by Ninie Hammon
He came back into the room quietly, thinking she might be asleep. He still had to clean up the mess in the bathroom before he could go to bed. She was still awake, and he’d only made it a few steps into the room when she started screaming.
“Who are you? What are you doing in my bedroom?” She shrieked, then started calling, “Jonas, help, Jonas! There’s a man in here!” She had the sheet and blanket pulled up to her neck and she was looking at him with such abject terror that he couldn’t stand it. He turned on his heel and left the room. She called and called for Jonas, but he didn’t answer. He just sat at the kitchen table, staring at nothing, waiting for her to fall asleep.
It was after 2 a.m. before he finished the laundry and cleaning, and by then he was emotionally and physically exhausted. Lying in the dark, listening to his Maggie breathe, he pretended for a little while that she was normal, life was good and everything was going to be okay. But he’d crossed over, gone beyond some point and he couldn’t return. His mind was set.
Tomorrow, Mac was going to set an innocent, crazy woman free.
And so was he.
Friday
May 10, 1963
Chapter 21
I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore, Toto.
The piece of dialogue popped into Andy Cook’s head and he smiled. Yeah, he and Dorothy had a lot in common. They’d both been dropped into a whole new world by a twister. Except in his case, it was more than one twister.
As a weather forecaster on the 10 o’clock news at KLBK-TV in Lubbock, Texas, he’d predicted several tornadoes during the 1962 spring storm season using nothing more sophisticated than the data provided by surface and upper air weather balloons. KLBK didn’t have a weather radar system.
And he’d been right on every one. That skill—which often was one part knowledge and nine parts instinct—had catapulted him out of the bush league.
Andy set down his small box of belongings on the desk in his brand-new office and tried not to look awed when he glanced around.
He’d sweated bullets trying to land this job. Only the best and the brightest meteorologists ended up in Oklahoma City or Kansas City. That’s where the big National Weather Bureau offices were located, because those places were home to the country’s most violent weather.
“How you liking Oklahoma so far?” said a coworker standing in the doorway. “And don’t tell me it’s just like West Texas or I’ll come up side your head with a slide rule.”
In fact, it was remarkably like West Texas. Same featureless prairie, flat and empty. Same horizon-to-horizon visibility, unobstructed by hills or trees. In both places, you could see the storms forming in the west by mid-morning, huge clouds building on top of each other in the sky, waiting to swoop down like invading hordes of barbarians on the unsuspecting and the ill-prepared.
It was the task of the National Weather Bureau to figure out which of the mighty super-cells that swept across the plains were likely to spawn killers so they could warn the public about the most dangerous storms on the planet.
And he’d seen thunderheads building in the southwestern sky as he drove in to work this morning. He didn’t like the color of them, a sort of yellowish green. They were already up to 25,000, maybe 30,000 feet and looked ugly.
“I’ll pass on the concussion if you don’t mind,” Andy said. “What I’d really like is to get a look at the WSR-57 radar. I’ve been dying to see one.”
“Down the hall, first door on your right,” the man said.
Andy sat down at his desk and began inspecting the daily surface weather balloon report, then dug around for the most recent upper-air balloon readings. He didn’t like what he saw. Before he even unpacked the brass nameplate his co-workers in Lubbock had given him as a going-away present, Andy headed down the hall to the radar room.
* * * * *
Princess didn’t eat any breakfast. As soon as she came to, she went to the slit in the door and hollered until Talbot came to see what she wanted.
“I had me a fit last night,” she said sheepishly. “I … messed myself and I need to get cleaned up.”
Talbot’s voice was kind.
“I’ll bring you a fresh uniform when I bring your breakfast.”
“Just bring me the clean dress, you don’t mind. I ain’t sure I could eat nothing.”
Talbot brought her a fresh shift that smelled of bleach. She unlocked the door and went to step inside, but Princess just extended her hand through the partially open door for the dress. She was embarrassed, always was when she made a mess.
