The Sinner in Mississippi

by D L Lane

  “Didn’t happen. But trust me, once I’d witnessed those scars you left on her back, I would have loved to do what you are accusing me of, but whoever ratted on you wasn’t me, and it sure wasn’t your daughter.”

  Bruce shrugged.

  I skewered him with my eyes. “If I were you, I’d consider some of your so-called ‘boys,’ and take it up with them.” My anger flared, spilling over again. “No, wait. What would be the point? After all, most of them are six-feet under now.”

  He stared at me in such a way I could almost see his wheels turning, not a thing I said appearing to bother him in the least.

  “Whether you did or didn’t have somethin’ to do with my current predicament is”—Mississippi’s pathetic excuse of a father scrubbed the side of his jaw with two fingers. “What’s that, sayin’? Somethin’ ’bout water and a bridge...”

  I shook my head. “The two of us haven’t had a bridge for any water to flow under, Bruce.”

  “Yeah-well... My point being—”

  “You have a point?”

  “The great Thayer Drayton King knows people, powerful types, and all-a-ya’s have more money than God, so that means you can get me sprung outta here.” He grinned. “My original offer still stands.”

  I glanced around the small room with its cinderblock walls and dull gray floor. “Now, why would I want to help a fine upstanding citizen such as yourself leave these first-class accommodations?”

  “’Cause you want somethin’ from me, and I want somethin’ from you.” He brought both his cuffed hands up and rubbed his nose with a sniff. “You get me outta here, and I’ll tell ya where ya can find whatever it is you’re lookin’ for, if I know.”

  “You know.”

  “Then”—he held up his hands and tugged, making his cuffs rattle—“get me outta here.”

  Bruce Singleton not only spiked my blood pressure, and filled me with so much anger I was having a hard time controlling myself, but the man also turned my stomach with a sickening disgust. Though I’d come prepared, knowing it would take something substantial to get what I wanted from him—and I’d been right—this was like making a deal with the devil himself.

  Setting back in my chair and smoothing my features, I said, “You tell me what I want to know, and then I will do what I can.”

  “Just what is it ya lookin’ for?”

  “Your wife’s Bible.”

  ***

  Four and a half hours later, after chasing one lead after another and greasing more than a few palms, I walked out of Southside Pawn—the heirloom Mississippi had talked about in my hand.

  ***

  Thayer’s Journal Entry, the 22nd of December, 1936

  After much consideration on my part, I told Mississippi about her brother, Danny Joe. I had been expecting tears and worried what the news would do to her, but she didn’t say anything for long moments, finally asking, “Did someone take care of his body?” When I told her of the arrangements I’d made and where his final resting place was, she nodded but didn’t utter another word. Did I do the right thing by telling her too soon after the state she’s been in for so long? I don’t know for sure, but all I can do at this point is to keep a closer eye on her if that’s even possible. Between my entire staff and myself, she’s watched like a hawk already.

  ***

  December 24, 1936 – Christmas Eve

  My mother left a few days ago, deciding to spend the holiday in California with my father. And while I was happy she’d stayed on for a while, I was also glad to have this time alone with Mississippi.

  “Here,” I said, escorting her over to the settee in front of the huge Christmas tree my staff put up and decorated in the parlor. “Get comfortable.”

  “Pretty,” she said, the flickering lights and the dancing flames of the fireplace sending a kaleidoscope of colors across the contours of her face.

  “Yes,” I agreed, but I wasn’t talking about the evergreen.

  Mississippi Singleton was the prettiest thing I’d seen, even when she was so battered and bruised. But with all those horrifying outward reminders gone, her rosy cheeks had returned, and I could almost pretend everything was fine, and all was as it should be.

  “Would you like a throw to toss over your lap to help keep you warm?” I asked.

  “Don’t think so.”

  Her response came just as Ms. Bonny brought freshly baked cookies and hot cocoa in.

