neck. “He’s got a pulse.”
I saw Mose breathe out a deep sigh of relief.
Albert knelt at the safe. From where I stood, I could see it was full of papers and letters and such, bound up with twine or ribbon. There was also money, two thick stacks of bills.
“Odie,” he said. “Get the pillowcase from Emmy’s bed.”
I ran upstairs and down the hallway to her room. I pulled the cover off her pillow and started back. As I passed the Brickmans’ bedroom, Miss Stratton called, “Odie?”
I stepped into the doorway. Without the flashlight, I could hardly see a thing.
From the bed, she said, “Will you tell on me?”
If we did, it would mean her job and her reputation, and I didn’t know if she had anything else.
“No, ma’am. I promise.”
“Thank you, Odie.” Then she said, “If I could, I would leave, too.”
And I realized there were prisoners at Lincoln School who weren’t children.
“Good luck, Miss Stratton.”
“God be with you, Odie.”
I returned to the study, handed Albert the pillowcase, and he bent to the safe. The first thing he did was return my harmonica to me. Then he began throwing everything into the pillowcase—the money, papers, a leather book of some kind, and a couple of stacks of letters bound with twine.
“What do we need all that for?” I asked.
“If the Brickmans put it in here, it’s worth something.”
When he’d cleaned out the safe, Albert considered the gun he’d taken from Mr. Brickman.
“Leave it,” Volz said. “It will only bring you more trouble.”
Albert threw it in the pillowcase anyway and stood up.
“Time to go,” he said.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
WE REGROUPED ON the old parade ground under a glaring white moon. The buildings of Lincoln School rose square and black around us and cast great shadows. They should have felt familiar after all these years, but that night, everything felt different, huge and menacing. The air itself seemed unsettled, full of raw threat.
God be with you . That was the last thing Miss Stratton had said to me. But the God I knew now was not a God I wanted with me. In my experience, he was a God who didn’t give but only took, a God of unpredictable whim and terrible consequence. My anger at him surpassed even my hatred of the Brickmans, because the way they treated me was exactly what I expected. But God? I’d had my hopes once; now I had no idea what to expect.
“You all wait on the other side of the dining hall,” Volz said. “I get my automobile and pick you up.”
“There’s something I have to do first,” I said.
“What now?” Albert said.
“Can I have the key to the carpentry shop, Mr. Volz?” I asked.
“What for, Odie?”
“Please.”
“Just give it to him, Herman,” Albert said. “We’re wasting time.”
Volz took a small ring of keys from his pocket, detached one of them, and handed it to me.
“Behind the dining hall in fifteen minutes,” I said.
The carpentry shop, when I unlocked and opened the door, was a confusion of smells—varnish, sawdust, oils, turpentine. I turned on the light and went to a wooden cabinet along one of the walls.Inside were paint cans, arranged and stacked by color and purpose. I grabbed a can of black paint and pulled one of the brushes from the shelf above. I turned out the light, locked the shop, and hurried away.
The water tower, whose whitewashing had been interrupted by the tornado, was now fully painted, Samuel Kills Many’s parting sentiment completely obliterated. I stood at the base of one of the long legs, where the ladder was affixed, and stared up at the tank, which was clean and frost white in the moonlight. It was like the face of a naïve child turned toward heaven with nothing but pure expectation. I hooked the handle of the paint can into the crook of my arm, stuffed the brush into the waist of my pants, and began to climb. The catwalk that circumscribed the tank was a hundred feet above the ground. When I reached it, I paused a moment and
I saw Mose breathe out a deep sigh of relief.
Albert knelt at the safe. From where I stood, I could see it was full of papers and letters and such, bound up with twine or ribbon. There was also money, two thick stacks of bills.
“Odie,” he said. “Get the pillowcase from Emmy’s bed.”
I ran upstairs and down the hallway to her room. I pulled the cover off her pillow and started back. As I passed the Brickmans’ bedroom, Miss Stratton called, “Odie?”
I stepped into the doorway. Without the flashlight, I could hardly see a thing.
From the bed, she said, “Will you tell on me?”
If we did, it would mean her job and her reputation, and I didn’t know if she had anything else.
“No, ma’am. I promise.”
“Thank you, Odie.” Then she said, “If I could, I would leave, too.”
And I realized there were prisoners at Lincoln School who weren’t children.
“Good luck, Miss Stratton.”
“God be with you, Odie.”
I returned to the study, handed Albert the pillowcase, and he bent to the safe. The first thing he did was return my harmonica to me. Then he began throwing everything into the pillowcase—the money, papers, a leather book of some kind, and a couple of stacks of letters bound with twine.
“What do we need all that for?” I asked.
“If the Brickmans put it in here, it’s worth something.”
When he’d cleaned out the safe, Albert considered the gun he’d taken from Mr. Brickman.
“Leave it,” Volz said. “It will only bring you more trouble.”
Albert threw it in the pillowcase anyway and stood up.
“Time to go,” he said.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
WE REGROUPED ON the old parade ground under a glaring white moon. The buildings of Lincoln School rose square and black around us and cast great shadows. They should have felt familiar after all these years, but that night, everything felt different, huge and menacing. The air itself seemed unsettled, full of raw threat.
God be with you . That was the last thing Miss Stratton had said to me. But the God I knew now was not a God I wanted with me. In my experience, he was a God who didn’t give but only took, a God of unpredictable whim and terrible consequence. My anger at him surpassed even my hatred of the Brickmans, because the way they treated me was exactly what I expected. But God? I’d had my hopes once; now I had no idea what to expect.
“You all wait on the other side of the dining hall,” Volz said. “I get my automobile and pick you up.”
“There’s something I have to do first,” I said.
“What now?” Albert said.
“Can I have the key to the carpentry shop, Mr. Volz?” I asked.
“What for, Odie?”
“Please.”
“Just give it to him, Herman,” Albert said. “We’re wasting time.”
Volz took a small ring of keys from his pocket, detached one of them, and handed it to me.
“Behind the dining hall in fifteen minutes,” I said.
The carpentry shop, when I unlocked and opened the door, was a confusion of smells—varnish, sawdust, oils, turpentine. I turned on the light and went to a wooden cabinet along one of the walls.Inside were paint cans, arranged and stacked by color and purpose. I grabbed a can of black paint and pulled one of the brushes from the shelf above. I turned out the light, locked the shop, and hurried away.
The water tower, whose whitewashing had been interrupted by the tornado, was now fully painted, Samuel Kills Many’s parting sentiment completely obliterated. I stood at the base of one of the long legs, where the ladder was affixed, and stared up at the tank, which was clean and frost white in the moonlight. It was like the face of a naïve child turned toward heaven with nothing but pure expectation. I hooked the handle of the paint can into the crook of my arm, stuffed the brush into the waist of my pants, and began to climb. The catwalk that circumscribed the tank was a hundred feet above the ground. When I reached it, I paused a moment and
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