Twelve
I spent the next few days visiting Eldred Mims at the county jail every afternoon. His entire face was swollen, nearly beyond recognition. It was difficult for him to eat, so I took him soft food, despite the objections of the guards whose job it was to search visitors for contraband. One day it was mashed potatoes and gravy. Another day, chicken noodle soup. He especially liked Blanche’s sweet potato casserole.
At some point I realized that I missed the smacking noise he usually made while talking. He held his mouth as still as possible while he ate, allowing the food to melt in his mouth before swallowing it. It made him seem like more of a stranger than he really was to me, that absence of familiar noise.
I didn’t know what to say to him at first. I wanted to ask him why he lied to the lawyer, but I felt like it would take too much effort and a lot more privacy to do the subject justice.
So we talked, well - I mostly did the talking, about the weather and about the Christmas holidays coming up. We talked about what we would plant in the spring and how maybe it was time for a real garden in the back yard, a garden that grew fresh vegetables we could put up. I knew Blanche would not be thrilled with the prospect of canning, but we talked about it anyway, just like it was a sure thing. I left when it seemed he was tired of conversation. I could tell it still hurt him to speak, but every day it got easier to understand what he said. His jaw had not been broken, thank goodness, just dislocated and bruised.
He didn’t seem too worried about the trial. Once when I talked to him about getting out of jail, he stopped me cold. “I’m innocent until proven guilty, Miz Beckworth. Tha’s what the law says. All’s I got to do is stick to the truth, way I see it. They cain’t convict me of somethin’ I ain’t done.”
I thought about it a moment and then said, “One would hope not, Mr. Mims, but then, they shouldn’t have beat you up for nothing either.”
“That's what I get for resistin’ arrest, ain’t it?”
The man had a remarkable sense of humor. Even I had to laugh at the sheer ridiculousness of it. I let the matter drop for a while.
Finally, one day when there was a disturbance at the other end of the ward, I seized the opportunity to ask him why he hadn’t told Jeffrey Thatcher the truth about Marcus following him home on Thanksgiving.
“That boy didn’t follow me home,” Eddie said.
I felt my jaw drop in spite of my many years of instruction in good manners.
“You don’t have to lie to me, Eddie,” I leaned forward and whispered. “I know Marcus talked to you that evening.”
“I don’t know what you’re talkin' about,” he spoke with his jaw clinched tight and turned his head toward the wall. I couldn’t let him off the hook this time.
“You most certainly do know what I’m talking about. Marcus followed you home from my house and asked you about what happened to Grace.” I paused briefly and got only silence for response.
“Marcus came to my house that night. He stayed the night and left for North Carolina the next morning. I know he spoke to you because he told me he did.”
Eddie turned his head slowly back toward me. “What time did he come to yo’ house that night?”
“He got there about 9:30. Why?”
“He look all right to you then?”
“Eddie, if you know something I don’t know, I think you’d better tell me. I know you didn’t kill Skipper Kornegay, but I can’t for the life of me figure out why you’d lie to your attorney about talking to Marcus when Marcus told me himself that you did.”
I wasn’t even sure what I expected him to say. I just knew it was odd that he’d lie about something like that.
He studied my face for a minute, like he was trying to see something in it. His dark eyes darted back and forth a couple of times and then his face went blank and he stared back at the wall.
“I thought you said you were sticking to the truth,” I said quietly.
“I don’t know if I can trust you, tha’s all,” he said, still staring at the wall.
“You can,” I said, and I meant it.
He turned and looked me straight in the eye.
“I saw Marcus twice that night. Once when he came to talk to me and then later on that night when that boy chased him into the woods.”
“Oh,” I said and my shoulders sagged heavily. “What else did you see?”
“I didn’t really see what happened,” he said, his voice breaking slightly. “I just saw what was left when it was done. He musta come straight to yo’ house from there.”
I nodded. “He did.”
“Then you know, too?”
I took a huge breath. “I do.”
He looked back at the wall.
“Why haven’t you said anything to the police? Or to your attorney for that matter?” I was baffled by his silence.
“I’m not really sure ‘zactly why. I jes’ know that Miz Blanche done been through enough this year and I cain’t go bringin’ no harm to her or her family. Why hadn‘t you told?”
“Same reason, I suppose. I just couldn’t put her through it. She still doesn‘t know.”
“I didn’t figure she did,” he said.
“I still don’t get it, though. You could be out of this jail by now.” I was genuinely puzzled.
“Miz Beckworth, with all due respect, I jus' as soon not talk about it no more. The boy done been killed and laid to rest and nothin’ I can say go'n bring him back to his Mama. Tellin’ about Marcus wouldn’t do nothin’ but bring a heap of grief onto a family what done had more'n they share already. I ain’t sayin’ nothin’ about the boy. Not now, not ever.”