by Lisa Fowler
“Excuse me, ma’am,” I say, in as respectful a voice as I know how. “Would it be all right if I talk to the sheriff? Sheriff Nix, I mean.”
“What do you need him for?” she asks, without looking up from her papers.
“I need to talk with him about something,” I say. “Something that’s important to my daddy.”
“Sheriff Nix is busy,” she says, glaring over the table at me. “Anyway, he doesn’t have time for children.”
“But, I’m not children, I’m twelve. Anyway, I’ve got business with him.”
“Now what kind of business could you possibly have with the sheriff, hmm?”
She gives me a look that says she’s not got time for the likes of me. I figure then, if I want Sheriff Nix, I’ll have to find him myself.
“Paul!” I hear a man holler from another room, “take these papers down to processing, will you?”
“Yes, Mister Nix,” I hear a voice say. I still don’t see anybody named Paul anywhere. There’s no one in the office but me and the lady behind the desk. Anita Silverstone’s in another room and Sheriff Nix is in his office, I suppose.
I look at the sign on the wall, the sign next to the two double doors.
OBADIAH NIX
HIGH SHERIFF
Somehow, I’ve got to get past this lady and into the sheriff’s office. I need to talk to him. Alone.
Anita Silverstone comes back into the office carrying a large stack of papers.
“Chestnut, I’m almost finished, and then we’ll go in to see your father, all right?”
She plops the stack of papers in front of the lady at the desk and then walks off. The lady behind the desk sighs. She grabs up a handful of the papers and walks, in a hurry, out the door and down the hall. I look around the office. There’s no one here but me.
I take a deep breath and grit my teeth, reckoning there’s no time like right now to do what I’ve got to do. I pull my box close and step off to the sheriff’s office.
37
PROOF
I clutch my box tight, shove my nose up toward the ceiling, and walk through the double doors to see the sheriff.
Daddy says if there’s something you want to do and you don’t have the nerve, keep a stiff upper lip, square back your shoulders, and say what it is you want to say as fast as you can—before you lose your nerve.
That’s exactly what I’m aiming to do.
I see the sheriff sitting behind a big black desk, leaning against the wall in the largest chair I ever did see. He’s not a big man. What I mean is, I don’t think he’s a tall man, but laid back in the chair like he is, I’m having to look way up to see into his eyes.
I walk right in—acting as if I own the place—and at first, the sheriff don’t look up. But when he does, you’d have thought from the look on his face that I’d pulled a musket from my boots and cocked it.
“Who let you in here?” he asks, grabbing to the desk and hanging on for dear life. His eyes are jumping around the room like he’s searching for someone to blame for letting a young’un like me into his office without permission.
He leans way over on his desk, crosses his arms, and props himself on his elbows. He stares at me, his eyes bugging so far out of their sockets they scare me, and his face as red as a turkey’s waddle. Seems his nose, that spills over and onto his veiny cheeks, has grown even larger since the last time I laid eyes on him.
I step back, not daring to let go of my box.
“No one let me in, sir,” I say. “I come all by myself.”
My voice is quivering so I clear my throat, stand up as straight as a stick, and nod, like I’m as sure of myself as I can be.
“Hey, I know you,” he says, wagging his finger toward my face. “You’re that … that kid … that Hill kid, aren’t you?”
I nod, my hands sweating so I nearly drop my metal box. I let go my hands one at a time and swipe my palms across my dress.
“Your daddy’s trial hasn’t come up. It’s still going to be a couple of weeks yet.”
“Yes, sir,” I say. “I understand.” I swallow hard, wishing he could somehow push his bulging eyes back in his head.
“Well then, why are you here? Can’t you see I’m a busy man? Get on out of here now.” He flips his hand at me, like he’s flicking a fly in midair.
“Elsie! Elsie!” He stretches his neck to see into the front office. “Why does she always seem to run off when I need her? Elsie!”
He rubs his head with his hands.
“She gone. No one’s out there,” I say, glancing back over my shoulder. “But it don’t matter because it’s not them I need, and I’m not leaving until I talk to you.”
