by Lisa Fowler
“No’m,” I say, trying the best I can to be polite, but hoping some way I can change her mind and get her to help me. “I’m here to see to my daddy. Men by the names of Johnny and Will took him away a while ago.”
She raises her eyebrows. “Oh, you’re his daughter? The man they arrested for stealing?”
“Yes, ma’am. I mean, no’m. I mean, I’m his daughter all right, but he didn’t do what they said he did.”
She turns from me. “Paul, tell Sheriff Nix to come and speak with this young lady, please.” She turns back to me. “Just have a seat. He’ll be right out.”
I never do see “Paul,” and I’m sure not about to take a seat like she said. I stand tight where I am and wait.
Seems like hours before the sheriff comes and leans over the table. “You Slim Hill’s daughter?” he asks, stretching his neck, looking down on me.
His eyes are large and bulging, like a praying mantis’s, and the sides of his bumpy nose spills onto his puffy red cheeks. There’s a tiny string of brown spit—tobacco juice I reckon—oozing from one corner of his mouth.
“Yes, sir,” I say, suddenly not feeling as brave as before. “I came to see about my daddy.”
“We’re going to take good care of your daddy. You run along now,” he says, thinking he can shoo me away with a wave of his hand.
“Can I see him?”
“Not today.”
“But, my daddy’s innocent. He didn’t steal nothing, honest.”
The sheriff and the lady behind the counter look at each other, then back at me.
“Well now, I suppose your daddy’s as innocent as all the other daddies we have in here.”
The lady laughs and the sheriff smiles.
“Best thing you can do, little lady, is run along back to where you came from. Your daddy will have a trial, same as the others we’ve got here, and depending on the outcome, he can either go home, or he’ll be sent to the penitentiary.”
The penitentiary? He didn’t steal that money, but if I tell who did, I’ll be the one going to the penitentiary and not Daddy. I swallow hard.
“But—”
He interrupts. “We’ll be locating your mama and she can come get you and your brothers and sister. Best thing you can do for your daddy now is run along. Jail’s no place for a little girl.”
I gasp. At long last—my mama! Then in an instant my mind races back to all that’s happened and all I’ve done. I want to see my mama, sure I do. It’s what I’ve dreamed about for two long years, but when she finds out what’s really happened—how I’ve stole and I’ve lied and how I’ve got Daddy in more trouble than I could have ever dreamed—why it would just break my poor little mama’s heart.
Why just the thought of it all makes my face feel like it’s in flames and my hands are as wet with sweat as I can ever remember them being.
I turn to go, but before I do I stop and look back. “But—”
“We’ll take care of your daddy; you go on home now,” he says.
My heart’s in my throat. The man said they was notifying Mama. I should be happy. Instead I’m a-fierce sick. My legs feel like two limp, worn-out rags. Walking out through those doors of the jailhouse, my chin starts to quiver, and I feel the tears rush to the corner of my eyes.
I swipe at my face with the back of my hands and tell myself not to cry, that Mama’s coming and everything’s going to be all right. But it’s not. It’s not going to be right and I know it.
Walking back to the campsite, I wonder how a girl like me can have so many mixed up thoughts inside. How did my life go so wrong, so fast? I’m only twelve. All I wanted was to get back to Mama and put our family back together. Is it too much to ask that a girl like me have a happy home?
For the first time since they’ve been born I dread seeing the triplets, and Abraham too, knowing that there’ll be way more questions than I’ve got answers for. Questions that require a heap more thinking than I’ve been able to do. Questions that even Mama’s coming here can’t straighten out.
30
LAWMAN WITHOUT A STAR
The triplets see me coming and run to meet me.
“Where is he?” Mac asks, grabbing my hand and peeping around me like he’s expecting Daddy to jump out from behind.
“Is he all right?” Hazel grabs my other hand.
“When’s he coming back?” Filbert asks.
“All rights now,” Abraham says, “let de girl speak. She gonna tell it all, jes’ let de girl speak.”
