Free If These Walls Had Ears by James Morgan

country, Jane and Pem escaped to the movies as often as they could afford it during
     the 1930s. On hot summer evenings, there was nothing better than a cool, dark theater to take you away from your troubles.
     There was a new Disney cartoon that seemed—if your mind worked in such a way—to be a commentary on the times. It was about
     a trio of pigs, and after the show you could hear people singing or whistling the catchy theme song, “Who’s Afraid of the
     Big Bad Wolf?” as they left the comfort of the theater and walked off in pairs into the night.
    Meanwhile, Charlie and Jessie worked at keeping his spirits high. Behind that noncommittal exterior, Charlie Armour had a
     temper, though he usually managed to contain it. Jane remembers witnessing his anger through the window one day when she was
     a child. Charlie was in the front yard with a Negro man, who was there doing some work. Suddenly; Charlie grabbed the man
     by his shirt and practically lifted him off his feet. Charlie was saying something, but Jane couldn’t hear what. The man was
     obviously petrified. Then Charlie put him down and the Negro went back to his work, cowering like a dog that had been disciplined.
     From Jane’s point of view, the entire vignette was acted out in silence, which gave it a power—the power of imagination—beyond
     what it might’ve had otherwise.
    Jessie kept busy, of course, and. Charlie really did, too—as much as possible. He worked on the grape arbor he’d built in
     the backyard, and he tended his tomato plants, as he had every year. He had a knack for growing tomatoes, and at harvest time
     he made the rounds of the neighborhood, sharing the bounty with the folks on Holly and Lee. He phoned friends, visited with
     people he’d known in business, church, and civic affairs. Sooner or later, some job prospect would turn up. At least he and
     Jessie weren’t having to go out and humiliate themselves by dancing for dollars in dance marathons, the way so many other
     couples were.
    In mid-October, there was an item in the
Arkansas Gazette
about one of President Roosevelt’s new programs, the Civilian Conservation Corps, generally referred to as the CCC. Hundreds
     of boys would soon be shipped to Arkansas from places like California and Oregon. These young men were going to be put to
     work building all sorts of public facilities, bridges, and dams. The plan, according to Guy Amsler, head of the State Parks
     Commission, was to house some of the boys in barracks to be built at Fair Park, just a few blocks from Holly Street.
    Charlie Armour had a degree in civil engineering. Maybe, he thought, these untrained crews needed just such a person to supervise
     their work. It seemed to be a sign—especially since Guy Amsler, the Parks Commissioner, happened to be Charlie Armour’s neighbor
     to the side, right across Lee Street.
    He and Amsler talked, and yes, there were definite possibilities. One of the CCC projects was to be the construction of Boyle
     Park, a 231-acre parcel of land southwest of the city. The Parks Commission was going to need a superintendent for Boyle.
     Charlie Armour, Amsler said, had just the right qualifications.
    So at age sixty-three, Charlie became a civil engineer again. His self reinventions had come full circle.
    If there’s peace in your heart, your house will reflect it. If there’s rage, your house will reveal it. If there’s indecision
     or indolence, your house will bear the brunt of it. In Jessie’s case, her new concern about her home showed itself in a feverish
     rearrangement of the downstairs rooms. She moved the player piano from the living room to the front bedroom, which she was
     now calling “the music room.” The middle bedroom was now “the sitting room.” Jessie had furnished it with a couple of easy
     chairs, good lamps, and a lighted fish tank designed to provide a much-needed touch of serenity.
    Of course, she probably attributed these moves to practical