“Now listen, kid, I told you, I don’t have time. I’m a busy man. The last thing I need is—”
I sling my metal box up onto his desk, and I don’t plop it down quiet either. Mama says the best way to let someone know you mean business is to make a lot of noise at it. And since I’m the one got us in this mess I’m the only one can get us out.
“Mister Sheriff Nix, sir,” I say, not quite knowing what’s proper to call the high sheriff, “I got something to tell you and it’s important.”
He grimaces, leans around me, and yells, “Elsie! Elsie!”
“Please don’t call for that lady no more, sir. I saw her go down the hall with a stack of papers two months long. I’ll be finished what I got to say long before she gets back if you’ll just listen.”
He slumps back in his chair and lets out a long, slow breath.
I walk around to the side of his desk so’s I’m sure he can see me when I talk. My knees are knocking like the cut wheel of our wagon smacking the ground, and I’m feared they will give way at any second. I take a deep breath.
“I’m not quite sure how to say this so I’m just gonna spit it out, just like Daddy says I should.”
“Go ahead, if you must. I’m listening,” he says, leaning back and crossing one leg on top of the other.
“My daddy didn’t steal nothing. He’s innocent, just like he claims.”
“Now listen, I’ve already told you—”
I interrupt, “But, I know who did steal that money.”
He sits straight as a tree, his chair making a popping sound.
“Who did it? Was it the Negro? I knew it! I knew it was him!” He snaps his fingers like he’s come up with the best idea since the Model T.
“No,” I say. “It wasn’t Mister Abraham, and I wish you wouldn’t think of him like that. He’s a good man that’s been nothing but kind to us. Matter of fact he saved our lives once in a twister, but, please, sir, let me finish while I still got the nerve.”
I let out a long breath and study the sheriff’s face. He looks like he’s ready to pounce, or jump to his feet, or maybe even go to shooting.
I swallow hard. “It was me,” I blurt out. “I done it. I’m the one you want.”
“Now listen here, kid—”
I prop my hand on my hip and shove the other one up in his face. “I’m not finished, sir.” I’m aiming for him to hear every word I got to say and I’m standing in front of him so he can’t get up and run ’til I’m done with what I got to say. “I stole that money.”
He shakes his head and rubs his cheek with his hand. “You honestly expect me to believe you stole that money, and not your daddy or that Negro?”
“Yes, sir,” I say, sounding just as sure and positive as I know how.
He shakes his head. “Why should I believe you? Why should I not think you’re just telling me this so I’ll let your daddy out of jail?” He leans so close it scares me.
Sunlight streaming in the windows on the side of his office catches the star on his shirt and flashes in my eyes, causing me to squint.
“’Cause I’m the one with the proof. It’s right in there,” I say, pointing to my metal box that I already plopped down on his desk.
His eyebrows raise, and he glares down at me with them buggy praying mantis eyes of his. There’s a long, skinny string of
spittle oozing from one corner of his mouth, and I wish to goodness he’d blow that booger from his nose.
But no way I’m going to tell him.
He pulls the box close and raises the lid right slow, like he’s feared something’s going to jump out and bite him. I wouldn’t have thought it possible, but his eyes pop out even farther when he opens my box and lays eyes to that money. He looks at me and squints, his eyes disappearing into slits, but it’s not long before he opens them up again.
He slumps back into his chair and lets out a long breath, the kind you give when you’re not sure what you’re going to do next. I reckon he got himself together right fast though because he sprung forward, put his hands on his knees, and stared me right in the eyes. After that, they wasn’t but one thing left to do.
38
ON ACCOUNT OF A TICKET
I told you I done it,” I blurt out.
He slumps back in his chair again, crosses his hands in his lap, and glares at me. His face is gruff and scary, with a scowl that would scare a mountain lion from its den, and I don’t mind admitting I’m fierce afraid of what’s coming next.
“All the money’s there,” I say. “You can count it if you want. I didn’t keep none. I want to give it back to the store.”
