Chapter 41
Forty-One
“Suzannah Effie Landers,” Mrs. Claxton hissed, darting her eyes between me and her niece. “What is this hogwash test, chile?” She pulled her niece closer to her. “What does he mean by both?”
“Hogben, Aunt Effie. We always do one when we’re unsure of injuries or before we prescribe medication. They use frogs now to test for pregnancy; it’s faster and doesn’t kill the creature.” She grinned. “Congratulations, Cussy.”
“Law. You don’t use the rabbits anymore?” Mrs. Claxton whispered as her troubled eyes landed on me. “Did you know you were bellied, chile?”
“Mrs. Claxton, I’m sorry.” The words came hot and fast. “Warden forbid me to tell you. The prison is going to abort the baby and sterilize me as soon as I return. They’ll bury my babe in Chicken Hill just like the other babies,” I blurted.
Both Mrs. Claxton’s and Susan’s hands flew to their mouths.
“Warden? You must have taken a bigger blow to your head than what I thought,” Susan said. “It’s best you’re staying overnight so I can care for you.”
“She’s on community furlough, chile, from the women’s prison out there in Pewee Valley. And I was only told she was their librarian and had not committed any acts of violence,” Mrs. Claxton added.
The disgrace fevered my face.
“A prisoner?” Susan eyes rounded.
“I was found guilty of violating miscegenation laws. I’m a Blue who married a white man, imprisoned because I loved someone the law said I couldn’t.”
The room quieted, the sound of the ticking clock filling the soft pockets of my spent declaration.
Mrs. Claxton spoke first. “Susan, do you remember when they arrested that Negro doctor and his white lady friend from Texas. It was about a decade ago. The doctor treated whites and coloreds, you know, and was on his way to establish a practice up north when the police stopped him right here in downtown. They threw them both in jail and placed heavy fines on their heads. Colored folks were outraged. And when the couple appeared in court, it was packed with Negroes. Including my Jed. Remember?”
“Like yesterday, Auntie. The judge released them, and the crowd cheered.”
“There were several more arrests that day.” Mrs. Claxton nodded solemnly.
“They dragged one couple out of their beds despite the woman insisting she was Negro. Forced a blood test on her. Later they found a teenage boy carrying around pictures of white girls. Took him directly to the can and tried to round up the girls who gave him the photographs to arrest them too.”
“I’m dating a man who’s of the Mongolian race,” Susan whispered, her eyes growing frightened. “Though Eric and I have never gone out in public.” She looked at her aunt.
Mrs. Claxton drew in a sharp breath, the surprise lifting across her brow.
“Susan, you must keep safe, chile. You never know when the government’s going to come knocking.
We need to always keep our houses in order and protect ourselves from sharp tongues that utter hollow words and make nonsensical laws that burden the burdened. ”
I studied Susan and wondered if they were now tracking the unmarried, tricking the people to sign pledges so the government could keep a better eye on who was loving who. Who they thought shouldn’t be loving.
Both women moved over to the bed. Susan sat down beside me and took my hand while Mrs. Claxton pulled her chair closer.
“How did this all happen, Cussy?” Susan’s worried voice dropped lower.
I collared my tongue and looked to Mrs. Claxton, seeking permission.
“Go ahead, you’re safe. Tell us everything,” the librarian coaxed.
“We married in the fall of ’36. When we left the courthouse with our marriage license, the law approached us and tried to arrest Jackson. Three months earlier, I’d adopted my patron’s infant after she passed in childbirth. Before she died, I promised her mama, Angeline, I would raise her.”
“Your Honey?” Mrs. Claxton said.
I nodded. “The law accused us of fornicating. Threatened to send my babe to the House of the Idiots in Frankfort. The sheriff ripped up our marriage license.” I felt the words tremble on my lips.
Susan grabbed the cup by the bed and poured water from the small pitcher, passing it to me.
I took several sips before handing it back. “They beat my dear Jackson senseless and dragged his body over to the jail.” I balled the anguish in my fist and swallowed the sadness knocking at my throat.
“And you?” Susan weakly asked, as if she was afraid to hear more.
“The law didn’t arrest me. That time. The sheriff told the crowd how easy it was for Jackson to trick a simple-minded Blue.” I worried my fingers over the sheet. “I took Honey and left. There weren’t really nothing more to be said. The sheriff, God, and Kentucky had said it for me.”
Mrs. Claxton hissed.
“When the law finally found us together again this past March, they arrested both of us. They broke my arm and just about killed Jackson. The judge sentenced us to prison and banned Jackson from living in Kentucky for twenty-five years after he’s released.
I was given a pregnancy test when I arrived at the prison, but it was too early to show anything.
And then, when the warden found out I was childing, she made an appointment with the doctor for an abortion and to perform a sterilization. ”
Susan’s eyes filled, and Mrs. Claxton shook her head, disgusted, and uttered, “They’ve been sterilizing young girls and women for years. Law, it’s a crime if women have an abortion, yet the stuff-coats force eugenical sterilizing. Hmph.”
