My tight shoulders slipped down from my ears, the strain of hopelessness suddenly lightened.
Four
Waldeen snatched the basket of potatoes from my hands. She set it on the steel countertop and opened the utility closet. “I can no longer ignore the complaints. It’s bad enough the girls are afraid of you, Cussy, but now the guards say they don’t want ya touching their food.”
The words wounded me, and before I could think, I attacked with my own. “My color’s not poisonous. The poison lies in their minds.”
Waldeen slightly raised a brow.
I looked down at my burning hands and rattled off an apology to the supervisor.
She shrugged. “The guards insist, kid. And now that the cast is off, I’m assigning ya to regular cleanup.” She pulled out a mop. “Grab the bucket and fill it. The work will build up that weak arm.”
“I’ll get started right away.” I’d been shunned by everyone but her, called names likeblueberryandink blotandink stainandgrape juice. And I’d glimpsed the fear of most of the women when they saw me passing. Worse, the anger that would light across those distrustful eyes.
Pa’d always said there was a fire in that kind of anger, and those folks had a hard difference in them—one that would burn.
“When you’re done mopping, start washing trays,” Waldeen said quietly.
I looked up at the clock, worried it would be lights out before I could get my first look at the library.
Hours later, Waldeen tapped my shoulder as I finished drying a pot. “It’s nearly nine o’clock. You’ve been cleaning since four. Go open your library.”
Relieved, I untied my apron and placed it under the counter.
“Be back a half hour before dinner,” she reminded.
Onlytwohours to have the library open. I raced down darkened halls and barreled toward crash gates, tapping a foot while I waited for an officer to unlock them. Once on the other side, I sped past the guard who yelled, “Walk.”
I tucked my head and marched briskly, slowing as I passed the noisy Forensic Ward, then stopped at Geriatrics. I was struck by how a place so quiet could be so loud—the despair was screaming across the elderly women’s eyes.
I picked up my pace, putting the distance between us.
Inside the library, I was surprised to see the room weren’t much bigger than the Outreach Center in Troublesome Creek, where the Pack Horse librarians had housed and logged books. Four heavily scarred bookshelves held the meager reading material, and weren’t much to it at that. Torn paperbacks and a dozen hardcovers, with some missing pages and others written in. There were two shelves full of dusty encyclopedias that looked like they’d never been used, and a brand-new book still in a mailing wrapper marked several months ago. I pulled it out and placedCharlotte’s Webonto the shelf.
At once, I went to work, cataloging all the reads. After, I sat at the small desk in the corner and typed solicitation letters on the typewriter, then locked up and rushed back to the cafeteria.
Again, I swept and mopped floors, washed down tables, and scrubbed trays, keeping one eye on the clock. I’d put up the last pot when Waldeen called out, “Hold up, Cussy.”
“Waldeen?” I dried my hands, puckered from the hot dishwater, and followed her through the steel butler doors, scanning the clean kitchen, trying to figure out what I’d done wrong.
Waldeen busied herself over at the counter. “Come get it, kid.” She lifted a tea towel off a tray. “You didn’t eat breakfast, and now you’re leaving without dinner. Second rule I have running my kitchen is, treat your girls like precious rubies and they’ll return the gratitude in gold. A homemade meal of roast beef and real mashed potatoes. You won’t find this coming from any of them cans of food in the pantry. Eat, kid. Enjoy.”
“Sure smells good,” I said, surprised by my appetite. Lately, I hadn’t had one. No matter how they fixed the meals, I could still taste the metal from the canned foods they used to prepare dishes.
“I always save the best for my hardworking girls. Eat your corn pone while it’s hot. And there’s some fresh banana pudding that Patsy just whipped up.”
I swallowed the last bite of dessert, wiped my mouth with the tail of my apron, and turned toward the cook while I savored the sweet milk and chocolate shavings she’d made it with. “Obliged. It’s delicious.”
“It was Meemaw’s recipe,” Patsy said, adjusting the hairnet over her tiny, black curls while she stood over the stove stirring a pot for supper. She glanced my way, and I thought I glimpsed a kindness in her eyes.
***
In the darkened hall, I fumbled with my library key and pulled on the door, only to have someone behind me open it wider. I spun around, startled to see an older man holding a ladder and wearing a tool belt around his waist. Behind him, the side exit door swung slowly shut.
“Ma’am, I’m Sullivan, from over at the men’s prison. Call me Buttermilk. Warden Sanders asked me to change out the burned light bulbs overhead, offer any assistance you might need.” He looked at me curiously, taking in my color, then wrestled the ladder across the threshold, swinging a leg awkwardly as hewalked.
“Cussy Lovett. Nice to meet you, Buttermilk. Without any windows in here, we could sure use the light.” I stood back as he carried the ladder and a toolbox inside, noting his prison overalls and the identification pinned to his bib pocket as he passed.
