“You’ve done plenty. You didn’t have to spend so much time with me. I’m sure you have plenty of work to keep you busy.” I walked over and held my hands out.
He fastened the handcuffs on my wrists again. “Thank you for being a model prisoner. You’ve made my job easy.”
He took me by the elbow and led me along our same path to the courthouse, but this time there was familiar comfort to his touch. Despite the handcuffs, we might’ve just been two friends taking a walk together.
“What happened to Sheriff Peterson?” I asked when we’d reached the hallway behind his desk.
“He retired once the department came under investigation. No charges were ever filed, and there was never any real evidence of corruption, but public opinion is a harsh judge sometimes.”
“Yes, I remember.”
He pushed the door open to the outside and gave me a thoughtful look. “I reckon you do.” We headed across the parking lot. John didn’t even have a hold of me anymore. “Anyways, after all that business with your escape and the papers outright declaring him guilty of corruption, he decided it was best to retire and move to Mississippi where the rest of his family lives.”
We reached the back door of the courthouse, and he opened it for me. Before going through, I met John’s gaze. “I really am sorry for all the trouble. At least, for my part in things. I should’ve just come back right away. I was just so scared for everyone.”
“Ruby, I appreciate your apology. Really. But I do need to remind you that whatever you say to me isn’t protected. I’m still the sheriff.”
“I know. It’s all right. My future’s in God’s hands now, and I don’t want to worry about being careful of what I say anymore. I’m just ready to live in the truth, and the freedom that brings.”
“I’m afraid freedom probably isn’t what’s in store for you.”
I smiled at him, remembering one of my daddy’s favorite verses from the Gospel of John. “‘If the Son therefore shall make you free, ye shall be free indeed.’ This world isn’t my home. Maybe my physical body won’t be free for a long time, but my soul is. And nothing can change that.”
Together we walked into the courthouse and down the hallway to the conference room. We stopped at the door, and John took my hands. He unlocked the cuffs. “I reckon you don’t need these in here.”
I looked into his eyes and we both smiled. “Thank you.”
He pushed open the door, and I practically ran straight to Matthew. He held me close for a long while. I closed my eyes and shut out the rest of the world, soaking up the warmth of his hands pressed to my back, and his chest against my cheek.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“Better now,” I said, refusing to let go just yet.
After a few more moments, I finally stepped back and released him. I turned to the table, expecting to see Stanley seated there, but someone else was with him. “Mr. Freeman?” I said in delight, walking over to him with my arms spread wide.
He stood and gave me a hug. “Ruby, it’s so good to see you again. I hope you don’t mind me crashing your meeting.”
“Not at all. But what are you doing here?”
He gestured toward Matthew. “I saw the stories in the paper, and I had to track this fellow down and thank him for saving my life. I’d like to do what I can to help.”
“I don’t know what you can possibly do at this point.”
“Ruby,” Matthew said, coming up beside me. “Homer wants to write some articles about us, explain our story to the public.”
“Do you mean…in Time magazine?”
“Yes,” Matthew said.
Mr. Freeman gestured to a chair. “Why don’t you have a seat, and I’ll explain what we’ve been discussing.”
I sat down and studied the three of them as Mr. Freeman explained what he wanted to do. He leaned forward onto the table, his enthusiasm for this idea apparent. Matthew, on the other hand, leaned back in his chair beside me without saying much at all. And as for Stanley, I couldn’t read him one way or the other. He appeared just as casual and mildly interested as he always did.
“Let me make sure I understand,” I said when he’d finished. “You want to write a series that tells everyone in the country just about every detail of my life? I can’t say I’m comfortable with that, Mr. Freeman.”
“Well, I’m not suggesting a telling of your whole life’s story. But maybe just yours and Matthew’s story. He’s shared a little with me about how you two met when you were teenagers and how you cared for him when he was sick. And for the past month, the country has been reading about the horrors of how our boys were treated in the Pacific, with nearly every paper publishing General Wainwright’s account of what happened on Bataan and Corregidor. Honestly, I think now is the time to tell the story of two people who came through that horror and found hope. The country would fall in love with you two.”
I glanced at Matthew. “And you think this is a good idea?”
He shrugged. “Honestly, I don’t know. I prayed and prayed over it, and all God has told me the past few weeks is the same thing over and over. Surrender. Just, surrender. I’m done with running. I’m done with trying to control the outcome of our lives. And Homer here just showed up of his own accord. I reckon God brought him here for a reason. And I figure I’ll just keep on trusting that things will work out the way they should.”
I turned to Stanley. “What do you think we should do?”
“It’s tough to say. It depends on whether or not you’re going to accept the plea deal from Mr. Norton. If you aren’t, and we’re going to trial, then some positive press is probably a good idea, but it should be limited in what it covers. If you’re accepting the plea deal, then I don’t see how a series of articles could affect that outcome. It’s up to you, really. What do you want to do?”
I slid my hand over my stomach. I had no desire for another trial, with every situation and every word uttered being twisted to mean something it never did in the first place. I was tired. And I wanted to rest.
