Missing Isaac

by Valerie Fraser Luesse

  “You have questions for me, or should I be about my business and leave you to your lust?” the old woman asked.

  Dang that old bag! Harley felt his face flush. This just wasn’t going like it was supposed to. He was in charge. He was the sheriff. And this old lady was making him out to be an idiot.

  “Now lookie here, ma’am, you are speaking to an officer of the law.”

  “That is the unfortunate truth.”

  He decided to try a new tack. He would pretend to be her friend—a little psychology.

  “Now, ma’am, I’m a public servant, just tryin’ to do my best to keep our community safe. I know it was a long, long time ago. And I completely understand that a lady such as yourself, what’s got some years on her and all, might have trouble recollectin’ things. But now, you just take your time and think it over. I need to know where you all was on the night in question.”

  “And what night was that?”

  “The weekend before Easter—Saturday night, to be specific—19 and 64. Take your time. I know it was a long time ago.”

  “The year matters not—the answer would be the same,” she said. “The weekend before Easter is the annual Brush Arbor service downriver. It is held on Saturday afternoon and lasts into the evening. We camp there for the night. I have gone every year since my childhood, and my children honor me by going with me every year.”

  “All of you go?”

  “I’ve said as much.”

  “Not John, Mama Paul—he hates that crowd, ’member?” Ruby smiled at Harley. “That’s my husband’s brother—John. He’s a little different.”

  “Hush, Ruby,” the old woman said.

  “He live around here?” Harley asked.

  “Right across yonder,” Ruby said. “But he ain’t home. He’s down at the Baptist church helpin’ out. Now there’s a shocker—John down there covered up in them church people. He don’t like people. Makes him a little hard to talk to on accounta you never can tell what on earth he’s a-thinkin’.”

  The old woman abruptly stood up and said, “Ruby, you will cease your mindless chatter or reap what you sow.”

  “Uh . . . Sheriff Flowers, would you see me out?” a clearly rattled Ruby said.

  “My pleasure,” he said, grinning at her and tipping his hat. “I’ll be in touch, ma’am,” he said as he left with Ruby.

  “Lila! Lila! Where are you?”

  “Over here!” Lila called. “Neva, I need your help!”

  Geneva rounded the corner, and Lila had never been so glad to see her. “Neva, thank goodness!” she cried.

  The minute Dovey called in a panic to tell her what had happened at the church, Lila had phoned her father first and then her sister before sprinting to her car to get to John as quickly as possible. Harley Flowers and two of his deputies had pounced on the churchyard, where John was helping one of the work crews. With sirens blaring and guns blazing, the sheriff and his men had arrested him right there in front of everybody.

  Lila had been pleading with one of the youngest deputies to let her into John’s cell, but he was immovable. Or so she thought.

  “I’m trying to persuade Dilbert here to let me in to see about John, but he just refuses, and I don’t know what to do.” Lila was so scared and frustrated that she was very near tears. She needed the comfort of her sister’s arms, which Geneva immediately wrapped around her.

  “Everything’s gonna be fine, baby sis,” Geneva said. “You just hold on. Neva’s gonna fix it.”

  Lila stepped back and nodded her gratitude, unable to speak without crying.

  Geneva glared at the chubby young deputy with his red cheeks and crew cut hair straight out of the 1950s. “Open that door,” she said.

  “I’m real sorry, Miz Masters,” the deputy said. “Like I done explained to Miz McLean here, I’d let you ladies in if I could. I surely would. But the sheriff said nobody goes in nor out till he gets back from his press conference, and I’m afraid that’s that.”

  “Press conference?” Geneva barked. “What press is there to conference with in this puny little burg, I’d love to know?”

  “Aw, we’re covered up with ’em,” the deputy said. “They’s newsmen from the Shelby County Reporter and the Talladega Daily Home and that colored paper in Birmingham. I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if the Alabama Baptist was to send somebody.”

  “How’d they find out about this so fast?” she demanded.

  “Well, uh, the sheriff, he found a minute to call ’em right after he got him a haircut and shave down at the barbershop. You know, before we raided the church and apprehended the killer—I mean the suspect.”

