The Reading Lessons (10 page)

The Negro boy swished a fan around the old man’s head, and Hadley watched three unnaturally black hairs blow back and forth, back and forth. All the while, he couldn’t help but think how delightfully boring it would be to work as a fanner for Mr. Muggins. “I’ve come to ask if you have any work, sir,” Hadley said.

Two murky lenses turned his way and gave him a murky once over. 

Hadley cleared his throat. “I’ve been at Browning House since I was nine. Before that I was with a family in Charlottesville called Tweeb.”

Muggins’ hair blew up. Muggins’ hair blew down. “What do you do for Winslow Browning?” he asked.

Hadley squared his shoulders. “I’m pretty handy, sir.” He ticked off his handiness on his fingers. “I know how to work a vegetable garden, fix a toilet, bake a Brown Betty, and I’ve been told I have a very cajoling way with pigs . . . ”

Muggins tapped on Hadley’s arm. “Let me see them.”

“Sir?”

“Your arms. I’m putting in a gymnasium, and I’m looking for strong arms.” Hadley peered into the man’s dark glasses and saw nothing in return except his own round eyes. “Have you got strong arms, boy?”

Hadley showed his arms.

Muggins kicked back the last of his julep and swatted the fan-boy away. “When can you start?” 

“You mean you’re hiring me?”

“I pay a decent wage and offer plenty of opportunities to earn an extra buck. Does that sound like something that would suit you?”

Hadley was afraid to get his hopes up. Could it really be this easy? “That all depends. I’m going to need a place to stay.”

Muggins smiled for the first time since Hadley stepped into his bright white house. “Today’s your lucky day, son. I keep a dormitory upstairs for my boys.”

Hadley was so pleased with himself that he let out a yelp as soon as he was through the front door. 

“You gonna work on the gym?” a voice asked from somewhere over Hadley’s head. 

Hadley shielded his eyes and looked up. A boy about his age stood on a ladder, cleaning out a gutter. He was tall and brown and had the biggest muscles Hadley had ever seen. The boy gestured with the claw of a hammer. “Ole man’s aw’right. I made an extra V spot last week just for plumbing his drain.”

Hadley felt like someone had just lifted a buggy off his chest. No more watching Lucinda doodle pictures of wedding dresses. No more notes that hurt his heart. It seemed a little strange that the old man wanted a gymnasium, what with being in a wheel chair and all, but that’s how rich folks were. They spent money on all sorts of useless stuff. It wasn’t gardening, of course, and Hadley wasn’t sure how long a job as a laborer was likely to last, but he didn’t care. He was pleased as punch to be leaving Browning House behind.

###

Hadley wrote out his notice three times over before leaving it under the coal-lump paperweight on Mr. Browning’s desk. Even Mama couldn’t complain. She believed the move would be good for Hadley. In a month’s time, Lucinda would be married and moving into one of the fancy modern houses on Treebourne Street built by
Worther-Holmes Homes
. Regardless, she was sure to be making regular appearances with her young husband in tow. 

“At Muggins’,” Mama said, “you can keep clear of Miss Lucinda forever.” 

Mr. Sweet came into the kitchen just then and told Hadley that Mr. Browning wished to speak to him in the study. 

###

Hadley had built fires in the study, of course. He’d once earned an afternoon off for repairing the baby toe on the claw foot of Mr. Browning’s desk chair after Lucinda had taken the coal paperweight to it because she didn’t have a mama. But Hadley had never been in the study when Mr. Browning was in the study. 

“Sit,” Mr. Sweet said, nodding to a chair. The chair was parked directly across the table from Lucinda, who pulled a long pink twist of taffy from her teeth and smiled a Cheshire smile. 

Recently, she had cut and waved her hair, and Hadley didn’t care for it. He thought it made her look older. Then again, this was probably not such a bad thing. For one, her hair wouldn’t be dancing across Dickie Worther-Holmes’ cheek nearly so often as it had danced across his cheek in the good old days. For another, Hadley didn’t want to be reminded of the good old days. 

Mr. Browning was a tall elegant man with eyes that blinked two or three times as as often as normal. He was known around town for his bright yellow
pointed-chin
beard, which he stroked obsessively into the sharpest of triangles whenever he wasn’t using his hands for other things. Presently, he sat next to his daughter with his hands folded on top of Hadley’s letter. He looked ridiculously big behind the spindly writing table, and Hadley couldn’t help but wonder if this was why the man had chosen such a delicate piece of furniture for his desk. He motioned for Hadley to pull his chair up as if they were about to eat. Somehow, the table made Hadley feel like a runt, even as his employer tripled in size.

