This thought and the ease with which it manifested itself in his mind disturbed Mr. Sitwell so greatly that he had to look away from them. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest and his left eye began to twitch. Before he knew it, he had worked himself into such a state that when Jennie walked up behind him and tapped him on the shoulder he was so startled he flinched.
“Goodness, I’m sorry,” Jennie said. She’d put on her coat and had a small green hat fitted on her head. “I didn’t mean to frighten you. Where’d you go anyhow?”
“Had to do something for the boys.”
He started to tell her about seeing Bart through the window but realized that might somehow lead to having to talk about his conversation with Mr. Barclay.
“They’re sweet, aren’t they?”
“I worry about them,” Mr. Sitwell said.
“Why? They look happy to me.”
Mr. Sitwell could feel Jennie studying his expression. He nodded and tried to look normal.
“You started out like them, didn’t you? Apprentice in the kitchen? How old were you when you came here from the asylum?”
“Fourteen, maybe.”
“And you’re not from around here are you?”
“No, ma’am. Florida.”
“Oh, yeah? Had some Florida white folks over last week. Miss Mamie was complaining about how ignorant they were. . . . Not a lot of your people up here, I imagine. You get lonely?”
“I don’t hardly remember it no how.”
“No?”
She looked back at the boys.
“Well, you shouldn’t worry about them. They’ve got each other. And they’ve got Miss Mamie looking after them, teaching them how to cook. Wants them to leave here knowing how to do something. It’s a lot more than I had at their age, believe me. I suspect they’ll be alright.”
They walked out together, through the garden, down the driveway, past the front gate, and onto Prescott Avenue. The streets were quiet at that time of night, the sidewalk lit up by the dim glow of the gas lamps. They moved past the great houses that lined the block then turned onto Olliana; when they got to the omnibus stop the only other people there were two white women with thick ankles, gray coats slung over their matching maids’ uniforms as they talked to each other in a language that sounded like German.
Mr. Sitwell stood next to Jennie with his hands in his pockets. He looked at the trees running down the center of the Avenue and tried to think of something to say that wasn’t dull. His mind was still rattled, not so much by Mr. Barclay’s question as the ease with which he’d found an answer to it. And now Jennie was standing right beside him. She looked so pretty and he knew he was frowning, which somehow made everything he thought to say to her sound that much duller in his head. So he kept quiet.
The omnibus pulled to the stop and they followed the two maids inside. The four of them rode two stops together and the maids got off; a skinny drunk got on, rode the car one stop, and stumbled off again. The car was empty for a little while and then a large group of people got on; Jennie saw someone she recognized and threw her arm up to wave. All of a sudden Mr. Sitwell found himself a part of a crowd standing over him and smiling, all of them just as pretty as Jennie was. They were laughing and talking fast as they gripped the handrail and swayed from side to side.
Mr. Sitwell did not sway. Instead he stared down at his hands in his lap. He still had the book in the pocket of his jacket and, while Jennie talked to her friends, he pulled it out and looked at the cover, pretending to be distracted by the words on the front, although in truth Mr. Sitwell did not read. Still, just looking at the picture was enough to make him think about it. He remembered Barclay saying that the two men passing the book out had claimed relation to the man on the cover. He wondered if it was possible that there really was another Wash Talbot in Seminole County, an entirely different Wash from the one he’d known. And if this white Wash had happened to meet with a fate parallel to the colored Wash he still remembered.
He glanced at Jennie, remembered Mamie saying something about being glad she’d found a girl who’d been to school. If they were alone he might have asked her what the book said. But they weren’t alone and he didn’t want to spoil what seemed to be a happy mood.
“Come on out with us tonight, Jennie. You can bring your handsome man too.”
“Oh, Aggie. He’s not my man. He’s a friend from work. Anyhow, I can’t. You know I’ve got to get home.”
“You mean that big old girl can’t take care of herself yet?”
Someone snorted and a couple of people laughed while Jennie frowned. For a moment, the swaying seemed to stop.
“That was a joke, Jennie. I didn’t mean it. We just miss you is all.”
Jennie glanced at Mr. Sitwell then turned back to her friend. “Still?”
“Yes, girl. Still.”
A hand reached out and squeezed Jennie’s shoulder. “Always.”
Jennie nodded. “I’ll stop by Saturday if I get a chance.”
“Any time. You know you’re always welcome.”
The car lurched to a stop near the theatre district and they all filed out at once. Jennie spun around in her seat, rapped her knuckle on the glass, waved good-bye, and laughed at something she saw out the window. Then the doors closed and the car started moving. She sank back in her seat and stared straight ahead.
When the car stopped again she stood up.
“Well, Sitwell. This is me. You take care and I’ll see you tomorrow.”
But Mr. Sitwell stood up too.
“No. Really, it’s alright. You’re sweet, but I don’t need anybody to walk me home. Believe it or not, I’ve been doing it for years.”
“That’s not the point,” Mr. Sitwell said. He tucked the book into his pocket and followed her out onto the street.
They walked along the crowded avenue.
“So you live around here too, do you?”
“Sure,” Mr. Sitwell lied. “Anyhow, it’s a nice evening and I like to walk. . . .”
Jennie didn’t say anything. They made their way to the end of the block and turned a corner. She stopped in front of a two-story brick building.
“Well, now, Sitwell. This really is it. I would ask you inside for a cup of tea but—”
“I know. It’s late,” Mr. Sitwell said. “Perhaps some other time? I imagine you eat dinner.”
“Once a day,” Jennie said. “I mean, yes, that would be very nice. . . .”
She looked toward the house. Mr. Sitwell turned and saw the silhouette of a young woman waving back at them from a window on the second floor.
“That where you stay? That your roommate?”
“Something like that.” Jennie took a deep breath and shut her eyes. “That is my daughter, Mr. Sitwell.”
Mr. Sitwell looked at the girl in the window for a moment then looked back at Jennie.
“Don’t act so startled,” Jennie said.
“No, I’m not. It’s just . . .”
But he was startled. He couldn’t help it, without wanting to he was adding numbers in his mind. The girl in the window was at least as old as the boys and Jennie couldn’t possibly have been older than twenty-five. . . .
“What is it, Mr. Sitwell? Something wrong? Women do have children, you know. They have them all the time. And sometimes when they do it’s a blessing, understand?”