I dared to raise a hand. To my great relief, I found the drug working its magic.
Susan turned to us and gave a brisk nod before hovering back over him. When he was through, she picked up the stack. “I’ll just get your coffee and then file these, sir.” She shot a harried glance our way, her face tightening.
Mrs. Claxton jolted and gripped my arm.
We slipped out of the room, walked briskly down the hall to the exit and right past the hospital guard reading his morning paper over a steaming cup of coffee.
Forty-Five
Dawn summoned the slow-waking city, shedding its Sunday cloak of darkness.
Inside the vehicle, hot breezes tangled through my heavy wig, the smell of cigarette smoke and perfume clinging to the fake hair, raging a protest in my belly.
I stared out at the muddy Ohio River as Mrs. Claxton drove us across the bridge, the radio announcer’s voice whirring as he delivered the morning news.
When the newsman said the governor was now prepared to execute Sassyann again, and as early as September, Mrs. Claxton moaned. “Ought to be law against that kind of savagery.Law, she’s been living in a vegetative state and is as good as dead. Looking sickly, chile. Lean your head out and catch some more air,” she advised.
I inhaled the fishy, earthen breaths of the dark river and could only imagine the horrors that awaited Sassyann.
Twisting around, I scanned for any signs of the law on our tail. I shuddered, suddenly jolted by the thought that if I made it, I would be looking over my shoulder for the rest of my life.
Mrs. Claxton turned off the radio and settled more comfortably in her seat.
When I saw the Indiana state sign a few minutes later, my breathing relaxed. A glance to my hands showed the drug was still working, the color a pale ruddy pink.
I placed fingers to my belly and softly tapped. There’d been nary a flutter since we left the hospital.
Mrs. Claxton reached awkwardly under her seat, fumbled, and pulled out a strange black cap and placed it on the dash. “How’s that headache, chile?” she asked after crossing the Ohio River.
“It’s back, ma’am. But—” I was getting ready to tell her I hadn’t felt the baby but swallowed my grievance. Her face sagged under coal-bagged eyes. “Mrs. Claxton, I’m sorry I’ve put you through so much. You look spent.”
“Ain’t never felt more alive.” She jutted her chin and pressed down on the pedal.
I lowered my gaze to my draped stomach, silently begging for a sign of life.
We pulled into a small Indiana town and parked on an empty gravel lot. “I need to call Jed at the church. Then the prison.”
I waited outside the opened telephone booth as she fed coins into the machine.
“Jed,Jed. I’m glad I caught you. I have awful news.” She glanced out at me. “It’s our Cussy. I’m afraid we lost her.”
A long pause. Then: “Yes, they did everything they could to save her. Uh-huh, Susan took care of the remains. It’s all so heartbreaking. Yes, that would be real nice if you called for a quiet prayer circle tonight. Hmm. No. Yes, I’m calling the prison next… Whining? Uh-huh, I imagine Daisy’s missing her about now. She’ll be lost a bit. Take out one of my ham bones from the refrigerator and give it to her tonight. Uh-huh… I’m heartbroken.”
She turned, and the muffled strings of conversation were lost. When she twirled around, the librarian stretched the telephone’s chord and planted a shaking hand onto the booth’s glass, resting her head atop the clawed palm. A passing truck cushioned her conversation for a moment.
Then her voice climbed outside. “Thank you, Jed. I knew you’d understand. A visit with Sister Rose will do good and right my nerves. Uh-huh. Yes, I’ll be careful. No, I won’t stopunless I absolutely have to. Yes, I have your cap on the dash. Phone Lillian for me and have her schedule Maureen to fill in. I’ll see you in a few days. I’ll call you at the church tomorrow. Uh-huh, I’ve got the books in the glove. Yes, I’ll be extra careful. Talk to you tomorrow.”
She placed the receiver in the cradle and pulled out a handkerchief and wiped her damp forehead. After a moment, the librarian took a deep breath and fed the machine again, the thunk of coins lifting.
I paced across the gravel lot, itching to get farther away from Kentucky.
When Mrs. Claxton finally connected with the next party, her words lit across the wires somber and measured, ending with several promises to send a letter of high praise to the governor about the generosity of the warden.
“Yes, ma’am, I’ve cast it to memory, exactly as you’ve said. Yes, word for word,” she repeated. “Uh-huh…Thank him for your prison’s charitable donation of the inmate—declaring its services were a contribution to the city and adding a plea for the reinstatement of generous library funds. I’ll get that written to the mayor today, ma’am. Yes.”
Its.The acknowledgment that I weren’t nothing more than anitto the warden cut across my damning heart.
The librarian slammed down the telephone and muttered something I couldn’t hear. She stepped out of the booth and looked up and down the street. “Let’s get back on the road. We have a long drive.” She took her handkerchief and blotted her forehead again and winced. “Law, we’ve got us another hot July day in store.”
