“Thank you for talking to Jasper. He’s calmed down a good bit.” The warden picked a stem of mint from his tea glass and sucked on one of the leaves. “I heard he wasn’t a pleasant man to speak with. I’m sorry for that.”
“That’s all right,” she said. “I’ve pretty much seen it all.” Ginny wondered if the guards had mentioned anything about Jasper’s ramblings. It was clear that John wanted Jasper silenced on the subject of her daddy’s murder. She didn’t know if the warden shared the same feeling, but she was curious enough to ask.
“Did you know that Jasper is the nephew of the man they say killed my daddy?”
His expression didn’t change. “I did. John mentioned it. Although I don’t know the details of your father’s death. That was some years ago, correct?”
“Twenty-one to be exact.”
“Hmmm.”
Ginny stared at her scuffed loafers. They were too casual for the clothes she wore, but she figured the day would prove painful enough without her heels and little toes stinging with blisters.
“I’ve just learned an innocent man went to the electric chair for Daddy’s death.” She figured there was no real danger in being bold. She’d lost so much already.
“Is that right? And you’ve got this on whose authority? I wouldn’t go believing everything Mr. Sires tells you.” The warden’s words were no longer lighthearted, and his expression turned to granite.
She hadn’t said it was Jasper who said anything. John obviously knew something. The warden knew something. Ginny doubted they had the details that Olivia Barnes had shared, but she couldn’t be certain. If John was one of the guards who’d been there that night, he’d know the whole story. Warden Levy had only been a prison board member for a short time, unless he’d done some digging.
“Silas Barnes,” she said.
“Who is Silas Barnes?” he asked, agitated now.
“An innocent man that the state put to death. I spoke with his widow today. I finally know the whole story.”
The warden stood at the edge of the porch, his hands resting on the railing. “A jury found Mr. Barnes guilty.”
“This is Louisiana, sir. I believe a good many innocent black men have been found guilty.”
Warden Levy turned and pointed at her. “Miss Polk, you choose to live in Louisiana. You choose to work in a penal institution. Don’t go getting all preachy about the failures of our justice system. Your daddy’s death was two decades ago. Leave it alone.”
Ginny stood, thinking it’d give her courage to continue. It only proved how weak her legs had become.
“It might mean something to the family if Silas’s name was cleared,” she said. “Maybe one of the other guards who’d been there that night would come forward.”
Roscoe was one such guard. He could go on record about what really happened. Yet, even if he wanted to come clean about that night, he’d probably refuse to implicate the others who had been with him. Maybe if she confronted him, his remorse would be so great that he’d consider it.
“I’ve heard enough. I’m not entertaining any more of your foolish notions. Now, please go see about fixing my supper.” His tone straddled the line between angry boss and admonishing grandfather.
Ginny’s heart pounded wildly. She felt like David confronting Goliath, except that she didn’t have a rock in her hand or God on her side. No matter what the warden said, her accusations weren’t foolish notions. Anyone who spoke to Mrs. Barnes would see she was telling the truth. Sparring wouldn’t help Ginny’s case tonight, though, so she backed down.
“I believe it’s still my day off, sir.” She blinked rapidly despite her best efforts to remain aloof. “I’m sure Mrs. Levy left something in the fridge for you since she expected me to be home much later.”
He turned and entered the house, slamming the door behind him.
* * *
Ginny’s heart rate didn’t slow until she was covered in flour and smelling of warm milk and yeast. She twisted and pounded the pale bread dough, imagining she was bashing in the face of a hooded Klan member. Cowards. Cowards who deserved to be in prison themselves. Her tears threatened only when she realized her hypocrisy. Even though she was adamant each of them should pay, she was ashamed she didn’t mean Roscoe. How could she exclude him, though? Could her love be that strong or that blind?
Ginny recalled the warden’s remark from the day before; that her baking was the best part about taking the job. Just to spite him, she thought about throwing away the dough instead of letting it rise. He’d been in the kitchen to make himself a sandwich earlier, so he’d already seen she was baking something.
