Brotherhood by Anne Westrick

Author:Anne Westrick
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Group US
Published: 2013-08-09T04:00:00+00:00

21

Chickens

IN THE WEEKS after the skeleton hand incident, Shad’s life settled into a routine. Tailoring lessons one day, reading the next, deliveries late mornings, and his own tailoring tasks most afternoons—setting sleeves and pockets, basting linings, pinning drapery hooks. Occasionally, the Klan called a meeting, and Shad came to like it best when he’d get in a song or two and a pat on the back, then head home early. No mischief. Just brotherhood and plenty of shut-eye so he could keep up with lessons and chores.

At the Perkinsons’ shed, Rachel was now instructing him, and they focused on four-letter words. He was starting to recognize the traps—the letters that flipped—and he slowed when he hit a word with a b or p or d. He would think through the options each word presented and narrow his eyes until his brain figured out which letter was which. Sometimes the context of a sentence helped him find the meaning. Sometimes he even got through a few sentences before making a mistake.

Soon he hoped to read like Nathaniel could. Why, that boy had his own copy of a magazine called All the Year Round by Charles Dickens. His own copy! Mr. Nelson had given it to him. And every day while Shad fretted over the position of letters in the smallest of words, that boy would help Matthew or Gabriel with his letters. Then, in the last bit of lesson time, he’d sit by the window, engrossed in his magazine. Oh, how Shad envied him. Then he’d kick himself for getting caught up in his envy. There was no easy way to settle into lessons in that shed.

On tailoring days, the children progressed from simple seams to simple sacks. Shad taught them to clip corners before turning their pieces right side out. He showed them how to create a casing for a drawstring. Then it was practice, practice, practice so that the topstitching along the casing was straight as could be. They spent one full day on the drawstring itself, braiding it from strips cut on the bias.

At home one afternoon, Shad took a break from his own work to steal away with the brown wrapping from a bolt of fabric. He sat on his bed and ran his fingers across the letters until he understood each word: pink dogwood floral, one hundred percent cotton, Frederick & Sons, Atlanta, Georgia. He beamed. His progress was slow, but it was progress nonetheless.

On Monday morning, June 10, when Shad had finished another lesson on four-letter words—beep, deep, heed, heap—he went to Granddaddy’s shop to pick up the lace trim Mama needed to finish Miss Abigail’s dress. The farmer’s market was closed Mondays, so Main Street was quiet. Shad pushed open the door to Weaver’s Fine Tailoring, and it squeaked. The little bell tinkled.

Granddaddy came clip-thunk down the wooden stairs. Halfway down, he saw Shad and stopped. “You’ve taken to that silk shirt, eh, son?”

Shad smiled. “Yes, sir.”

He turned and clip-thunked back up, and Shad followed.

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