  “You have my thanks,” I said, once she’d placed the tray of goodies on the Rococo table. “I’ll take care from here. You may be excused for the rest of the evening.”

  “Yes, sir.” She bowed her blonde head, doing her half curtsy. “Thank you.”

  “Merry Christmas, Ms. Bonny.”

  “And to you, Mr. King.” She gazed over to Mississippi. “I hope you have a wonderful Christmas.”

  I watched their interaction, which had been a bit strained, but I knew Ms. Bonny had apologized for remaining quiet as long as she had about Catherine’s threats and the necklace she’d found. I also believed the woman was sincere and heartbroken. What I wasn’t sure of was Mississippi. She’d started speaking to me about things once more, but always nothing of import—nothing like she used to.

  “Merry Christmas, Ms. Bonny,” Mississippi said, but there wasn’t any expression on her face.

  Geraldine gave a sad smile, inclined her head, and then took her leave. Perhaps the two of them would once again find their friendship, or maybe not, only time would tell, but I focused on the girl I didn’t want to take my eyes from. With all the staff gone, taking an early night, Mississippi and I would have some real privacy.

  “Cook made these especially for you.” I pointed to the plate of chocolate chips, her favorite. “May I get you some?”

  Glancing from me to the table then back at me, she nodded.

  Placing two cookies on a napkin, I handed them over then poured a steaming cup of cocoa, which Mississippi took as well.

  It might have been a small thing, but her active participation sent a ripple of delight through me.

  With not quite the abandon she used to possess Mississippi polished off her snack, and was carefully blowing across the top of her steaming cup, making me smile.

  “Would you care for another cookie?”

  Blue eyes lifted. “Maybe in a while.”

  “All right,” I said, making me a cup of cocoa and taking a seat next to her, getting settled.

  Mississippi stiffened and froze, her face going ashen.

  “What’s wrong?” I studied her. It was if she was ill or had seen a ghost. “Mississippi?”

  “It’s nothin’,” she said, leaning forward to put her cup on the table. “I mean”—she straightened, her posture reminding me of Ms. Bauman—“nothing.”

  I’d never once corrected her grammar, but since she’d started talking again, I’d noticed she’d corrected herself more and more.

  “Are you feeling all right?”

  “Too sweet.” She placed a palm on her stomach. “It doesn’t agree with me, I guess.”

  I frowned. “I’m sorry. What can I do to help?”

  “You can’t.” Glancing over at me, she tried to smile. “I’ll be fine.”

  Placing my cup aside, I decided a gift would be the best thing to lighten the mood. So I rose, went to the tree, bent, and picked up a wrapped package. “This is for you.”

  Going back to her, I held it out.

  With eyes rounded and tentative fingers, she touched the fluffy red bow. “You got me a present?”

  “I did.”

  I’d bought her more than one gift, but she would open them in the morning.

  She glanced up. “But I haven’t been out of the house, so I wasn’t able to get you anything.”

  “You do not need to concern yourself with that. Having you here with me is all the gift I want.”

  She fixated on the package.

  “Go on.” I waved the box. “Take it.”

  Grabbing the present,
she put it in her lap, looking at it as if I’d handed her precious pieces of gold. “It’s too beautiful to ruin by opening it.”

  I laughed. “How are you going to know what it is if you don’t open it, silly girl?”

  Biting her bottom lip, little by little, she deconstructed the wrapping, being careful not to make any tears, and somehow, she kept the bow intact too.

  Even though I knew what she would find inside, excitement washed over me, eager for the reveal.

  Once a neat stack of her mess lay beside her, Mississippi lifted the lid, peeked inside, and sucked in a breath.

  For a moment, she didn’t do anything, and I feared she’d suffered an instant setback, but my heart started beating again when she reached in and touched the gift.

  “How?” she asked, never removing her gaze from the contents of the box.

  “Let’s just say I have my ways.”

  Pulling the item free, she hugged it to her chest like a child would hug a doll. “Thank you.”