I shake my head and plop down on the ground beside the fire.
“Them biscuits is burned,” I say, pointing to the Dutch oven, still buried in the remains of the fire. “I smell them from here.”
“Chestnut, don’t talk about biscuits,” says Filbert. “Talk about Daddy. We want to hear about Daddy.”
I shake my head. “They wouldn’t let me see him. Said he was in processing or something like that. Sheriff’s not a nice man either.”
“Did you tell dem yo’ daddy an innocent man?” Abraham asks, dipping a cup of water from the bucket and handing it to me.
“I did, Mister Abraham, but they wouldn’t believe me. Sheriff said it was for the court to decide.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means, Filbert, that Daddy has to have a trial to find out if he did what they say he did. Now the three of you go wash your nasty hands and faces in them water buckets over there.”
“But we know he ain’t guilty now! We don’t need no trial.”
“That’s the law, Filbert, now wash up. Please.” I bury my head in my hands with my elbows propped on my knees feeling like the whole world is sitting on my shoulders.
“Yo’ daddy be back soon, missy. He an innocent man. De courts ain’t gonna send him down de river ’cause he ain’t done it.”
“Oh, Mister Abraham,” I say with my head still buried in my hands, “this whole thing is way out of control and I don’t know how to stop it.”
“What you mean, ‘dis whole thing’?”
I shake my head.
I can’t tell him.
No way he’ll understand.
“Ches’nut? What you mean?”
“I can’t! I can’t, Mister Abraham. I can’t tell you. You wouldn’t understand.”
“Yes I would. You can tell ol’ Abraham!”
I take a deep breath. Maybe, just maybe, if he knew, he could—
“Chestnut? Chestnut Hill?”
Lifting my head and giving my face an angry swipe with my hands, I stare through teary eyes. They’ve come in a car, because they’ve parked it near Old Stump, but I reckon I was too deep in my thoughts to even notice.
By the solemnness on their faces it’s clear. Whoever they are, they’ve come for me.
“Yes?” I answer reluctantly.
“My name’s Norville Bryson, and this is Anita Silverstone.”
Another lawman, but without a star, and this time he’s brought a woman along. Reckon that’s how they do when they come to take a girl to jail—bring a woman with them. I look past him at the lawman’s car he got out of.
I stand and clear my throat, giving my face another swipe with my hands. I don’t want them thinking I’m weak. “Pleased to make your acquaintance,” I say, sticking my hand toward the lady. No way I want them thinking I’m some backwoods bumpkin without manners either, least not while Daddy’s locked up behind bars, and not while I don’t know if they’re aiming to take me in with them. Now’s the time for being on my best behavior. Anyway, Mama says manners make the man.
“Likewise, I’m sure,” the lady says. She gives a sly sort of look to the lawman like she’s surprised I’m not the country hick she thought I’d be.
Right off I notice she’s pretty, with a pleasant smile. She’s dressed in store-bought fancy clothes, but I don’t trust her.
Norville looks at Abraham. “You must be the one they call Abraham,” he says.
“Yes, sir.” Abraham stretches out his hand to the lawm
an, then pulls it back slowly.
“Don’t worry,” Norville says, “I’m not here for you.” He snickers.
I look at Abraham, but he’s not smiling.
“We’re here to take the children.”
31
THE END OF A FAMILY
I look to Abraham, feeling a sudden rush of heat come over me. “I … I … I don’t understand.”
“It’s all right,” Anita Silverstone says. “It’s for your own good. We’re here to take you and your sister and brothers to a foster home.”
Mac, Hazel, and Filbert are huddled together at the back of the wagon. If I was to holler “boo” right now, it’d scare the lot of them so bad they’d probably take off running and be clear back to Kentucky before they stopped.
Part of me’s relieved that they’ve not come to lock me up for the stealing I done, but the other part of me is scared, really scared, like a rabbit staring into the eyes of a starving mountain lion sort of scared.
