Bill excused himself for a moment. Memphis and Isaiah hopped onto the stools at the counter in the back and ordered two root beers. The brothers sipped their drinks, Isaiah arguing baseball with Mr. Reggie.
“If you ask me, the Homestead Grays are the team to beat. The Giants are finished,” Mr. Reggie said, wiping down the counter.
Isaiah took umbrage at the insult to his beloved New York Lincoln Giants. “Si Simmons gonna pitch for the Giants and win it all this year!”
“Suppose we’ll have to see about that,” Reggie teased.
Memphis pulled out his notebook, scribbling some changes to a poem he’d been working on for the better part of a week. The words didn’t feel quite right yet, like he was trying to write in somebody else’s clothes, and he wondered when he would know he’d written something that felt true to himself instead of feeling like an impostor with a pencil.
“Hello, Isaiah. Memphis. How are you boys getting along?”
At the sound of Sister Walker’s voice, the boys’ heads shot up. If Sister Walker was sore that Octavia had forbidden them from seeing her, she didn’t show it, offering them one of her warm smiles.
“Fine, ma’am,” Isaiah said almost shyly.
“Well, I believe you’ve grown a foot since I saw you last,” Sister Walker said.
Isaiah grinned. “Gonna be as tall as Memphis. Taller, even!”
“Keep telling yourself that, shrimpy,” Memphis said. Isaiah socked Memphis in the arm. It barely hurt, but Memphis pretended it was a mortal wound, which pleased his brother greatly.
“And how are you feeling, Isaiah?”
Isaiah’s smile faded. “Fine, thank you, ma’am.”
“I believe my candy dish misses you,” Sister Walker joked.
“I miss it, too. You still got Bit-O-Honeys?”
“A whole mess of them. You’re welcome back at my house anytime. I want you to know that.” Sister Walker lowered her voice to an urgent whisper. “Memphis, I need to talk to you about something. It’s important.”
“I don’t believe I ought to, Miss Walker. My aunt Octavia—”
“It won’t take long, I promise. I’m leaving town for a bit. But before I do, it’s very important that we—”
“Well, well, well, is that the Campbell brothers I hear talking to some pretty girl?” Bill called as he tapped his way over to the group.
Memphis made the introductions, and Bill bowed, all charm, making small talk about the weather and the wisdom of the reverend’s sermon they’d just heard.
“Do I know you? You look familiar,” Sister Walker said quite suddenly.
Bill’s mouth worked its way into a smile. “I always look like somebody. Got a familiar face, my mama said.”
“You have family in Baltimore?”
“No kin that I know.”
“Where are your people from?” Sister Walker pressed.
“Georgia,” Bill said, his mouth tense around the word.
“I thought you were from Louisiana,” Isaiah said.
Bill placed his hands on Isaiah’s shoulders, pressing down slightly. “I’m from everywhere. Been all over this country.”
“Memphis! Isaiah!” Aunt Octavia’s angry voice announced her arrival. She marched through the drugstore and right up to Sister Walker. Her body had the feel of a slingshot pulled to breaking.
“Afternoon, Octavia,” Sister Walker said.
“Don’t you ‘afternoon’ me, Margaret Walker. I know what you were doing with my nephew behind my back. I told you before and I’ll tell you for the last time: This is a God-fearing family. You understand?”
Every head in the drugstore had turned in their direction. All chatter had ceased. “Octavia, Isaiah has a gift—a rare gift. It’s important that we continue our work—”