Inmate 1577

13

January 31, 1958

Columbia, Alabama

Their take from the Township Community Savings haul was seven hundred and ninety dollars. Although it seemed like a lot of money, it did not last as long as MacNally had hoped or planned. After ditching the car in an abandoned lot fifty miles outside town, they hitchhiked with a trucker and spent a dozen or so quiet hours traveling south as both father and son fell asleep against one another, despite the chatter of music that poured from the radio. It was a selection Henry found to his liking: Elvis, Chuck Berry, the Shirelles, and some Tommy Dorsey thrown in. MacNally finally convinced Henry to lay his head down, and shortly thereafter both began snoozing.

Upon awakening, they found themselves sitting in a small-town gas station as the driver tended to his rig. MacNally chatted up the attendant and discovered they were in Alabama, a place he had seen once in a newsreel at the movies, but never visited.

He placed his hand on his jacket pockets, where he had shoved the money they had appropriated from the bank. He patted them down, and satisfied he had not dreamt their haul the night before, asked how far it was to the nearest city.

The man estimated it was only about a mile or so down the road, so MacNally told Henry he thought it was best if they thanked the trucker and walked the rest of the way.

Two weeks after arriving in town, MacNally began plotting out their long-term plans. He had landed a job cleaning a local elementary school, but it fell short of being enough money to pay for room and board. They found a dive of a place to rent, a converted garage that had no heat and no plumbing.

Through one of the school parents, he heard of a local construction company that needed a hard worker who was good with his hands. MacNally had always prided himself on his sculpting abilities but had no formal training and had never found a way to channel his skills into a money-producing occupation. Building would be a cruder form of sculpting-but he would be utilizing his natural gifts and it figured to pay better than his current job.

That afternoon, he asked for some time off to tend to a family emergency, and went to the construction site to talk to the foreman. He ended up speaking with Mr. Flaherty, the owner, as it was a smaller company than he had envisioned. The man explained that he had won the bid to build an addition to a home that belonged to a government commissioner in Dothan-and if he executed well, Flaherty could then tap the inner circle of a more affluent customer than usually sought his services, allowing him to elevate his business to the next level.

But Flaherty needed two additional workers and he had to find them fast. The architect had drawn plans and Flaherty was compelled to complete the renovation before the owner started in his new position at City Hall.

MacNally explained that he had never worked construction, but he was good with his hands, he possessed a keen attention to detail, he was a hard worker who learned quickly, was always on time and never left early. Flaherty asked him a number of questions, and then, apparently satisfied with MacNally’s responses, said, “Be here tomorrow morning, seven o’clock sharp, ready to work.” But then he pointed an arthritic index finger and said, “Don’t disappoint, me, boy. Screw up, put me in a bad way, and I’ll see to it that no one in town hires your ass again. You hear?”

MacNally took the threat in stride and assured Mr. Flaherty that he would not regret his decision. He quit his maintenance job and reported to the construction site at 6:45. It was then that he learned that the government official was someone far more important than he had figured: the recently elected mayor.

MacNally took a moment to gawk at the mayor’s personal effects as he and a few other workers hung tarps to seal off the rooms where they would be working. MacNally had never met a politician, let alone been inside the home of a person as powerful as this man.

“Let’s go, MacNally, get your ass moving,” Flaherty called to him as MacNally’s gaze roamed the bedroom with its woven lavender comforter, plantation shutters, and ruffled plum drapes. Such grandeur. Such wealth.

“Yes, sir,” MacNally said.

The next two weeks passed quickly. MacNally learned to dig and pour foundations, and made friends with one of the other men, who specialized in two-by-four framing, ventilation ducting, and electrical work. MacNally figured that in the coming months, he would become proficient in a variety of skills that could translate into other jobs. The more he learned, the more valuable he would become to an employer-whether that be Mr. Flaherty or someone else. He spent his lunch times chatting with his new friend, and had already gathered more practical information about construction than he remembered ever learning about any subject in school-the sole exception perhaps being mathematics.

MacNally felt like a contributing member of society again. Standing trial for his wife’s murder was becoming a distant, though still vivid, memory. The bank robbery was behind him, and he had received his first paycheck.

But on the third Monday of his work with Flaherty, the boss whistled him aside. And he did not look pleased.