“Who the hell cares,” Ginny said out loud. She scooped up the sticky mass and was about to throw it in the trash when a tap at the kitchen window startled her. Dot motioned toward the side door. “Let me in,” she mouthed.
Ginny opened the screen door and Dot pushed past her.
“What’s this about you sleeping here tonight?” Dot’s hands were firmly planted on her hips. “And why are you baking in your good dress?”
“I was working out some aggression.” Ginny held the dough at arm’s length. “Let me finish up and we can talk.”
Dot knew the kitchen cupboards almost as well as Ginny did. She pulled out a large ceramic bowl with a blue rim and oiled it with the shortening that was on the counter. Ginny dropped the dough in the bowl and Dot covered it with a dish towel.
“What did your mama want today?” Dot asked.
“You know I wasn’t at Mama’s.”
“Then why lie unless you knew I’d try to talk you out of some foolhardy plan.”
“Too late for that.” Ginny sat at the kitchen table. She’d gotten egg yolk on the brand-new dress. She smiled to think how it would irritate Mrs. Levy if she found out. Ginny considered leaving it draped across a dining room chair on the pretext she was taking it to the dry cleaner’s.
“What’s funny?” Dot asked.
“Absolutely nothing,” Ginny said. “Except that I’m dog tired and can’t believe I’m having yet another hard conversation today.”
Dot looked hurt. “Do you feel obligated to explain yourself to me? ’Cause I can go right now. And who says our talk has to be hard?”
Ginny relayed Jasper’s allegation about Silas being innocent and admitted she manipulated a young guard into obtaining Olivia Barnes’s address in New Orleans. When she described the meeting with Silas’s widow and son, Dot’s eyes grew moist.
“You shouldn’t have gone and disrupted those people’s lives,” Dot said.
“If I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have learned the truth.”
“And what’s the truth going to get you?”
Ginny didn’t have an answer. Maybe peace of mind. Maybe justice.
“Now, more than ever, I’m positive you have to leave this place,” Dot said.
“I’ve got to do something. It’s not right that Silas was punished for a murder he didn’t commit.”
“There’s nothing to be done!” Dot shouted. “Don’t you see that? You’re going to stir up a hornet’s nest, then be surprised when they sting you.”
She got up to check on the rising dough even though it’d been sitting in the warm oven less than five minutes.
Ginny wasn’t surprised at Dot’s reaction and allowed Dot’s anger to run its course. She nodded as Dot ranted about her foolishness, the same word the warden had used.
“I thought you’d be on my side,” Ginny said, interrupting her.
“Why? Because I’m black?”
“No, because you’re a good and just person.”
Dot shook her head, muttering to herself. Then she started crying.
Ginny wrapped her arms around Dot as far as they would go and squeezed with all her might. “You’ve got nothing to worry about.”
Dot squirmed until Ginny let go. “Those men . . . whatever they done to Mrs. Barnes kept her mouth shut even if that meant her husband was going to die. You don’t think she knew she’
d be next? Or maybe her little boy?”
“No one’s going to kill me for telling the truth,” Ginny assured her.
“Then you’re not as smart as you look,” she said. “That man’s execution has caused you nothing but pain since you was a little girl. And you’re going to let it keep on hurting you until the day you die.”
Dot was right. Silas Barnes had been a bigger part of her life than even her own daddy. She figured if the nightmares hadn’t stopped in twenty-one years, they’d never stop. She’d see Silas’s face and hear his protests of innocence until the day she died. Her gut twisted to think she’d known all along that he hadn’t done it; that she sensed it in the execution chamber and ignored the suspicion.
“Think long and hard about your next move,” Dot said.
As she opened the screen door to leave, she pointed back at the oven. “And you got the temperature too high for rising. You probably killed the yeast.”
She left, not looking back. Ginny watched her walk across the shamelessly green grass and then onto the dusty road. She had a long walk back to the barracks.
