My belly growled, and I knew he was right. Mama used to say something similar when one of my handmade toys would break and I’d get frustrated, shake it or throw it onto the ground. She’d always said, Can’t be angry and smart at the same time. Now, nothing wrong in having the anger, but the two rarely work together. Let’s be smart, darling daughter. And then she’d calmly, and ever so slow, help me repair the busted toy.
Smart. I mulled over the word, trying to decide what the smartest thing for me was. Books were smart. Powerful. And suddenly, I knew my job and the books were my path to freedom. They were everything I wanted and the women on my route needed. An escape, a friend, a lesson, and liberty for us all.
“Penny for your thoughts, child.”
Sheepish, I said, “Books.”
“Bluet always got the same look thinking about her books.” Doc smiled and tore a fluffy roll in two and stacked smoked turkey onto it, spreading some of Millie’s chowchow relish on top before handing it to me.
“Much obliged.” I waited till he made one for himself.
He took a big bite and chewed. After he swallowed, he said, “I’ll call her lawyer and ask him to get a court order so I can examine her at the city hospital, also see what medications the prison has her on. Then once I prepare my findings, I’ll go to Governor Wetherby and ask for your mother’s pardon. If I had known about all this earlier, I could’ve helped sooner. But I’ve been traveling so much lately, it’s been hard to keep up with the news.” He took another bite, chewing slowly. “I think the governor would be receptive to it.” Doc wiped his mouth with one of the linen napkins Millie had packed and folded it back onto his lap.
I thanked him and nibbled on my sandwich. It was good, but the food didn’t erase the bad taste of the visit, the haunting image of my sickly mama. The scene gnawed at me, leaving little room for appetite. I thought about Mama sitting there without her undergarments, her loss of womanhood. My hands bruised blue, the anger rising, the guilt of ruining the visit with my childish anger smothering.
“Finish up.” Doc smacked the crumbs off his hands and stood. “We need to head home. Sooner I can get there, the quicker I can help Bluet.”
I took another small bite, my mind pulling back to the books and the dangerous path ahead of me.
Twenty-Six
We arrived in Troublesome as the sun crawled down behind treed ridges, bedding the town, a coal-dusted darkness pulling its shadowed cloak over the ol’ Kentucky hills.
Doc opened the passenger door and I climbed out, the breath of grandmother mountains sweet on the face, welcomed after the vile stench of prison walls.
“It’s late, child.” He checked his pocket watch. “A little after six. You’re welcome to stay the night.”
“I have my book route in the morning, but I’m much obliged for the offer and for taking me to see Mama.” I shrugged on my coat and grabbed my satchel. “Give Millie my thanks and tell her I’ll drop off her reading material on Friday.” I pecked his cheek.
“She’ll be pleased to have new books. I’m going inside to make a few telephone calls. Ride safe.” Doc placed a hand on my arm, then walked toward his house.
Reading material. I recalled my own—the newspaper obituary—and our conversation.
I called after him and rushed back to his side. “Doc, could I please use your telephone? I need to call Mr. Morgan.”
“Come on in and I’ll get him on the line for you.”
Inside, Doc picked up the telephone and dialed the rotary, then after a few seconds handed me the receiver.
A woman answered on the first ring, “Morgan Law Office.”
“Ma’am, I need to speak with Mr. Morgan.”