“Children’s books are downstairs,” she said.
“Do you have a reading circle for children?”
“Do you mean a children’s program?”
“Yes, where adults read aloud to children and listen to the children read?”
“We certainly do, particularly on weekends and in the afternoons, after school. Do you have children?”
“No, my first is on the way. I like to read aloud, though, and I thought maybe, if you can use a volunteer…” I peeked over my shoulder to make certain Henry was still asleep.
“Come back Wednesday. You can speak to the director of our children’s programs and work something out with her.” She checked out my two books and handed them to me. “By the way, your hair looks nice.”
“Thank you. I just came from Ginny’s—she did my hair.”
“Ginny does everyone’s hair.”
I went over to nudge Henry awake. “I’m ready, I have my books,” I said.
“Yeah, let’s go home.”
“To the store next. I need paper for writing letters.”
“It’s late.”
“I need paper,” I said as I rubbed the baby bump.
“I guess it’s near our apartment…. All right, but you need to get dinner ready right after.”
We retraced our steps out of the library, past Ginny’s shop, and back down the street toward the apartment. I glanced at myself in every window that provided a reflection of the new me and touched my hairdo as I held tight to the books.
Once at the store, I stood in the doorway and looked at everything before stepping in. John’s was the name stenciled on the door. A little bell hanging from the top of the doorframe chimed when the door opened. A small deli counter stood to the left, holding cut cheeses, lunch meat, mixed salads, and pastries. To the right was a collection of bins holding penny candies sorted by type—red and black licorice in one bin, fireballs in another, chocolate items in yet another, and assorted hard candies overflowing in a fourth. Potato chips and popcorn packages hung from clips at the front of the first aisle. On the shelves were packaged goods like macaroni, rice, soups, cereals, seasonings, and various kinds of beans, both canned and uncooked. Fresh milk and raw meat were located in the cold container next to the candy bins, and a small collection of produce was available alongside them. Cleaning products and paper items were in the back of the store, along with a limited supply of things like writing pens, pencils, envelopes, notebooks, and paper.
“Here’s the paper,” Henry said. I picked out several pads of yellow lined paper. “Need that much?”
“Yes,” I said. “I have to keep writing letters.”
At the cash register the man greeted Henry: “Hello, Henry, how’s your day?”
“Just fine, John,” Henry said. I waited for him to introduce me, but he just fished in his pocket for the money to pay.
“This here the missus?” John asked.
“Yeah, my wife, Nell.”
“Hello, Nell, good to meet you. How do you like the neighborhood?”
“Just fine,” I said.
“Hope to see you here again,” John said to me.
“Me too,” I replied.
Henry said, “We gotta go.”
Our apartment building was just a short walk from John’s store. I stopped at the foot of the stairs leading to the front door of our building. Fresh air, neighbors sitting on the stoop chatting, the sound of cars passing by, all were a comfort to me. I held tightly to the railing and slowly eased myself up the stairs, as though it were the weight of the baby growing inside me that caused me to linger. Henry had already turned the key in the lock to our apartment before I made it to the top step. “Come on, Nell,” he shouted.
After dinner I sat down to write a letter to my parents. This time I told them all about my adventure outside for the day—how beautiful my new hairdo looked and how Ginny’s shop reminded me of Momma and her women friends sharing stories while quilting. I talked about the park across from the library and the people enjoying a lovely day, with spring coming to a close and offering the promise of warm summer days; I explained how this made me think about the blooming magnolias, the vegetables in our garden, the first signs of corn stalks sprouting in the fields. I described the scent of the library, the feel of the books on my fingertips, the row of desks along the window that looked like the ones we had in Miss Parker’s class. After hesitating for a moment, I decided to share that it might be possible for me to work in the library, as a volunteer, with young children. Then I wrote about the constant stirring in my belly. I knew they’d want to hear how the baby was coming along.