Mr. Browning did something then he had never done in a full eight years. He released Mr. Sweet and spoke to Hadley with his own two lips. “I’m baffled,” he said, blinking ten times. “And I don’t get baffled much. No one has ever resigned their post at Browning House. Retired, yes. On rare occasion, we’ve been forced to dismiss someone. Usually people die first. Resignations are unheard of. So what’s the problem, young man? The pay is fair, so it can’t be that. The work is reasonable, and the hours are quite standard. What could possibly be the trouble?” He must have seen Hadley shift in his seat because he added, “You may speak freely, of course.”

For the first time in weeks, Hadley wanted to laugh. He even shot a look at Lucinda, hoping she’d get wiggly at the thought that he might actually speak freely.
Well, you see, Mr. Browning, your daughter here has been giving me more than reading lessons for the past few years . . . 

Much as he might like to say the words, he didn’t have the nerve. He hardly knew what to say at all. Hadley wished Mr. Sweet were doing the talking instead. “A man can’t live with his mother forever,” he finally said. 

“So this is about living quarters? Is that it?” 

“No, sir. It’s about doing something on my own.”

Mr. Browning patted Hadley’s letter as though it wouldn’t lay flat. He blinked some more. “All right then. I can appreciate that, son, I surely can.” He patted the letter again, though this time it was rather more like a spank. “I have to wonder though—how much do you really know about your new employer?” Triangling his beard into a saber-sharp point, Mr. Browning leaned across his little desk and spoke in the lowest possible voice. “Are you aware of the fact that Arthur Muggins has a reputation for hiring young men, such as yourself, to perform special ‘duties’ for extra cash?” He sat back in his chair. “If you catch my meaning.”

Hadley didn’t catch his meaning. “He needs laborers, sir.”

Mr. Browning gave Hadley the same agitated sigh that his daughter had been giving him for years. “Let me spell it out for you, boy. Muggins has never married. Muggins will never marry. He is of the sort who enjoys fraternizing with his hired help. His hired help are all young men of color. Boys, to be exact. Do you understand what I’m telling you?”

Hadley’s ears warmed. 

Mr. Browning smacked the table, rattling ink bottles and tipping over a cup of old feather pens. “Arthur Muggins uses his so-called ‘laborers’ until they get too old, and then he hires new boys to take their place. If his backyard is any indication,
old
would seem to be about twenty-five. Not a good career move for you, I’m thinking, even if being used in such a way by your employer appeals to you for some odd reason.”

Hadley kept quiet by sticking the tip of his tongue under his molars. It was horrifying to realize that Muggins may, in fact, be after a similar arrangement to the one Hadley already had. He thought back to the backyard on Morning Dew Circle. Indeed, the whole house had been over-flowing with young men such as him.

“Don’t look so down in the mouth now,” Mr. Browning said, re-pointing his beard and smiling cheerily. “I have a solution that I think might serve us all.” He laid a hand on Lucinda’s shoulder. “Miss Browning wishes to hire you as her gardener for her new home on Treebourne Street.”

At first Hadley wasn’t sure who Miss Browning was. Then Miss Browning nudged his ankle with her toe. 

Hadley scratched at a scab of dirt on his trousers and tried not to hear the rubbery twist of taffy being stretched between her teeth. “I’d like to make my own way, thank you.”

“Nonsense, boy. There’ll be no peace for you at Muggins, and if you don’t work for Muggins, where will you work? I’m sure I don’t need to remind you how people feel about half-casts. You might consider yourself what my daddy used to call a
passer,
but, like it or not,
your mother is Negro, and you go to the Negro church. Not everyone is as enlightened as we are at Browning House. Most people won’t touch a chromey with a ten foot pole, Arthur Muggins’ pole not withstanding.” 

Hadley watched Lucinda lick pastel goo off her thumb. 

“Now then, you want your independence, and I don’t blame you. I believe working for my daughter is the perfect compromise. We won’t be losing a faithful employee, and you’ll have your own work away from your mother.”

Lucinda’s toes picked that particular moment to begin scissoring up the inside of Hadley’s calve. Hadley sat up straight in his chair. “I’ve already begun packing,” he said, as if all his belongings couldn’t be thrown in a shoebox in two minutes flat. 

