“Are you sure?”
“Don’t ask so many questions. By the way, you never told me why we’re going to Jackson.”
“Oh, I don’t know. Run a few errands.”
“Errands?”
An announcement crackled over the station’s speaker: Boarding for the train headed to Jackson and points south would begin immediately. They joined the line that was forming at the entry to one of the cars.
“Where am I going to sit, Travis? Really.”
“I told you. With me.”
“Why don’t I just sit in the Colored car? Give me my ticket.” Hannah put out her hand, but Travis didn’t even look at her.
“No. Stay here.”
Travis walked up to the front of the line, where a small commotion was holding everyone up because of a woman trying to board with her three unruly children. Finally, the nanny scooped up the noisiest one and grasped the hand of a second child and pulled him up the steps into the Pullman car beside her.
Travis breathed deeply with relief. She got in, he thought. This shouldn’t be a problem.
The passengers continued to board, and Travis and Hannah slowly made their way up to the ticket taker.
“Ticket, please,” he said. “One to Jackson?”
“No, two,” Travis said, thrusting the tickets forward.
“Two?” He looked up and peered at Hannah. “You can’t ride in this car. You have to ride back there.” He motioned toward the rear of the train.
“It’s all right, she’s with me. I’m not feeling well, and my doctor has ordered that I be accompanied to Jackson. She was the only one who could go with me.” Travis coughed gently into his hand in support of his argument.
“You seem to be able to take care of yourself.” He squinted at Travis.
Travis ignored the man. “I’m in no condition to care for myself,” he said, moving closer to the man. “I’m running a fever, and I’m on my way to a hospital in Jackson. I could lose consciousness at any time. I need her to assist me—to—to administer my medication. Doctor’s orders.” He grabbed Hannah’s arm feigning the need to steady himself.
By now the passengers standing behind Travis and Hannah were disturbed by the wait. “What’s going on?” a woman called out from behind a large man who concealed her. “Let’s get on the train.”
The ticket taker snarled but did not speak. He stepped aside and let Travis and Hannah pass.
They climbed aboard and took their seats in the last row, where the seat backs rested against the rear wall of the car. Travis felt these seats were a bit more private than the others.
“That wasn’t too much trouble, now was it?” Hannah said, turning her head and looking out the window.
“We’re on, aren’t we?” Travis tucked his bag under the seat. He knew he had made Hannah uncomfortable. He reached over and squeezed her hand.
They fell silent while the car filled. Several passengers stared at them but lost interest when the train began to move, chugging leisurely, soothingly, as it rolled along the tracks and out of town. With the window down, Travis and Hannah could hear the men of a work crew singing as they adjusted a rail on the adjacent track. The rhythm was deliberate, almost hypnotic. At certain moments in the songs, the men moved in unison to the cadence, their sinewy arms working the lever bars that in turn moved the massive rails.
“Did you know those bars are made by the Chicago Gandy Manufacturing Company?” Travis said.
“I didn’t know that,” Hannah said, clearly not interested.
“Those men are Gandy dancers. I used to watch them when I was a kid.” He gazed out the window while the men heaved and wrestled the rails into place. “Those tunes grow on you,” he continued. “They’re all the same, in a way, even though the words are different. The men never sang any of the dirty ones, at least not when I was around.”
“I’ve never paid much attention,” Hannah said. “That’s work I didn’t plan on doing.”
Travis leaned toward the window to listen better.
I don’ know but I been told, my ol’ gal is gettin’ old.
Oh man don’t ya ride that train, I say oh man don’t ya ride that train.
Think I know what I will do, gonna git me somethin’ new.
Oh man don’t ya ride that train, I say oh man don’t ya ride that train.
Whaaaooo!
The train picked up speed, and they settled back into their seats. “You never answered what I asked you about on the platform,” Hannah said at last.
“I need to pick up my transcripts and meet with a couple of my old professors.”
“Really?” She gave him a suspicious eye. “I need to go all the way to Jackson to help you get something that could have been done by mail?”
“I need to meet with them in person.”
“What will I do?”
“Wait for me.” He gently placed her hand in his and interlocked their fingers.
A few minutes passed.
“Please,” she said.
Travis could tell she didn’t want another frivolous answer. “I need some information.”
“What do you mean?”
“Remember the file you found?” Travis stretched out his legs until his feet were underneath the seat in front of him.
“Oh, no, you’re not thinking of trying to get more information on Higson, are you?”
Travis shifted his gaze to the passing fields outside the window.
“Do you just not have enough to do?” Hannah shook her head. “We’re just going to walk into the FBI building and ask for a file that probably contains information we don’t want to know, nor should we know? Is that what you think? Why are you so intrigued?”
“I don’t know. That guy at the church got me thinking, and now I just can’t get it out of my head. I want to know what’s so secret.”
“Does your dad know what you’re up to?”
“No, I haven’t told anyone.”
“But you’re confident the FBI will help answer all your questions?”
“That’s the plan.”
