Chapter 30
Thirty
We set out for the library at seven, the chorus of the city striking under the dawn’s pull chain of speedy vehicles, horns, and a budding busyness.
As we approached the building, Mrs. Claxton asked, “Did you know her? Miss Sipes?”
“Yes, ma’am. I taught her to write.”
“Did she really do those men in?”
I turned my head to an empty playground.
“She had a difficult life with her husband. Husbands. A lot like Lizbeth Hall is having now, I reckon.” I raised a hand to my ear, lightly touched, remembering how Frazier had beat me senseless through the long night until dawn, and until he keeled over from my fevered prayers.
“She was trying to protect herself and her sons, ma’am. ”
“Seen a lot of that difficulty with some of our other womenfolk around here. And no matter, it ain’t right to try and kill someone three times. Poor children having to suffer a mother’s burial more than once.”
“Three, ma’am?”
“I imagine her men tried first, and prison life was the state’s second attempt. Now today makes three. And yet she lives. Though like a limp rotting vegetable.”
My hands darkened as I grieved for Sassyann locked away in the prison infirmary.
She would be tortured with brutal exams by medical staff needing to poke and pry every inch of flesh to learn how she had survived the electric chair.
Damned as a peculiar. And for the grievance, they would both fear and try to persecute this unknown.
Maybe even lobotomize Sassyann to try to bring her back before likely executing her again.
She would surely die a hundred deaths before she rested eternal under the blood-soaked Kentucky grounds.
“I’ll add her to our prayer circle,” Mrs. Claxton said.
“Prayer circle, ma’am?”
“Reverend’s congregation knows the power of prayer. I’ve seen it move mountains. And I’m a mountain woman. I know.”
“Mrs. Claxton, did the prison tell you what my crime was?” I studied her, trying to decide if I dared to be bold and tell her more.
She stopped on the library steps and whispered, “Only that you had library training and were not violent. Is there something else I should know, chile?”
“I was jailed for violating miscegenation laws because I married a white man. And he was sent to prison too,” I blurted, unable to keep it in any longer.
“Law, chile. I didn’t know.” She shook her head. “They wouldn’t give out any information other than what I was told. I’m sorry. Law. There ought to be rules against those high ’n mighty men making such ugly laws. Downright sinful!”
“I’ve been worried about my husband, Jackson. There’s a polio outbreak in the men’s prison.”
“Last year was sure a bad one for it. I lost six patrons. Yet people don’t seem to be paying any mind to the epidemic this year.” She kissed her teeth. “We’ll keep an eye on the newspapers and an ear glued to the broadcasts for more about the prison.” She shot me a sympathetic smile.
I wanted to tell her about the baby, my fears, but two teen girls slipped up behind us, carrying armloads of books and sporting colorful swing skirts and loafers with shiny new pennies, their laughter skittling up the steps, caramel-blond ponytails rising in rhythm.
“Morning, Mrs. Claxton,” the girls called out in passing.
“Morn’, Becky and Sandra. My, aren’t you young ladies up early,” she replied.
“It’s nickel day at Fontaine Ferry!” One teen turned back and smiled. “Mama said we had to return the books that are due before we can go.”
“Enjoy your day at the amusement park, and be careful on that old deviled roller-coaster ride,” the librarian called after them, huffing as she took another step.
I tapped her shoulder. “Ma’am, could you add me?”
She stopped. “Done did, Cussy. Added you to the prayer circle at Sunday service the day you landed here. And I’ll be sure to add your Jackson and Honey too.”
Inside, Lillian rushed over to meet us, her black pumps snapping across the buffed floors. “Come look what came in this morning, Mrs. Claxton.”
We followed her down the hall.
Stacks of tablets and tracing papers awaited us inside the big meeting room.
I hurried over to the table. “There’s hundreds. With these, they’ll learn fast.”
“Only if they come.” Mrs. Claxton turned to her librarian. “Lillian, I need you to run over to Reverend’s church and collect a few Bibles off his pews.”
At noon, Warden called and checked in with Mrs. Claxton. The librarian brushed her off, excited for our big night.
I lingered among the rows of books, savoring the charm of the library. Just a mere four days to get the program going. The time would go quick, and then I would be sent back to the horrors that awaited me.