  “Oh, I’ll just bet he did,” a clearly disgusted Geneva said.

  Lila had a feeling her sister was about to take charge of the jailhouse. When Geneva marched up to the deputy and got right in his face, Dilbert’s bottom lip quivered slightly.

  Geneva glanced down at his badge. “Deputy Greathouse,” she read.

  “Yes, ma’am.” He beamed. “Bet you never guessed I’d make deputy back when you was teachin’ me in Bible school.”

  If he was looking for a pat on the back from Geneva, he was looking in the wrong direction. “Open that door, Dilbert,” she said. Lila could hear it in her voice—Dilbert was sorely taxing what little restraint Geneva had left.

  “Now, Miz Masters,” the deputy said as if he were speaking to a child, “I’ll be happy to explain it to you like I done for Miz McLean here so’s you ladies can understand—”

  “Explain it to me? Explain it to me?” Geneva’s voice was rising, right along with the color in her face. “Let me tell you something, Dilbert Greathouse!” she shouted. “I have personally changed your diaper and wiped your snotty nose in that church nursery more times than I care to count. Do you want me to call your mama on the telephone and tell her you’re down here sassing me and my sister in the middle of the county jail?”

  “N-n-no, ma’am,” Dilbert said. Lila could see little beads of sweat popping out on his forehead, and if his cheeks got any redder they would surely catch fire.

  “Well then, you get that door open before I turn you over my knee and blister your broad behind right here in front of God and everybody! Press conference, my—oh, just open that door!”

  She had him so flustered that it was all he could do to get the key in the lock and hold the door open for the two women.

  Lila and Geneva stepped inside the cell, which was hotter than it should be, even though the weather was unseasonably warm. “Why’s it sweltering in here?” Geneva demanded.

  It didn’t take the sisters long to spot a small barred opening on the back wall. This part of the jail was at least sixty years old, and when the county had modernized and installed window-unit air conditioners in the offices, they hadn’t thought to close off the openings in all the cells.

  “Wonderful!” Geneva exclaimed, waving an arm impatiently at the window. She was pacing back and forth between the open cell door and the dumbfounded deputies outside. “You can’t have an open window with air-conditioning!” she shouted. “I swear to my time! If this place is hot in the springtime, I guess all your summer prisoners die of a heatstroke! Where do you hide the bodies?”

  Lila took a seat next to John on a small cot, the only furniture in his cell. His face, hair, and shirt were all damp with sweat after just an hour in there. He and Lila were both watching Geneva.

  “I mean!” she said to anybody listening. “Why couldn’t Jimmy Hays and Eddie Thurgood be on duty today? Those two are smart as any agents at the FBI.”

  Lila watched as Geneva zeroed in on a frail-looking deputy who was trying not to make eye contact with her. “You there!” she called, pointing at him. “Yes, you—pale, skinny boy. Come here!”

  Lila could see that he didn’t think of disobeying her sister. Geneva took a twenty-dollar bill out of her purse and handed it to him. “Run across the street to the Western Auto and buy two or three box fans and an extension cord big enough to run
them. And you might wanna take somebody with you because you don’t look like you could carry much.”

  “But ma’am, I don’t think I’m allowed to—”

  “Move!”

  The deputy took off running for the Western Auto as Geneva came back inside the cell. John stood up and offered her his seat.

  “No thank you, honey,” she said, smiling sweetly and patting him on the shoulder as he sat back down. “I can’t be still when I’m all worked up.” Anybody could see that Geneva wasn’t anywhere close to simmering down. “I mean! This is just stupid piled on toppa stupid. First they arrest an innocent man. Then they stick him in this stuffy old cell like we haven’t progressed a day since the surrender. And now I got snot-nosed deputies talking back to me in the county seat. Where’s Daddy?”

  “He’s in the courthouse, trying to get hold of the district attorney,” Lila said. “Why don’t you go see what’s keeping him, okay, Neva? Could you go do that for me and give us just a few minutes?”

  “What? Oh. Sure.” She left the cell and headed for a corridor connecting to the courthouse. “But I’ll be back,” she said, pointing her finger at the trembling deputies.

