I pulled off my gloves, put in a coin, and dialed zero.
“Number, please?” the operator asked.
“Ma’am, this is Honey Lovett in Troublesome Creek, Kentucky. I want to speak to my mama at the women’s prison in Pewee Valley, Kentucky, please.”
“Women’s Division, Kentucky State Reformatory. Deposit another nickel, please.”
I fumbled inside my pocket and dropped the coin into its slot.
“Please hold.”
“Yes, ma’am, Operator. Much obliged.”
Francis had his back to me, hands shoved into his pant pockets, trying not to listen.
Two long rings and a woman picked up. “Women’s Division, Kentucky State Reformatory. Mrs. Holland speaking.”
“Ma’am, Mrs. Holland, this is Honey Lovett over in Troublesome Creek, ma’am. I want to speak to my mama, please—”
“Prisoners are only allowed to make one telephone call a month if they’re housed in the honor wing.”
“When can my mama telephone me?”
She sighed, annoyed. “Who is your mother, miss?”
“Cussy Mary Lovett.”
I heard her flicking through pages. Shortly, she said, “Lovett has been restricted from telephone calls and outside visits. You’re the daughter?”
“Yes, ma’am.” I barely breathed, looking wildly around, inhaling stale air.
“We tried to reach her relatives but didn’t have an address. Your mother is being housed in the prison infirmary.”
“Infirmary, but why?” My legs weakened, and I dropped to the small wooden bench seat and spooled the telephone cord tight in my hand. “What happened to my mama?”
“I’m sorry. You’ll need to speak with your attorney about that.” I heard a click.
“What’s wrong with her? Ma’am? Ma’am?” I gripped the small, metal telephone-book tray in front of me.
I stared down at the receiver, lifted it back up to my ear. “Ma’am?”
Francis tapped on the glass door and mouthed, Everything okay, Honey?
I put on my gloves, and pulled on the brass handle, opening the glass door. “I need to get to Pewee Valley right away.”
“I’m off Monday, and I can borrow my pa’s truck and take you.”
“Much obliged, Francis, but I need to get hold of Mr. Morgan first.”
From the front of the store, Eddie called out to Francis. “Mr. Webb needs to be rung up, Francis.”
Francis frowned. “Gotta get back to work. If you change your mind and need that ride, just let me know.” He stepped away, then turned back to me. “Say, Honey, uh…would you like to go out sometime? Maybe take in a movie at the picture show? Or a picnic down by the creek? Go on a date with me, Honey?” He rushed the words, shoved his hands deep into his pockets, rocking on the balls of his shoes, waiting.
I was more than surprised that he’d asked, and when my answer failed to come, Francis added, “Mama’d be happy to make us up a tasty basket of victuals.”
“It sounds fun, but…” I searched for an excuse since I needed Papa’s permission first. But I wasn’t ready to tell him Papa was in prison. Finally, I told him the truth. “I haven’t been given permission to date yet.”
“Ask your pa.” His eyes were bright and pleading, his smile warm.
“He’s not here,” I said, wanting to say yes, but not wanting to tell him exactly where my papa was.