by D L Lane
Placing the worn leather on my lap, I opened it up. “I thought maybe I’d read you something while I was here. See, I was flippin’ through the pages and saw you had marked these passages, so I figured they had been important to you.”
Finding my place, I took a breath. “This is from Ephesians four, verses twenty-nine through thirty-two. It says, ‘Let no corrupt communication proceed out of your mouth, but that which is good to the use of edifying, that it may minister grace unto the hearers. And grieve not the holy Spirit of God, whereby ye are sealed unto the day of redemption. Let all bitterness, and wrath, and anger, and clamour, and evil speaking, be put away from you, with all malice: And be ye kind one to another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, even as God for Christ's sake hath forgiven you’.”
I paused, lips trembling. I wanted to scream until I had no more breath left in me.
“Mama, I know God doesn’t want us to be angry and bitter, and that we are to forgive as He has, but I truly don’t know how to. The truth is, I’m so angry at Him for taking you and leaving me with Daddy Bruce, for all the times I prayed but still found myself bruised up and bloody. For what happened to me that horrible, horrible night at the hands of Dudley McCoy and Alistair Blevins.”
Balling my fist so hard my nails bit into my palm, I searched for some peace, not finding any.
“They hurt me, Mama. Real bad. The kind of bad that kills the soul.”
My fingers were tingling as I placed my hand over my churning stomach, and confessed, “I’m going to have a baby. One conceived out of violence. A baby I don’t want, and I sure don’t love. I don’t know h-how”—I was sobbing, but I continued spewing everything—“I don’t know how to lo-love this thing growing inside of me. I d-don’t know how to forget and forgive such thi-things.”
Boohooing for a few minutes, my chest hurting, my heart in agony, I wallowed in the distress until I gained a better handle on myself.
“Thayer asked me to marry him.” I cracked a smile through the tears. “Well, ordered me really, but we won’t talk about that. The more important thing is, I love him, and not just because he offered to rescue me. I won’t lie; part of me was tempted to let him try and fix things.” I shook my head. “I can’t, though. There are so many reasons why I suppose, including he hasn’t said he loves me. However, we haven’t spoken of such things either, but even if he somehow did feel something more than fondness, I can’t saddle him with this burden I carry.”
I closed my eyes. “I’m not the Mississippi you knew any longer. I don’t even recognize myself. I’m filled with rage. Consumed by pain. And while my body healed from the trauma, what makes me ‘me,’ never did.”
I chuckled a humorless sound.
“And if this makes any sense, I loathe myself, and hate that I do.”
Eyelids fluttering open, I hid my face in my palms. “Part of me is happy Dudley and Alistair are no longer breathing, while another part is disgusted, but the rotting sickness isn’t ’cause I’m glad, but ’cause I’m mad. I wish I could have been the one who slit their throats, but at the same time, I’m not sorry James Henry did what he did, just sorry he got caught. He was arrested, Mama, for putting them down like dogs, and it don’t look good for him.”
Bible closed, I stared at her name carved into the stone in front of me. “Ms. Bonny, a lady who works for Thayer, said she knew of a place—a doctor—who could get rid of the baby. But it’s too late now. It’s going to come whether I want it to or not. But I can’t get something she said out of my thoughts. ‘Once you get rid of it, it will be as though nothing happened, and you can go on with your life.’ I’ve pondered that, and don’t think she had the right of it, though. I read someplace, with age comes wisdom, but I don’t need to be in my upper years to know some things won’t fade. But still, I can’t deny I had been tempted to put an end to this.” I placed a palm over my belly.
More tears fell as I tipped my chin toward the heavens. “Help me. I’m broken in every way a person can be. Tell me what I should do, Mama. Show me how to find forgiveness, letting go of the sorrow, pain, and hatred for all the men who have hurt me, including my daddy.”
The breeze tickled my legs.
