States.”
Sheff had no idea if he was telling the truth or not, since what he knew about banking was that…well, it was a white man’s business. He’d never known a black man who even went to a bank, much less owned one.
From the dubious expression on her face, it was obvious his mother was just as ignorant. But his uncle seemed satisfied. Not, probably, because he actually knew anything. But just because, as with Sheff himself, he was inclined to trust Mr. Crowell.
Crowell was famous, too, after all. And if most of that fame was due to his horrible mutilation, there wasn’t actually any sign of it on the man himself. Not visibly, anyway, covered with that fancy clothing. Maybe he was a little fatter than he would have been otherwise. But it was hard to know. Men that big usually ran to fat, some, once they got a little older.
Sheff thought he was a nice man, though. Not that it really mattered. Even if Crowell had been poison mean, Sheff would have been inclined to take his word for something. The man was a
banker.
The only black banker Sheff had ever heard of.
“We’ll do it,” said Sheff ’s uncle firmly. “Be quiet, Lemon. You’ve had your say, and you ain’t my mother, even if you are older than me.”
“I’m
Sheffield’s
mother.”
His uncle smiled, and nodded toward Sheff. “And so what, girl? I mean,
look
at him. You tried to stop your son, he’d just run away and enlist anyhow.”
Sheff tried to look innocent when his mother gave him a sharp glance. It wasn’t easy. He’d spent a good part of the past half hour trying to decide between two different ways he could run away and join the army. Daytime or nighttime.
There were advantages and disadvantages, either way. Daytime would be harder to make his getaway without his mother catching him, but he could probably enlist on the spot. Wherever the spot was. Nighttime, he’d have to wander around some in the dark.
“Would you do that, Sheff?” his mother demanded.
“No, ma’am. ’Course not.”
She just rolled her eyes and threw her hands up in defeat.
By midafternoon, Sheff was in a state that bordered on sheer ecstasy. It was all he could do not to bounce up and down like a little boy.
He had a
uniform!
True, it was too big, and his mother insisted the tailoring was poor, which it probably was. The cloth was pretty stiff and rough on his skin, too.
Sheff couldn’t have cared less. It was a
uniform!
His uncle Jem seemed almost as pleased as he did.
“Oh, stop nagging, Lemon,” he said to Sheff ’s mom. “They didn’t cost us nothing. ’Sides, why don’t you just do the fixing-up yourself when we get a chance? You’re handy with a needle.”
“Needle!” Lemon Parker gave the uniforms a look that was none too admiring. An outright glare, in fact. “Need a knife—no, a spear—to punch holes in that stuff.”
Uncle Jem grinned. “Maybe they’re bulletproof, then.”
Before his sister could continue with her protests, Jem turned away from her and examined the room they’d gotten in the big boardinghouse. Now, his own expression took on a look of disapproval. Not deep disapproval—certainly nothing akin to the glares Sheff ’s mother was still giving the uniforms—just the skeptical look that an experienced carpenter bestows on the work of lesser craftsmen.
“Pretty crude,” he muttered.
Even Sheff could see that that was true. The boardinghouse, from the outside, had looked more like a huge log cabin than any boardinghouse or hotel Sheff had ever seen in Baltimore. On the inside, it looked about the same.
But, again, he couldn’t have cared less. He had a
uniform!
The garment was a magic shield, shedding all the minor cares of life as if they were so many raindrops.
“Never you mind, Jem!” Sheff ’s mother shook her head. “Me and Dinah can patch up what needs it.” Shrugging: “It’s solid built, whatever else. A lot more solid built than you and my little boy are, when men start shooting at
Sheff had no idea if he was telling the truth or not, since what he knew about banking was that…well, it was a white man’s business. He’d never known a black man who even went to a bank, much less owned one.
From the dubious expression on her face, it was obvious his mother was just as ignorant. But his uncle seemed satisfied. Not, probably, because he actually knew anything. But just because, as with Sheff himself, he was inclined to trust Mr. Crowell.
Crowell was famous, too, after all. And if most of that fame was due to his horrible mutilation, there wasn’t actually any sign of it on the man himself. Not visibly, anyway, covered with that fancy clothing. Maybe he was a little fatter than he would have been otherwise. But it was hard to know. Men that big usually ran to fat, some, once they got a little older.
Sheff thought he was a nice man, though. Not that it really mattered. Even if Crowell had been poison mean, Sheff would have been inclined to take his word for something. The man was a
banker.
The only black banker Sheff had ever heard of.
“We’ll do it,” said Sheff ’s uncle firmly. “Be quiet, Lemon. You’ve had your say, and you ain’t my mother, even if you are older than me.”
“I’m
Sheffield’s
mother.”
His uncle smiled, and nodded toward Sheff. “And so what, girl? I mean,
look
at him. You tried to stop your son, he’d just run away and enlist anyhow.”
Sheff tried to look innocent when his mother gave him a sharp glance. It wasn’t easy. He’d spent a good part of the past half hour trying to decide between two different ways he could run away and join the army. Daytime or nighttime.
There were advantages and disadvantages, either way. Daytime would be harder to make his getaway without his mother catching him, but he could probably enlist on the spot. Wherever the spot was. Nighttime, he’d have to wander around some in the dark.
“Would you do that, Sheff?” his mother demanded.
“No, ma’am. ’Course not.”
She just rolled her eyes and threw her hands up in defeat.
By midafternoon, Sheff was in a state that bordered on sheer ecstasy. It was all he could do not to bounce up and down like a little boy.
He had a
uniform!
True, it was too big, and his mother insisted the tailoring was poor, which it probably was. The cloth was pretty stiff and rough on his skin, too.
Sheff couldn’t have cared less. It was a
uniform!
His uncle Jem seemed almost as pleased as he did.
“Oh, stop nagging, Lemon,” he said to Sheff ’s mom. “They didn’t cost us nothing. ’Sides, why don’t you just do the fixing-up yourself when we get a chance? You’re handy with a needle.”
“Needle!” Lemon Parker gave the uniforms a look that was none too admiring. An outright glare, in fact. “Need a knife—no, a spear—to punch holes in that stuff.”
Uncle Jem grinned. “Maybe they’re bulletproof, then.”
Before his sister could continue with her protests, Jem turned away from her and examined the room they’d gotten in the big boardinghouse. Now, his own expression took on a look of disapproval. Not deep disapproval—certainly nothing akin to the glares Sheff ’s mother was still giving the uniforms—just the skeptical look that an experienced carpenter bestows on the work of lesser craftsmen.
“Pretty crude,” he muttered.
Even Sheff could see that that was true. The boardinghouse, from the outside, had looked more like a huge log cabin than any boardinghouse or hotel Sheff had ever seen in Baltimore. On the inside, it looked about the same.
But, again, he couldn’t have cared less. He had a
uniform!
The garment was a magic shield, shedding all the minor cares of life as if they were so many raindrops.
“Never you mind, Jem!” Sheff ’s mother shook her head. “Me and Dinah can patch up what needs it.” Shrugging: “It’s solid built, whatever else. A lot more solid built than you and my little boy are, when men start shooting at
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