Chapter Eight
I STOOD AT THE DOOR, READY TO OPEN IT AND HEAD outside. After a quick look around the apartment and several deep breaths, I turned the knob and quickly snuck out. The spare key that had been hidden in Henry’s top drawer made a scratching sound as it turned in the lock. I looked from side to side, afraid that someone might hear me escaping who would report back to Henry.
“Hi, Ginny,” I said ten minutes later, while opening the door to her shop.
“Nell. Back so soon?”
“On the way to the library—thought I’d stop and visit.”
“Henry with you?”
“No.”
“He know you out and about?”
“No.”
“Good for you. Come on in, let me look at your hair. Held up nicely. I can freshen it a bit.”
“No, thank you. I did what you showed me to keep the style. It’s been four days, and it still looks good.”
“Come Saturday you’ll want to come back for a fresh wash and set.”
“Maybe.”
“What’s going on at the library?”
“I’m speaking to them about volunteering—with the children, being a reader.”
“You good with books and numbers?”
“Yes, always the best in my class back home.”
“Maybe we can work up a bartering system: you can have your hair done regularly for doing paperwork for me. Interested?”
“Sounds good, but I’m not sure. Though my momma and the neighbors had arrangements like that, and it worked for them.”
“Think about it—could work for us too.”
“Okay. Gotta go, bye.”
“Nell—careful.”
“Ma’am?”
“Some men don’t take kindly to a woman breaking out on her own. You be careful.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said, while backing out the door.
The walk from Ginny’s to the library seemed shorter than it had on Saturday. This was a weekday morning, so fewer people were strolling around and almost no one was lounging in the park across the street from the library. My feet felt light as I climbed the steps to the big door. As I approached the counter, I realized that the pounding in my chest and the quiver in my belly weren’t bothersome feelings today. I was on my own, a new adventure in the making. Ginny’s parting words, however, held tight in the back of my mind, like a bad dream I’d yet to experience.
Irene, the lady at the counter, smiled when she saw me and said, “Nell, you came. I’ll get Susan; she runs the children’s program.” She stepped into the office and came back with another woman. “Susan, this is Nell. She’s interested in being a volunteer. Nell, Susan.” Irene made the introductions, and then Susan led me to the children’s area downstairs.
Color—that was the first thing that struck me when we walked to the lower floor: primary colors splashed on everything in the room. The children’s books were facing out on the shelves, the covers in full view, with characters or animals in motion. Four-legged wooden chairs, no taller than my knees, were scattered around the room; each had a red, blue, yellow, and black leg; the seats were painted brown, and the seat backs were a natural light wood stain. All the letters of the alphabet hung around the top of the wall on a banner, with a colorful character or item drawn alongside each—from a juicy red apple at A to an elegant zebra at Z. Sunlight str
eamed through the large windows, casting an inviting glow—something I hadn’t expected, since this was the lower level, but the high ceiling welcomed daylight through the glass.
A sturdy carpet covered the entire floor; squares of different colors danced across the room, with built-in games for the children to play: hopscotch, tic-tac-toe, twister, even puzzles with moveable pieces. Near one of the windows a circle of chairs were arranged around one larger chair. “Is this where the reading takes place?” I asked Susan.
“Yes, the leader gets to use the big chair, although it’s much smaller than one an adult would normally sit in. It’s better if the children see us at the same level as themselves; they respond better.”
“Children must love this place,” I said.
“It’s taken me three years to get the program up and running. Now we can’t keep people away—it’s always full of youngsters, especially on weekends. So you’d like to volunteer?”
“Yes. I love books and am a good reader, and I thought that if you need readers, I could help out.”
“Where did you finish high school?”
“I didn’t—I got married and moved here from Louisiana in April. I was good in school, but didn’t finish. Is that a problem?”
“No. Love of books, being a good reader, and being good with children are what matters most. Why don’t you pick up a book and read a little to me?”
I chose The Little Engine That Could and read a couple of pages.