Once she got herself cleaned up, she washed her soiled dress out in the sink, wrung it out best as she could, and hung it over the pipe that ran along the wall.
I ain’t gonna live to see that dress dry.
She waited for the horror of the thought to crash into her chest, but felt nothing at all. Maybe she was in shock. More likely, though, she just had other things to think about now. She was going to see the Rev today, the last day, and she’d find out about his conversation with his baby girl.
And suddenly it was lunchtime. It had been breakfast, and then it was lunch, one minute and then the next. How could the time go by so fast like that? She didn’t remember any of it, didn’t know what she’d done with those precious minutes and seconds. They was just gone. That scared her almost more than what she’d be facing in a few hours.
Then Talbot was outside her door again.
“You gonna eat any lunch today, Prentiss?”
“Naw, I don’t …”
This would be the last last meal.
“I guess I’d like me a little something.” Meals were served in a rotation every prisoner knew. It had varied little over the course of her fourteen years of confinement. Fridays were beans-and-cornbread days.
“When I come back for your tray, it’ll be time to cut your hair.” Talbot said.
Princess knew they’d have to shave her head. She’d been told all about it a couple of other times, before some appeal put off her execution date. But they’d never even gotten close to the actual cutting and it had slipped her mind they’d have to. How could something like that slip your mind, like maybe she’d forget all about dying this afternoon!
The beans and cornbread tasted like rocks and sawdust. Her mouth was so dry, it was hard to swallow so she ate very little. But it settled her, got rid of the empty ache in her stomach.
She slid the tray out through the slit in the door and a few minutes later, Talbot and that other guard, the man Princess didn’t like, Hank Bradley, came into her cell. Bradley carried a pair of scissors, a straight razor, and a shaving brush and soap, and Talbot carried a basin of water. They both set their loads down on the table.
“Put your hands behind your back,” Bradley grunted. Princess obeyed and the guard whipped out the handcuffs clipped to his belt and fastened them around her thin wrists. Then he yanked her toward the chair.
“Hey!” Talbot said. “No need to get so rough. You scared she’s gonna jump you or something?”
“I ain’t afraid of a dead woman,” he spat back.
But he was, too. Princess could feel it, the fear a comin’ off him like heat off a wood stove. She wasn’t what he was afraid of, though. Dying was what put the scared in his belly. He probably hadn’t never been so close to somebody about to die and it give him the trembles.
“This won’t take long,” Talbot said. “You just sit still and it’ll be over ’fore you know it.”
“No need to rush,” Princess said, and was surprised that her voice shook a little. “I ain’t in no hurry to lose my hair.”
Talbot picked up the scissors, reached out and lifted a lock of Princess’s hair and snipped it off right at her scalp. She deposited the hunk of blonde hair on the table top and reached out for another.
Princess cringed back, but Talbot was all business. Not mean, just efficient. As she lifted Princess’s hair by clumps and snipped them off, Princess remembered another time, the sound of running water and th
e feel of warm curls in her hand. Pretty curls, not limp hunks of blond hair like hers.
As Talbot cut off one piece of hair after another, she and Bradley chatted about their favorite television westerns. Talbot favored Rawhide and Wagon Train. Bradley liked Gunsmoke best, said he didn’t think that someone called Miss Kitty was ever going to land somebody else called Matt Dillon. Talbot was sure she was a’goin’ to someday.
Snip. Snip. Snip.
With every snip, Princess felt more naked and exposed. And anonymous, like she wasn’t a person at all anymore, just a doll like the big ones she saw in a store window when she and Angel were running free.
Angel. She tried hard to picture the child’s face, to think about her and not the cold metal next to her scalp. But she couldn’t manage to focus, couldn’t hold onto a memory to sink into.
Then it was done. Talbot wrapped a towel around her neck, wet her hands and rubbed them over the stubble of hair on Princess’s head.
