“What was the name of the orphanage?” “Crystal Springs. It’s near Cleveland. They didn’t call it an orphanage. They called it a Home. Which didn’t make it any more homelike.” “You say your mother put you there?” I said. “When I was four.” “Do you remember your mother?” “Of course. I remember her face, especially. She was very pale and thin, with blue eyes. I think she must have been sick. She had a bad cough. Her voice was husky, very low and soft. I remember the last thing she ever said to me: Your daddy’s name was John Brown, too, and you were born in California.’ I didn’t know what or where
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