Susan stopped me right away. “Nice reading voice,” she said. “Children will respond to your enthusiasm; your love of words comes out nicely as you read. Saturday is our busiest day; can you come then?”
“Saturday isn’t good for me—I don’t think I can get away.”
“Wednesdays are good too. We have a group that comes in at lunchtime, kindergarten and first graders who have an early end to the school day. They’ll be arriving shortly. Can you stay today and then come back every week on Wednesday?”
“Yes,” I said. My skin tingled. It was all I could do not to jump up and down in glee, even though I knew I’d have to figure out what to say to Henry about this—if anything at all.
When the children arrived for the reading, Susan asked me how I’d like to be introduced to them. I said, “They can call me Mrs. Bight.”
I stopped by Ginny’s on the way home and told her, Mabel, and Josie about my experience at the library and the new volunteer job. All three of them nodded as they looked at one another. “Remember what I said, about being careful,” Ginny reminded me.
“I know, and I will be, but I need to do this for me. Sometimes you just have do what’s in your heart, you know?”
“Don’t have to tell me,” Josie said.
“Me neither,” Mabel added.
“We all agree,” said Ginny. “A little caution can help, though. What’ll you tell Henry?”
“Thought maybe I’d take you up on your bartering offer, make Wednesdays my regular day here and go to the library too. That way Henry won’t have to walk me here on Saturdays and wait. Does that sound good?”
“Works for me,” Ginny said. “Now all you have to do is sell it to Henry. Good luck with that!”
I rushed home to prepare meatloaf and get ready for my conversation with Henry. Once the food was prepared, I took special care to have the table looking pretty, with a freshly cleaned and pressed cloth covering the dented wood and our places set with plates, forks, and knives lined up neatly across from each other. I placed my little box from the dresser in the center of the table for decoration, but then decided to remove it. The windows were cracked open to allow the springtime air to move the aroma of food around.
Henry walked in the door exactly at six o’clock as always. The meatloaf was done, along with baked sweet potatoes and green beans. I had kept the food warm on the stove but was ready to serve him as soon as he took off his shoes and cleaned up for dinner.
“Smells good,” he said. “I’m hungry.”
“Have your favorite meal, ready whenever you are.”
I fidgeted at the stove while he dusted and lightly buffed his shoes. Once he sat down, I placed the food in the center of the table and joined him. We bowed our heads in silence to say grace. Then he reached for the food and filled his plate. I waited for him to take what he wanted and then served myself. After several mouthfuls, he mumbled, “Good.”
I picked at my food, waiting for the best moment to tell him about my plan. “Henry, you remember how Ginny said I’d need to go back every Saturday for my hair?”
“Humph.”
“Well, I talked to Ginny today.”
“What do you mean? You left the apartment?”
“Yes, I did.”
“I told you never to go out alone, didn’t I?”
“Yes, Henry, but I thought, since it’s not far, and it was a nice day … and the clean air settled my stomach. Here, rub the baby for a moment.” I walked over so he could touch the baby bump. “That feels good,” I said. “Don’t know what it is, but as soon as I get fresh air my stomach settles right down. It’s as though the baby knows he needs space and clean air to grow and be healthy. Anyway, I thought I could go to Ginny’s on Wednesdays, have my hair done. That way you don’t have to go with me on Saturdays and wait; that’s her busiest day. But Wednesdays are pretty quiet. I can get there in no time, have my hair done, and be back to have a meal ready for you, like tonight. Maybe Wednesdays’ll be meatloaf every week. Would you like that?”
“Could work. I still don’t like the idea of you being out by yourself.”
“But it’s good for me, and for your baby. You know I need help to understand about having a baby. Ginny and Mabel are mothers—they know things. I’d turn to Momma if I could. I need to talk about pregnancy, birthing, and mothering, so I’m certain to do the right things for your baby.”
“I’ll think on it.”
