“HE’LL SLEEP NOW,” Moody said. “Maybe he won’t wake up this time.”
I followed her out to the little front porch. We sat in the chairs where L.J. and I had spent a long hot night waiting for the Raiders to come.
The worst heat had finally broken. You couldn’t call it a cool day, exactly, but the wet blanket of humidity had lifted.
“I’m glad I got to talk to him,” I said. “His words mean a lot to me.”
Moody said nothing.
“I feel terrible about the way the trial turned out,” I said.
I was hoping, I suppose, that Moody would say something like Abraham had said: that I had done my best and it wasn’t my fault.
She turned to face me. “I know you’re going to think I’m nothin’ but a cold, ungrateful girl. But I don’t just feel bad—I’m angry. Damn angry. Oh yeah, you did your best. And Mr. Curtis did his best. And Mr. Stringer spent all that money… but those murderers walked away free.”
“You’re right, Moody,” I said. “They did.”
“Papaw keeps saying it takes a long time for things to change. Well, that’s fine for him—he’s almost run out of time. I don’t want to be old and dying before anything ever starts to get better.”
I nodded. Then I did something I didn’t know I was going to do until I did it.
I reached over and took Moody’s hand.
This time she did not pull away.
We said nothing, because finally there was nothing left to say. After a few minutes she leaned her head on my shoulder and began to weep softly.
Then she pulled away and sat up. “Listen, Ben, do me a favor. I’m afraid Papaw’s going to get bedsores, and Hemple’s is all out of wintergreen oil. You reckon you could go into town and bring some?”
“Gladly,” I said. “But only if you go with me. You’ve been trapped in this house for days.”
“You are plain crazy, Ben Corbett,” she said. “You think the people of this town want to see you and me parading together downtown? You want to get yourself lynched again?”
“I don’t care,” I said. “Do you care about what the people of Eudora think?”
She pondered that a moment. “No. I s’pose I don’t.”
She wiped her eyes with a corner of the dishtowel. “Oh, hell, Ben, what goes on in that crazy brain of yours?”
I was wondering the same thing.
“Will you go with me?” I said. “I need to do something in town.”