“Now be still; I don’t want to nick you.”
She rubbed the wet shaving brush on the soap until she had a lather, then spread it on Princess’s wet head. A dribble of cold water slid down the back of her almost-bare scalp, under the towel and down between her shoulder blades. Water began to run down her forehead and she squeezed her eyes shut.
Then she felt the cold razor on her head. She jumped, couldn’t help it, and felt it dig into her scalp.
“Be still!” Bradley said, reached out and grabbed her shoulders to hold her.
Soap in the cut stung, but Princess didn’t move, just sat there, trembling inside. Three swipes on one side, one down the middle and three on the other. A couple of touch-up swipes and then Talbot removed the wet towel and wiped off Princess’s head with it.
“That little cut’ll stop bleeding in a minute or two,” she said. She stopped then, bent down and looked into Princess’s eyes. “You hold on now, hear?”
Princess nodded, but didn’t speak. Then the guards gathered up their equipment, scooted the pile of hair on the table off into the soapy water in the pan, unfastened the handcuffs and left Princess alone in the cell.
She sat quietly in the chair for several minutes after they left, didn’t move. Then she lifted her hand and ran it slowly over her bald head. Big tears filled her eyes as she felt the cold, clammy skin there and touched the spot where the razor had nicked her. She blinked and the tears spilled down her cheeks. But she didn’t cry. What was the point? This certainly wasn’t the worst thing that was going to happen to her today.
* * * * *
Mac wasn’t prepared for the sight of Princess bald. She’d looked fragile before, but there was a vulnerability to the frail, hairless woman sitting at the table that broke his heart.
He knew she saw his shock and he wanted to make light of it, but couldn’t pull it off. Well, he’d promised he wouldn’t lie to her. He’d keep that promise for a few more minutes anyway.
“You said they’d cut your hair but I didn’t know they’d shave your head, too,” he said from the door, where the sight of her had stopped him in his tracks so abruptly Jonas had bumped into him from behind. “I’m sorry.”
“Aw, it ain’t nothin’,” she said. But he could tell it was, too. That it had upset her badly. She looked shyly at Jonas, embarrassed by her appearance. “It was kind of you to come today, sir.”
The men crossed the room and sat down and Princess immediately riveted her attention on Mac’s face.
“Tell me about the talk you had last night with your little girl,” she said, her voice even deeper and raspier than usual.
Not just my little girl, your little sister!
“Princess, I promised you I’d protect her, didn’t I?”
“Yes, you did. But you also said you’d talk to her. Did you?”
“I’ll take care of Joy. I won’t let anything bad happen to her.”
“I know you love her, but do you understand how much trouble she’s in? Did you ask—?”
Mac interrupted, leaned close and looked deep into Princess’s purple eyes.
“Do you trust me, Princess?”
“Well, sure I—”
“Then you have to believe I’ll handle it. I’ll keep her safe.”
She gazed deep into his eyes.
“Looks like I got to trust you,” she said. “I s’pose if ever there was a man to trust, you’re sure ’nough it.”
Thunder rumbled in the distance and he tried to use it to change the subject.
“Sounds like it’s going to storm again today. Jonas was saying just last night that it’s rained almost every day this week,” he turned to Jonas to pass him the conversational ball, but the older man didn’t even try to catch it, just nodded. They’d driven to the prison separately and his father-in-law had seemed distracted when they met in front of the administration building. After Mac briefly outlined his plan, Jonas merely mumbled that it sounded “fine.” Something was wrong. But Mac had bigger fish to fry right now than what was eating at Jonas, so he pressed ahead resolutely. “Guess the farmers need the rain, but it sure seems like it’s been stormier this spring than it was last.”
The small woman looked out the window fearfully and said something under her breath he didn’t quite catch. Sounded like “ugly.”
“What did you say?”
“Nothin.’”