  Exhilaration overtook me. “You are very welcome.”

  Handing the Bible over, she said, “Will you read to me?”

  Surprised, I took the heirloom. “What shall I read?”

  “We might not have had much, but Mama always did her best to make Christmas special, and she would read about Mary giving birth to Jesus.” Those blue, blue eyes looked at me, a bit more life within them. “Will you read that?”

  Re-taking my seat, I said, “Of course, but I’m afraid you will have to tell me where it is I’m to look.”

  “Start with the Gospel of Matthew, chapter one, verse eighteen.”

  I opened a book I hadn’t before then looked back at her. “Do you know where Matthew is located?”

  She tilted in my direction and started flipping toward the back of the Bible. “This is it.”

  “All right.”

  Going back to her spot, she settled, only did so sideways, one leg tucked under the other, looking at me.

  “Ready?” I asked.

  Mississippi nodded, so, peering down, I began.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Why?

  January 4, 1937

  Mississippi

  Everything was making me sick. The scent of Ms. Bonny’s cleaning supplies. The smell of eggs. Even bacon, one of my favorite things to eat, tasted funny, and then...

  “Excuse me,” I said, hopping up from the breakfast table where I sat beside Thayer, the cologne he wore no longer a pleasing scent.

  “Mississippi?”

  He trailed along after me, even following me into the bathroom, where I went to my knees and lost the entire contents of my tummy into the toilet bowl, but I was too sick to pay him any mind.

  Squatting beside me, Thayer brushed back my hair. “I’m calling Doctor Rhymes. This flu you say you have isn’t getting any better.”

  “No doctor,” I managed before I heaved again.

  “That protest isn’t going to work any longer,” he said, getting to his feet and bounding out the door.

  ***

  January 13, 1937

  The sky outside the bedroom window was the color of ash when I received the news. Three months before, my life had been utterly destroyed, taken from me in ways I had no terminology for, and what Thayer’s doctor told me that day disintegrated the remaining rubble. With every beat of my heart, wrath coursed through my veins, swirling around the wasted organ I could no longer call a heart, reconstructing a fortress of pure, pumping hate.

  Trembling uncontrollably, I tossed my head back and yelled with all my might—anger the likes I’d never known rising from within the depths of me. “Why? Why are You doing this to me? Haven’t I suffered enough?”

  Wrenching my hair, and devoid of tears, my words transformed into agonized screams of torment.

  “Mississippi!” Thayer tugged me into his arms, “Stop it. This outburst isn’t good for you or the baby.”

  Balling my fist, I beat his chest. The man taking every blow. “Who cares if it isn’t! I hate this thing inside of me!”

  “Calm down.” He held on tight, taking my abuse while I wiggled and punched, yelling horrible things.

  “Let me go, Thayer!”

  But he didn’t release me, not until I’d worn myself out.

  While I was leaning against him, limp with exhaustion, he scooped me up and placed me on his bed. “I think it best if you try to get some rest. Do you want me to stay with you?”

  Turning, I gave the man my back.

  “Mississippi?”

  “Just go away and leave me be.”

  “I’ll go,” he said with a defeated sigh, “but I will be back.”

  Darkness closed around me as I pulled the covers over my head, burying myself in the fury and pain.

  ***

  “Mississippi.” I pretended to be asleep as Thayer nudged me. “Wake up. I had Inga make you some broth for dinner.”

  When I didn’t respond, he prodded a little more. “Mississippi. Please don’t do this again. I know you’re upset and hurting, but don’t shut me out.”

  Upset? He had no idea of the absolute rage roiling in me.

  “Go away,” I mumbled.

  “Not this time,” he said, sounding relieved. “Get up and eat, no more skipping meals.”

  ***

  January 14, 1937

  “The sun is out today,” Ms. Bauman said as she came into the library, checking on me as she always did when Thayer was away on business. “I was thinking; perhaps we can get out and go for a walk. You haven’t been to the lake in a long while.”