“But, we don’t want to go. We’re fine here with Mister Abraham,” I say.
“Dat’s right,” Abraham says. “Ol’ Abraham ken look after ’em jes’ fine.”
“Yes, but Abraham is not your guardian,” she says, fixing her eyes on me. “He may be your friend, but legally, he can’t care for you in your father’s absence.”
Abraham hangs his head.
“But, I … we … no! We’re not going! Our daddy said for us to stay with Mister Abraham and that’s what we’re aiming to do! You folks can just git! Go on now, git! We’re not going,” I say, crossing my arms across my chest and locking my knees, suddenly feeling as feisty as my mama.
They look at each other, then back at me.
I hang my head, knowing it’s not right, me speaking to the lawman and the lady like I did, but I’m hoping, just this once, it’ll be okay. After all, I can’t let them take us without a fight. It just wouldn’t be proper. Everyone knows young’uns got to fight against being taken away from home against their will.
The triplets, still behind the wagon, are shuffling their feet and whispering.
Anita Silverstone and Norville Bryson don’t make a move to go. Fact is, I could practically see their heels digging into the ground.
“Chestnut, this is only temporary,” Anita Silverstone says. She moves closer to me and tries to put her hand on my shoulder.
I jerk away.
She clears her throat and takes a step backwards.
“Sheriff Nix is doing all he can to find your mother. When she comes, you’ll be released into her care. In other words, you can leave the foster system. But for now, this is the only way.”
I look over at the triplets, as scared as I’ve ever seen the three of them. Way I figure, it’s best to show the babies I’m not afraid and that everything’s going to be all right. Sometimes the hardest thing a sister can be is the oldest.
“We want to stay together. We have to stay together—in the same place.”
“I’m afraid that’s not possible, Chestnut. We have a home that will take the triplets, but four is just too many. There’s a nice home for you though, you’ll see.”
The triplets’ heads are hung halfway to their chests. Hazel’s chin starts to quiver so I look at her and shake my head “no-no.”
They’re huddled, looking like they’re so confused they don’t know their names. Looking at me like they’re expecting me to save them from being hauled away.
“Can we get our stuff out of the wagon?” I ask.
Anita Silverstone nods. “Absolutely. Take all the time you need.”
“Come on,” I say to the triplets, motioning them to follow.
They’re about to turn on the waterworks, and truth be told, so am I.
But I can’t.
No way I’m going to let any of them see me weak and sniveling. These three babies are looking to me for strength and I’m not about to let them down. I get down on my knees in front of them and look them in the eyes. “Now listen,” I say, just as soft as I know how. “This will all be over faster than a cow’s tail can flick at a fly. Just do as the lady says and everything will be fine. Anyway, the sheriff’s looking for Mama. Isn’t that good?” I try to sound encouraging but even I don’t believe the words falling from my mouth. I smile, nearly choking on the tears I’m swallowing down.
I nod and do my best to look excited, but I can’t.
I want Mama to come. It’s everything I been working for, for the longest, but not now. Not like this. Not with Daddy accused of something he didn’t do. Somehow, I’ve got to clear Daddy’s name and make this right. But right now, I’m not rightly sure how—without landing behind bars myself, that is.
“Grab up your other set of clothes,” I say, “and be quick about it. Let’s not keep the folks waiting any longer than need be.”
I reach back under my cot, laying hold to my metal box.
“But I want to stay with you,” Hazel whines, pulling at my arm.
“Me too,” says Filbert, crossing his arms across his chest. “I ain’t going. She can’t make me.”
“Oh, yes she can,” I say, “and you are going. So am I. We don’t want to give Daddy no cause to worry about us right now. He’s got enough trouble on his plate. We’ve got to keep a stiff upper lip and just do like we’re told. You’ll see, this will all be over soon.”
I herd the triplets out the door and down the steps. They’re clinging to their extra sets of clothes like it’s everything they have left in the world.
“All right then,” Anita Silverstone says. “Let’s all get into the sheriff’s car and we’ll be on our way.”
