Chapter 3
Three
One more time was all it took for Regina to be stripped of her library duties.
Daily, I debated on whether to ask the warden for the job again and risk her piling on more responsibilities. In the end, I decided sleep was more important.
Inside the kitchen, I blew on my arm, the latest burn still pained from my afternoon in laundry, worrying if I could ever properly use the heavy newfangled contraption or when my arm might fully heal and leave me less clumsy.
I’d destroyed one prison dress and three guards’ shirts last week alone and had at each time suffered the supervisor’s wrath.
Fearful of Estelle and her devil machine, I felt my hands shake as soon as she ordered me to press the laundry.
It didn’t take long before I started believing that maybe I had gone daft.
Stupid. Idiot. Imbecile. She’d hurl the insults with such fervor that soon a few of the women in Laundry picked up on her cruelty and followed suit. And it weren’t no time before the harsh words turned to vicious slaps and shoves.
It was all I could do but climb into the cot each evening to escape. But like the wild Kentucky tobacco flower that awakens only at night to sip the moon, the bloom of grief opened to pull in the pain and loneliness swallowing me.
Waldeen interrupted my thoughts as I squeezed out the kitchen mop with one hand. The supervisor stood there for a moment, studying me before pulling out a pack of Winstons from her apron. She offered me a cigarette. “Helps numb the nerves some.”
I shook my head. There weren’t enough tobacco in all of Kaintuck to do that.
She glanced at my new wound and sighed. “I see you’re still having troubles in Laundry.”
“It’ll get better once my arm is healed and I can handle the bulky iron.”
Waldeen reached over and grabbed a gallon can of institutional green beans. “When you get that cast off, take this and lift it every chance you get until that arm builds back its muscle.” She raised it several times. “It’ll take another month for it to right itself.”
“Obliged, ma’am.”
“You’ve done a good job helping me keep the books, especially with Warden breathing down my back about the budget.
Not everyone can do that. For the first time in a long time, we’ve stayed out of the red.
Most of these girls peel away the meat of the potatoes and carrots, leaving nubs.
Throw away heels from the loaves of bread.
Waste so much. But not you. You stretch the food and help the cook make use of everything they give us.
” She snorted. “It’s like ya know hunger. ”
Starvation. I’d felt its burning in my gut too many times, the pains knocking around my cramping, empty belly. The hills had been filled with those living off nothing but mashed bean sandwiches and nettle soups, or suffering the pellagra when I rode the library route in the thirties.
“Go on, put your mop up, Cussy. Warden is waiting to see ya about monthly reports.”
I stared at her, riddled by the unexpected summons.
“Go on, kid. It’s not wise to keep Boss Lady waiting.”
Quickly, I folded my apron and scurried out of the kitchen.
***
As I made my way to Warden Sanders’s office, I fretted on what the laundry supervisor might have said about me. Inside her office, the warden seemed pleased, but I’d found out that moods quickly shifted behind these gloomy walls.
I squirmed under her gaze.
Warden finally cast her eyes to the papers. “Let’s see, you’ve been working in Laundry for several weeks now. Your work has been pretty good despite your clumsiness with that cast.” The last word dripped into a hiss.
“Yes, ma’am. I’m still learning the electric iron, sure enough.”
She studied some notes. “Estelle says that while you work hard, you have too many mishaps and it’s costing her money—me money.”
Estelle had reported the losses.
“Yet Waldeen notes how much money you saved the kitchen. Hmm. In fact…” Warden ran her finger down the page and tapped. “The numbers are the best I’ve seen in years. She credits that to you.”
I felt my face warm, pleased that the kitchen supervisor appreciated my work.
“Waldeen is impressed. And when Waldeen is impressed, so am I. She has vast experience with bigger numbers, given her former occupation.”
I looked at her, perplexed. Waldeen didn’t talk much about her life before prison.
“Did you receive a formal education, Lovett?”
“I’m book read, sure enough, and learned from my mama and the books everything I needed.”
“I see,” she said, airish. “It’s a shame. Very few in here have education or formal training beyond fourth grade, if that.”
“I handled my pa’s finances and cataloged and took care of the library books just fine.”
“Library.” The warden tapped a pen on the desk.
I held my tongue, anxious to learn why she’d sent for me. I’d found out no one ever went to the warden’s office unless it involved punishment. What could I offer her to make up for the damaged clothing? Then I took a small step forward.
“Warden, I don’t have money, but I can work the laundry debt off somehow.”
She pulled away from her quietness and drew her attention back to me. “The prison purchases the clothing in bulk. Even with a discount, the garments still run about thirty-three cents each. What do you propose, Lovett?”
I glanced at the small bookshelf behind her desk filled with dusty books and tattered covers. “I’m good at binding. I can even make scrapbooks for the library to be loaned out.”
“We’re about to lose our small library and more because of lack of funding and our low literacy rate.
” She dismissed my offer with a flick of her wrist. “Now a lot of the prisons are making reading a prerequisite before an inmate can apply for parole. If I don’t follow suit and make this happen, I could lose—”
She stopped herself and gave a quick shake to her head. But I know’d it meant losing her job.
I dared to speak. “I could raise the literacy rate—grow readers.”
“Are you asking about the librarian position again? You were just in here.” Her eyes narrowed. “You should heed warnings.”
“Yes. No, ma’am. I wanted to help—”
“Running a library is no easy feat, Cussy Lovett. It’s tedious work and not as cushy as you may think—and what I generally assign to more experienced, educated girls,” she chided. “Even Regina has her high school certificate.”
