“Why, I’m here to learnallthe 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.
Thirty-Two
Sassyann’s fiery face hovered over mine, her arms reaching out, the flames and sparks shooting from her hands and head, licking at me, her cries folding into my strangled screams. Behind her, Warden Sanders appeared and shot out a damning finger. The heat warming my flesh, the clanging of prison crash gates ringing in my ears.
Suddenly, I was being shaken, rocked, and I fluttered open my eyes, gasping for air. Mrs. Claxton bent over me, and Daisy’s hot doggy breath hit my face as she stood beside me on the pillow.
“Chile, chile, wake up. It’s just a nightmare. Sit up, Cussy.” She shook my shoulders again, raising me up from my pillow. “Law, you’re drenched in sweat.”
The reverend stood behind her with worry lit across his eyes.
“I’ll go get her a cup of warm milk and a cool rag, Effie,” he said and shuffled into the kitchen.
“Get her a fresh gown from my drawer,” she called after him.
Mrs. Claxton sank down onto the bed and tucked my tangled hair behind my ears. “Only a nightmare, chile. You’re safe now.” She rubbed my back, calming me with soothing words.
Soon, the comfort pulled me back to home, into my mama’s protective embrace.
It was one o’clock when I finally fell back asleep.
***