“I know I wasn’t the one who held the knife and put an end to Dudley and Alistair’s life, but I wanted to be, and sometimes in my mind I’m holdin’ that blade, murdering them over and over.”
I dropped my hands, staring at the ground. “Please, I need something. Anything. Guidance? Strength? Peace?”
I had no clue who I was talking to—my Mama, or someone I hadn’t purposefully spoken with, except in anger, since the day she died?
***
Walking into the King estate, probably looking just as messy as I felt, I started for the stairs.
“Mississippi. I was getting ready to take the other car and go looking for you,” Thayer said, stepping out of the parlor, concern marking his brow. “You’ve been gone with Charles for hours. Where have you been?”
“Talking to my mama.”
Reaching, he took hold of my hand, gazing at the Bible there. “Did it help?”
The lift and fall of my shoulder was the answer, but I mumbled, “I don’t know.”
“Maybe it will help if you talk to me.”
I squeezed my eyes shut. “I don’t want to talk about my feelings if that’s what you mean.”
“All right. Then, tell me about your mother,” he said, voice soft.
His dark brows were knit together when I glanced up at him. “Why?”
Tugging me into the less formal sitting room, then placing Mama’s Bible on the table before pulling me down on the sofa with him, he said, “I want to know about her.”
I exhaled, mentally, physically, and emotionally drained. “Mama was born in Ireland—the only daughter of Rosaleen and Patrick O’Sullivan.”
“She was Irish.” He brushed some hair from my neck, taking one of my long curls, rubbing it between his fingers. “Did your mother have this coloration?”
“Yeah.”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt. Go on.”
The small tug, tug of my hair as he played with it, scrambled my brain for a second. “Um... well, my granddaddy and grandmamma had a dream of a better life, packing what they could and taking it with them on the voyage to find what they were looking for here in America. Mama was only five years old, but she remembered the trip, or more to the point, how ghastly the conditions were during it.”
“I can only imagine how bad things could be.” Dropping the curl, his warm palm covered my hand.
“Mm,” I agreed. “Soon after their arrival, the three of them made their way from New York to Boston, then on to New Orleans. Her daddy finally gained employment on a shrimp boat there.”
“How did your mother get the name, Kaitileen?”
“Her mama mixed both her name and her mawmaw’s name, Kaiti, together.”
It is pretty, and unique,” he said, his thumb swirling over mine.
I nodded.
“Do you know how she met your father?”
“Mm-hm.” I placed my forehead on Thayer’s shoulder.
“Tired?”
“A bit.”
“If you would rather go up and rest, we can talk later.”
“No. I want you to know about my mama.”
“Then, snuggle up with me.” He held out an arm, curling it around my back as I leaned in, allowing me to rest my cheek on his solid chest.
“My daddy—well, you know, the man who would become my daddy—came home with hers one night after work. From what mama told me, the gangly boy with the silver eyes didn’t have a place to stay. He’d been living on the streets, taking on whatever job he could get from day to day, and ended up on my granddaddy’s boat.”
“So your grandfather was being a Good Samaritan.”
“It would seem so.” I curled my fingers into his shirt, beneath my chin. “According to Mama, he was always bringing home strays—abandoned kittens, mangy mut
ts, and hungry people.”
“Sounds as though he was a caring man.”
“From the stories I heard, I believe so, but I never met him or my grandmama.”
“Why not?”
“He took the shrimp boat out one night on his own and was killed during a freak storm, the wind knocking him overboard.” I yawned. “He’d spent years on the water and didn’t learn how to swim.”
Thayer ran his palm up and down my arm. “How tragic.”
“My mama loved her daddy something fierce, but soon after he passed, her mama took ill and left her as well. She didn’t actually know what claimed my grandmama’s life, suspecting she died of a broken heart.”
“How old was your mother when all of that happened?”
“Thirteen.”
“So young.” He tightened his arm around me.
“After the funeral,” I said, “she left with my daddy, who was eighteen at the time, and nine months later, my older brother James Henry was born.”
