The man looked back to Daniel and once more to me before turning to the guard. “You trying to jest me, Cap’n? Over that fairy boy?” A cruel laugh escaped his curled lips.
Chandler scowled. “You heard our Book Woman. Back to your dorm, Carl Honeycutt.”
“The punk bumped me first, and this circus freak is falsely accusing me—”
“Pack your shit; you’re going to the hole!” Officer Chandler boomed.
“C’mon, Cap’n, ya know Warden’s new rule. I won’t be able to have my parole hearing until I learn to read,” he attempted to coax.
The officer’s jaw tightened.
“Please.My woman’s been real sick, and I tol’ you the baby is due in two months. Please, Cap’n, I’m jus’ trying to get it done to make it back home and help my family.”
Officer Chandler wouldn’t budge.
“Cap, it was jus’ a knee-jerk reaction. Parole’ll flop me again if I can’t get the reading classes signed off on my papers.”
I fidgeted with my collar. “Officer, Mr. Honeycutt can stay—”
“Hole.” Chandler brushed past him.
Cursing, the inmate stormed out.
I stole a glance at Daniel and recognized his terror, then worried what the brutish inmate might do to him, regretting I’d interfered and possibly put the young man more in harm’s way—and now ruined Honeycutt’s chances to see his ill wife and new baby.
Daniel wouldn’t meet my eyes and ducked out of the library. In my rush to defend him, I’d been reckless with his safety. I slipped back into my seat at the small table, the guilt needling my flesh.
Minutes later, a prisoner brought in supper trays, but I politely declined, my nerves clawing across my belly. Instead, I checked books in and out for the men, answered questions, and wrote another letter for an inmate.
When there was a lull in my duties, I went over to the window and stared out at the sweeping grounds. My eyes were drawn to Chicken Hill, pained that babies were eternally resting there, never to have loved ones kneel over their prison graves or leave blooms.
Dismayed, I turned away and sat down next to a man struggling with his book. “Sir, can I help you with your reading today?”
Anytime footsteps sounded out in the hall, a fresh hope would rise. Still, no sign of Jackson.
When the last hour came to a close, I shoved the Yeats collection back onto the shelf and joined the guard waiting out in the hall, my despair deepening.
Sixteen
Outside, the sun beat down as I followed Sam back to our automobile. In the back seat, I turned my sweaty face toward the driver’s open window when we passed the rock fencing along the men’s prison. Soon, farms and cornfields appeared in the distance. Cows cooled themselves in ponds while horses turned to their run-in sheds for shade.
In a few minutes, the dusty two-lane road merged into one soldiered by tall warted trunks of crowning oaks. A collie barked and gave chase to the rumbling automobile, and I became more miserable as the distance between us grew wider.
How I missed him.I’d spent my whole life waiting for someone like Jackson. That one soul who’d been searching for that someone likeme.
I pressed fingers to the corners of my eyelids, quelling the tears.Just to see a loving face that I know’d loved me would be a balm for the aching loneliness of prison life.
The guard eased the automobile into the curving necklace of tire-rutted roads. Ahead, the women’s gun tower appeared, and I trembled, feeling the despair press down. When he stopped to check in at our gate, I stared out the window in disbelief as we drove through.
He wore faded-tan britches and a white T-shirt that I know’d the prison had issued. His face looked gaunt, his damp curls tousled, and he’d lost some weight, but it was him all the same.Jackson.
Directly, I darted my eyes to the rearview mirror. Sam’s gaze dropped to the windshield, and I quietly pressed a palm against my window.
To my husband.
Lightly pressing again and again. Silently screaming to Jackson, willing his eyes to lock with mine.
I gulped back shaky breaths to silence my loud pleas.