  “Are you alright?” Lila quietly asked John. He nodded but didn’t answer. “Nobody believes there’s a word of truth to this. You know that, don’t you? We’re all here to help you, and we’re going to get you out of here.”

  Again he just nodded. Worst of all, he kept staring at the floor, as if he were too ashamed of his circumstances to even look her.

  “And don’t you worry about Dovey. We’ll help your family take good care of her until you come home, which can’t be long. John—”

  Just as she reached over to take his hand, he got up and walked to the corner of his cell. He stood with his back to her, his hands pressed against the walls.

  After a long, uncomfortable silence, with Lila struggling to understand what was happening, he finally said, “I think part of me always knew I’d end up like this. No matter how much I worked. No matter how hard I tried.”

  “John, you haven’t ‘ended up’ like this. You’re in a bad, completely absurd situation, but it’s temporary. And you certainly don’t deserve it.”

  “Maybe not, but it was always comin’. I guess Mama was right. I shoulda just stayed in the hollow. I shoulda been content with my family instead of wantin’ too much for Dovey—and for me.”

  “But you and Dovey deserve—”

  “Lila, I’m not sure I can . . . I mean, I think it would be best if you . . .”

  “Please look at me. Please?”

  He turned to face her but stayed as far away as his cell allowed.

  “You have absolutely nothing to be ashamed of,” she said.

  “How can you say that?”

  “Because it’s true. You haven’t done anything wrong.”

  “That doesn’t mean there’s no shame.”

  “I don’t understand, John.”

  “I know you don’t. Look, I think it would best from now on—”

  Before he could finish, Geneva was back. “Y’all, I just talked to Daddy,” she announced, breezing past three deputies who knew better than to try and stop her. “The good news is, Daddy talked to the DA, and he says this is all a load of you-know-what.”

  Geneva looked from Lila sitting on the cot to John standing in the corner. Lila could practically see her sister figuring out what had happened in her absence, but Geneva went on as if she hadn’t noticed the painful space that had opened up between them.

  “They’ve got nothing but your sister-in-law telling Harley that you were in the hollow the night Isaac was killed,” Geneva explained to John. “Oh, and get this—that little snit Judd Highland told his parents that he’s sure he heard your voice in the woods the night somebody pulled a gun on him and his hooligan friends. Never mind that those useless twerps were trespassing and needed their sorry little backsides whipped—’scuse me, John . . .”

  Geneva was so busy relaying the latest that she hadn’t noticed the skinny deputy return with the box fans, plug them in, and retreat to a corner of the cell as if he were powerless to leave without orders from the fiery blonde now commanding the whole jailhouse.

  As a breeze stirred from the fans, she whirled around and saw the deputy, who seemed to be trying to make himself invisible in the corner. “What are you still doing here?” she said calmly.

  “I b-b-b-brought the f-f-f-fans,” he said.

  “So you did,” she said. “And I thank you. But again, what are you doing in here?”

  The deputy fled.

  “Now that we can breathe,” Geneva continued, “there’s some bad news. The DA’s at some stupid national conference in California and can’t get back here to undo this mess till Thursday. Daddy’s right now seeing if that FBI agent can talk some sense into Harley. John, honey, you could be looking at a couple of days in this hellhole. But you know what? I’m gonna make it all better.” She marched over to the nearest telephone and dialed. “Willadean? I need you to rally the girls. We’re gonna need covered dishes, an ice chest . . .”

  “We’ll get through this,” Lila said as John closed his eyes, fighting hard, she knew, to shut out the walls closing in on him.

  Hattie never ceased to amaze Ned. There was just no end to the kindness in her heart.

  Once he had done all he could for John at the courthouse that morning, he had gone home to find Hattie at her usual work in his house. The two of them had sat down at the kitchen table, where he explained everything that had just happened.

  “They think Paul’s boy killed Isaac?” she asked incredulously.

  “Not they, Hattie—he,” Ned explained. “And I don’t know if the sheriff himself actually believes it or if he’s just gettin’ back at me for hirin’ that detective. But I guarantee you, John Pickett did not lay a hand on Isaac. I’d bet my life on it—and my land.”

