From atop Junia, I drew my eyes to the well and tried to spy the glass milk bottle. The yard was empty. Thin grasses poked up between patches of blooming henbit, briar weed, and field mustard. Wet clothing and sheets were pinned to Guyla Belle’s clothesline, the scents of lye soap and blooms swirling around the yard. The boy’s rusted trike rested on its side. The curtains were drawn on the cabin windows.
Mr. Gillis must be home. I turned Junia back to the road, then chanced another look once more at the well, stretching my neck to get a better sight. I couldn’t be sure and I dared not go into the yard to get a closer look, but it seemed like Mr. Gillis had finally concreted it over, and I let out a breath, relieved for the boy’s safety.
Then the door creaked open and a small, unkempt woman stuck her head out. “If you’re looking for Guyla, she ain’t here,” she said, her voice full of grave dust.
I nudged Junia closer. “Ma’am, I’m Honey Lovett, the outreach librarian assistant for our branch.”
Johnnie squeezed past the woman, and she snatched him back to her side.
“Buk uman.” He pointed, his face streaked with dirt, his eyes swollen from crying. “Buk uman an-an-and Mama. Well!”
“Hello, Johnnie,” I called out, friendly. To the woman, “Ma’am, do you know where I can find Guyla Belle?”
“I’m the boy’s auntie, Ida Gillis. Perry’s at work and Guyla’s done gone.”
“Gone.” I worried the word. But it was a relief to hear he was working, and I offered her a wobbly smile. Reaching inside my satchel, I said, “Only wanted to drop off Guyla Belle’s clean socks—”
“Done took off and left town. Good riddance.” She jerked the boy inside and slammed the door.
Good riddance?
Quickly, I dropped the socks back into my bag. From behind the door, I heard the boy wail once before going silent. Then Johnnie’s sad face appeared in front of the curtain. Tearful, he pressed his small hand against the old pane.
Junia whinnied softly and sidestepped, turning us around. I looked over my shoulder one last time, then squeezed my legs against her sides. “Halt, ol’ girl.” Glints of sunlight dropped through the trees, dancing off shards of glass that littered the concreted mouth of the well. I squinted and saw the jagged broken neck of a dairy bottle lying on the ground below it. Under it was the two books I’d loaned her. I climbed down and walked over, sneaking glimpses to the house. My hands trembled as I ran my fingers across the new concrete lid, remembering how Guyla Belle almost lost Johnnie. As ornery as Mr. Gillis was, at least he saw fit to cover it up.
Junia remembered, too, and tapped her hooves nervously, trying to pull me away, struggling to free herself from the reins. “It’s okay, ol’ girl, Johnnie’s safe and won’t ever fall down it again.”
Dismayed, I picked up the children’s book, and spotted The Awakening nearby. The pages were ripped and the cover had been violently torn off. I shivered and circled around the well. Two daffodils had sprung up beside it, and a dandelion had pushed itself up through a crack at the concrete base. I studied the strong weed. How it always survived, even against the forces of man and steel. I resisted plucking it up, knowing it would seed year after year, and I bent over, ran a finger over the yellow head, praying that Guyla Belle had the same strength to survive his beatings.
Junia sounded another anxious bray, and I searched the yard once more. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw movement and jerked my head up toward the cabin. My eyes narrowed as I squinted to make out who was there.
The curtains parted a little further, and an outline of someone appeared, then faded behind the fabric just as quick. Could Guyla Belle be in there suffering from another beating, or had she really packed up and left?
***
I found Bonnie Powell on her porch, sprawled out on Retta’s pretty glider, smoking a cigarette, one leg hitched atop it, the other rocking back and forth. She motioned me up.
I grabbed two books and a pamphlet and climbed the steps.
She handed me her old loans. “Hey, sweet pea, will ya look at this. Just came home and found it sitting out in the yard, plain as that. All new-like too. No note, nothing with it.” She rubbed her hand alongside the metal arm, traced the pattern on the empty spot next to her. “Nary a dent anywhere,” she marveled. “Grandma was out back hanging wash and said she never heard a soul. We carried it up to the porch and it fits perfect.” She pitched her cigarette out into the thinning yard, dusted off the ashes that had fallen on her bib overalls.
I was grateful that Alonzo got it here and didn’t cheat this time. “It’s real pretty,” I said, not wanting her to know I’d given it to her, afraid she’d think it was charity.
“Had me another rough day in the mine, shoveling the belt and eating that nasty rock dust. I threw up twice, ’cause I ran out of them vitamin C pills Doc prescribes. Says it helps fight against the sickness the dust causes.” Bonnie stretched and massaged her neck, then examined her broken overall strap that was missing its metal button. “Damn men making it even rougher with their grabby hands.” She looked out to the yard as if remembering something ugly. “But this sure cheered me up. Can’t wait to hold Joey Jr. in it.” She rocked the glider with her toe, the squeaky hum breezing the afternoon air.
“He’ll go right to bed,” I said, smiling, remembering all the times Retta had rocked me to sleep on it.
I handed her two new books, and she studied the covers and then sat them beside her. “These look real good. This one here—” She tapped Gunnar’s Daughter. “Surprised Miss Foster has it in her library.”
“Thought you might enjoy something different.”
“Thanks. It was always a treat getting books from your mama’s personal collection. They made ya really ponder afterward.” She rapped on the metal seat and kicked the rocker into motion with her foot again. “This sure is gonna make bedtime a lot easier on both of us.”
I fidgeted with her loans in my lap, slipping off the sweaty gloves, my hands darkening as I rubbed my palm across the book.
Bonnie leaned over, stretched out her arm to pick up a quart mason jar stuffed with sunflower seeds. She poured out a few into her palm and set the jar aside.