* * *
Ginny woke before the housekeeper or the warden. She slipped into the kitchen without a sound and made herself some coffee to have with the bread she’d baked the night before. Ginny cut off both heels and buttered them generously. They were still her favorite part, and there was no way she’d let the warden’s wife throw them away, as she usually did.
It didn’t feel like a new day, but rather an extension of the day before. Maybe the rest of her life would go on feeling like one long day full of horrific revelations around every corner. She didn’t know, and it tired her to think ahead more than a few minutes.
Since the warden liked sweets, Ginny vowed to spend the day baking pies and cakes and cookies—enough to rot his teeth and strain the buttons on his shirt. Then, she’d leave a note saying she didn’t want the job anymore and they could kiss her ass.
She went into the pantry to check she had enough brown sugar. The warden, now awake and dressed for work, followed her into the cramped space. His physical presence had never frightened her before, but it did now.
“I heard you and the kitchen negress talking last night,” he said, moving even closer.
The scent of Barbasol shaving cream filled the pantry, even with the door open. Ginny gagged on its cloying dominance.
“The cook from the kitchen, her name is Dorothy.” Ginny craned her neck so that she could meet his eyes. There was no way she’d look away.
“Well, Dorothy is a smart woman. You ought to listen to her advice.”
“And what advice was that?”
“Maybe your time at the prison has reached its natural end,” he said, finally backing up into the kitchen. “Perhaps there are new opportunities you’d like to pursue.”
Ginny tried to hide the relief she felt at being released from the pantry. She gave the warden wide berth, though, retreating to the kitchen chair nearest the door. She didn’t expect him to be physically violent, but she wasn’t going to take any chances. Sitting next to an exit calmed her. She just wished Sarah Jane, the housekeeper, would make an appearance.
“Now that you mention it,” she said. “I have been thinking about moving on.”
His shoulders relaxed. “Well, that’s good to hear. I have a friend who owns a restaurant in New Orleans. His information is there on the table. He might need some help. And there’s a women’s boardinghouse nearby. You’d have a place to stay until you could save up some of your wages.”
Ginny had plenty of her own money. What was there to spend it on these past nine years? She didn’t care if she had the latest fashions or shoes. Living in the women’s barracks meant she never had to pay rent. She ate her meals in the prison kitchen or with Roscoe at the residence. Or rather, she had. Her nest egg was substantial. It was just she had no clue where it could take her.
“Mrs. Levy won’t be very happy,” he continued, “but I’ll smooth things over.”
“I’m sure you will.”
He narrowed his eyes, probably wondering what her tone implied.
“I’ll give my friend a call later this morning then. If I hear anything, I’ll drop by during lunch,” he said.
“I’ll be here.”
He nodded and pushed through the dining room door, almost running into Sarah Jane.
“There’s a phone call for Miss Polk,” she said, panting. “It’s your mother. She says it’s urgent.”
The conversation with the warden had been so tense, Ginny hadn’t even heard it ring.
“Make it quick,” the warden said. “The phone isn’t for personal use.”
Ginny pushed past the housekeeper and ran to the phone in the foyer.
“Mama? What is it?”
Miriam was incoherent, tears garbling her words. Ginny couldn’t remember the last time her mother had cried, and definitely not with this level of hysteria.
“You’ve got to calm down,” Ginny begged. “I can’t make out what you’re saying. Are you hurt?”
Her mama’s guttural sobs sent a jolt of terror down Ginny’s spine. She couldn’t fathom what was causing Miriam’s heartache.
“Spit it out, Mama!” Ginny yelled, hoping to shock her into speaking.
“I think I killed him,” she finally said. “I think Roscoe’s dead.”
Ginny dropped the receiver and ran for her car.
Chapter 19
Miriam waited on the porch. She was still in a housecoat, one hand on her forehead, the other at her side holding an unlit cigarette.
“Where’s Roscoe?” Ginny screamed.
