Chapter 1 #2
“Right now they only know we have a daughter, but they don’t know where you are, Honey, or what you look like.
And they won’t find you where you’re going.
Mr. Morgan shares the same office as our attorney, Mr. Faust. He’s signed up with the courts to represent you and is working on the legal papers to get you a guardian. You remember Bob Morgan, don’t you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Just don’t say anything except that you want to talk to Mr. Morgan if anyone asks. He’ll help you.”
I clung to Mama, afraid. That I could lose them both because men would punish my parents for loving each other was terrifying. And I knew somehow that going back to Troublesome was going to be troublesome for me.
“Mama.”
“My darling daughter, you’ll be safer there.” Mama wrapped me in a hug. A moment later, she said quietly, “When we went back to your grandparents’ cabin last fall to visit and clean the cemeteries, you’ll remember we stocked the root cellar with food.”
“Yes, ma’am, I remember.”
“Your papa took some more victuals over last month. Key’s in your pocket.
Don’t lose it. And you be sure and share everything with Miss Loretta.
” She gave one last hug, then kissed my cheek.
“I’ll send word when it’s safe. If all goes well, you might be able to come home tomorrow at first light.
” She drew back and gave me a small, reassuring smile. “I’ll come straight to you. I promise.”
But there was no promise to be had in her worried eyes, the darkening blue flesh of her face betraying the words.
“Mama,” I said, chasing down the ghosts of childhood to return to a safer place—any place other than where they were going and where I was being sent.
I searched their faces. “Mama, Papa, I love you.”
Mama laid her head against mine. “I love you, darling daughter.”
Papa pulled us into his embrace and spoke softly: “I love you. Ride safe, lil Book Woman.” He drew back, kissed my forehead, then pulled us close once again. When he released his hold, he turned back toward the automobile. But not before I saw a small tear fall from the corner of his eye.
“Papa,” I whispered, my heart breaking, the ache deep, my love and the pain of losing them cutting even deeper.
“Be quick, Honey,” he said hoarsely, keeping his back to me. “You’ll return when we come for you, or when we send word it’s safe.” Once more he peeked out at the automobile, then snuck quietly over to Junia.
There was a sober finality in our brief goodbye, and we all felt it.
Our future together was about to be erased, the same as in 1936 when the sheriff over in Troublesome erased my papa and mama’s marriage and then the courts banished him from entering Kentucky again for twenty-five years.
What was coming loomed bigger, bolder, and the fear seized hold, punching hard at my bones.
I hugged him once more and climbed atop Junia, then rode her out on the narrower trail on the other side of the yard, away from the lawman and his automobile, the cold winds lashing at my stinging wet cheeks, the pounding of the beast’s hooves raging in my chest, stoking the anger and sorrow inside.
When I was at a safe distance but could still make them out, I climbed down. From behind a grove of trees, I stood beside Junia, peeking over her withers, waiting, and then watched as the lawman sauntered up to the cabin. In a minute my parents stepped out the door.
Mama stood helpless, clasping her hands while Papa talked to the official, their conversation lost to the wilderness.
Several times, the lawman shook his head, his face darkening to a mottled red.
With each shake it felt like a knife piercing, and I held my breath, watching until Junia swished her tail and a rumble threatened to leap from her chest.
“Shh,” I hissed. But it was too late. The ol’ girl pinned back her ears as the man took a step toward them.
Mama cowed, raised an arm protectively over her face, and tried to back away.
But the lawman latched hold and twisted her arm up behind her back, pinning her tight against the automobile.
Mama tilted back her head and, with deep, guttural anguish, howled into Junia’s startled whinny, drowning the beast’s fury.
I didn’t need to hear the crushing snap to know he’d broken her arm.
Again, cries pulled from the mule’s chest, and I quickly put my hand on her muzzle. “Quiet, Junia,” I warned, not taking my eye off my parents.
Papa grabbed the lawman by the shoulders, pulling him off Mama, but the man spun around, whipped out his billy club, and struck Papa hard upside the head.
He crashed to the ground on both knees, cradling his face with both palms. Shouts lifted as the lawman handcuffed him and knocked him over onto the cold ground.
He gave a swift kick to Papa’s side and turned back to Mama.
Junia pawed the earth when she saw the man shove Mama into the back seat of his automobile.
Calling out for Papa, Mama banged on the window with her fist.
I wanted to scream and curse the man. Instead I clamped my hand over my mouth, watching in horror as tears streamed from my eyes.
Junia lifted her muzzle and bawled into the sleeping woods, and I ducked lower, barely peeking over her withers.
The lawman stopped and turned our way. My gaze dropped to my .22, then fell back on the man, and my breathing hitched as I shifted toward the scabbard.
He took a few steps forward and cupped a hand over his brows, searching. My gloved palm slid over the shoulder stock. Seconds later, he dropped his arm and turned away.