Chapter 31
Thirty-One
Tuesday evening, we huddled together at the door, waiting with anxious hearts.
Soon, an older man strolled in, followed closely by a woman.
We seated them at the long table and passed out tracing paper and pencils.
Several librarians helped, and we wrote down each name, instructing the excited new patrons to trace the letters and then practice on a sheet of paper.
When I glanced up a few minutes later, I saw Patty standing at the threshold.
She hugged a spent pocketbook close to her chest. When Patty saw Johnna’s girls, she hurried over to us.
“Effie Claxton,” she said, “what’s the meaning of you drawing us into a meeting full of harlots?
Did you hire her”—she scowled toward me—“to bring this sordid idea and filthy heathens into our community building? Shameful. I expected better from you. I will have you both fired for promoting indecency in our public library.”
“Now, Patty, everyone has a right to use the library.” Mrs. Claxton pulled her aside. “The mayor approves. Just have a seat, and you’ll enjoy your free public library even more after tonight.”
I went over to stand by Mrs. Claxton. “Please stay, Miss Patty.”
Her eyes flashed, a crawl of anger lit across, and for a second I thought she would strike me or lash out with her vinegar tongue. Mrs. Claxton stepped in between us, and Patty turned in a huff and stormed out, nearly knocking over a hesitant Steven in the doorway.
Mrs. Claxton leaned into my ear. “You’ll find darkness in all kinds, chile. The devil’s fiery licks don’t pick and choose.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Steven searching the room.
When one of Johnna’s girls saw the paperboy, she rushed over. “Come sit by me, Steven.” Otilia grabbed his arm.
The young man scratched his head and shyly grinned.
Mrs. Claxton gently removed the girl’s hand off Steven. “Take your seat, chile. We’re here for different lessons tonight.”
“Why, I’m here to learn all the lessons, Mrs. Claxton,” Otilia teased, swinging her shapely bottom back into the chair.
Frankie piped up, “I’m here to get my ticket out of this damn town.”
“Cussy, take Steven over to the other table and get him started,” the librarian said.
Eight patrons showed up for the classes, including Kipple Culbreath.
Excitement, claps, and cheers lifted in the room as they cried out their accomplishments.
An elderly woman with a cane, holding a wrinkled envelope, walked over to me.
“My name’s Ardell Winters.” She thrust a letter into my hand.
“My husband passed last December. He used to read to me. For me.” Her brown face twisted in pain.
“My granddaughter done wrote me and I can’t…
” Ardell’s words slipped into a whisper and I leaned closer. “Can you read it to me, librarian?”
I took the envelope, noting that the postmark from Indiana had been dated almost six months ago. Carefully, I opened it and read the neatly written script. It was news of the birth of Ardell’s first great-grandson.
Ardell grabbed my wrist. “Read that part again about the boy—slow.”
“‘He’s healthy and weighed seven pounds, eight ounces. We named him Clyde Arde Russell after you and Pawpaw. We hope you can visit soon. Your loving granddaughter, Cela.’”
I passed the letter back to her, and she tilted her head upward. “Imagine that, Clyde Arde Russell,” Ardell whispered. “You hear that, Clyde? Lordy, our great-grandson. You watch over him, hear now? I learnt to write my name tonight, now I’m gonna write yours.”
“It’s a handsome, strong name, Miss Ardell,” I warmed. “Let’s find you a seat and get started.”
Kip tugged on my sleeve as I passed. “Show me where that Daisy flapper book is.” He flapped his bony arms teasingly.
“Ah, The Great Gatsby.”
“Want to make sure I know where it is once I can read.”
“I’ll get it for you after lessons, sir. Let’s seat you next to Miss Ardell. I think you’ll work nice together.”
Later, I glanced over at the elderly couple. Ardell held up her letter to him, boasting of her good news. Kip pulled out his sister’s photograph, and they bent their heads in conversation.
I’d hoped Lizbeth Hall would come. It had been a little disappointing to see, but only a handful showed up, and I saw the other librarians’ eyes thought so too. And I couldn’t help but worry I’d let everyone down. Especially Mrs. Claxton.
Back on the sleeping porch, I crawled into bed next to a waiting Daisy, unable to quiet my thoughts about Sassyann, fretting what her fate would be. Had her sons been in the room to bear witness to the botched execution?
I turned to my own fate. Would the governor let her live out her life peaceably or fold under the pressure of citizens demanding another execution…? I shuddered, feeling trapped.