Before We Were Yours(46)

“I’m gonna marry you someday.”

“I don’t wanna marry anybody. I’m gonna build a boat and go down the river. Take care of myself.”

“I might get on your boat too.”

“No you ain’t.”

We sit there a while. The boys down the hill chant, “James’s got a girlfriend….K-i-s-s-i-n-g…”

He lolls his elbows over his knees, looking at me. “That where you come from? The river?”

“Yep, it is.”

We talk about boats. James is from a dirt farm in Shelby County. Miss Tann picked him and his brother up off the side of the road when they were walking to school one day. He was in the fourth grade then. He’s been here ever since and not seen a day of school this whole time. His brother is long gone. Adopted.

James lifts his chin. “I don’t want me some new parents,” he says. “I figure I’ll be too big pretty soon, and I’ll get outa here. I’m gonna need me a wife. We can go live on the river, if you want.”

“My daddy’s comin’ back to get us.” I feel bad saying it. I feel sorry for James. He seems lonesome more than anything. Lonesome and sad. “He’ll be here pretty soon.”

James just shrugs. “I’ll bring you some tea cakes tomorrow. But you gotta still be my girlfriend.”

I don’t answer. My mouth waters thinking about tea cakes. I guess now I know who’s been sneaking around in the kitchen at night. “You hadn’t oughta. You might get the closet.”

“I ain’t scared.” He puts his hand over mine.

I let it stay there.

Maybe I don’t mind it too much.

Pretty soon, I figure out it’s not so bad being James’s girlfriend after all. He ain’t hard to talk to, and he only wants to hold my hand. Nobody bothers me the rest of the day. Nobody’s mean to Camellia or Lark or the babies. James and I walk around the yard and hold hands, and he tells me more things I need to know about Mrs. Murphy’s house. He promises me tea cakes again. He describes just how he’ll sneak down and get them tonight.

I tell him I don’t like tea cakes.

In the bath line, the big boys don’t look at me. They know they better not.

But the next day, James isn’t at breakfast. Mrs. Pulnik stands over the table, tapping a wood spoon in her big, meaty hand. She says they sent 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.