don’t blame me.
it’s not my fault.
these roads are nothing but hog wallow during a thaw.
folks ought to know that.
wright sutter should have thought
before bringing his wife and child along to town with him.
that wasn’t my fault,
his horse and wagon miring down,
stuck in the mud.
i wasn’t even on duty.
not my fault he couldn’t get help.
no one too energetic about helping a colored man hereabouts,
even if he is a neighbor.
sutter, making deliveries, left his womenfolk in the wagon too long.
wife took a chill,
waiting. she put her wrap around the little girl,
leanora.
sick all year, sutter’s wife was. doc flitt said
she ought to go away to a sanatorium to get her health back.
wright sutter didn’t have money for that.
even if there was a sanatorium for colored folk.
the sutter woman died this past spring.
don’t blame me.
the roads were bad.