Filbert and Mac climb in first, without hesitation.
As Hazel starts to climb in, she turns and looks back at the camp. “But what about Mister Abraham? What’s gonna happen to him?”
Abraham smiles. “I be’s all right, little missy. Don’t you worry ’bout ol’ Abraham! I’s gonna stay wit de wagon ’til yor daddy git back, keep it safe ’til we git back to singin’ again. Somebody gots to look after Ol’ Stump.”
Hazel’s chin trembles, and I’ve got the good sense to know if I don’t get her in the car, she’s going to be weeping and wailing all over again.
“Come on, Hazel. Mister Abraham will be all right. He’ll wait for us and we’ll all be back together again soon.”
“But you gots lots of money, Chestnut. You can give it to them and they can give it to Daddy, to get him out of jail.”
I slap my hand over her mouth and push her into the back of the car.
“What did she say?” asks Anita Silverstone. “What did she mean, ‘you’ve got lots of money’?”
“Oh, it’s just my change,” I say. “You know, loose change I find on the street? Well, I save it. She gets mixed up sometimes and thinks just because it’s change, it’s a lot of money.” My voice quivers.
I climb in the car and give Hazel an if-you-open-your-mouth-again-I’ll-kill-you look.
As the car drives away, I blink over and over again, trying my best to keep the tears from falling. I don’t dare look out the window at Abraham or Old Stump or the wagon.
“Let me take that box and put it up front for you,” Norville Bryson says, reaching over the seat for my box.
I clutch it to my chest. “No, thank you,” I say, shooting him the same look I gave Hazel.
He draws his hand back fast, like I’d slapped it. Reckon with my eyes, I did.
We ride for a while, first through the middle of town with buildings packed together tight, and then into areas with hills that roll, dotted with houses like the hide on a white-tailed fawn.
I don’t say it out loud but I can’t help but think this is the end of our family. Mama is who knows where; I’m not even sure the sheriff will be able to find her. Daddy’s in jail, and the triplets and me is going to be split up. I might never see any of them again. And to top it all off, now I’ve got to worry about Hazel spilling the beans about the money she’s seen.
I swallow hard
and stare mindlessly out the window. I wanted so much to put this family back together. I’ve lied—just the way Daddy taught me—so that he could sell elixir and make money to get Mama a nice house, but Daddy never was meaning to get back to Kentucky. That was clear from every word that come out of his mouth. It just took me longer to figure it out than it should have. Maybe now I see that going home was all just a dream that was never gonna happen in the first place. I thought if I could just get to Mama she’d make everything right. Now I’ve made it so’s our whole family might never be together again.
I’ve looked after the triplets best any sister could. Took food out of my mouth so’s they could eat, kept them clean and out of harm’s way, and tried to teach them important things, like how to spit and the proper way to make an acquaintance.
I’ve stole money so I could buy a train ticket, get back to Mama, and put our family back together. I drew up flyers so that if Mama came searching, she could find us, but instead it led the lawmen right to our camp. Now my daddy’s in jail and may be going to prison for a long, long time on account of something I done.
I’ve messed up, but I only wanted to put things back together. Right now I can’t stand myself, and it would serve me right to be the one in jail instead of Daddy.
Another time I’d be excited to get my first car ride. Today, it seems to be making me sick.
After a while, Norville Bryson stops the car in front of a large brick home. There are rocking chairs on the front porch, flower baskets hanging low, and a big yellow dog stretched out in the sun in the yard. There’s a lady and a man standing arm in arm on the porch, smiling and waving at the car like we’re their long-lost relatives coming for a visit.
Anita Silverstone gets out of the car first. She walks around and opens the door on the other side from where I’m sitting.
“Macadamia, Filbert, Hazelnut,” she says, “this is where you’ll be staying.”
She leans in and looks at me. “Chestnut, you sit tight. I’ll be back soon as I get the triplets situated.” She smiles a goofy sort of smile.