Hannah stopped prodding; they both sat back and let the train’s rhythm take over. They read for a while, but soon the clack of wheels on the track put them both to sleep.
The train rolled on, rocking side to side between stops at a couple large towns that dotted the Mississippi countryside between Clarksdale and Jackson. At each stop Travis opened his eyes just a crack, watching as a few passengers disembarked and a new group boarded. Every new passenger snuck a second glance at Hannah.
Finally, Hannah and Travis were stirred from their slumber. “Next stop, Jackson!” came the call from the end of the car.
Travis stepped off the train and smiled at the comfortable feeling of knowing his way around. He had made the trip dozens of times in his four years at Millsaps.
The man who was helping passengers down to the platform eyed Travis and Hannah with contempt when they walked by.
“I’ll be back for the return trip later,” Travis said, pleasantly.
“I’ll warn tonight’s man,” he snapped.
“I’m sure you will.”
“I think the best time to get to the FBI offices will be early afternoon,” Travis said, heading to the street outside the station. “Right after lunch is good because everybody’s a little tired. Some of the staff won’t be back from eating yet, and the heat today is just downright exhausting. I’m going to tell them I’m conducting a file review for the Clarksdale district attorney. How’s that sound?”
“Are you sure about all this?”
“For now.” Travis looked at his watch. It was just past noon. “Want some lunch?”
“I’m not that hungry.”
“Well, I am. C’mon, I know a great little restaurant. We can pick something up and find a park where we can eat.”
Hannah offered no resistance, though she waited outside while Travis went in to buy lunch. And when they boarded a bus to the FBI building, Hannah spent the trip across town
riding in the rear. Travis sat with her.
“Why didn’t you put up a fight on the bus?” Hannah asked.
“Did you want me to?”
“You did on the train.”
“The ride was a lot longer.”
“It felt long in the back of the bus.”
“Sorry.” Travis didn’t know what else to say. He could tell Hannah was a little disappointed. He’d be more chivalrous next time.
Across the street from their final destination, they found a small park with several vacant benches. The many trees and bushes provided ample shade from the noonday sun. Travis chose a bench, and they sat down to eat the sandwiches and sip the cold sodas. People walking past the park glanced at them eating together and acting very friendly. But neither Travis nor Hannah noticed. She ate a little and fed the birds pieces of her bread. When she tossed some meat to them, however, Travis protested.
“I’ll eat that if you don’t want it,” he said.
Silently, she handed him the rest of her sandwich.
Travis knew Hannah was still grieving, and he wanted to say something to comfort her. But he was afraid of sounding condescending. Besides, he had no real experiences to share. The relatives he had lost were no more familiar to him than the people in the park. Most had died before he was born or when he was very young, and none had held the place in his life that Addie had held in Hannah’s.
Travis tossed some of his bread to the birds, but that wasn’t enough to get Hannah’s attention. She just sat motionless, gazing down at the birds.
Eventually, Travis broke the silence. “Are you ready to go?”
“Not really.”
“Well, I need you, so there’s no backing out now.”
Hannah said nothing.
Travis threw the leftovers from lunch to the numerous birds now stalking their bench. He balled up the rest of the trash and tossed it into a can along with their soda bottles. Then he picked up his bag, placed it on the bench, and looked through it to make sure he had everything he needed. Together, he and Hannah walked quickly across the street and entered the front door of the FBI building.
A guard’s desk was positioned at the entrance, but no one was seated at it.
“That’s plain good luck,” Travis said to Hannah. “Maybe the guard’s still at lunch. Let’s hurry before he comes back.” He pulled Hannah toward the building’s directory that was mounted on the wall near a large door. “Here it is.” Travis pointed to a line on the directory. “Records, third floor. Let’s take those stairs over there.”
He pushed open the door for her, and they ascended two flights to the third floor.
“See how easy this is?” Travis said, coming to the third floor entrance.
“It’s far from over. We’re not even out of the stairwell.”
Travis opened the door slowly and peeked into the hallway. “It’s clear.”
They stepped into the hallway and looked both ways.
“This way,” Travis said.
No sooner had he spoken then a man emerged from one of the offices. Travis was stunned: he recognized the man from the public gallery at Luke Williams’s trial. Suddenly, and for the first time, the fear of his plan falling apart crossed Travis’s mind.
“What’s the matter?” Hannah said, sensing his body tense.
The man approaching them was reading something. Travis looked around, panicky. He couldn’t chance that the man might recognize him, too. Quickly, Travis did the only thing that presented itself: he pushed Hannah into the ladies’ restroom, which was located near the stairs, and followed her in. They looked around, including under the stalls, and returned to the door to listen.
“What are you doing?” Hannah said.
Travis put his finger to his lips.
They listened as the man passed by. Travis assumed he hadn’t noticed Hannah and Travis entering the ladies’ room. Otherwise, he may have stopped.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
“I recognized him from the trial.” Travis still felt breathless. “That was close.”
“No, no, on the contrary; everything’s going just fine,” said Hannah sarcastically.
Travis paid no attention. “Check if it’s clear.”
