by Leah Pileggi
“Don’t know if you can make it that far, Jake,” he said.
I wobbled on out the door.
TWENTY-TWO
Took me some extra time to make it to the hogs, I felt so weak. Didn’t neither one of us talk none ‘til we reached the pen. Mr. Criswell seen me and started over with Charles right behind him. To Henry I said, “I’d like to see the warden sometime. I know he’s busy. Just when he can.”
Henry nodded. Then he turned and left me at my job.
Mr. Criswell asked, “You okay, Jake?” And Charles’s face asked the same thing.
I nodded, reaching for my rake. We three worked the hogs. I had to hold on to the fence a few times, feeling sorta dizzy. Charles had a couple apples in his pockets. He give me one, and I ate the whole thing, seeds and all. Then he give me what he hadn’t yet ate. And then I kept on working.
Me and Charles was getting dippers of water. I asked him, “You read much?”
He gagged on a mouthful of water. “So you remember how to talk?”
I didn’t feel like fooling around. “You read?”
“Yeah, I can read. Some. Margaret’s the big reader. Always correcting everybody.”
We walked back to the hogs, done with the day’s work. I asked, “You got a book I can use? A easy book.”
“I don’t know.”
Mr. Criswell said, “We have some books you can borrow, Jake. I’ll have Margaret pick them out.”
I nodded, leaning again on the fence just as Henry come into view.
Mr. Criswell said, “Make sure you clean your plate at dinnertime, Jake. We don’t want you to disappear on us.”
Charles said, “See you tomorrow.”
All I could manage was “Yeah.” And then me and Henry started back. We wasn’t silent on that trip.
We walked some, and then Henry said, “I’m not your mama, Jake.” We kept moving on. “I don’t know how I got to be the one to take care of you all the time.”
“Didn’t ask ya.”
Henry picked up a rock and whipped it at the hills. “Earl Norton was a good man.” He stopped walking. I did, too. “It isn’t your fault that he’s dead, but I can’t help thinking it might have been different if you weren’t here. But that isn’t your fault. They should not have put you here.”
We both started out again.
Henry went on. “I didn’t really think about maybe getting shot when I took this job. Nobody thinks it’ll happen to him. But things happen all right.” He snorted some and then spit. “I did want you to know that it looks like maybe Slim won’t lose his leg after all.”
I nodded. “Why’d you take this job?” I asked.
“It’s steady work.”
“That it?”
He got quiet. Then he said, “My father never thought I was tough. I knew I was.”
“So what’s he say ‘bout this here job?”
“He’s been dead a few years now.”
I had to smile, the first time in days. “So you took this job to prove that you’s tough. To prove it to your pa who’s dead.”
Henry kicked at a clump of prairie grass.
I said, “You’s too smart for this job, Henry. You can read and you can understand things other people don’t get at all. You ought to be a lawyer. You’s way smarter than that idiot got me stuck in here.”
I was talking to the wide-open air. Henry had stopped a few steps back, and he had a sorta surprised look on his face.
He caught up to me. “I’ve got some money saved up now,” he said, “but I didn’t know what I was saving for. Maybe I should try to be a lawyer.”
“That’d show your old dead pa.”
We both laughed at that.
Christmas come and went with some food and some singing, but nobody much seemed to care.
The day after, heard I was finally going to see Warden Johnson. I had a lot to get off my mind.
Henry walked me on over. Mr. Davenport, the new assistant warden with his sharp pointy nose, looked over his glasses at me and Henry for a long second and then got up and led us into the warden’s office.
Henry closed the door and stood beside it. I set down in the chair in front of the warden’s desk.
“How have you been doing, Jake?” White Beard leaned forward at his desk.
I said, “Fine, sir.”
“I didn’t check on you myself these last days because I had a lot to do.”
I nodded. And then I said, “I’m sorry ‘bout Mr. Norton. I didn’t never mean for that to happen.”
The warden said, “He was just doing his job, Jake. He was going for Mr. Harrow’s gun when he got shot.”