“Mm...” The vibration of his hum tickled my face.
“I don’t know if my parents were ever legally married, but she took Daddy Bruce’s last name.”
My eyelids were so heavy.
“She used to rock me to sleep when I was small and sing to me.” Closing my eyes, I started humming the tune I’d remember for all my days. “Mama had such a pretty voice,” I whispered sleepily. “Too Ra Loo Ra Loo Ral.”
“That’s an Irish lullaby,” Thayer said, the vibration of his voice pulling me under. I wanted to agree with him, but the security and warmth of his big body, too comfortable, and I drifted.
Somewhere off in the distance, he hummed the song I’d started. “I know you haven’t been sleeping much, but you can rest now, Mississippi. I won’t let anyone hurt you ever again.”
I think he kissed my forehead, and I mumbled nonsense.
“Shh...I’ve got you, beautiful girl. I’ve got you.”
Hours later, I awoke from a bad dream. Needing some air, I came downstairs to hear about an awful disaster. It happened in a place called Manchester, New Jersey. The German airship, the Hindenburg, went down in fiery flames taking lives with it.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
She’ll tell the truth
April 28, 1937
Seated in the row behind James Henry and the two prominent attorneys Mr. King hired for him, my nerves shook me until Thayer wrapped his arm around my shoulders, leaned over, and whispered, “I’m right here with you, Mississippi.”
Looking up into his eyes, I nodded, hearing, “The State calls Ms. Mississippi Singleton to the stand.”
Taking a breath, I stood, just as one of my brother’s attorneys got to his feet, saying, “Your honor, I object to calling this witness on the grounds—”
James Henry stood, placing his big palm on the man’s square shoulder. “Let her speak.”
Thayer, wrapped his long fingers around my wrist, stopping me. When I glanced down, he mouthed, “Wait.”
“Judge,” my brother said, “I don’t want there to be any objection to my sister speaking. I ain’t afraid of what she has to say. She’ll tell the truth.”
“Counsel,” the judge said, “do you and your client need a moment to confer?”
The man in the expensive gray suit, Brooks Dunham, shook his head. “No, sir.”
“Then, Ms. Singleton, please step up to the witness stand,” the judge said, looking out at me from overtop his dark-rimmed glasses.
Thayer squeezed my palm before letting me go, and with a breath, I made my way to the front of the courtroom, up the step and into the little booth.
“Would you please state your name for the record?” the judge asked me.
“My name is Mississippi Singleton.”
“Would you please spell that?”
“M.I.S.S.I.S.S.I.P.P.I. S.I.N.G.L.E.T.O.N.”
“Would you like to affirm or swear on the Holy Book?”
“The book, your honor.”
He waved to the bailiff, who brought a black Bible over, which he put on the ledge in front of me.
Placing my left palm on the Bible and lifting a shaky right hand in the air, I listened to the stern-looking man say, “Do you solemnly swear that the evidence you give here today shall be the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help you God under pains and penalties of perjury?”
Nodding, I said, “I do.”
“Then you may have a seat, Ms. Singleton,” Judge Willis said.
Brushing my hand over my hip, I took my seat, my attention going to my brother, then Thayer, who smiled at me.
“Good morning, Ms. Singleton,” the lawyer named Baines Harris from the district attorney’s office said, stepping up.
“Good morning,” I replied, balling my fists in my lap, trying to keep my body and voice from showing my anxiety.
“Ms. Singleton, would you please explain how you and the defendant are related?”
“James Henry is my older brother.”
“Thank you.”
I nodded.
“I would like to go back to the beginning if I may?”
“Okay.”
“Could you please tell the court the events which led up to your interactions on the night of October thirteenth last year with the two now-deceased men, Dudley Manning McCoy, and Alistair Harold Blevins?”
“I already told the detectives,” I said.
“Yes, but could you please tell us for the record?”
“I was headed home.”
