“Patience, this is Cussy. She’s been a great help setting up the literacy program. Cussy, this is our seamstress, Patience.”
“Nice to meet you, ma’am,” I said.
“We could use more people like you to get voters registered,”Patience said. “If more don’t vote, they’ll elect some white-haired stuff-coats to bring in urban renewal tourban removeus. We’re not careful, all these blocks of businesses that our grandpaps built in the 1800s will be gone. Destroyed.”
I looked around at the comfortable shop, turned to the glass windows, the outside passersby and traffic, and couldn’t imagine why anyone would want to destroy something that was alive and thriving, the bustling stores, diners, theaters, and businesses that were brimming with customers.
“Ain’t I right, Effie?”
Mrs. Claxton bobbed her head. “You are indeed, chile. Our Old West Walnut Street is as grand as the French Quarter down there in Nawlins. Just today, I met the Hi-De-Ho-Man, none other than Cab Calloway,” she gushed, and handed me the bags from the Chili Parlor and Drug Store. “He was looking togged to the bricks!”
Patience’s eyes rounded. “He’s always dressed to the nines in them movie magazines. You talk to him?”
“Did more than talk—right, Cussy?”
“She sure did.” I got caught up in her happiness. “Nice fella, and handsome too.” Smiling, I stepped back to let her share the news.
The librarian opened her pocketbook, and when she passed the record and Bible to the seamstress, they both squealed and broke down giggling like two young’uns.
Again, I glanced over at Amy and then to Patience, both dressed in stylish men’s britches with white, tall, collared button smocks and high heels.
I tucked one of my ugly prison shoes behind the other, wanting to join in, but then I was reminded of the Fourth of July—the disastrous meeting with Troublesome’s sewing circle. I dared not risk it with these fine ladies. Still, I couldn’t help but grin as the two grew more excited.
“Heard he might be in town promoting his newest record,” Patience said, passing the keepsakes back to Mrs. Claxton.“What you wouldn’t give to trimthatmustache, huh, Amy?” she called out to the barber. More outbursts of titters swept the building. “Lord, Effie Claxton, you may need to sew yourself a fancy dancing dress and beg Jed to take you to Cab’s show next time he comes to the Strand Theatre.Anddon’t you know”—she wagged a telling finger—“Myrtle Withers stopped by just yesterday and said she’s got new fabrics in over at her dress shop.” She poked Mrs. Claxton’s rib lightly with her elbow, teasing. “Something red and soft, satiny would do. Maybe some snazzy red heels.”
“Jed would surely have himself a hissy and declare I’d been lured by the devil’s siren,” Mrs. Claxton said, and they broke into more laughter.
Their easy banter reminded me of Queenie and myself when we worked the library project. How we’d sneak off our routes to meet and enjoy a dinner sack together, our easy conversations, big talk, hopes, and bigger dreams and titters, rising into the balsam-sweetened woods, lost to the hard Kaintuck hills and ol’ stubborn men’s harder thoughts.
“Speaking of dresses, there’s two more I need to alter before we close.” Patience bid us a good day and disappeared into the back.
A man walked out from beyond the shoeshine area. “Patience said you were out here, Mrs. Claxton. I tried to telephone the church and library, but neither of you were there.” He took a few steps toward us. “See Lil Biff out there?” He looked over her shoulder.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Hamilton. I keep nagging Jed about getting a telephone for the house one day, but he’s not fond of having to share a party line. Especially when he’s giving spiritual counsel to someone in his fold.” Turning, she pointed to the door. “Lil Biff’s outside drawing, being a good boy. He sure is getting big. I think the lil feller will surely be an artist one day. I do hope when he starts school this year, we’ll see more of him at the library. We have some mighty fine after-school programs.”
“Amy will be signing him up. Uh, about the reverend. Realsorry, but his suit won’t be ready until close to closing time.” His rising brow worried her response.
Mrs. Claxton looked at her wristwatch and frowned. “Hmm. I can’t wait until five thirty. I need to go to the bank and then have to be back at the library in time for a business call.”
“I can wait and bring it home for you, Mrs. Claxton,” I offered. “I’ll just browse through some of the shops.”
“Mrs. Claxton, I’m sorry if I’ve caused you any inconvenience,” Mr. Hamilton said with apologetic eyes.
“It’s fine, sir. Reverend won’t need it till tomorrow.” She studied me. “Cussy, are you sure you remember the way home?”
I rattled off the directions and then once again. She tapped her cheek, trying to decide.
“I can send one of our boys to accompany her,” Mr. Hamilton offered, calling a young boy to his side. “But it will have to be five thirty, when we close.”
“Thank you, but I wouldn’t hear of taking your workers after their long day,” the librarian replied, cupping the child’s face and smiling down at the young feller.
“I’ll find our address, ma’am, and have the suit home by supper.”
“Okay then, Cussy, you take special care, watch all your street signs, and we’ll see you after you pick up the suit. Thank you, Mr. Hamilton. Now, I best get to the bank.”
Mrs. Claxton collected the bags and second Bible from me, and I walked her outside.
Leaning in close, she said, “Chile, I sure hate to leave you, but I have to deposit this check, and if I don’t get back in time for”—she dropped her voice and I strained to hear—“Warden Sanders’s important call, I could lose you.”
