Alcohol was ubiquitous, at least among the men. They drank from flasks on Sunday morning and from decanters at business luncheons on Tuesday. They sipped sherry before dinner and cognac after. Workmen swilled beer every night of the week in the taverns on every corner. The worst of them were along the wharf in Patty’s Hollow, the red-light district. Prostitutes there could be had for three dollars, though the better class of customers frequented the brothels on Front Street, where a night of love cost twenty, including whiskey.

“It’s not what I expected,” Sam confided one evening to Gray Ellen. She was teaching now, and that seemed to absorb her, though he couldn’t for the life of him imagine how she could spend all day with colored children.

“You knew when we came down here that you were going to have to start at the bottom,” Gray Ellen said.

They were beginning to make a life here. It was difficult, there were many days when she was ready to give up and buy a ticket on the next train to Philadelphia, but she was determined to stick to their plan.

She made a point to visit the beach every Sunday—to drink in the open sky, the breezy quiet.

They had moved out of the Orton and into a house on Third near Ann Street, only blocks from Williston School. The rooms were sunny and included an indoor privy with a bathtub. Mature locust trees shaded the yard. Gray Ellen had found the place, arranged the move, decorated the bedroom and sitting room. Their landlady was the fat woman Gray Ellen had spoken to outside the old Record office the day of the eviction. She lived next door. She was not just fat but also pregnant, due in November.

“It’s just, I feel I’m being cut out,” Sam said. “Things are going on, and everybody’s pretending nothing’s happening. It’s maddening.” It was times like this when he could have used a drink. A bottle of beer, something to hold in his hands. A glass of whiskey and soda to dull the headaches he was getting more and more frequently in the oppressive heat.

“What’s Harry say?” She was poring over her schoolbooks, devising lesson plans. She really wasn’t in the mood for his grousing. She was back in her old form at school. The children were ill-prepared but eager, and she liked them. She had a feeling she could do some good here. Norwood was impressed by her and left her alone. She felt trusted. Shy parents brought her gifts of potato pie and plates of cold chicken and greens for lunch.

She spent as much time as possible with her schoolwork, to avoid facing the emptiness of the other times. Sam was moody lately, and she could have used a dose of his old humor.

“Harry’s no help. They don’t tell him anything.”

“Who do they tell?”