wake up this morning and decide you wanted to get a look at the son of the
man who killed those women back in the day?”
“Your dad wasn’t a
murderer, Mr. Thomas,” I say. “We know that, and we’d like other people to know
it, too.”
Mr. Thomas wipes a
counter that isn’t dirty. “Well, young lady, it seems to me you’re about
seventy years too late to do any good. My daddy served thirty years of hard
time for a crime he didn’t commit. By the time he got out and got a job and got
married, he was older than I am now... too old to be just starting out in life
and too scarred to put the pain of the past thirty years behind him. He had had
his life taken away from him, and even with a wife and son who loved him, he
never got it back. So unless you and your friend can travel back in time, I
don’t reckon there’s much you can do to make a difference.”
Half of me wants to turn
around and walk out, but the braver half of me says, “What if we proved he was
innocent and cleared his name so he wouldn’t go down in history as a murderer?
Would that make a difference? At least to you?”
Mr. Thomas shrugs. “Maybe
to me; I don’t know. But it’s not like you kids are gonna be able to figure
this out. You’re what, ten years old?”
“Eleven,”
Adam says, sounding offended.
“Oh, I beg your pardon,
then,” Mr. Thomas says, laughing.“That gives you one more full year of
investigative experience.”
“Mr. Thomas,” I say,
deciding to take a risk since we’ve got nothing to lose, “You might think I’m
crazy for saying this, but I’m not like other eleven-year-old girls. I...I can
see things.”
Mr. Thomas raises an
eyebrow. “What kind of things?”
“I have the Sight. Well,
that’s what everybody in my family calls it. But you could also call it being
psychic or having ESP. All the women in my family have it. My mom, my granny.”
“They live in Wilder
too?” Mr Thomas asks.
“Yessir. My granny’s name
is Irene Chandler, but her maiden name was Stone. Her mother had the Sight,
too. She lived out in the woods near Wilder and made potions and tonics for
people.”
“Huh,” Mr. Thomas says.
“Your granny’s mama, she wasn’t the one they called the Witch Woman, was she?”
I grin. “That was her. Of
course, they call Granny and Mom both that now.”
“My daddy used to tell me
a story,” Mr. Thomas says, “about his little baby cousin. The baby was real
sick, wouldn’t eat or move his bowels, and the doctor told the family there
wasn’t anything he could do; they just had to let nature take its course. Well,
the family wasn’t gonna give up that easily, so they took the baby to this old
lady everybody called the Witch Woman that lived out in the woods. She gave the
baby some kind of tonic, and it fixed him right up.”
“That would’ve been my
great-grandmother,” I say. “So do you think, out of respect to her, you might
talk to us a little?”
“Well,
I don’t know that my talking to you will do much good,” Mr. Thomas says, “but I
don’t guess it’ll do any harm either.” He glances down at his watch. “Lunch
rush won’t start for another twenty minutes. Sit on down.”
The three of us sit down
at a table, and I take a bite of my pie. The crust is buttery and flaky, and
the filling is sweet and spicy at the same time. “This pie is great,” I say.
Mr.Thomas smiles. “My
mama’s recipe. All the American food I cook here I learned how to make from my
mama. My mother was from Wilder, too. She was one of the folks who got forced
onto the trains the night of the murder. She was just a girl, not much older
than you. She ended up here in Lexington with her parents. Every week she’d write
my dad in jail and tell him she loved him and she’d wait for him. She waited
thirty years even though he begged her to find somebody else, he said thirty
years was too long to ask somebody to wait. When they finally got married, Mama
thought she was too old to have a
man who killed those women back in the day?”
“Your dad wasn’t a
murderer, Mr. Thomas,” I say. “We know that, and we’d like other people to know
it, too.”
Mr. Thomas wipes a
counter that isn’t dirty. “Well, young lady, it seems to me you’re about
seventy years too late to do any good. My daddy served thirty years of hard
time for a crime he didn’t commit. By the time he got out and got a job and got
married, he was older than I am now... too old to be just starting out in life
and too scarred to put the pain of the past thirty years behind him. He had had
his life taken away from him, and even with a wife and son who loved him, he
never got it back. So unless you and your friend can travel back in time, I
don’t reckon there’s much you can do to make a difference.”
Half of me wants to turn
around and walk out, but the braver half of me says, “What if we proved he was
innocent and cleared his name so he wouldn’t go down in history as a murderer?
Would that make a difference? At least to you?”
Mr. Thomas shrugs. “Maybe
to me; I don’t know. But it’s not like you kids are gonna be able to figure
this out. You’re what, ten years old?”
“Eleven,”
Adam says, sounding offended.
“Oh, I beg your pardon,
then,” Mr. Thomas says, laughing.“That gives you one more full year of
investigative experience.”
“Mr. Thomas,” I say,
deciding to take a risk since we’ve got nothing to lose, “You might think I’m
crazy for saying this, but I’m not like other eleven-year-old girls. I...I can
see things.”
Mr. Thomas raises an
eyebrow. “What kind of things?”
“I have the Sight. Well,
that’s what everybody in my family calls it. But you could also call it being
psychic or having ESP. All the women in my family have it. My mom, my granny.”
“They live in Wilder
too?” Mr Thomas asks.
“Yessir. My granny’s name
is Irene Chandler, but her maiden name was Stone. Her mother had the Sight,
too. She lived out in the woods near Wilder and made potions and tonics for
people.”
“Huh,” Mr. Thomas says.
“Your granny’s mama, she wasn’t the one they called the Witch Woman, was she?”
I grin. “That was her. Of
course, they call Granny and Mom both that now.”
“My daddy used to tell me
a story,” Mr. Thomas says, “about his little baby cousin. The baby was real
sick, wouldn’t eat or move his bowels, and the doctor told the family there
wasn’t anything he could do; they just had to let nature take its course. Well,
the family wasn’t gonna give up that easily, so they took the baby to this old
lady everybody called the Witch Woman that lived out in the woods. She gave the
baby some kind of tonic, and it fixed him right up.”
“That would’ve been my
great-grandmother,” I say. “So do you think, out of respect to her, you might
talk to us a little?”
“Well,
I don’t know that my talking to you will do much good,” Mr. Thomas says, “but I
don’t guess it’ll do any harm either.” He glances down at his watch. “Lunch
rush won’t start for another twenty minutes. Sit on down.”
The three of us sit down
at a table, and I take a bite of my pie. The crust is buttery and flaky, and
the filling is sweet and spicy at the same time. “This pie is great,” I say.
Mr.Thomas smiles. “My
mama’s recipe. All the American food I cook here I learned how to make from my
mama. My mother was from Wilder, too. She was one of the folks who got forced
onto the trains the night of the murder. She was just a girl, not much older
than you. She ended up here in Lexington with her parents. Every week she’d write
my dad in jail and tell him she loved him and she’d wait for him. She waited
thirty years even though he begged her to find somebody else, he said thirty
years was too long to ask somebody to wait. When they finally got married, Mama
thought she was too old to have a
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