  “You go on.”

  “If you don’t wish to go, I’ll stay.”

  I shrugged. “Do what you want.”

  “Which book has Mr. King been reading to you? I’d be happy to continue where he left off.”

  “That’s all right,” I said, “no need.”

  “Mississippi?”

  When I looked at her, sorrow dropped the lines of her face. “Yeah?”

  “If you’re worried. You know, about what happens next, don’t be. Mr. King will take good care of you and”—she dropped her gaze to my tummy—“everyone. It’s all going to be all right, you’ll see.”

  While rationale said, She's only being nice, attempting to put your mind at ease, it didn’t matter. She’d unknowingly fanned the fire of fury inside me, burning out the light of logic. “Get out!”

  The woman I’d considered a friend blinked, her brown eyes filling with tears, but she kept her poise. “I’m just trying—”

  “Get out now!” I picked up the book sitting on the oval table by the chair and flung it in her direction. It whizzed by her head to bash the wall before thudding to the floor.

  Tears streaming, she carefully bent, picked up the weapon of my anger, walked over, and handed it to me. “I think you dropped this.”

  Then, with her spine straight, she left me alone with my two ever-present companions—wretchedness and hate.

  ***

  February 3, 1937

  “We are going for a ride today,” Thayer announced, striding into the corner of the library where I’d started spending most of my time.

  “I don’t want to.” Sixty, sixty-one, sixty-two—

  “Too bad, Mississippi, because you are going.”

  “Says you.” Sixty-three... I returned to counting the books on the shelves.

  The man laughed, causing me to look at him, eyes narrowing. “It’s good to see some of your fire. I’ve missed it.”

  “It isn’t a fire.”

  With lifted brow, he asked, “What is it then?”

  “Loathing.”

  “You loathe me?” he asked but didn’t appear to be offended.

  “You, me, I seemed to detest everyone and everything.” I glanced back at my shelf, mad I’d lost my count, grumbling under my breath.

  “Well,” he said, cheerful, which only tweaked my meanness. “Let’s see what we can do about that, shall we?”

  ***

 
The lights of the theater twinkled, highlighting the marquee on the building that reminded me of a posing peacock with its multicolored tail fanning toward the heavens.

  Swing Time, starring Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers

  “You’re taking me to a picture show?” I asked, astonished.

  “I am,” Thayer said, giving me his arm.

  “I’ve never been to one before.”

  Straight white teeth glistened as he smiled at me. “Then you are in for a treat.”

  The two of us bypassed the glass booth with the sign “Tickets” and went right in.

  “Welcome, Mr. King,” a man, not much younger than a boy, greeted, dressed in a strange suit with a square hat, but I stopped paying attention. I was gaping at the golden walls and pale-blue ceiling with a row of mirrors dotting it and exquisite vining chandeliers.

  The inside sparkled more than the out. But the theater room itself was a vision to behold. The octagon ceiling appeared carved with points like a snowflake. A jewel of a light positioned in the center, hung atop row after row of empty seats.

  “There’s no one here,” I said once I gathered myself, thinking that must be strange. Surely someplace like that would be full of people, right?

  “No,” Thayer said, watching me. He was always watching me. “There’s no one.”

  Blinking up at him, I scowled. “I don’t understand. Shouldn’t there be?”

  “I called in a favor.”

  “A favor?”

  “We are the only people in attendance for this movie.”

  My jaw dropped. “Really?”

  Thayer nodded, stopping at the first row.

  Slipping my arm from his, he waved toward the red chairs to his right. “Ladies first.”

  And for a little while, I lost myself in another world, forgetting everything like I tended to do with my books, only the show was taking place in front of me, not inside my head.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  A sensible arrangement

  March 5, 1937

  Closing the Bible in his lap, Thayer looked at me. “I’ve got something I would like to discuss.”

  I’d been drifting in the velvet texture of his voice as he read, so it took me a minute for what he said to register. “Discuss?”