That chair felt mighty uncomfortable. I shifted around.
“I understand you’ve been eating again,” said the warden.
My head drooped down. “Yes, sir.”
“Well, Jake, you asked to see me.”
“There’s somethin’ I want.”
“What’s that, Jake?” he asked.
“A letter from my pa.”
The warden looked on over at Henry and then back at me. “I don’t think your pa is going to write, Jake.”
“I seen a letter when that Mr. Bradshaw was here. He had a letter for me from Pa, but he didn’t give it to me.”
The warden set up straight. “Is that right?”
“I want it. And I’ll read it. Myself. With no help from nobody.”
“Are you reading again with Mr. Han?”
“It’s Mr. Shin, sir. In China, the names is backwards to us.”
“Oh. Well, then,” he said, “are you reading with Mr. Shin?”
“That’s part of what I wanted to tell you. I want to keep reading, but, well, I think Mr. Hawkes might be the best teacher. Actually, I think Henry would be the real best, but he’s goin’ on to be a lawyer.”
Henry made a noise like he was ‘bout to suffocate.
The warden didn’t look toward Henry, but he smiled and said, “Well, that’s a good thing, Jake. Henry’s a smart man. We could use some smart lawyers.”
Henry stood, shuffling his feet.
“I got more years in this place, so I figure I’ll learn readin’ good enough to read Pa’s letter on my own sometime before I get out. And I think Mr. Hawkes should teach Mr. Shin and Mr. Wu, too. And anybody else wants to learn to read.”
“I’ll talk to Brother Hawkes about your idea.”
“And I’m gettin’ some books from Margaret. I mean, from Mr. Criswell.”
“I see.”
That chair was making my backside fall asleep. “Can I go now?”
“Yes, of course, Jake.” I got up to leave. “Henry,” said the warden, “you come on back after you get Jake out to the yard.”
Henry’s voice sounded like a scared mouse. “Yes, sir,” he said. And I went on out to finish my ninety outside minutes.
TWENTY-THREE
Mr. Hawkes got awful uppity, heading up a bunch of know-nothing inmates, teaching us to read. New Year’s come and went and then all of January and on into February. Had us some snowy days, and snow or not it got mighty cold, outside and in. But I didn’t slack off reading. Felt I was making some progress, but I never showed Mr. Hawkes the books Margaret give to me. Weren’t none of his business. And I was reading some pieces in them by myself.
Me and Mr. Shin and Mr. Wu and another man named Joe was setting at the breakfast table where we met most afternoons to read. It weren’t going so good.
“What is that word?” asked Mr. Hawkes, holding up the slate. But I couldn’t figure it out. I was trying to cram too many things into my thick brain. Felt like my head would explode. Mr. Hawkes said nice and loud, “Perhaps you’ve learned all that you will ever learn, Jake.” I didn’t think he was right, but the next day I panicked, just in case he was.
“I’m not supposed to tell you,” said Henry as we walked quick toward the hogs, trying to stay warm in the cold morning air.
“Well, if you ain’t supposed to tell me, then don’t,” I sai
d.
Henry slowed down some. “You’re getting out, Jake.”
I stopped walking.
“They’s throwin’ me out?”
“They aren’t throwing you out, Jake. You’re getting a pardon. From the governor.”
I was afraid to think ‘bout what that meant.
“You’ve got about three weeks until the lawyer comes, Jake. Don’t mention that I told you. I wasn’t supposed to.”
“Three weeks?” I had three weeks left to learn enough reading to ‘cipher Pa’s letter.
At the hogs, I shoveled double fast.
“Hold on, Jake,” said Mr. Criswell. “Where’s the fire?”
“I was wonderin’, well, you know how to read, don’t you, Mr. Criswell?”
“I do.” He bent back and looked at me, grinning ear to ear. “Are you saying that you’d rather learn to read than work the hogs?”
“Yes, sir. That’s right.”
“Well then, finish up here, and then you come on over to the house.”