Still, he just stares, looking me up and down and back again. It seems like hours he just sits, and gapes, and breathes. And the longer he sits, and gapes, and breathes, the stronger I’m feeling.
“I know I’m going to be arrested and I know I’ve got to go to jail. I’m ready,” I say, not hesitating one iota with my words. “What I done was wrong and I know it, but I want to pay my debt to society and serve my time behind bars.” I hold my arms straight out so he won’t have trouble slapping on them handcuffs.
For the first time since I come, I see just the hint of a smile on his face. But, as quick as it come it’s gone, and then he’s gruff and mean all over again.
“So, tell me, Miss Hill. Why?”
“Sir?”
Now, I’m not dumb. I know what he’s asking, and I know why I done it, but I’m just not rightly sure—yet—if I’m ready to tell him.
“Why did you do it? I mean, what was it you needed bad enough to steal for? A doll? A new book? A candy bar?”
I hang my head and swallow hard. No one in their right mind would risk being locked up in a jail for a doll or a candy bar, but there’s no way I can tell him that I wanted the money to buy a train ticket to get back to my mama. Then on second thought, I reckon there’s no way I can’t tell him.
Whatever happens though, I’m tired of lying.
Lying’s not done anything but get me in more and more trouble. Them lies got bigger and bigger with each one I told. They got me in so much trouble in fact, that after the lying come stealing, and it’s the stealing that’s going to send me to jail for the rest of my days.
Reckon there’s nothing I can do now but blurt it out.
“It was all on account of a ticket,” I say, hoping he won’t ask for more.
“A ticket? What kind of ticket? Were you running away from your daddy?” He leans forward, and this time he gets so close I have to take a step back. His breath smells like rotten cigars, old coffee, and garlic. I swallow hard, trying not to breathe. “Did he do something bad to you? Did he beat you or—”
“Naw, naw. Daddy’s never done nothing …”
I stop in the middle of my sentence and listen to my voice, surprised at the words that are fixing to pop out, words about my daddy only doing good by us. Matter of fact, it’s almost as if someone else is saying it besides me. For the first time I’m admitting what Abraham’s being trying to tell me since he come. Daddy does take care of us. He sees to it we got clothes on our back and shoes on our feet, even if they do come from the church’s ragbags.
He does his best to see to it that we eat. Oh it may not be all we want to eat, or what we want, but we do eat, and he makes sure we always stick together. Humph. Abraham’s right. My daddy is a good man. Reckon I’ve just been too stubborn to see it all along.
“Go ahead, kid.” The sheriff’s words shake me from my thinking. “You can tell me the truth. Did your daddy do something to you that made you want to leave him?”
“No, sir. You’re not listening to what I’m trying to say. What I want to say is, I was missing my mama—something fierce—and all I wanted was to get back to her. See, Daddy took us away from her—”
“Oh, so your daddy’s a kidnapper? He stole you away from your mother?”
There’s nothing I can say to that, because I reckon it’s true. Daddy did kidnap us away from our mama.
The sheriff rakes his hands through his hair. From the looks of what little there is still left on his head, I reckon they’s been a whole heap of young’uns in his office confessing to crimes they committed that their parents done got blamed for. He shakes his head real fast, like he’s shaking ice cold creek water out of his ears.
“Listen, just tell about the part where you claim you stole the money, all right? Your mama will be here this afternoon. We’ll sort out the business of the kidnapping after she gets here.”
“Yes, sir. Well, I wanted to get back to Mama, to put our family back together again so’s we could live all together, and be happy the way we was when Daddy was working the coal mines. We went into town back in Beaumont to buy supplies. Daddy and Abraham—”
“Abraham. That’s the Negro that works for your daddy, right?”
“Yes, sir. I mean, no, sir. Abraham don’t work for Daddy. I mean, he’s no hired hand or nothing. He’s really more of a friend. He works with all of us, singing and playing the banjo while the triplets sing and entertain the crowds. Anyway, Daddy and Abraham was in back of the store and the triplets was running around, scaring the life out of me because I was feared they would break something we didn’t have money to pay for. That’s when it happened.”
