AllFreeNovel
Share Us
He said, “Pearl, you are one fine artist. When did you draw these?”
“Momma brought me the paper, and the guard here say it okay if I have a pencil. And I ain’t got nothin’ else to do ’cept worry ’bout everythin’.”
* * *
That evening they drove out to the Washingtons’ home. Miss Jessup was also there helping Pearl’s mother, Maggie.
“I’ve seen you in court; I’m surprised Ashby gave you time off,” said Jack.
“Me and Mr. Ashby have made us a deal,” said Miss Jessup. “Leastways I told him where I needed to be. I made him enough food to last him a while and the house is all clean. And he’s got his liquor.”
“How about Albert Custer, Pearl’s boss?” said Jack.
“That man ain’t never gonna trouble no woman again.”
“They didn’t kill him, did they?” exclaimed Jack anxiously.
She said primly, “No, but he probably wishes they had.”
“Wait a minute. You don’t mean—”
Miss Jessup cut him off. “I mean he ain’t gonna be troublin’ no woman no more.”
DuBose showed Pearl’s letter to the two older children, six-year-old Elijah, who was tall like his father, and four-year-old Kayla, who was petite like her mother. Darla Jean perched quietly in her playpen, watching all of them.
“Your momma is quite an artist,” Jack told the children.
“How are Momma and Daddy?” asked Elijah solemnly.
DuBose said, “They’re doing okay. They miss all of you so much.”
“When they comin’ home?” asked Kayla in a small voice.
“I hope soon,” said DuBose.
“Come on, children, time to eat,” said Maggie, and she led them into the kitchen after picking up Darla Jean.
Miss Jessup said, “Now you can tell me how you really feel.”
“It’s Virginia, and our clients are Black,” said DuBose candidly.
“So not good then?” said Miss Jessup.
“We have to hope for the best and prepare for the worst,” said DuBose.
“Honey, I been doin’ that my whole life, and the worst is pretty much all I ever got.”
CHAPTER 78
JACK PARKED IN FRONT OF his parents’ house, and he and DuBose got out. When Jack heard someone calling his name, he turned to see the old man waving at him from the large, rambling house several up from his parents.
After telling DuBose that he would meet her in the garage, Jack strode off and met up with the man in the latter’s front yard. “Hey, Mr. Ashby, how you doing?”
Ronald Ashby would have been around Jack’s height, but his spine was bent painfully forward and his spindly legs were clearly failing. He was thinly built, except for his pot belly, and his hair was nearly all gone, the exposed scalp burnt by the sun. He wore a faded blue shirt, wrinkled beige slacks, and comfortable-looking slippers with no socks. He had a cane in hand and had it pressed firm against the earth to hold himself up.
“Doin’, Jack Lee. Doin’,” he drawled.
“I just saw Miss Jessup over at her granddaughter’s house. She said—”
