Roll Of Thunder, Hear My Cry Epilogue
The wind blew in cold and bitter from the south. It trailed crisp autumn leaves in its wake, small whirlwinds of red and gold dancing in the dusty path. The breeze whistled past the wagon, causing Jack to shake his neck briskly.
I yawned, stretching arms high above my head and gazing around the wagon with bleary eyes. Stacey, Christopher-John and Little Man all looked as tired as I felt, though the icy gust combined with the chill of early morning was enough to wake the dead.
Mr Morrison, driving the wagon, glanced back at me for a second. "Y'all right back there, Cassie?" I bobbed my head drowsily. "Just 'bout another hour and we'll be in Strawberry," he continued, controlling Jack's reins with ease.
Stacey stirred from his slumber. "How much longer we got?"
"Mr Morrison says we'll be in Strawberry in 'bout an hour," I replied. Stacey nodded and lay back down on the floor of the wagon. I followed his example, but unlike my brothers I wasn't in the mood for more sleep.
Instead, my mind went back to the conversation we had with Mama and Papa before we left for Strawberry. "Now," Papa had addressed Stacey. "You're the oldest, so I'm expectin' you to look after the others. And don't be troublin' Mr Morrison."
Mama spoke to me. "And don't you give anyone cheek, Cassie. I know your tongue runs off like a wild cat, so keep a'hold of it for once, will ya?"
Papa had then clapped a hand on each of our shoulders. "Now, Stacey and Cassie, you might be expectin' T.J. to be the same, but bein' in jail does strange things to some, and he might be changed a lot. So don't think he'll be the same boy he once was, and stay outta trouble, you hear?" Stacey and I agreed to his request quickly, and within minutes we were in the wagon, ready to set off.
By the time we reached Strawberry, the dim twilight had given way to a pale crimson ball of fire just hovering on the brink of the horizon. The stirring daylight cast long shadows from the buildings and electrical lines onto the streets, creating a ghostly feel in the air. Some shops had begun to open their doors, but most of the town still lay quiet and dormant.
As we arrived at the jail, my brothers roused from their naps and stood up, blinking drowsiness from their eyes and stretching cramped muscles. Mr Morrison hitched Jack to a fencepost outside the jail, and we jumped down from the wagon and walked in together.
The sheriff, who was lounging in a chair with his feet propped up on a desk, straightened up as we walked into the room. "So you're the one stayin' with David's family?" he addressed Mr Morrison. Mr Morrison gave an almost imperceptible nod.
The sheriff stood up with a groan and pulled a large set of keys from his pocket. "I guess you're here to see the boy then," he said, and walked to the jail cells, motioning for us to follow. "I gotta tell you though; the lad's got another visitor as well."
Stacey and I shared a quick glance. Who else would be here to see T.J.? The Averys were all still recovering from their ordeal, and we had told no one else we were coming. Unless…I shook my head to clear it of thoughts. No one, not even R.W. or Melvin were stupid enough to try and deal with T.J. now that he was in the hands of the law.
As we approached T.J.'s cell, I saw an oddly familiar figure sitting in front of the prison bars, reading aloud from a sheaf of papers. He glanced up as we drew closer. "Mr Jamison!" I exclaimed, touched that he was here. Mr Jamison had been trying so hard to get T.J. a court case, to try and prove his innocence.
"Who's that?" a hoarse voice croaked from within the cell. Mr Jamison winked at us.
"Just a few ole friends I think you'll be happy to see," he replied.
Stacey let out a whoop of joy. "T.J., it's us! Stacey and Cassie and Christopher-John and Little Man!"
"Really? Stacey, that really you?" the voice was filled with disbelief.
"Sho', you better believe it!" Stacey answered, as we reached the cell.
I let out an involuntary gasp as I saw T.J. The healthy, spirited boy of just a few months ago had turned into a walking skeleton, all skin and bones. The striped prison uniform hung loosely from his gaunt frame, and his emaciated face attempted a smile as he saw us.
"Ain't I a sight," he whispered. I reached through the bars and put a hand on his shoulder, my eyes welling up with tears. T.J. grinned at Christopher-John and Little Man, and for a moment he looked like his former self.
Stacey clasped T.J.'s hand between the bars. "How you doin', T.J.?"
T.J. smiled weakly. "What do it look like? Ain't the best seat in the house, that's for sho'."
Mr Jamison stood up and cleared his throat. "Well, I'll leave you to it then. T.J., you think hard 'bout what I said to you alright? Remember that there's always a chance."
T.J. nodded and Mr Jamison left. "He been helpin' me so much," T.J. told us. "Tryin' to get me a court case, but even if I got one there'd be no way I'd be found innocent." A fit of coughing shook his skeletal body.
"What 'bout Mr Jamison sayin' there's always a chance?" I retorted, scared by his quick acceptance.
T.J. just shook his head slowly with a sad look in his eyes. "They'd never let me walk free."
"We gonna get you outta here T.J., just you wait and see!" I cried.
We stayed there for several hours, talking about what had been happening. T.J. laughed as we told him of Stacey's 13th birthday party, when one of our chickens had run into the house, sending feathers flying everywhere, and our first day of school, when Little Willie and Maynard had placed several wet, slimy toads on Miss Crocker's chair. "Never thought I'd say this, but for once I wish I was at school with y'all."
All too soon, Mr Morrison tapped Stacey on the shoulder. "We'd best get a move on if we wanna make it home by sunset."
We said our farewells to T.J., and I saw the way he drank in our faces hungrily, as though he expected it to be the last time he ever saw us again.
"Tell my family I love them and I'm sorry," T.J. told us. Stacey promised to pass the message onto the Averys.
As we jumped back into the wagon and drove out of Strawberry, I thought about what Mr Jamison had said. There was always a chance that he could be found innocent. Maybe it was only the smallest chance in the whole world, just bordering on the impossible. But it was still a chance.
It could be enough.
It had to be.