“Thank you,” I said.
After dinner, dishes cleaned, Henry finished polishing his shoes, and I walked over to him and slid my arms around his waist. We hadn’t enjoyed sex since the doctor had confirmed my pregnancy. “Henry, the doctor said it’s okay to have sex while I’m pregnant, at least in the early stages.” I slid my hands to his private parts, slowly rubbing in a circular motion. He leaned his body into me and began to moan. Our clothing fell to the floor. Henry sat on the bed, I stood in front of him, and he pressed his face against my belly, put his lips on my growing breasts, ran his hands up and down my body. “Missed this,” he said. Our bodies curled into comfortable movements on top of the quilt. Afterward we fell into a deep sleep, the room laced with the scent of our sex.
WHEN I ARRIVED at Ginny’s the next Wednesday morning at ten o’clock, the shop’s opening time, she and the girls were getting ready for the day: turning on lights, placing supplies out, running the faucets to bring up warm water, dusting the counters, watering the plants in the windows, and arranging reading material on the table. I walked in and said to Ginny, “I’ll be here every Wednesday! If that’s okay with you.”
“Okay by me. Like I told you, I can use help with paperwork and you can get your hair done; it’s a fair trade.”
“I can pay. Henry gave me money, but I’ll still help you.”
“You hold onto that money—we’ll keep our arrangement. A woman should always have a little something of her own hidden away.”
I was happy to be in the shop again, but what I really wanted was to make my way to the library. Ginny was quick with my hair, and then she showed me how I could help her with organizing paperwork and filing receipts. She asked me if I could answer the phone and handle appointments. “Never used a phone,” I had to admit. That caused all three women to raise their eyebrows and stare at me. “Daddy never wanted a phone, said it was troublesome to have that kind of thing around. One farmer nearby had a phone; he claimed whenever it rang his chickens got agitated and wouldn’t lay eggs. Daddy didn’t want to go through that. Momma wanted one. She thought it would b
e important, but she couldn’t get Daddy to agree, so if Momma wanted to make a call, she went to the neighbors’ house. That didn’t happen often.”
“But what about in your apartment here?” Mabel asked.
“Henry said we don’t need a phone.”
Josie explained the phone and how to make notes in the appointment book. I sat at the little desk, did my chores, and watched as customers began to arrive for their appointments. I was mesmerized by the stylists’ hands, the easy way they worked both hair and equipment while chatting away. It reminded me of Momma and the women at home—they had the same musical rhythm to their gestures and soothing sound to their voices; their hands were nimble and expert at every task. It was as though each woman played a jazz instrument with her fingers and created an unforgettable tune with her voice.
My walk to the library was quick. I barely noticed the people on the street, cars passing by, or activity in the shops. As soon as I stepped through the library’s big doors, my heart began to flutter. I paused for a moment to savor the scent inside and take in the beauty of the main room. Then, after waving to Irene, I headed downstairs.
Children had already arrived. They looked up as I walked in and said, almost in unison, “Hello, Mrs. Bight.” I stood up tall, took a deep breath, straightened my shoulders, and greeted the children with a smile. They gathered in a circle in the chairs, each holding a copy of the book I had chosen for the day’s reading.
Miss Parker had started each of our reading sessions at school with a description of the story and then read a few lines aloud before asking the class to read for her. I did the same. The children listened to my voice in rapt silence, their faces filled with earnestness. I stopped reading after the first paragraph to look at them. “Who would like to read now?”
Several hands flew into the air, but there was one girl to my left who waved her hand so frantically that she lifted herself off the chair and bounced up and down. I nodded to her; she jumped up and began to read. Her voice was strong, each word pronounced with care and understanding. If she came to a word she was unsure about, she broke it down into syllables and spoke each one as though it stood on its own, then put it all together as one word. She didn’t want to stop, but eventually I thanked her and let others read. No one was as proficient as the first girl, but each had a turn.
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