Chapter 2
Two
Books: a sanctuary for my heart.
I’d found a small joy to have purpose again, though I know’d Pa would’ve scolded my temerity for pursuing such a notion if he were alive.
For two days, I waited to see the warden. After I finished my light chores in the kitchen, I’d ask permission from the officer on duty, and he came back with the same answer: “Warden is busy.”
On the third day, a guard finally led me into Warden Sanders’s office, my hands stained an ink-blue from anticipation, my mind racing with the proposal I’d rehearsed every day and now again in the long ticking moments I’d been waiting in the small alcove outside her office.
A ribbon of cigarette smoke escaped out the door as I stepped through its lingering haze into her office. I stood before the small, matronly lady seated at the large desk, my fingers laced behind my back, doing my best not to squirm under her piercing gaze.
Warden Sanders stubbed out her cigarette, her pale fingers discolored and yellowing.
“You wanted to see me, Lovett?” she snapped, the annoyance flitting across her eyes, spotting her cheeks as she reached behind her and clicked the knob of an old walnut-stained Philco radio, silencing the staticky buzz of an announcer’s voice.
She pushed aside a four-welled glass ashtray filled with butts and twined her clenched fingers atop the desk.
“Yes, ma’am. About the prison librarian position.”
She held up a piece of paper. “It says you were assigned kitchen duty. Are you trying to get an easy ride in here? Maybe thinking prison librarian would be a cakewalk?” she said harshly.
“No, ma’am. No. I’m keeping the kitchen books and doing whatever I’m asked until they cut my cast off.”
Her mouth tightened. “Lovett, that old mountain doctor may’ve had some pull from the governor to get you out of my infirmary, but you’re still here. And while you’re still here, I’m governor and God. Is that clear?”
I flinched. Ol’ Doc from back home had visited me in the infirmary and made a fuss, insisting I be sent to the city hospital so he could examine me himself for the prison mistreatment I’d suffered.
Then he’d demanded that the penitentiary medical staff stop examining me.
But I didn’t realize he’d gone to the governor. “Yes, ma’am, it’s clear.”
“You think you can come in here without any qualifications?”
“No, Warden, I used to work—”
“Librarian is a great responsibility, with many duties involved.”
The telephone on her desk buzzed and she pressed a button. A man spoke. “The director is on line two, Warden.”
She lifted the black receiver and snapped, “Back to work, Lovett. And the next time you come looking for what you think is an easy job, I’ll load you up with kitchen and laundry-room duties.”
***
Her threat came to light sooner than I thought, and not because I’d gone back to the warden. It was a warning to make sure I never would, and one I’d heeded. She’d gone and saddled me with double duties.
After I checked the numbers from ordering kitchen supplies and wiped down the tables, I rushed to my next job.
Inside the laundry room, hot steam scalded my face as blinding droplets dripped from my brow. Awkwardly, I set the electric iron down, bumping it against my flesh. I blew on the stinging burn.
My casted arm was still weak and pained, its strength slow to return. And the electric machine weren’t nothing like Mama’s sad iron. Instead, it felt clumsy, heavy, and I struggled with the long cord while trying to keep the blistering hot plate from burning me.
“Lovett, get those officers’ uniforms pressed, and stop your spuddling,” the supervisor ordered.
Again, I raised the iron and tried to press a guard’s white dress shirt. Suddenly, the stink of smoke drifted up, and I pulled the electric machine off the fabric. To my horror, I found a yellowish-brown scorch that looked like it might eat the cloth and disappear any second.
The supervisor snapped a wet towel across my back. The iron fell from my hand, bumping off my shin, skinning flesh. “Dammit, are you daft, too, Lovett?” She whipped out the towel again, striking my leg. “That could’ve been me.”
I winced and gingerly touched my bloodied, burned shin. “I’ve never used one of these before. Only my sad iron that I’d heat atop our woodstove. No one in Troublesome had electricity and—”
“You’re troublesome, and I’ve had enough of your troublesome work. Look what you’ve done to the officer’s new shirt,” she hissed.
I swallowed hard and slid my palm over the cloth, hiding the deed. I’d ruined the expensive, store-bought garment.
A guard strolled over. “What’s going on over here, Estelle?” He looked to her and then over to me.
“Nothing, sir. Just one of the irons overheating again,” she grumbled and stabbed me with a hot glare.
Bored, the officer shrugged and moved on.
Estelle snatched my good arm and whispered angrily, “Get your leg cleaned up ’fore you get blood on the fresh laundry and ruin more. Then start over there folding the sheets and prison dresses before I snitch and have your ugly ass thrown into the lockup myself.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I limped toward the lavatory.
“Dumb and daft,” Estelle said, her words sliding through tight-tucked teeth toward the other women, but just loud enough to make sure I heard.
I stiffened, squeezed a fist, but kept moving.
Inside the washroom, I cleaned the wound and splashed water on my face, feeling the exhaustion of my double duties.
I’d been sleeping only three hours a night, and the workload had taken its toll.
That evening when I prepared for bed, a young woman with cropped auburn curls snarled as she passed by. “Keep away,” she barked me back, clutching a stack of books.
“Over here, Regina,” someone called out to her.
The warden had assigned her the librarian job.
Envy crawled across my hand, staining.
I sat on the side of my bed and watched the young woman hand out books and then pass right over me, though I held up my hand and motioned to her.
Waldeen returned from closing the kitchen.
“Cussy, you best get some rest.” She stubbed out her cigarette in the tin can, stretched across her bed.
“I need ya in the kitchen at three tomorrow morning to break down the freezers. We got us a big delivery coming in the afternoon. Did you go over the numbers like I asked?”
“They’re all good, and we’re on budget.”
She nodded, pleased.
I pulled back my cover and slipped into bed, continuing to study Regina while she delivered the reads.
My eyes followed her as she chatted happily about the books she passed out.
Then one inmate grabbed a book and ripped off the cover, tossing it onto the floor.
Regina gasped, and her pale face reddened as she picked up the torn read.
Suddenly, the librarian struck the woman across the face with a book. She screeched and rubbed her jaw.
A guard yelled, “You’ve been warned about this. One more time, Regina Miles, and I’ll write you up.”
Regina held up the damaged read, offended, a protest budding on her lips. “But it’s a book, dammit. Book. You can’t go treating ’em like that,” she said reverently, as if it were a Bible.
In that moment, I could see the rebellions of youth and how deeply she cared for her job, and I felt the whisper of a kindred spirit despite her cruelty.
“One more time,” the guard repeated.
I eased out of my cot, plucked the cover from the floor, and held it up to Regina. “I can bind this for you, and it’ll be as good as new.”
Regina looked torn for a second, like she might accept my offer. But just as quick, her eyes turned switchblade deadly. “Bind this, Grape Stain.” She raised the book and threw it at me.
I caught it in mid-air.
The guard boomed, “Girl, I said one more time, and I damn well meant it.”