Miriam babbled on about a gun and not knowing how much damage she’d done. Ginny grabbed her and shook with all her strength. When her mama wouldn’t answer, Ginny slapped her once and then again.
“Tell me what happened. Tell me this instant!”
“I didn’t intend for this to happen.” Miriam’s eyes were wide and panicked. “But I’m glad now. I’m glad he’s dead.”
Ginny pushed her out of the way and entered the house. She moved through each room, shouting out Roscoe’s name and checking behind large pieces of furniture in case he was on the floor unable to answer.
“Where is he, Mama?”
Miriam had come inside and was sitting at the kitchen table.
“He left,” she said. “I told him he had to stay and tell you what he told me, but he just up and drove off.”
Ginny’s shoulders relaxed. Her mother was crazy. She hadn’t killed him if he could walk out of here of his own volition.
“Mama, you didn’t kill anyone. You’re not in your right mind.”
As soon as Ginny spoke, she noticed the pool of blood by the kitchen door that led to the backyard.
“Jesus Christ, what did you do?” Ginny saw that a trail of blood extended down the back wooden steps and into the grass.
Shouting at Miriam wasn’t helping, so Ginny knelt beside her, placing a hand on her knee. She had to find out what happened. Roscoe may need medical attention considering how much blood he’d lost. It took everything in her to squelch her panic long enough to get Miriam calmed.
“Please, Mama. Tell me what happened. I can’t help you if you don’t tell me. You haven’t killed anyone, but we need to find Roscoe.” Ginny spotted the pistol on the floor near the stove. She’d deal with it later.
Miriam’s nose ran profusely. She used the arm of her housecoat to wipe her face before speaking.
“Roscoe came over early. Daybreak,” she said. “He was banging on the screen door something fierce. At first I thought it had to be you. But you’d have just walked right in.”
Unnerved by that realization, Miriam had grabbed her pistol from the nightstand before going to the front door. She said she’d been relieved to see it was Roscoe, until she got a good look at him. Miriam said he looked like crap: bloodshot eyes, crumpled clothes. He’d pushed his way inside the living room and wouldn’t stop pacing, no matter how much Miriam tr
ied to calm him down.
“I thought something happened to you, Ginny. That’s how upset he was,” she said.
“And what did he say?” Ginny pressed.
“He said you’d likely found out something about his past, something that affected me, too. And he wanted to explain. He wanted to apologize.”
Ginny guessed that Roscoe had found out about her altercation with Jasper, or maybe that she’d tracked down Mrs. Barnes—especially if Tim was feeling particularly loyal and fessed up. It was strange, though, that Roscoe thought it more important to come clean with Miriam first.
“I already know about Daddy’s death.” Ginny pushed the damp strands of hair from Miriam’s flushed cheeks. “Silas Barnes was innocent. I swear I didn’t know until yesterday. Roscoe kept it from us both all these years.”
“He was a goddamned coward.” Miriam’s jaw was clenched tight. Anger replaced her earlier despondency. Ginny was grateful for it. She could handle her mama’s rages, but the weeping and hysteria were almost unbearable.
“All of them were cowards,” Ginny said. “Roscoe lied to protect one of his buddies. And Silas paid the price.”
Miriam shoved Ginny’s hand off her leg. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Daddy didn’t die at that bar,” Ginny explained. “He and some men from the prison had been on a Klan run. Silas’s widow told me one of them shot Daddy accidentally.”
“It wasn’t an accident, little girl. Roscoe killed your daddy that night.”
Ginny backed away as if burned by fire. “I don’t understand.”
“He said Joe was going to shoot that woman and he had to stop him. He killed my husband. He killed your daddy.”
“But Mrs. Barnes said—”
“Roscoe admitted it,” Miriam said. “He stood right here in my kitchen and said he was sorry; like a goddamned apology would mean something. Then he said the men near beat him to death. As if I could feel sorry for him.”
The Last Suppers Page 22