“Matthew,” I said, turning to face him. “I think we should accept the plea deal. That way, we know what to expect. And we can ensure that I’ll be out someday to be with you and Hope again.”
He took my hands in his. “I don’t know if I can raise her on my own.”
“You won’t be alone. Mother and Asa will be there. And most importantly, God will be with you the whole time. You can raise her. You’re a wonderful father.”
He kissed my hands and held them against his cheek. Fifteen years, I thought. Fifteen years apart. And he’ll have to raise two of our children, not just Hope. I ached for God to take this burden from us, to finally give us a chance to be together. Your will, Lord, not mine. Not mine.
I turned my gaze back to Mr. Freeman. “You can write your story. But I don’t want it to be about me. I want it to be about all the amazing people who have been a part of our journey so far. Promise me you’ll tell their story. Henry’s, Janine’s, Dr. Grant’s…” I looked into Matthew’s eyes, grateful I had so many memories to take with me. “…and especially the men and women who fought so bravely in the Philippines. Tell their story. Not mine.”
***
Stanley notified Mr. Norton of our decision, and Judge Thorpe set my sentencing for October 30. Four weeks. That was all I had left to see Matthew and Hope before I would be transferred to Wetumpka again. And then how often would I see them? A few times a year? What about this new baby? Would the state take the baby from me? Would he or she even know me at all?
Four weeks.
I spent the first week occupying my time by reading Daddy’s Bible. I figured I would start at the beginning and read all the way through it as many times as I could. I would hide every word of it in my heart, so I could pray every word of it back to God.
The following Sunday, Matthew came to visit, and John let him sit with me inside my cell. I tried not to cry when he didn’t bring Hope, but he said she wasn’t feeling well. My ma
ternal instincts kicked in, and I peppered him with questions.
“Does she have a fever?”
“Just a smidge. Nothing too bad.” He swept my hair away from my face, talking to me as calmly as possible. I sensed my anxiety growing, and if I’d thought about it rationally, I’d have known I wasn’t upset about Hope being sick. I was scared of what lay ahead.
“Is she eating? She needs to get plenty of fluids if she has a fever.”
“She’s eating a little. She ate some apple butter your mother made for her.”
“Apple butter? That has so much sugar in it. And with Daddy’s diabetes—”
“She ate some chicken noodle soup too.”
“Well, that’s better, I suppose. What about her energy? Is she lethargic? Has she said anything about her throat hurting? Have you felt her glands near her throat?”
“Ruby,” he said quietly. “She’s all right. She just needed some rest.”
I fell against his chest, and he held me close as I cried. I couldn’t stop for a solid ten minutes, and he eventually walked me over to my cot and sat down with me. “I just miss her so much,” I said. “I miss her little face, and her questions, and her excited little bunny hop. I miss reading The Velveteen Rabbit with her, and tucking her in at night. I miss praying with her and brushing her hair.” I let out a sob from the depths of my soul. “Matthew, it just hurts so much.”
“I know, love. I know you’re hurting. I’m so sorry. If I could bear this for you, I would.”
“I don’t know if I can bear it.”
I cried a little longer before finally exhausting my tears. I was so weak, so easily discouraged. What little faith I had! I was certain I was such a disappointment to God. I steeled myself and pushed away from Matthew. I couldn’t fall apart. I had to find strength in the Lord, and stop looking at my own circumstances. I walked over to the small table that held my toiletries, and blew my nose in a handkerchief.
“Are you all right?” Matthew asked.
I nodded as I turned around. But a sudden swell of nausea overtook me, and I had to fly across the cell to the pail in the corner. As I bent over it and vomited, I sensed Matthew behind me within a second.
“Ruby? Ruby, are you all right?”
I took a few breaths before the second wave hit me. He held on to me as I finished, calling for John to bring me some water. I straightened and wiped my mouth with the handkerchief I’d used earlier. My eyes watered.
John came to the door with a glass of water. “Here ya go. Let me know if she needs more, or if she wants some crackers or something.”
“Has she been doing this for long?”
John glanced at me before putting his hands up in the air. “I’m just here to help if you need it. Ruby, let me know if you want those crackers.”
“It’s all right, John,” I said. “Will you bring me a few? And I’m sure I’ll need another glass of water.”
“Sure thing.” He headed out of the cellblock, leaving the door open.
Matthew came to me with concern all over his face. “Ruby, what’s going on? Are you sick? Do you need a doctor?”
“No, I’m fine. I’m just…I’m pregnant.”
It took a couple of seconds for him to register what I’d said. His mouth fell open, and he stammered. “Wh—what? Pregnant? Are you sure?”
I nodded. “Morning sickness. Sore breasts. I’m terribly emotional, in case you can’t tell. All the signs are there. And I missed my time of the month.”
“Pregnant? How does that even work with…well, with you being in here? Are you getting medical care?”
“Yes. There isn’t much to be done for now, anyway. I’m sure there are doctors and nurses down at Wetumpka that can take care of me when I get there.”
Realization hit him, and he started pacing. “Oh, Ruby. No. No! You can’t be pregnant now. Surely God wouldn’t be so cruel.”
“It’s going to be all right.”