He didn’t tell me Margaret was going to be my teacher. That first day, I wasn’t able to hear much of anything ‘cept her voice drifting around my head. I coulda ridden right out on a cloud. Soon as I left her, I realized I only had three weeks less one day left ‘til I would have to read my letter or maybe never learn any more reading. Enough of that mooning stuff. The next day, I pretended Margaret was just some old dried-up schoolteacher. And mostly I just didn’t look her way.
I asked, staring at the page, “Why don’t this word say ‘throwg’ instead of ‘through’?”
She said, “Doesn’t.”
“Doesn’t what?” I really was trying.
“Why doesn’t it say ‘throwg’ instead of ‘through’?”
“Okay. Why doesn’t it?”
“That’s just the way it is, Jake. Some of the words, you’ll just have to memorize.”
I nodded. “‘Til they look like old friends.”
She laughed. Her chin kinda lifted up when she done that. Had to tell myself, Old dried-up schoolteacher, old dried-up schoolteacher.
I weren’t getting anywhere that afternoon with Mr. Hawkes’s reading lesson. He just plain give me the hardest words possible. Mr. Shin was having as much trouble, and Mr. Wu and Joe had done give up. So after Henry took me to the honey bucket cell before bed, I asked him, “Could you help me with the primer?” He stayed ‘til there weren’t no more light to read, and every day he helped as much as he had time. And by the end of my three weeks, we had got through most of it.
The next day, Henry told me, “Today’s the day, Jake. You’ll see the warden after dinner. Remember, you don’t know anything.”
“I already got you in trouble, Henry, tellin’ him ‘bout your lawyerin’ and such. I won’t let on.”
“It’s okay, Jake. I might not have been brave enough to tell him myself.”
Had my breakfast, worked the hogs, read with Margaret, ate my dinner of dried beef with potatoes, and I was setting at the reading table, not listening to one word Mr. Hawkes said.
“Jake,” said Henry, who had just come into the block.
“Yes, Henry,” I said.
“The warden would like to see you.”
Mr. Hawkes give me a look like You done it now.
“Excuse me, Mr. Hawkes.” I followed Henry out the door and across to Warden Johnson’s office.
TWENTY-FOUR
March 4, 1886
I set before the warden on that hard wood chair. Mr. Bradshaw, Esquire, set in a chair beside me.
“Jake,” said the warden, “you remember Mr. Bradshaw?”
I crossed my arms and said, “I sure do.”
“Well, Jake, Mr. Bradshaw has some good news.”
Mr. Bradshaw cleared his throat. It didn’t work, so he done it again. And then he said, “You’ve been pardoned by the governor.”
“Pardoned?” I asked. “What does that mean?”
“It means you’re getting out of the penitentiary.”
Even though I knew it was coming, those words shook me. Didn’t know if I wanted to laugh or cry.
“I have the papers here if you want to see them,” he said.
“Yes, sir, I’d like to see them.” My hands was wet with sweat, and they was shaking just a little bit.
Mr. Bradshaw handed them to me. “If you’d like me to read—”
“No, sir. I can read.”
I seen Mr. Bradshaw look over at the warden. I sorted through the papers, some as long as my arm. But no letter.
I turned and looked straight at Mr. Bradshaw. “Where’s my letter?”
“Letter? What letter?”
“My letter from Pa. The letter you was supposed to give me last time you set here.”
His mouth dropped open.
Warden Johnson said, “Is there a letter, Mr. Bradshaw?”
Mr. Bradshaw shut his mouth and then reached slow down into his bag and pulled out my letter. I dropped the other papers on the desk and grabbed for it, but he held it as far away from me as he could.
“It’s best you don’t have this, Jake,” said Mr. Bradshaw.
“It’s mine. It’s a letter to me, ain’t that right?”
“Well, yes. But …”
Warden Johnson said, “Are you sure you want it, Jake?”
“Don’t matter what it says. I mean, it doesn’t matter what it says. It’s mine.”
Mr. Bradshaw thought for a second and then he handed the letter to me. I folded it and tucked it in my shirt. Looked like Mr. Bradshaw wanted to say something, but I ignored him and asked the warden, “The rest of this stuff, what does it say, without readin’ the whole dang stack?”