“What happened?”
“I told you. I stole it. That’s when I stole the money. I saw the money drawer open with all them bills hanging out and flapping in the breeze. I looked around the store. They wasn’t nobody looking so I reached up, and snatched the money. I shoved it in my pocket and then ran all the way back to the wagon. I pulled out my metal box from under my cot and stuffed the money in it. I was going to use the money to buy a train ticket to get back to Mama, but, well, things just got all messed up. The flyers I drawed and nailed up in all the towns to show Mama where we’d be if she come looking led the lawmen right to our wagon. And folks blamed Daddy for something I done and now I’m here. And, reckon I’m ready now.”
“Ready? Ready for what? You mean there’s more?”
I hang my head and stare at the hole in the top of my shoe. “I’m ready to go to jail and serve my time,” I say. All of a sudden I think back to Hazel’s question about Daddy, and it ’bout scares the life plumb out of me.
I take a deep breath. “You’re not going to hang me, are you?” I whisper.
The sheriff cackles. He laughs. I mean, he don’t just snicker, he laughs a belly-jiggling, head-throwed-back, mouth-open-wide laugh.
And me? I just stand here.
Watching.
And waiting, for what I’m feared will come next. But, I must admit, I do feel like there’s a weight the size of a sack of coal that’s just been lifted from my shoulders.
“Young lady, that’s the most wonderful story I’ve ever heard in my life, and believe me I’ve heard quite a few.” He wipes tears from his face with the handkerchief he’s pulled from his back pocket.
I can’t for the life of me understand why he thinks my confession to thieving is a wonderful story. Here I am, barely twelve years old, facing the rest of my life in a jail cell. Or worse, hanging, and he’s cackling like a laying hen.
“Miss Hill, I know this is Texas, and in Texas, it’s true, we’re tough on criminals. But even Texans don’t hang children—even ones that steal.” He clears his throat and straightens up tall in his chair. And I realiz
e the laughing he’s done is over.
“Now. Are you declaring to me that you stole this money from the general store in Beaumont, Texas, and that you are not only confessing to the crime, but you’re willing to return the money to its rightful owner?”
I think a bit on his words, wanting to be sure to what I’m agreeing. “Yes, sir,” I say. “That’s what I’m saying, just like you said it.” I nod.
“Elsie!”
I turn, and there’s Elsie, standing square in the doorway of the sheriff’s office. She’s much taller with no desk in front of her.
“Yes, sheriff?” she says.
He points to me. “This young lady has just confessed to a crime. Seems we have the wrong person in custody. Would you please take her to see Paul?”
“Yes, sheriff.”
“Miss Hill, you’ve done a brave thing today. No, you’ve done more than that. What you’ve done by confessing is give your daddy back his life. If it wasn’t for you he’d have spent a mighty long time behind bars. Now, I believe when the store owner hears your story and gets his money back, he just might consider dropping the charges. But while all that’s fine and good, it don’t satisfy me completely. After all, I’ve got the law to uphold, and one thing I can’t abide in is children who steal.”
He looks down at the gun laying across his desk, then he turns back to me with a look that says “You’re gonna pay.”
“If you was my young’un I’d see to it that you never thought about stealing—ever again. Matter of fact, around these parts we punish our children if they even look like they’re thinking about stealing.” He picks a pencil from a tin cup and beats out an unsteady rhythm on his desk. “Why, did you know there are places in this world that if they catch you stealing they whack off your hand up to your wrist?”
I gasp and swallow hard.
“Now, while I don’t abide in whacking off body parts, I do have to see to it that the law is carried out and them that break the law pay.”
“Yes, sir. So I reckon you’re going to lock me up in jail?” I ask, my voice quivering and shaking.
He drops his pencil and stares at me for the longest time without saying a word, and his look’s not kind either. Matter of fact if looks was enough to whack off a body part, I’d be missing an entire arm.