“All right? All right? Is this what happens when you surrender to God? Everything goes belly up? Are you really supposed to have a baby in prison?”
“Shh,” I said, tears pricking my eyes again. “Matthew, please. This is hard enough as it is.”
He came to me and pulled me close again. “I’m sorry. I know this is difficult for you. I just have no idea how to take this. I thought we were doing the right thing. I thought if we listened to His voice, if we trusted Him, God would make things right. But things just seem to be getting worse.”
“We are doing the right thing. We just have to keep trusting Him. ‘For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known.’ We can’t see the whole picture right now, and what we do see seems bleak. But we just have to keep our eyes on the Savior.”
I could say the words easily enough. But like Matthew, I was struggling to write them on my heart and mind. I couldn’t see anything promising in my future. Only years and years ahead, where now, I wouldn’t know either of my children.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Matthew
October, 1945
Hanceville, Alabama
I did everything I could to hold myself together while I was with Ruby, because I knew that was what she needed from me. But my fragile grasp of the new truth in my life, that freedom and peace would only come when I surrendered control to God, was severely shaken. Ruby was pregnant. Pregnant. What was God thinking?
I returned to the Graves’ farm and worked the next few days with doubt and fear clinging to me with every step I took. I spent as much time as possible with Hope, because like her name, she reminded me of what was possible. When I was with her, just like her little bunny, I felt like I was real.
On Tuesday, October 8, Time published the first of Homer Freeman’s articles on us. He brought a copy out to me to look over, and I had to admit it was good. In it, he explained how he’d first met Ruby on Corregidor, and he described the care he’d witnessed from all the nurses trapped in those tunnels. He drew the reader in to Ruby’s story in particular, this mysterious young woman who seemed to care so deeply for others, an accusation of murder and escape, and his search ever since to come to the truth about who Ruby Graves Doyle really was. Then he promised a series of three articles, detailing the heroes he’d come to know: a young couple named Matthew and Ruby Doyle. It was enough to pique the interest, without yet telling our actual story.
We stood in the dining room, with Homer beaming at me, waiting for my reaction. “It’s great so far,” I said, setting it down on the table.
“The best part is, the Associated Press is picking up the series of articles too. Ruby’s story will go nationwide.”
“I’m still not sold on all this,” I said. “Neither of us wants all this attention.”
“I understand, and I’ve promised to tell your story honestly. I won’t write anything you don’t want me to. But my editor loved my notes, and he thinks this story is going to catch fire quick.”
I tried to share his enthusiasm, but I just couldn’t find any. “Homer, Ruby’s pregnant.”
His smile faded, and sympathy replaced it. “Geez, Matthew. What rotten timing. Does that mean she’ll have to have her baby in prison?”
“It looks that way. I don’t know anything about taking care of a baby. Hope is challenge enough, but add a baby and I’ll be lost.”
He wagged his finger at me thoughtfully. “You know, that could actually help her. A judge might show leniency, knowing she’s pregnant. A jury probably would too. Are you both determined to have her plead guilty?”
“At this point, yes. I’m not sure anything can change that.”
We fell into an uncomfortable silence, so I stood and changed the subject. “Would you like some sweet tea?”
“I’d love some.”
I went over to the refrigerator and pulled out a pitcher, but before I had finished pouring, I heard a car coming down the driveway. I brought Homer his glass and went to the front door
. I prayed it wasn’t reporters already, but I recognized Stanley’s Chevy and relaxed. I excused myself and went out onto the front porch to greet my lawyer.
Stanley came up the steps, looking a bit unsure of himself for the first time since I’d met him. “You’re not going to believe this,” he said.
“If it’s about the article, I’ve already seen it. Homer’s inside and brought a copy over.”
“That’s right. The article came out the other day.” Clearly that hadn’t been what was on his mind. He glanced over his shoulder at his car. “Actually, what I was referring to was the visitor I received this morning in my office. He shared a little of his story with me, and he wants to talk to you.”
“Stanley, I don’t want to start entertaining folks just because of these articles coming out.”
“This has nothing to do with Homer’s stories. Matthew, I think we should hear him out. He says he can help clear Ruby’s name.”
I’d already finished most of my work for the day, and Hope was down for a nap. I supposed it wouldn’t hurt to give the fella a few minutes of my time. “All right then,” I said. “But let’s not make it too long. Once Hope wakes up, he’s got to go.”
Stanley turned back to his car and waved the man to come forward. The passenger door opened, and a young colored man in army dress uniform climbed out. He straightened and tugged on his olive drab jacket, walking toward me with his gaze to the ground. My heart thundered. I knew who he was, even before he looked up at me, but when his eyes finally came up to rest on mine, I was certain.
“Samuel?” My voice didn’t come out as much more than a whisper.
“Yes, sir. It’s me. I came to talk to you, sir.”
It took a few moments to find my words. “Of course. Uh, come on in here.” I opened the door for them, and Stanley followed Samuel into the house. Samuel removed his cap, and I took a moment to really see him.
He wore the wings of an airman, and the breast of his jacket was covered in colorful bars. “You’re a pilot?” I asked.
Abiding Hope: A Novel: Healing Ruby Book 4 Page 35