  “Where is he? Oh, please take me to my boy!”

  “Just as soon as I can, Hattie. The FBI says it will take some time to positively identify Isaac’s remains, and we want to be sure. You’ve been disappointed enough.”

  Late that afternoon, when it was time for her to go home, she had come into the living room and asked him if he had time to drive her to the jailhouse. She had fixed a plate of supper for Paul’s boy, she said, but those white men might not let her give it to him if Junie drove her. So Ned had driven her the ten miles to the courthouse and escorted her inside.

  “Sheriff Flowers ain’t here, Mr. Ballard,” Deputy Greathouse said. “He’s down at the café with a coupla reporters, but I expect he’ll be back soon.”

  “That’s alright, Dilbert,” Ned said. “No need to take up the sheriff’s valuable time. We just need to drop this plate off for Mr. Pickett. Geneva assured me that you could let Hattie inside just long enough to give it to him?”

  “Y-yessir,” Dilbert said, hurrying to unlock the cell door. Ned smiled to himself, knowing that Dilbert’s nerves wouldn’t take another run-in with his daughter.

  John stood up when they came into his cell. “John, how you holdin’ up?” Ned asked, shaking his hand.

  “I’m alright,” he said. “And I thank you for your help.”

  “Wish I coulda done a lot more a lot faster, but it’ll all be over soon.” He looked at Hattie. “John, I’ve got somebody here wants a word with you. This is Hattie, Isaac’s mother. Hattie, this is Paul’s son John. I’ll be right outside when you’re ready to go. You take care now, John.”

  Ned left them alone and took a seat in front of one of the empty desks outside.

  ———

  “I brung you some supper,” Hattie said, offering John the plate. He took it from her, dumfounded that a woman would want to feed somebody accused of killing her child.

  “You wanna sit down?” he asked.

  She took a seat at one end of the cot, with John at the other. She looked at all the casserole dishes and Tupperware stacked against one wall. “I never seen th
e likes o’ this in a jail cell,” she said.

  “Geneva,” he said, and she nodded and smiled. They were silent for a moment before he said, “I didn’t hurt your boy. I swear I didn’t.”

  “I know that.”

  “How?”

  “I know your people—not as good as my mama does, but I know ’em. You favor your daddy. He used to bring my mama figs ever’ summer ’cause he know she got a sweet tooth. And precious Dovey—ain’t no killin’ man could raise a chile loves him like I know she loves you. Her and Pete, they forever stoppin’ by to check on Mama and take her little things along. Even built her some new front steps with a hand railin’ on accounta they was afraid she might hurt herself on them wobbly concrete blocks she been walkin’ up and down. Ain’t nobody can teach a chile love like that gonna turn around and kill my boy just for meanness.”

  “Thank you for the plate—and for comin’,” he said.

  “Don’t look like you need my plate,” she said, nodding toward Geneva’s handiwork.

  “I’ll have it for my supper,” he said. “I’ve looked under that tinfoil over there—don’t quite recognize some of that food.”

  Hattie smiled. He stood as she got up to leave.

  At the cell door, she turned and said, “White folks ’round here’s quick to sweep up things they don’t understand so they don’t have to look at ’em and worry ’bout what they might mean. All this time I hear ’em spec’lating about what Isaac done to get hisself killed. Makes ’em uneasy to think about what one of them mighta done, so they tell theirselves he brung it on hisself on accounta him bein’ colored. Now they done locked you up ’cause they don’t understand your people neither. Don’t you let ’em sweep you up. Don’t you let ’em make you believe you belong in here. You the son of Christian people. You remember that.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said, struggling now more than ever to maintain his composure.

  The deputy opened the door, and John watched Hattie walk away. Then he uncovered her plate and had his supper in the county jail.

  Twenty-nine

  MARCH 13, 1968

  Late Wednesday morning, Lila stood at the door of John’s cell while the sheriff himself unlocked it. “Now, you be sure and tell Geneva for me, I am at the service of all you fine ladies,” he said. “I’ve got some business to attend to, but I’ll be back directly.”