Lair of Dreams

“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—”

“Don’t tell me how to raise my sister’s children!” Octavia stood a hair’s breadth from Sister Walker. “That boy lay in bed near death thanks to you. You’re never getting near my family again, you hear me?” Octavia turned sharply to the boys. “Isaiah, Memphis—we are leaving.”

Like a scared jackrabbit, Isaiah scrambled down from his stool and, with a backward forlorn glance, said good-bye to Sister Walker before taking Blind Bill’s hand and leading him from the drugstore. The after-church crowd made a pretense of moving food around their plates, but they were still watching. Nothing in the preacher’s sermon carried the same fire as the scene they’d just witnessed.

Sister Walker laid a hand on Memphis’s arm as he walked past. “Please. It’s important.”

“Memphis John Campbell!” Octavia shouted from the door.

“I have to go,” he said.

“Memphis, you don’t believe I would harm Isaiah, do you?”

“To be honest, Sister… Miss Walker, I don’t know what I believe,” Memphis said and ran to catch up with his family.





While Octavia bustled about the kitchen, preparing Sunday supper, Memphis sat on the front stoop and read over his latest love letter to Theta one last time before mailing it. But his mind was on the earlier encounter with Sister Walker. What could be so important that she had to speak to him? And if it was that important, why hadn’t she brought it up before? Aunt Octavia said that Sister Walker had been in prison—for what, no one seemed to know for certain, though there’d been a rumor floating around church that it had been for sedition during the war. “Can’t trust a word that woman says,” Octavia declared, and Memphis wished he could be so sure.

“Memphis? You out here?” Bill tapped his way out the door.

“Over here, Mr. Johnson,” Memphis said, guiding the old man to a seat on the stoop.

“What you working on out here in the cold?” Bill asked.

Memphis stuffed the letter into his pocket. “Nothing.”

“Hmph. Sound like a woman to me,” Bill said and laughed.

Memphis grinned. “Might be.”

“Sound like a pretty woman.”

“Might be that, too,” Memphis said, embarrassed.

“Aww, now, I don’t mean to be in your business. Mostly, I got to wondering if that Walker woman upset you earlier.”

“No, sir,” Memphis lied.

Bill fished in his pocket and came out with two sticks of chewing gum and passed one to Memphis. “What she want with you, anyhow?”

“Just to talk,” Memphis said, brushing the lint off the gum. It was brittle and stale, so he stuffed it in his pocket.

“And did you?”

“No, sir.”

Bill nodded. “You did right, Memphis,” he said, like an older, wiser uncle. “You did right to look out for your brother thataway.”