The All-True Travels and Adventures of Lidie Newton_ A Novel - Jane Smiley [250]
"Are they going to hang me?"
"They hate nigger-stealin’. No tellin’ what they will do. My Frederick says he don’t know what it will be like, findin’ a judge and a jury in these days. He says they should of shot you at the time and been done with it, instead of involving the law. I know that sounds hard, but he an’t really a hard man, for a sheriff. I reckon it will depend upon Mr. Day and his views in the matter. I don’t expect they will tar and feather you, though. That’s what they generally like to do, but I don’t suppose they’ll do it to a lady."
She gave me a Bible to read, with the remark, "They had slaves in Bible days, didn’t they, now?"
"What did they do with Lorna?"
"Oh, the catchers do something, I expect. I don’t like to think about it myself." She shook her head violently, as if shaking off the whole subject.
She washed my hands and bound the cuts. They throbbed for a day or two. Since I couldn’t write, she had me dictate a letter to my sisters. What I dictated was a few dry sentences. What she wrote was the following. It read:
To my dear sisters in the east—
I am sure you will be surprised and dismayed to learn that I am put in jail in Kansas City for niggah-stealing, which I did even though the man I stole the niggah from was good to me and gave me the hospitality of his house for two or three weeks before I run off with the gal. There is no telling what they are going to do with me, they might hang me but they haven’t hanged a female in Missouri, at least around these parts, for a long time, as long as the sheriff can remember. Maybe I will be lucky and not be hanged. If I am hanged, then this is my last words to you. I am heartily sorry for what I have done, and for the shame I have brought upon my dear family. I trust in the Lord to do what he thinks best with me after I have passed into his loving hands. If I am not hung, then you need to send me some money so that I can leave this place and come back home to you, as the sheriff and his wife can do nothing for me, even though they are God-fearing and charitable people, and the state makes no provision for Niggah-stealers. If you do not send me means, then surely I will get into trouble again. Forty dollars will be enough.
Your dear sister,
LYDIA HARKNESS NEWTON
Mrs. Hopewell had her heart set upon sending this letter, as she was very proud of it, and so I let her. She told me that it would probably take two weeks for the money to arrive, and that if they didn’t hang me, she would charge me ten dollars for two weeks’ room and board, "And let me tell you, you can’t get it no cheaper in Kansas City in these days!"
Now I came into a state of being talked to and done to. While the sheriff was too embarrassed to come in, Mr. Graves, who had an interview with me the day this letter was written, seemed entirely in his confidence. He entered the room, had the door locked behind him, and started booming at once. I was sitting in a chair by the window, looking out, but I hadn’t seen him coming down the street. He exclaimed, "Mrs. Newton! Was I staggered when I saw you and that gal up there on that boat deck? Indeed I was! Staggered, and then, very shortly afterwards, in a matter of an eye blink, I was dismayed. Ma’am, I was hurt for you! You have got no business with this nigger-stealing, which is a very low thing to do, and now look where you have landed! The sheriff of this town, I don’t mind telling you, is a man of rigorous moral views, and he said to me, ’David B. Graves, I find myself in a dilemma. This isn’t a plain killin’ or one man cheating another or even a horse-thievin’, which we’ve got plenty of in these parts and is always clear-cut. This is all bound up in other things. You may