Mr. Browning clapped his hands. “Wonderful. We’ll move you over with Lucinda when the time comes.”

Lucinda’s foot made a swift traverse of Hadley’s knee, and when he tried to shift away, her toes followed his leg. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, sir.” 

Mr. Browning sighed spectacularly. “Why ever not?” Lucinda slid the arch of her foot up Hadley’s thigh and pressed her toes firmly between his legs. Hadley inhaled too fast and choked on his spit. 

Thanks to Lucinda Browning, Hadley was a man who knew what broom handles tasted like. Even so, he had not been touched so specifically since Lucinda gouged his throat with her tiger tooth. He seriously considered directing Mr. Browning’s attention to Lucinda’s foot under the table. Lucinda smiled around her taffy, confident that he would never do any such directing. In the meantime, she slid her toes and squeezed her toes and walked her toes until Hadley felt as dizzy as a man wearing a winter suit at a summer picnic. She did it so thoroughly that Hadley wasn’t sure he wanted to do anything that would make Lucinda put her foot back in her shoe. It was uncomfortable, truly, but even so, Hadley thought his best revenge might be to let it go on for as long as possible. When he stopped chocking on his spit, he said; “I just don’t know, Mr. Browning.”

Mr. Browning posed some pretty convincing arguments. He offered more money. More holidays. Bigger quarters. He informed Hadley that several of Muggin’s nigs had been found twirling from trees in Moon Woods. Hadley figured Lucinda was working up as much of a sweat as he was, what with all the convincing arguments going on.

“I thought you’d never say yes,” she grumbled when they left the study together five long minutes later. 

Hadley had made himself wait until he could stand it no longer before agreeing to move in with Lucinda. By then, he hardly heard his own voice saying
okay
. He only knew he’d made Lucinda work hard to sway him.

After Mr. Browning shut the door, Hadley yanked Lucinda around the corner into the Rose Bud parlor. Anyone could have heard him: a gossipy maid, Mr. Browning, or his own mother. 

Hadley didn’t care. “I want you, Lucinda,” he said, pulling her body against his own. “In the normal way this time. No Dracula stuff. No drinking poison to prove it. If you feel like you can’t marry me, that’s not my fault. I’ll work at your fancy new house like I said I would, but if you want to put your toes in my lap while your daddy is staring me dead in the eye, you damned well better do it in private, too. I ain’t gonna like watching you with Dickie. Only one thing will make it worth my while.” Hadley jabbed a finger at her nose. “That’s the real deal, Lucinda, the deal your daddy can’t make. Now, what do you say?”

Lucinda’s eyes turned wrathfully blue. “Good Lord, Hadley. Who do you think you are?”

Hadley didn’t rightly know who he was. He only knew that he aimed to get something out of all this for himself. If Lucinda wanted to play with him, why shouldn’t he work out a deal that would give him something in return? “I can’t hardly think straight any more, you got me so tied up in knots.”

Lucinda lifted the circle that was his arms and took him off like a soiled dress. “Well now, we need to get you thinking straight again, don’t we,
Crump
?” She slipped her hand, still sticky with taffy, down the front of his baggy trousers. 

One touch was all it took. 

Lucinda unfolded her handkerchief and wiped her hand with it. “Don’t try and give me orders, Hadley. It’s ugly and no one likes an ugly boy. I feel sure that old chicken hawk Muggins would back me up on this. There’s only one ‘deal’ dear, and this is it: You play nice, I’ll give the orders, and maybe, just maybe, we’ll both get what we want.” 

When she left, he slumped against the rose buds, his knees rubbery as taffy and his heart galloping with a powerful excitement born of fear or joy--he didn’t know which. From her permanent place above the mantle, Mrs. Browning stared at him, chin cocked in a wondering sort of way. 

###

On June 1, 1920, Lucinda M. Browning became Mrs. Richard Worth-Holmes Junior and moved into the crown jewel of the new housing track on Treebourne Street, four blocks over from Browning House. The young bride christened her three-story mansion,
Wisteria Walk,
despite its mud lawn and distinct lack of wisteria. “That’s why I’m bringing you along. Personality.”

As Lucinda’s gardener, Hadley’s first job was to learn all he could about growing wisteria, a subject on which he was about to become a keen expert. He began his new lessons much like he began his reading lessons: with a book.