Hannah opened the door and peeked out. “All clear.”
They stepped back into the hallway, and Travis immediately saw the door he wanted and hurried to it.
Seated behind a desk piled high with files was a white-haired woman of about sixty. Reading glasses were perched on the end of her nose, through which she squinted at the typewriter she was banging on. Each thump of a key made Travis jump a little. The woman’s fingers must certainly ache.
They stood in the doorway for what seemed like minutes until the woman finished what she was doing. She turned her head and stared down her nose at them, just like she did at her typewriter.
“Close the door, please,” she said. “Come inside or out, I don’t care which, just close the door.”
Travis closed the door and turned back to face her.
“What can I do for you?” she said.
Travis looked at her nameplate and cleared his throat. “Mrs. Beamer, my—”
“It’s Miss,” she said.
“Miss Beamer, ma’am, my name is Edward Barker and this is a friend.”
“Good afternoon, Edward.” She only glanced at Hannah.
“I’ve been sent by the district attorney of Clarksdale, Mississippi, to gather some information for an upcoming trial. This is the Records Department, isn’t it?”
“Did you not read the door?” Without waiting for a reply, she answered, “Yes, this is the FBI Records Department in Jackson. Now, these are active records. Archived records are in the basement. Have you checked in with the guard downstairs?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And you’re from where?”
“From Clarksdale. Assisting the district attorney.”
“Who is?”
“Sam Tackett.”
“I’ll need to place a telephone call to verify—”
“Oh, I’m sorry, ma’am, I almost forgot.” Travis scrambled to get something from his bag. “I have a letter from Mr. Tackett requesting assistance from the bureau and giving me authority to bring the requested information back to Clarksdale.” Travis searched for the letter in his bag.
“What kind of information are you looking for, young man?” Miss Beamer asked.
“Just some information on a couple of folks who live in Clarksdale. Personal information. Do you have those files?”
“Of course. Records are filed by region. Northwest Mississippi files are over there.” She pointed to three filing cabinets in the back corner of the room.
Travis looked in the direction she was pointing, and then at Hannah, who was also looking at them. “Do I need to check them out?” Travis said, while he took his time finding the letter.
“Yes, indeed. Files on private citizens, with the proper authorization, can be checked out at eight in the morning but must be returned by two o’clock sharp. If someone wants to look at them after that, they have to review them here.” She motioned toward a small table near the files. “We had some trouble this year with lost files. It’s more like a library now.”
Travis looked at his watch; it was 2:10 p.m. He finally pulled the letter from his bag and handed it to Miss Beamer.
She opened it carefully and began to read. Travis had typed it up last week and signed it himself. He was starting to believe he had thought of everything.
Miss Beamer looked up. “I’ll still need to call Clarksdale to verify everything. Do you have the number?”
“Let me see.” Travis picked up his bag and moved to a corner near the window. He pretended he needed the light to look inside his bag.
While he searched for the nonexistent number, Hannah sat down beside him.
“I’m still looking, Miss Beamer.”
Suddenly, the phone rang. Miss Beamer answered it. Immediately, Travis could tel
l it was a friend, and he might have a little time.
“Hannah, did you see where the files were?” Travis asked in a hushed tone. Miss Beamer was laughing now, looking out a window on the other side of the room.
“Yes, I saw.”
“If for some reason you end up in the room alone—”
“Alone? How will I end up in the room—”
“Just listen. If you do, I want you to go into the files and find anything you can on Higson. You know where to look, right? You remember the address? This is our only chance.”
“What do I do if I find something?”
“Take it. Put it in my bag or something. Hide it.”
“You mean steal it? Steal government property?”
“Yes. Steal it. We’ve got to take the files to Clarksdale. We need them. Without them, we’ve wasted our time, and we won’t know anything more than we did this morning. It’s all we’ve got, but we don’t have the time to look at them here. Now go on, walk across the room. Get her attention.”
Hannah stood up and walked toward a bookcase on the other side of the room. Miss Beamer’s eyes followed her while she continued talking on the phone, engrossed in her conversation.
Travis pulled a small bottle out of his bag. He opened it and drank the contents. He had tasted syrup of ipecac only once, when he had eaten some rat poison as a young boy. It tasted just like he remembered—bad. He thought about the big lunch he had eaten.
Five minutes went by, then ten.
Finally, Miss Beamer said good-bye and hung up the phone. “I’m sorry. That was my aunt who I haven’t spoken to since last year. Did you find the number?”
“No, not yet.” Beads of perspiration had started to form on his lip.
“I’ll get the number,” Miss Beamer said, reaching for the phone.
“No, that’s all right, I’ll find it. But can I open a window? All of a sudden, I’m not feeling well.” Travis unlatched the window and stood near it breathing in the warm air.
“Edward, why don’t you have a seat? You do look a little pale. Do you need some water?”
“No, thank you. I’ll just keep looking for the number in all these papers I brought.”
Hannah looked toward Travis and walked back to him. “Are you okay?”
Travis looked at her intently. “Do what I told you. Please.”
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