Princess hadn’t turned her dress wrong side out today; she’d turned her self wrong side out. She was closed up, veiled, all focus inward and contemplative. That’s obviously what happened to a person who faced death with eyes wide open, knowing when it was coming.
But he was going to do something about that. He was going to keep this simple little woman alive, and deceit would just have to be the price of admission to life.
“I guess today’s the day we need to talk about it, ’bout dying,” she said. “I thought I’s all ready for it. I mean, it ain’t like it’s a surprise, like I ain’t been expecting it, waiting for it even, for years. Still, when it’s right there in your face …”
“Princess, I need to—”
“Last night, I said my goodbyes. I said goodbye to the moon and the stars and when the sun come up, I said goodbye to the sunrise and the wind that brushes my face in the exercise yard. Only they didn’t take me out there regular time today. That’s when they shaved my head.”
“I want to talk to you about your burial,” Mac said.
She didn’t seem to hear him.
“I won’t never again stand in that yard, a’singin’ my silly songs. I couldn’t a-sung today anyway.” She smiled a little half smile. “Got a frog in my throat and my mouth’s dry as a sack of flour. That’s the scared, the hole in my belly button. And that hole’s so big right now, the wind a roarin’ through it is so loud I can barely hear.”
“Princess, about your burial. I have a plan—”
“I know there’s a God. I been talkin’ to him all day ever day the last fourteen years. And won’t be long ’fore I get to see what he looks like. Won’t that be a kick, meetin’ him and Jesus, face up.”
She cut her eyes at Mac.
“You gonna have to get over bein’ mad at God eventually, Rev. You know that, doncha?”
She reached up self consciously and ran her hand over her bald head.
“I ain’t looked in a mirror and I don’t plan to neither! But I seen my reflection kinda in the window glass. All’s you can see is scars and head! I’m gonna go to my grave a lookin’ worse’n I ever looked when I was alive.”
Mac leapt through the door she’d opened.
“You know how you said you didn’t want to be buried here, in the prison cemetery, didn’t want your body to stay a prisoner forever?”
“Yeah, I said that.”
“Well, if you’re in agreement, I can see to it that it doesn’t.”
Mac took a deep breath and turned his back on his promise never to lie to Princess.
“I talked to the warden. Oran said that with your permission I could cl
aim your body after your death and bury it in the cemetery out behind my church.” He paused, then added. “That’s where my wife, Melanie, is buried.”
Princess’s eyes grew wide. “You’d do that? You’d put me in the same dirt as your wife?”
“Of course I would, Princess. She’s buried near the back of the cemetery, under a cherry tree. I could have you buried near the cherry tree, too, if you’d like.”
He glanced at Jonas, who added quietly, “This time of year, them white cherry blossoms rain down on Melanie’s grave like snow.”
Princess gasped. Her eyes filled so quickly the tears squirted down her face. “That’s the kindest thing anybody ever done for me in my whole life.”
Mac couldn’t look at her. Instead, he reached into his jacket pocket and took out a pad of paper and a pen and placed them on the table in front of Princess. He’d had to jump through hoops to get the pen into the building, had to show it to the guard at the door when he entered, and would have to display it again when he left.
“All you have to do is write down that you give me permission to claim your body. And then sign it.”
He shoved the pad and pen toward her.
She hesitated. “I ain’t wrote nothing in a long time,” she said, embarrassed again. “I ain’t sure I still can.”
“I’ll tell you exactly what to say.”
She took the pen in her hand and looked at it, then looked up at Mac “How do you make this thing …?”
He took it back, punched the button on the top and the point popped out at the bottom.
“Look at that!” she said, and popped the point in and out. She smiled at Mac, then Jonas. “Ain’t that grand!” Then she pulled the tablet toward her. “Okay, tell me what you want me to write, but you need to spell the words for me.”
Mac had planned the script so Princess would have to write some of the same words that were in the note she’d left in the church: “Got no plase for her so plees giv her a gud hom.”