“Oh, Papa, there’s a…a boy. He asked me out and—”
There was a winded sigh, then a long pause.
“Uh, he wants to take me out on a picnic. I’m soon to be seventeen,” I reminded.
“Who is he?”
“Francis Moore, Howard Moore’s grandson.”
Papa coughed and cleared his throat and then said wearily, “Have Loretta meet him, and if she approves, you have my permission.”
Frowning, I shook my head and muttered a weak “Okay, Papa.”
“You talk with your mama, Daughter?”
“I saw Mama, and I’m coming to see you too.”
“How’s Mama doing over there?” He coughed again. “Honey?”
“Fine,” I fibbed, the lies soaking my hands, a’blazin’ them in the blue. “I need to visit you real soon, though.”
“It’s best you send letters. Prison’s not a fit place for a young lady to visit.”
“Papa, please. I have a ride. A frontier nurse or Doc will bring me.”
There was another long pause. Then I heard his heavy sigh. “Daughter, there are no visitors allowed at the prison, only telephone calls.”
“Why, what’s wrong?” I stood, stretching the cord.
“Some in here have the fevers,” he wheezed out. “The poli…outbreak is here…” A man climbed atop his words, booming, “Time’s up, Lovett.”
I winced, unraveling and spooling the stretched cord around my darkening hand. “Papa, did you say polio?”
“Write to me, li’l Book Woman.” Clattering and shouts rose from the wires, jarring our telephone conversation.
“Papa?” I stared out the windows, wanting to tell him everything, clamoring for his wisdom and comfort, the words screaming inside, fighting to come out. “Papa, Retta—”
“I love you, Honey,” Papa whispered hoarsely.
“Papa, I love—” I dropped back into the seat, a cold numbness crawling over my bones, my sentiment lost in the cruel, hard click of his receiver.
Twenty-Nine
From the window, I watched the two men arrive at the homestead on Monday.
Devil John and Mr. Morgan rode into the yard atop a small wagon just as I was inside packing the pannier for my outpost.
I answered the knock, opening the door wide. “Mr. Morgan, is everything okay with my folk?”
“Fine, just fine, Honey. I’m here about you. May I come in?”
Hesitant, I braced myself and stepped aside, thinking about Papa, the worry of more bad news from the court, the social worker, and law.
“Nice to see ya, Honey. I’ll jus’ stay over yander by the wagon, Bob,” Devil John said.
“Morning, Devil John,” I called out before going inside.
Books, magazines, and newspapers littered the table and chairs. I hurried to make room for him to sit, stacking the patrons’ reads onto my small bed across the room.
“No need to fuss. I can see you keep a tidy home here, Honey.” He shut the door as a breath of the forest escaped inside, lifting into the laundered linens I’d washed just yesterday in a few drops of Mama’s rose oil.
“Yes, sir, I was just getting my books together for work. Coffee?” I called out as I placed the last four books on my bed.
“Don’t mind if I do.”