Chapter 22
Twenty-Two
In the dark hallway, the girl picked up speed when she saw me, and I couldn’t escape.
Regina caught up and pushed something into my hand.
I jerked my palm back, expecting something horrible.
Instead, I found a flowered bookmark she’d stitched in needlepoint.
It had been carefully fashioned with blue yarns that the Kentucky Federation of Women’s Clubs had donated.
“I thought you might be able to use it where you’re going.
” She timidly reached for me, and I stepped back.
“Cussy, I’ll take good care of your patrons while you’re gone next week.
I’ll really need you to teach me to be the best librarian.
One that Warden will keep long after you’re released. Can you forgive me? Please.”
Seeing her desperate like that broke something in me.
I thought about Mama and Pa, and I was suddenly swept away with anguish and regret.
How could I have attacked her—anyone—after I’d been attacked all my life?
My folks would be so ashamed. Their lifelong burdens had been greater, and they’d carried them with a grace that made me suddenly feel small.
Her chin quivered while she waited.
The young girl’s love of the job and the quietude she sought from her riotous heart suddenly stole mine. Regina grabbed my hand, and I took her cold palm and gently squeezed a forgiveness until she released it with a quaking sob and sped off.
***
A little after four a.m., I stepped out of the shower stall.
Waldeen met me with a bulging pillow slip in one hand and a cigarette dangling out of the other, the lengthened ash threatening to drop onto the concrete floor.
“Thanks for working on those kitchen ledgers for me last night. I thought I’d help ya pack.
Slipped that fancy poetry book of Yeats you keep so close. Nobody will be the wiser.”
I tucked the towel tighter around me and inspected inside. Along with two prison dresses, a night slip, my necessaries, and institutional toiletries, I saw Jackson’s book and Honey’s letters.
For the longest time, she stood looking at me, the damp air crawling from the shower stall, glowing on her flesh.
I searched her eyes. “Obliged. I’ve got to go straighten the library and tell the other wings I’ll be gone a week. See you next Sunday.”
“Kid, some advice: Don’t come back.”
“She’s giving me good time. And a pardon could come any day.”
“Your time will have run out. Don’t count on that mountain doc, and ’specially no politician.”
“He can help.” But I began to doubt everything despite Doc assuring me he would keep trying.
Waldeen glanced at my belly. “Mind ya, them’s jus’ penniless words,” she warned and thrust the pillow sack into my arms.
Then she was gone, leaving me flustered.
I stopped by the wards and then made my way down to the library to wait for the guard to drive me to the city.
In the quiet room I pulled out Honey’s latest letter, grateful the child was writing despite enjoying her independence and courtship with Francis.
June ’53
Dear Mama,
How is Papa? He still hasn’t answered my letters. I’ve sent him four!
Last week I bought a light brown mule from a muleskinner over in Hardshell to carry me to town. I’ve paid Devil John and his sons to come over and build a stall.
Always contrary, Junia snubbed the young mule. I named her Willa. The ol apostle seems to prefer lazing with Pennie most days. I always find them together with the cat curled up on her back.
A few days ago Junia ran off, and Mr. Taft found her wandering your old book route.
He gave chase and finally caught up with her at the boarded-up chapel where you used to house the books.
Mr. Taft said Junia fussed and kicked all the way home.
Then he helped me fix the broken latch on her stall.
I picked off the briars on her coat, then brushed her and tried to soothe her.
When I was fixin’ to put her up for the night she refused.
Thank goodness, Mr. Taft was there to help!
Francis took me to a church picnic in Hazard and we had a blast! He won me a teddy bear, and we visited the Mother Goose house. A real home shaped like a goose!
Mama, after we got home, he asked me to go steady and be his girl.
He gave me a sweetheart ring. It’s the prettiest gold ring with a small puffy heart in the middle and a tiny heart on each side of the band!
! Since you gave me permission to see Francis, I wanted you and Papa to know I accepted and am going steady with him.
I think I’m in love with him, Mama, because coal miner Bonnie Powell says if you can still feel his kisses days later it’s love.
And oh how my dang feet betray me whenever he’s around!
They get so tangled that I make a clumsy fool of myself.
It’s so awkward, even Junia nickers at me like she’s laughing.
My friend Pearl says it’s Truly True Love, and even Devil John and Martha Hannah approve of Francis.
Mama, were you the same with Papa? When did you first know it was true love? I miss you and wish you were here! I have so many questions, but I must close for now and clean the stalls.
I love you. Write back soon!
Your loving daughter,
Honey Mary-Angeline Lovett
I closed my eyes, grateful she was safe and happy but a lil saddened too.
Then I lingered over the news of Junia, struck with the memory of when I first got her.
She’d been my meager inheritance from my first marriage in ’36.
That, and a few dollars, loose change, and a blackened spittoon from the devil bastard who’d tried to kill me on my marriage bed.
The mule’s coat had been sticky with blood and matted, her flesh riddled with open wounds.
But despite Pa balking at the notion of me keeping her, I wouldn’t leave her to die tied to Frazier’s tree.
I’d stood out in the snowy yard, shivering, bruised, and bloodied.
I had taken one look at the broken beast and saw she had the will to live, like me.
Had some fight still left in her. And there was something in her big brown eyes that said we could do it together.
It had taken a month to nurse the critter back to health.
Another stretch to keep her from kicking and biting me.
And not Pa, nor any man, could get close, lest the ol’ girl sneak out a leg and side-kick, or stretch her long neck to nip their flesh.
But despite her ill temper and distrust with the menfolk, Junia was surprisingly gentle and agreeable with the young’uns and women on our book route.
I worried a finger over my mouth, hoping the mule’s arthritis had eased so she could enjoy her retirement.
Then I reread the last paragraphs about Honey’s beau, poring over the feelings I couldn’t rightly explain. Junia’s grief was troubling enough. But the news of going steady was a surprise.
Honey would be seventeen this month. Just a mere ten years older than age seven. I worried the next letter would bring news of an engagement.
Sam, my transport guard, poked his head inside the library. “Let’s git to Louisville. Sooner I git there, the quicker I can be back.”