They stared at him, not believing what they heard. Then they looked at each other and away quickly. They’d been taken in. He had been lying all the time.
Handy spat on the ground, disgusted.
But Henry was puzzled. Frederick looked as if he were going to be sick. He hadn’t looked like that when the old lady struck him, or when Master William came out after him with his whip. Henry shifted his weight.
“Looky, Fred! What all’s wrong wid dat book?”
Gratitude, like a cool breeze, steadied Frederick. He wet his lips.
“I don’t know, Hen. It’s all different. These funny words—Everything’s mixed up.”
“Lemme see!” Henry took the book and turned several pages. He liked the feel of the smooth paper.
“Humph!” Handy spit again.
“Huccome they’s mixed?” John’s suspicions sounded in his voice. The recklessness of desperation goaded Frederick.
“Henry, could you get another book? I—I never said I could read all the books. Could you try another one? Could you, Henry?”