his handkerchief.
Gramps shook his head. âOn the chain gang, them folks werenât no joke. When I was close to finishing my ten-year sentence, they said there had been a mistake. I wasnât the one whoâd done that crime after all. So they was letting me go early. Six months before my ten years was up, and they come telling me that. No apology, no compensation for time lost. Nothing, but âWe made an error. You now free to go.â That was it.â
Zenobia got up, went to her father, and put her arm around him. âIâm so sorry, Daddy. I never knew any of this.â Now she was crying.
âOh, that was a normal thing back in my day. We learned to call on the Lord early. When things start riding your back, you fall on your knees and tell the Lord about it.â Gramps sat back in his chair and motioned for Zenobia to go sit back down. He had more to tell. âIâm just thankful that my fate wasnât like so many other innocent men gone now. So when I tell folks that the Lord saved me, He saved me in more ways than one.â
âWhat happened after you returned to Asheville?â Clarence asked. âDid you go back and find Sarah?â
âI was going to go look for her,â Gramps said. âBut as soon as I got back to Asheville, and my old friend, Pearl Black, heard I was in town, she quickly came to see me and told me I needed to lay low in a hurry. We pretended that I left town just as quick as Iâd come. Pearl sneaked me back to her place and hid me out for about a month. She and I grew up together. When we were kids, we were closer than white on rice. Pearl was a tad bit older than I was, but we were like peas in a pod. She was like a big sister. Course, Iâd been gone all that time, and both Pearl and I were a lot older by the time I returned. But minds donât seem to age like our bodies do. With us, it was just like it was when we were younger. That was around the beginning of April in 1943. She was thirty-nine; I was thirty-three.â
âAnd you actually remember how old she was?â Zenobia asked with a mischievous grin. âMost men I know have a hard time remembering their own age, let alone recalling someone elseâs. And that was a little over sixty-five years ago.â
Gramps remembered because he and Pearl discussed their ages at that time. âYou remember dates like that when you have markers, like when you were released from hard labor. Where we were in life was so different from where we thought we would be. Pearl thought she would be married with a houseful of children. And I never thought Iâd leave that prison alive.â With his hand shaking, he picked up his glass and sipped his water.
âPearl had been there with the Flemings,â Gramps said, continuing the tale. âPearl was a midwife, as was her mother before her. Pearl happened to be there when Sarah delivered her baby. Pearl was the one who helped bring my daughter into the world.â
âYour daughter? â Zenobia practically screeched the words as she sprung up.
âYes, my daughter. You see, Sarah was pregnant when I left. At first, Sarahâs daddy believed the baby was this other fellaâs that lived down the road from them. But when the real truth came out and her daddy saw Sarah was more determined than ever to keep her baby and still be with me, thatâs when he seemed to come around and try to help us. That was the only reason I left her to go take that job. Sarah was having our child, and I wanted to do right by my family.â
âSo, I have a sister?â Zenobia asked, sitting down as though she was in shock.
âNo . . . yes,â Gramps said, sounding confused. âOkay, you see, the baby was born. When I got back to Asheville, the first person I saw was my friend Samuel L. Williams. Sam told me heâd heard Pearl had delivered a baby girl for Sarah, but the baby had died right after she was born.
C. J. Cherryh
Learning to Kill: Stories
John O'Riley
Brenda Sinclair
Christopher George
Stephen Lloyd Jones
Karl Iagnemma
Celya Bowers
Jill Gregory
Aria Cunningham