The nurse dipped her head. “It’s true. There’s been so many who’ve been sterilized under the eugenics laws.
Several were performed just a few weeks ago.
Two on white girls the doctors declared imbeciles.
One of those said to have fits of uncontrolled hysteria.
The third had been declared an idiot and was a colored teen with bouts of disobedience reported by her father. ”
“They give lobotomies to the inmates who are struck with such illnesses and airs of defiance,” I said.
“Defiance,” Mrs. Claxton stole a glance at Susan and raised a brow before pulling a handkerchief from her pocketbook to dab at her forehead. “The wretched woman denied my request for another week. I’m sorry, Cussy.”
Tears welled in the woman’s eyes, but the gut-wrenching sob was mine, a cold terror like none other draping over me. “I would rather be dead than let them kill my babe,” I spat before I could harness my anger.
Susan patted my shoulder. A buzzer sounded, and she sighed loudly. “That’s my patient in 209. I’ll be back shortly. You just rest.” She left the room.
Mrs. Claxton fumbled for my hand, lacing her bony fingers into my cold ones. “Chile, you shouldn’t speak such foolish words.”
I rubbed my head, the ache getting worse. “My pa always said the fight never seems to rest—it’s always there waiting for the next round.”
A tiredness pinched her face.
“I’ve been foolish,” I said quietly.
Mrs. Claxton took a deep breath. “We’ve got to believe that the baby will be spared and you’ll soon be united with your family. I know a few important people. Good people in government, like our mayor. I’m going to use the telephone,” she said.
“My baby won’t make it in time for answers.” I curled up on the bed as the truth gutted me.
“Rest now.” She pulled the hospital cover over me and then shuffled her weary frame out the door. I knotted the scratchy fabric closer to my chin. Drowning in worry, I slipped out of bed.
Resting was for the dead, and what this baby would be if I didn’t find a way to save us.
I stepped over to the window and stared out past the thick-paneled curtain at the empty streets below.
Kneading my temples, I tried desperately to think of a way to save us, each time coming up blank and feeling more foolish.
This was a hospital, not a jail. If I left, Susan and the doctor would report that I walked out without an official release, freeing Mrs. Claxton from any blame.
To the east, a crooked moon appeared, dusted in cinnamon. Again, I scanned the rooftops and twinkling city lights. Louisville must have a thousand streets in its mazes.
Who was I fooling. I dropped the curtain. I couldn’t even find my way back to the tailor’s shop when it was just blocks down the street jutting up like a sore thumb.
The city lights blurred, and I turned my back to the window, burying the quiet sobs into my hands.
***
When the women returned, Susan stared at me for the longest time before she sat down on the bed. Mrs. Claxton eased herself onto the other side. Then Susan huddled us together, and we talked in hushed tones, batting words between us, our whispers soaking the pale-green walls.
More pinched talk crawled around us, and several words climbed out before Susan held a shushing finger to her lips.
Governor.
Johnna.
Drug.
Defiance.
Rose.
Church.
Library.
When we’d filled our beggar’s cup full of boldness, Susan stood, smoothed the seams of her uniform, and adjusted the sharp edges of her nurse’s cap. “Cussy, if you have any misgivings, you need to let me know now.”
“Are you sure you want to do this, chile?” Mrs. Claxton shifted tired bones, her eyes red-rimmed. “It could be risky, downright deadly,” she reminded me again.
“Yes,” I barely breathed.
The librarian stared at me like she needed to say more.
“Aunt Effie, let’s visit the cafeteria. They just remodeled it, and I bet you could use a fresh cup of coffee about now. Let me check on two of my patients, and I’ll meet you down there shortly.”
Mrs. Claxton looked like she was ready to protest.
“Cussy needs her rest, Auntie.” Susan patted my shoulder.
“We’ll be back, hon. Press the buzzer if you need anything, and the nurses will come get me.
” She walked her aunt to the door and lingered at the light switch before clicking it off, the bleached disinfectants and sterile odors suffocating the darkened room.
Mama had claimed the darkness brings doubt, just like the night brings fevers in young’uns.
But earlier I’d heard the feverish radio talk about the governor weakening his stance on Sassyann’s second execution, claiming he was in discussions with the attorney general, despite doctors declaring the woman was living in a vegetative state.
Then the news had tumbled into more bad broadcasts. An announcer said, “It’s taken quite a toll on the men’s prison, and research is ongoing as we await Salk’s latest trials…”
Jackson.
Pacing, I fought against the panic rising. Waited for my might to steal some courage.
Mrs. Claxton know’d a lot of important people.
Penniless promises from money-eyed politicians, the wise madam had insisted.
Searching my heart, I moaned. Jackson could very well be dead. I stilled, stricken by the thought, gnashed through the bones of harder ones crowding in.
The path ahead could very well be my undoing.
I clutched the tissue in my fist, watching my hand grieve to a dark azure blue.