Sophie sat back and watched Brooklyn pass her by. Spring was here, too, in every breath she took and the warmth of the sun on her face, in the new grass and the budding trees and the birds wheeling overhead.
A half hour later they turned onto an unpaved street and into a neighborhood like many Sophie visited in the course of her day. A large dog slept stretched out in the middle of the road; the horse went around him without breaking stride.
“You, Helmut!” the driver called to him. “I’ma run you over one day, you don’t watch out.” One long speckled ear cocked itself in feigned interest and then fell again.
The houses were small for the most part, some needing paint or repair but most so neat and cared for that the windows sparkled in the sunlight. Gardens were being dug everywhere, dark earth turned up to warm in the sun. A very old woman sat in the shade of a porch, knitting while she rocked a cradle with her knee. She looked up as the cab passed and raised a hand. The driver nodded in return, touching the brim of his hat.
The neighborhood was oddly empty. Sophie had just begun to wonder if she had gone wrong after all when they turned onto Dean Street and stopped in front of a small whitewashed building with the high arched windows of a church.
Before she could ask, Mr. Weeks said, “This here Bethel Tabernacle AME. The Reasons should be out any minute now.”
The doors opened as if commanded, and two young men in dark suits stepped aside to let the churchgoers come pouring out.
“Just in time,” the driver said.
Sophie understood that Weeksville was a colored neighborhood, but still it was a surprise to see such a sea of faces and not find one white person among them. Odder still, it seemed that every pair of eyes was looking at her. It made her both less and more anxious, and heightened her irritation with herself. Of course people must look at her. She was a stranger, no matter the color of her skin.
People called out to Johnny Alger, but their eyes focused on her and stayed there. There were smiles and polite nods and curious looks and a few, it seemed, who wanted to stop but then moved on anyway, too uncertain to approach her.
Ten minutes must have passed and the crowd began to thin out, but Sophie saw no sign of Mr. Reason. Then Mr. Alger stood up so that the carriage rocked, and called to a boy who was coming down the church steps. “George! George Reason!”
He was about sixteen, just coming into his full height and still awkward, knobby joints as limber as a puppet’s. He stopped short of the cab, looked more closely at Sophie, and pulled his cap from his head to knead it.
The driver was saying, “Where’s your folks this morning?”
“Home,” George said. “Mary baby come along about sunrise. The women all too tired to listen to a sermon—”
“And the men too wound up,” the driver finished for him.
Clearing her throat, Sophie said, “It sounds as though this isn’t a good day for a visit—”
But George had already climbed up to sit next to the driver and they were off again, the conversation moving along without her.
? ? ?
THE HOUSE WAS white clapboard with ivy-green shutters and a screened front porch. On one side was a garden in neat rows marked and sectioned off by string, and on the other a fenced yard was overrun with children.
The driver spoke a few words to his horse as they came to a stop.
“Are those all your—” Sophie stopped, and the boy grinned broadly at her uncertainty.
“Cousins, mostly,” he said. “My two little sisters are there if you look, up high in the climbing tree. There’s only about a half of us here today.”
“Enough Reasons to populate all of Brooklyn, one end to the other. Yes sir, reasons enough.” Mr. Alger grinned at his own wit.
From the other side of the house came the sound of a bell, and a woman’s voice calling the family to table. George swung down from the driver’s box, turned to offer a hand to Sophie, and waited while she paid Mr. Alger.
Sophie stood for a moment brushing at her skirt, adjusting her hat, and trying to calm her nerves. She thought of Aunt Quinlan, as she often did when courage failed her in such situations. Aunt Quinlan could go into any assembly, small or large, without hesitation or embarrassment, and talk to anyone. It was a skill Sophie had yet to acquire.
When she looked up, a familiar figure had appeared on the porch. Mr. Reason came toward her with a hand outstretched, smiling at her so openly that her breath caught in her throat.
“Dr. Savard,” he said, when she met him halfway. “I was wondering if you’d ever come. Welcome. Come on now and meet the family. I hope you’re hungry, because we got a ham the size of a small bear.”
“I am hungry,” Sophie said, as her stomach rumbled in agreement.
“Then come on. The whole family is looking forward to meeting you.”