“Sit down,” Flaherty said, and pointed at a tree stump that was due to be removed from the ground later in the day. Flaherty remained standing. “The mayor called me into his office this morning,” he said, his arms folded across his thick chest. “Wanna know why?”

MacNally did not know what to say. He nodded but said nothing.

“He asked me when we started this here job if I knew my employees real good. I told him all ’cept two, new men I recently hired. He asked me for their names. Yours was one of ’em.”

MacNally felt a sense of dread building deep in his belly. He tried not to show it on his face. “So?” he asked.

“So the mayor had someone look into y’all. And it seems you were arrested for-get this-murdering your wife three years ago.”

“Yeah, but-”

“I’m not interested in excuses, MacNally. I told you, you do anything that screws me over-”

“But I didn’t do anything, sir. I was not guilty. A jury cleared me. And they arrested someone else last year.”

“Mayor don’t care. He don’t want no murderer, or even a guy accused of murder, workin’ on his house, ’round his family. Almost fired my ass. I had to beg him not to. You hear me? I coulda lost this goddamn job. I need it, I need the money.”

“Me, too.”

“Well that’s too doggoned bad, ain’t it? You shoulda told me.”

MacNally rose from the stump. He threw his arms out to his sides. “Told you what? I didn’t kill my wife and they let me go. A jury said I wasn’t guilty.”

“Yeah, but they didn’t say you was innocent, neither, did they now?”

MacNally furrowed his brow.

“Here’s your pay,” Flaherty said as he dug around in his pocket. He pulled out a wad of cash and peeled off a bill. “For this morning. Now leave. Don’t come back no more. I need to tell the mayor you’re history.”

History.

History was cruel for Walton MacNally. And, as he was learning, history was not easily purged.

MacNally first went back to the school and asked for his maintenance job back. But it had been filled, and they were pleased with their replacement. They did not appreciate being shorthanded for a week while they sought for, and interviewed, new applicants.

After spending the two-plus weeks’ earnings MacNally had made working for Flaherty, and then dipping into their savings-from the bank haul-MacNally was becoming increasingly frustrated at his inability to land another job. Flaherty had kept his word, and had let it be known that MacNally had nearly cost him a customer that was vital to his company’s survival…and that he had stood trial for murdering his wife.

In a small town, MacNally did not stand a chance of escaping the wrath of a well-liked and established business owner who had been burned. And killing your wife was…well, frowned upon, even if no one bothered to ask about the details of something remotely important like a jury’s verdict. He was guilty in the municipal court of public scorn.

With no other work history MacNally could lean on for references-even the school would freely tell a caller he had left them without notice-he realized he needed to use a bogus identity to prevent a prospective employer from finding out about his prior arrest. The truth and disposition often did not matter; he was a marked man and would be so for a long time, if not the rest of his life. Not having experience with such things, he didn’t know what to expect-how long it’d remain an albatross, or if someone would be willing to invest the time and thought to truly evaluate his particular situation.

Flaherty’s retort that a not guilty verdict did not mean innocent was a distinction MacNally did not fully grasp at the moment, but in the subsequent days, as he thought about it, he saw where the man was coming from. But seeing the difference did not matter. No amount of talking was going to persuade Flaherty, he knew that. Going back to the man was out of the question. And he did not dare attempt to speak with the mayor.

MacNally was also concerned about getting Henry an education, as he was certain his son was falling behind in his schooling by now.

MacNally did his best to work with Henry on his reading and math skills using the local library’s resources. But he had to be careful not to call attention to themselves-one person had already asked Henry where he went to school, which led to a very uncomfortable silence while MacNally stammered something about being new to town and there being a delay in getting him “signed up.”

Three weeks after losing his construction job, MacNally explained to Henry that unless things changed soon, they would likely have to leave and find a more affordable city where, even if he couldn’t land a decent paying job, their money would last longer.

Days passed, yet they did not discuss it again. MacNally figured it was easier to stay where they were than to move into a new place with more unknowns than they had now. For the time being, it was better to remain in Alabama and continue trying to better their situation.

He resorted to going door-to-door, offering to do odd jobs as a handyman for cash. This worked at times, and at times not. His tax-free pay was less than it had been when he was working at the school, forcing them deeper into their savings.

