. “Be good, all right? Just be good, that’s all.”
Later on that afternoon, the workers line us up on the porch, and I gather my sisters and my brother close because I’m scared. Even the other kids don’t seem to know what’s happening.
Mrs. Pulnik and the workers march us by the rain barrel one by one. They swipe dirty faces and arms and knees with wet cloths and brush hair and have us wash our hands. Some kids are made to change their clothes right there on the porch. Some kids get fresh clothes or pinafores to put right on top of their playclothes.
Mrs. Murphy comes outside and stands on the top step and looks us over. A wire rug beater dangles off her arm. I’ve never seen the kitchen women use it to knock the dirt out of the rugs, but I’ve seen it used on kids a lot. The kids call it the wire witch.
“Something very special will be happening today,” Mrs. Murphy says. “But it’s only for good little boys and girls. Anyone who isn’t on best behavior will not be allowed to participate. Do you understand?”
“Yes, ma’am.” I say it right along with the rest of the kids.
“Very well.” She smiles, but the smile makes me back up a step. “Today, the bookmobile will be coming. The kind ladies of the Aid Society will be giving of their time to help you select books. It is very important that we make a good showing. Each of you may have one book to read if you are good.” She goes on and tells us to mind our manners, say yes ma’am and no ma’am, don’t grab and touch all the books, and if the workers ask whether we’re happy here, we’re to tell them we’re very grateful to Miss Tann for finding us and to Mrs. Murphy for taking us into her home.
I lose track of the rest. All I can think of is that we’re going to have a chance at a book, and there’s not much I like better than books, especially books I haven’t read yet. With five of us, we can get five books.
But when the workers unlock the yard gate and the line starts out, Mrs. Murphy stops Camellia and me and the babies. “Not you,” she says. “Since you haven’t a place upstairs yet, you’ve no good spot to keep books, and we can’t have the library’s property being damaged.”
“We’ll treat them real careful. I promise,” I blurt out. Normally, I’d never talk back to Mrs. Murphy, but I can’t help it this time. “Please. Could we get one book at least? And I can read it to my sisters and my brother? Queenie used to…” I button my lips before I can get myself in more trouble. We’re not allowed to talk about our mamas and daddies here.