I pushed the papers across the desk to Warden Johnson, who straightened them into a neat pile. “Basically, it says that even though you were sentenced to five years for the crime of manslaughter, the jury at your trial was unable to agree as to whether you were responsible for your acts or not.”
“But I thought …”
Warden Johnson held up one particular long document in both hands and continued on. “It says you were sentenced upon a plea of ‘guilty of manslaughter.’ That shouldn’t have happened, Jake. Your lawyer should not have had you plead guilty.”
I set up a little straighter.
“It seems that some businessmen took up your cause, Jake. This is a petition they sent to the governor. It says that if you’re required to serve the full term of imprisonment, it will tend to demoralize instead of reform you. I think you understand what that means.” He set the document down and rested his forehead in his hands. “I believed that right from the start, but I had no choice.”
“It weren’t your fault,” I said. “And now you’s helping make it right.”
The warden’s old eyes got shiny, and he wiped them with his handkerchief.
I had to know. “Where are they sending me?”
He smiled then. “You’re going to live with a foster family that the governor’s office arranged for you, with my help.”
And I knew what family that had to be. I was practically a brother already.
“That’s fine,” I said, jumping up from my chair.
“Don’t you want the information, Jake?”
“No, sir. I’m fine.” I turned to go. “Wait, when am I gettin’ out?”
“Tomorrow, son.”
Couldn’t hardly believe it. “Okay, then. I’ll be ready.” I was mostly out the door when I leaned back in. “Mr. Bradshaw? Henry here is going to be a lawyer. He’s real smart. You might want him to work with you.”
He managed, “Oh. Well, maybe we can talk.”
And then I remembered something I had to do. I looked right at Warden Johnson and said, “Thank you, sir.”
I walked on out to the yard for my ninety minutes, Pa’s letter resting next to my skin. I kept to myself, just kinda walking around and around. What if I had not learned enough to read what Pa wrote? I couldn’t let anyone else read my letter for me. But then I thou
ght maybe I could. Maybe I’d let my new pa, Mr. Criswell.
TWENTY-FIVE
March 5, 1886
On my way to the hogs, I said, “Henry, I don’t have to eat that mornin’ swill ever again.”
He laughed. “That’s right.”
“I’ll have me some eggs and milk and maybe some flapjacks even.” I licked at my lips.
“Hold on there. Don’t get ahead of yourself.”
But I already pictured myself at the breakfast table, Annie and Lily asking a thousand questions. And Margaret. And, okay, Charles, too. I was practically running by then. We come up on the hogs. “Mornin’, Mr. Criswell,” I said, and I give him a right big smile.
“Morning, Jake. Seems you’re chipper today.” He was playing along.
“Yes, sir.”
“I heard you’re being released today. Is that right?”
“Heard that, huh?” I was playing along, too.
Charles come around from the shed ‘bout then.
“Yep,” I said, nice and loud. “I’ll be moving along down the road after my dinner.”
Charles stood beside me, looking at me like he didn’t know.
I kept on. “Moving along to somebody’s house is what they tell me.”
Now Charles shifted from one foot to the other to the other.
Mr. Criswell said, “You got something to say, Charles?”
He kicked at a clump of dirt. “You coulda told me, Pa. That’s all.”
“Well, I didn’t.”
Guess Mr. Criswell wanted to keep the big old surprise all to hisself.
Charles asked, “You really leaving that place today, Jake?”
“That’s right. Free like a bird.”
He stood, nodding. Not like a Mr. Criswell nod, but like a trying-to-make-sense-of-it nod. “So, where ya going?”
I opened my mouth to tell Charles the big surprise, but Mr. Criswell got real busy then, giving orders. Do this, do that. Me and my new almost-brother couldn’t clean nothing right, couldn’t move them hogs fast enough. Didn’t get to read with Margaret. And by the time Henry come back, I still had my letter tucked in my shirt, unread.