He slid a palm down the front of his suit coat. “By home, are you referring to the house of Mr. Bruce Singleton?”
“Yes. He’s my daddy. I was headed to his home.”
“You said you were headed home? So had you been away?”
“Objection, your honor!” Brooks Dunham jumped up. “I fail to see how this line of questioning is relevant.”
“It is relevant for building a timeline of events,” the lawyer in front of me said.
“Overruled. I will allow the testimony,” the judge said. “You may precede Mr. Harris.”
Placing his hand on the podium, the assistant district attorney cleared his throat. “Had you been away from home, Ms. Singleton?”
“Yes, sir. I was no longer living with my daddy.”
“No?” He raised a brow. “Where were you living?”
“Objection!” James Henry’s attorney said. “Again, relevance?”
“I’m going to allow it, Mr. Dunham.” He waved a hand at Mr. Harris.
“Thank you, your honor,” the man said, then looked at me.
All the back and forth was making me dizzy.
“Where were you living, Ms. Singleton?”
“With Mr. King.”
“Mr. King?” He frowned. “Could you please expound on that.”
“Do you mean you need me to explain who Mr. King is?” I asked, my cheeks turning red at not knowing for sure what ‘expound’ meant.
“Yes, ma’am. Please explain.”
“Thayer Drayton King.” I pointed to the handsome man in the black suit who had his smooth mask in place, no emotion showing. “I’m living in his home just outside of Baton Rouge.”
“So you were living with Mr. King then, correct?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Would you please tell the court why you were no longer living in the home with your father?”
“Objection,” Mr. Dunham said, looking irritated as he stood. “Relevance?”
“Sustained. Move on with your questioning, Mr. Harris, the reason as to why Ms. Singleton was no longer living in her father’s home isn’t of any relevance to this court proceeding.”
Mr. Harris nodded, rubbing at his jaw, cheeks reddening, appearing just as aggravated as his opponent.
Twisting in my seat to face the judge, I asked, “Does that mean I don’t have to answer?”
“It does, Ms. Singleton.”
I nodded and turned back, facing front.
“Ms. Singleton,” Mr
. Harris said, “what brought you to the home you were no longer staying in?”
“I had left some things in my old room that I wanted, so I went to get ’em.” I scowled, I needed to settle down and speak correctly. “Them,” I corrected. “I went to get them.”
“And so you were on the property when you met up with the two gentlemen?”
“Yes, sir, but I didn’t know they were there.”
“A yes or no is all that’s needed.”
I balled my fist tighter, reminding myself to be polite, but I had more to say and was forcing myself to remain quiet.
The assistant district attorney picked up a brown bag. “Your honor, I have what's been pre-marked as State's proposed exhibit ‘A’.” Turning with a handkerchief, he opened the bag and pulled something silver out, walking it over to Mr. Dunham. “I’m now showing the opposing counsel.”
My brother’s grim-faced attorney nodded once, while his second lawyer leaned over and whispered something into James Henry’s ear.
“Your honor, may I approach the witness?” Mr. Harris asked.
“You may,” said the judge.
Coming to me, he placed a knife, his handkerchief under it, down on the ledge in front of me, making my stomach twist and bile to rise in my throat. “I’m showing you State’s exhibit ‘A.’ Do you recognize it?”
Not wanting to look but required to, I glanced at the weapon. “It is a knife,” I said, trying to keep the quiver from my voice.
“How do you recognize it?”
“I don’t understand,” I said, eyebrows pulling together. “Anyone can see it’s a knife.”
“Have you seen this knife before? Do you recognize it, Ms. Singleton?”
“It looks like”—I glanced at my brother, who gave one bob of his head.
“Please answer the question, Ms. Singleton.”
I brought my attention to the man in front of me. “It looks like my brother’s knife.”
Reaching with his handkerchief, he turned the blade over. “Would you please read the name carved into the wooden handle aloud?”
“James,” I whispered.