Her brow furrowed and she studied the fat brown seeds. “Yessir,” she whispered, “gonna make everything a lot easier for ol’ Bonnie now.”
Something strange, almost dangerous lifted in her eyes as she examined the seeds, turning them over in her hand.
***
Junia trotted past a small group of miners outside the Company store, lifting a hawing caution to the men like she always did when we passed by. A few talked beside their parked trucks, others rushed out of the store as if they were late. The coal miners’ shirts and britches were clean, and I knew they were headed to their first shift of the day.
Fretful, I searched the faces for Gillis and didn’t see him. Besides the books, I was the closest thing to a friend his wife had. I knew he’d keep threatening me until I dropped Guyla Belle’s route and broke off our friendship.
I knocked my knees against Junia, urging her to go faster.
At Doc’s house, Millie opened the door. “Book woman. Läkare. Läkare,” she called over her shoulder, the musical words scattering down the foyer. I handed her two books from my bag, and she studied the covers of A Stone for Danny Fisher and The Hidden Flower, then pulled me inside. “Till dig.” She walked down the hall, wagging a finger in the air and leaving me alone in the foyer. In a minute, she came back with a cloth bag and handed it to me.
I peeked inside and saw two oranges.
“Äta.” She pointed to her mouth and then mine.
“Uh, eat, yes, much obliged, Millie. I’ll save it for later.” I tucked them inside my bag.
“Böcker,” she said, opening one of the books and walking down the hall flicking a page.
“Books,” I said, hoping it was the word.
Doc came to the door. “Honey, I’m glad you’re here. Come on into the parlor. I’d like to talk with you a moment.”
I stared at him, wondering if he had bad news. I’d stopped in a few days ago for word on Mama but no one was home. “Is Mama okay?”
“Yes. Come on in.” He opened the door wider and I stepped into the foyer.
“I examined your mother on Tuesday.” He led me into the parlor. “Would you like coffee or tea, something else?”
“No, sir. How is she?” I sat in the chair, worried.
“She’s fine, but—”
I leaned in toward Doc. “But what? Did they hurt her—?”
“She’s fine, Honey. But I spoke with the governor and he let me know it wasn’t in his best interest to grant her a pardon at this time.”
I groaned. How could I ever go two years without her, and how could she stay there alive for another two years? “They stripped her of motherhood! What about my mama’s best interest?” I snapped.
“You have to realize, child, issues as delicate as miscegenation laws are—Well, now, some issues are political hotbeds and not many elected officials want to confront them. I’m sorry.”
My heart sank.
“Now a few of her privileges were restored, at least. And I’m having lunch with the governor next Tuesday and should have more to tell you then.”
“Can I telephone her?”
“I don’t see why not.”
“Much obliged, Doc. I can’t bear for her to be in the awful prison one minute more. Is there any more you can do, sir?” I heard his telephone ring in his office.
He gave a sympathetic nod. “I’ll keep bending his ear, child. Maybe we’ll find a compromise.”
Millie poked her head inside the parlor, said something cheerful, and waved a book.
“The phone’s for me. And it looks like Millie is pleased with her new reads.” Doc stood up and I joined him. “I won’t give up. You don’t give up either, Honey. You’re doing a great job as the new book woman. Bluet would be proud.”
I hurried to the Company store, hoping to telephone Mama, rushing past Francis helping a customer at the cash register.
Inside the telephone booth, I took off my gloves, dialed the operator, and waited. But after I deposited the two nickels she’d asked for, the woman said she hadn’t received them and demanded more. I had to deposit another three before the operator would ring the number. Finally I got through to the prison, only for them to tell me Mama was in another building working in laundry. Frustrated, I hung up, counting my change.
Francis tapped on the glass. “Okay in there, Honey?”
I cracked open the door. “Fine but the telephone machine took more money than it should have. I had to deposit five coins before the operator would ring the number.”
“It acts up like that sometimes. Sorry, Honey. Wait here and I’ll go get the key to refund your change.”
In a moment, Francis returned with a key. Grinning, he squeezed in beside me. I wriggled closer to the back of the booth, trying to scoot away, watching awkwardly as he opened the box at the bottom of the telephone before counting out my nickels, the scent of boy wild and dizzying in the cramped space.
Francis passed me the coins, the heat of his hand lingering on mine. Our eyes met and a burning hunger lit across his. “I want to take you out soon, Honey,” he said in a hoarse whisper. “Spend the day with you.” Then he moved in even closer and pressed a feverish kiss onto my lips.
Boldly, I pressed back, pulling into the heady scent of boy.
A rap on the booth parted us. Eddie called out to Francis as he hurried past toward the back, “Truck just pulled in, and I need help unloading.”
Embarrassed, I tried to move but Francis was blocking the door.
Francis looked at me, the hunger still bright in his eyes as he fumbled with the door and backed out of the booth. “Go out with me, Honey.” He grabbed my hand and gave a gentle tug, then sprinted off toward the back to catch up with Eddie.
Smiling, I pulled my fingers up to my lips, tasting his kiss. For the rest of the day, and tomorrow, and the one after, I was sure I’d check and find his kiss still there. And I thought about what Bonnie said and wondered if Francis would be the one.
***
Saturday couldn’t come soon enough. And I could hardly wait to talk with Papa and ask his permission to date. I arrived at Pearl’s cab at noon, two hours before he would call, lighting up the metal stairs like a bald hornet was on my tail, my footsteps clanging across the sleepy forest.
“I’m glad you came early. I could use the company,” Pearl said.
“I hoped you wouldn’t mind. I’m dying to speak with Papa,” I said, breathless from the stirs and my excitement.
Pearl laughed. “I would’ve done the same. I’m having a bite to eat. Let me get you a plate.”
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.
“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.