“I have experience, Warden,” I gently pushed.
The warden rested her elbows on the desk and lightly pressed her fingertips together.
“Ma’am, I was a Pack Horse librarian for many years in Troublesome Creek under the WPA, beginning in 1935.
I delivered thousands of books on my mount and grow’d lots of readers out in them hills.
” I paused, gauging if Warden would silence me.
When she didn’t, I continued, “In 1940, the Kentucky Federation of Women’s Clubs gave me an award for outstanding librarian service and dedication.
I believe I could do a good job for you if—”
She cocked her head, staring in disbelief, shuttering my next words. “Why, I’ve read several articles about the Works Progress Administration. And there was such a librarian over in War Branch—or maybe it was in Beauty—who used to visit her aunt here in Pewee Valley.”
“We had lots of book women in them parts. Some were even working near the big city of Louisville.”
“Sit down,” she ordered, her eyes softening a little as she pointed to the chair. “Tell me more about the program.”
“When outsiders came in and told us we were poor, the government set about fixin’ it. Us. The women only had two options, the WPA said: Join its sewing project or deliver books.”
“Yet you remained poorer from the stingy coins Roosevelt and his program courted you with.”
“It was good pay, ma’am. A steady twenty-eight dollars a month for us womenfolk.”
“Hmph.”
For the next twenty minutes, we talked quietly.
And with each passing moment, I could see something changing in the standoffish warden.
That we were on equal ground, her sour face fading, opening with pleasure, friendly and welcoming, as we chatted and reminisced about our favorite reads and authors.
The many families I had served back home.
“Grow’d readers, you say?” The warden chuckled lightly and checked her wristwatch.
I straightened. “Yes, ma’am, I did.”
“We have very few readers in here. Too few. If I don’t get those numbers up, my other programs will be in jeopardy.
We already receive fewer funds than the men’s prison.
And they’d love nothing more than to strip my funds to supply more gym equipment over there for the men,” Warden Sanders grumbled.
“I’d like to pay back my laundry debt and help raise your literacy rate.”
She drummed her fingertips atop the desk, pondering.
“I’ll work hard to keep your library, Warden.” I held my breath, waiting for the stale air to collapse between us, suddenly realizing I might again be worrying for more punishment instead.
“If I assign you the job, Lovett, it would only be temporary. I have one hundred and seven inmates, and if you could get me more readers, we could possibly see about making it a permanent position.”
I clasped hopeful hands onto my lap, feeling the prospect shoot up from my feet to my face.
She noted my loud talking hands take on a deeper coloring. “You’ve been cleared by the prison doctors, and they say you aren’t infectious, correct?”
“It’s a gene disorder called methemoglobinemia.”
“There’s still the matter of your appointment with Dr. Kennedy this summer. We’ll have to take care of that.”
That? What was that about? “He’ll find that I’m fit, sure enough, Warden,” I insisted despite my confusion. “In fact, when Doc gave me the drug methylene blue back in Troublesome, I looked just like you.”
“If this is true, why hasn’t prison medical given it to you?”
“I don’t reckon they know about methemoglobinemia like my doc did. And the methylene blue drug makes me awfully ill.”
She waved my words away. “No matter. The state feels you will be a lot better off after the procedure.”
After the procedure? Would I have to suffer more exams? They’d sterilized me and taken enough of me. Stole my womanhood. Left the splinters of shame stitched in my womb. What more could they possibly take?
“I’m healthy, and once I get the cast off, I’ll be more than fit.” I shot her what I hoped was a favorable smile.
She looked uncertain, then opened her drawer and held up a key.
“I’m desperate to keep the funding, so you’ll have to do.
I’ll dismiss you from Laundry, but understand, I’m not releasing you from kitchen duties, Lovett.
You’ll be working long hours. Four a.m. till six p.m. while you’re the temporary librarian.
I expect you to open the library at nine a.m. and work it in between your kitchen shifts.
You’ll close it when you go to the kitchen… ”
I listened closely as she rattled off her rules.
“The pay is nine cents a day. Which I’ll put on your commissary account after we deduct what you owe for the damaged clothing.”
Pay. I couldn’t believe my luck. I would finally be able to buy stamps to write Honey.
“Still want the job?” She looked doubtful that I could handle the work, when really, I was thrilled and welcomed the long hours and the escape the job would give.
“Yes, ma’am. The Pack Horse librarians were used to hard work.”
“I remember hearing such. Now, about selecting reading material, Lovett. We must be careful.”
I hoped she wouldn’t ask me to censor books. Anxious, I waited for her to frame my thoughts.
“You’ll need to send out solicitations for reading material. The prison will provide you with a typewriter and paper.”
“I did this for the project. I’ll send letters right away to the Federation of Women’s Club, Boy Scouts, city libraries, and the Parent-Teacher Association for donations.”
She cast an approving glance my way. “Now, back to the materials you’ll need to curate.”
I straightened in my seat.
“Racy excitement books are not allowed. I only care about lowering our illiteracy rate, not raising more trouble into easily excitable women. Understood?”
I hid my disapproval. “I’ll get started on the letters today, Warden.” Bending closer, I held open my darkened palm, waiting for the key, overjoyed to be back working with books—to have purpose again.
The warden dangled the key in front of me, and I know’d she was scared to touch me. I extended my palm a little farther, desperate for this magical gift, a promised escape from Laundry and these dismal walls. “I’ll work hard for you, ma’am.”
Hesitant, she pinched her lips and dropped the library key into my waiting hand.
My tight shoulders slipped down from my ears, the strain of hopelessness suddenly lightened.