After a dinner of fried liver mush and corn bread, Pearl went down to feed Pie, while I stared back and forth between the telephone and my timepiece snugged beside it. Occasionally, I would tend the Osborne Finder for her, searching for any signs of smoke. I didn’t spot the dangerous slow burn of white smolder caused from paper or wood fires. I picked up my timepiece, snapped open the glass case.
Pearl came back up a little before two. “Any word?”
Solemn, I shook my head.
When the little hand moved to 2:00 p.m., I stiffened in the chair and felt my shoulders tighten, inching up to my ears. Then the hand moved slowly, marking 2:07 p.m., and a tiny desperate breath escaped. At 2:24 p.m., Pearl rested a hand on my arm and squeezed. I looked up at her, the worriment latching onto my hands. When the time crawled to 2:27 p.m., the telephone rang, making me jump up from the chair, bumping Pearl sideways.
“Pick up the receiver. Hurry, pick it up,” Pearl said, just as excited, jiggling her charm bracelet.
I yanked it off the cradle and pressed it close to my ear. “Papa, papa, it’s me, Honey. Papa?” I frowned, pulled it away from my head, and stared down at the handset.
Pearl took it from me and said, “Hello, hello?” then paused. “Mother, I can’t talk. I’m waiting for a telephone call. No, Mother, please hang—” Pearl gripped the cord, shaking her head. “Hang up, Mrs. Barry. Mrs. Barry, hang up your party line! I’ll call you back later, Mother. No, Mother, now’s not a good time. Later. Hang up, Mrs. Barry,” she said through tight teeth before slamming down the telephone and looking at me with apologetic eyes.
Papa would not call, and I grabbed my timepiece, unable to witness the disappointment in her eyes reflected in mine.
“Honey, stay—” she pleaded.
“I have chores, Pearl,” I said, embarrassed I’d gotten my hopes up. “Much obliged for your generous hospitality. Dinner was real nice.” I put on my coat, picked up the satchel and Pearl’s old loans, and opened the hatch.
“Oh, Honey, I’m truly sorry—”
The phone rumbled out one long brrrng. Pearl grabbed my sleeve and pulled me back up to the table.
I put the receiver to my ear, and in a small voice breathed out, “Papa?”
Pearl’s eyes widened, questioning.
“This is the operator, I have a collect call from Mr. Jackson Lovett at the Kentucky State Reformatory for Miss Honey Lovett.”
I looked at Pearl and nodded. “It’s the operator for a collect call—”
“Hurry and accept it,” she said, beaming, bobbing her head.
“Yes, Operator, I accept,” I said.
“Honey, it’s your papa. It’s good to hear you again, Daughter.” The warmth of his voice traveled across the miles, and I stared out the windows feeling a protective hug.
“Papa. Papa!” I lifted a fist to the side of my mouth, soaking up the sunny skies, nearly weeping with joy.
“Daughter.” He coughed. “How are you doing? Retta taking good care of you? Staying safe?”
His lawyer hadn’t got word to him yet about her passing. I sank into the chair, swallowing back the tears. “Yes,” I barely squeaked out, not wanting to tell him I wasn’t. Not wanting to burden the happy moment with sadness. “I’m safe enough.”
“Old Junia behaving?”
“Junia’s doing real good. She misses Mama though.”
Pearl slipped out the door to the catwalk’s railing. Below, I heard Junia’s quiet haws and neighs.
“We’ll be together soon,” he said quietly, leaving me to strain to hear the next words muffled by his cough.