One day, MacNally came home to find Henry sitting on the floor against the wall with his mother’s brooch in one hand-and a bar of soap pressed to his nose. It was round and tinted pink, with a beveled, decorative edge. The soap they used was a plain white square bar.

“Where’d you get that?” MacNally asked.

Henry’s brow furrowed. He moved the soap behind his back. “Somewhere.”

“Somewhere?” MacNally moved closer. “Where’d you get the money?”

“I didn’t need no money. I took it. From a store. That one in town, Chuck’s Five and Dime.”

MacNally knelt down in front of his son. “Henry. Taking things from stores without paying for them isn’t right.”

“We took money from the bank. No difference.”

“There is a difference.” MacNally thought a moment, searching for a way to explain it. Was there really a distinction? He sat on the dirt floor beside Henry. “We stole that money because we had to. We need to eat, we need a place to sleep. There was no choice. I don’t want to steal. But…” He did not know if Henry could comprehend the concept of having an unfair and soiled reputation hung around your neck without the ability to remedy it.

He flashed on the irony of being a handyman-with the capability of fixing a variety of things-yet being unable to repair his own reputation.

“Son, we had to rob that bank. You didn’t need to steal that soap. We’ve got other soap. And even if we didn’t, you could live dirty. But you can’t live without food. You understand?”

“I needed the soap.”

“No, you wanted the soap.” Could a ten year old comprehend the difference between “need” and “want”?

“No. I needed it.”

MacNally extended a hand. “Give it to me. I’m going to bring it back to Chuck’s.”

“No!” Henry scooted away. “You’re not takin’ it from me.”

MacNally leaned back. What was going on with his son? His body language, the constriction of his pupils-over a bar of soap? “You said you need it. Why? What’s so special about it?”

Henry slowly brought the bar from behind his back, then wrapped it between two hands. He held it up to his father’s face.

MacNally sniffed. And he instantly understood. The scent was nearly identical to the perfume Doris had sprayed on herself every morning. “You smell Mom.”

Henry brought it back to his nose and closed his eyes.

MacNally fought back tears. He composed himself, took a breath and then said, “You can keep it. But we’re going to go over to Chuck’s and pay him for it.”

TWO MONTHS PASSED. ON AN uncharacteristically sunny day, Henry asked if they could go downtown to look at bicycles. Although MacNally had not brought up his birthday promise to Henry, it bothered him and he felt increasing pressure to make good on it.

Money was a daily concern, and the last thing MacNally was planning to spend it on was a bicycle-unrelenting guilt or not. “We move around a lot, Henry. Sometimes we have to get up and go, without a lot of planning. Having a bike isn’t a good idea.”

“But you promised. My birthday present. Remember?”

“We can’t take it with us if we have to leave.”

Henry looked down at his hands, where he was rolling a Bazooka bubblegum wrapper between his forefinger and thumb.

“You won’t be happy if we spend our money on a bike and then have to leave it when we go.”

Henry narrowed his eyes. “Then it’s about the money.”

“No. Yes. It’s both.”

“You didn’t say ‘if’ we had to go. You said ‘when.’ Are we leavin’?”

Henry was a bright kid-smarter than MacNally remembered being at this age. “I don’t know. But I think it’s likely we’re going to have to move on. I will get you a bike, just not now. Maybe when we settle down. When I find steady, good-paying work. We can buy one then. Okay?”

Henry twisted his lips, but did not reply.

Three weeks later, as MacNally and his son were finishing supper at the rickety wood table that served as both a dinner table and desk, MacNally set down his fork. They were going to move again, he told Henry-but before they left town, they needed some traveling money because their savings had nearly been exhausted.

“There’s a bank,” MacNally said. “First National-”

“I’ve seen it,” Henry said. “When?”

MacNally was surprised that his son was keyed in on their needs and the means for obtaining that which would efficiently deliver the solution. Henry was not only smart, he seemed wise-and practical-beyond his ten years. “I have to go by there to check it out. But maybe tomorrow night if it looks good.”

Henry thought a moment, then said, with a shrug, “If that’s what you say we gotta do, we’ll do it.”

MacNally had, indeed, decided that that was what they had to do. They lived and died by his decisions…it was a concept he found frightening. He was responsible for their well-being-for providing food. Money. And shelter.

He cleared the plates from the table, then began planning their next job.