the scrap of paper with Jodie’s phone number and address. Since being there, she’d looked at it almost every day and thought of phoning her brother, asking him to come be with her. She knew he would, and Jacob had said she could use the phone to call him. But she had not. How would she say the words: Please come; I’m in jail, charged with murder.
Carefully, she put the paper back into the bag and lifted out the World War I compass Tate had given her. She let the needle swing north and watched it settle true. She held it against her heart. Where else would one need a compass more than in this place?
Then she whispered Emily Dickinson’s words:
The sweeping up the heart,
And putting Love away
We shall not want to use again
Until Eternity.
46.
King of the World
1969
The September sea and sky glistened pale blue from a soft sun as Kya churned in her little boat toward Jumpin’s to get the bus schedule. The thought of busing with strange people to a strange town unnerved her, but she wanted to meet her editor, Robert Foster. For more than two years, they had exchanged short notes—and even some long letters—mostly discussing editorial adjustments for the prose and art in her books, but the correspondence, written so often in biological phrases blended with poetic descriptions, had become a bond welded in its own language. She wanted to meet this person on the other end of the mail line, who knew how ordinary light is shattered by microscopic prisms in the feathers of hummingbirds, creating the iridescence of its golden-red throat. And how to say it in words as startling as the colors.
As she stepped onto the wharf, Jumpin’ greeted her and asked if she needed gas.
“No thanks, not this time. I need to write down the bus schedule. You have a copy, right?”
“Sho’ do. Tacked up right on the wall, left a’ the doah. Hep yurself.”
After she stepped from the shop with the schedule, he asked, “Ya goin’ on a trip somewheres, Miss Kya?”
“I might. My editor invited me to Greenville to meet him. Not sure yet.”
“Well then, thata’ be mighty fine. It’s a fur piece over there, but a trip a’ do ya good.”
As Kya turned to get back into her boat, Jumpin’ leaned in and looked at her more closely. “Miss Kya, what’s done happened to yo’ eye, yo’ face? Look like you been beat up, Miss Kya.” Quickly she turned her face away. The bruise from Chase’s slug, almost a month old, was faded to a faint yellowish stain, which Kya thought no one would notice.
“No, I just walked into a door in—”
“Don’t ya go tellin’ me a story now, Miss Kya. I didn’t jus’ fall off the turnip truck. Who done hit ya like that?”
She stood silent.
“Was it Mr. Chase done this to ya? Ya know ya can tell me. In fact, we gwine stand right here tills ya tell me.”
“Yes, it was Chase.” Kya could barely believe the words came from her mouth. She never thought she had anyone to tell such things. She turned away again, fighting tears.
Jumpin’s entire face frowned. He didn’t speak for several seconds. And then, “What else he done?”
“Nothing, I swear. He tried, Jumpin’, but I fought him off.”
“That man gotta be horsewhupped, then run outta this town.”
“Jumpin’, please. You can’t tell anybody. You know you can’t tell the sheriff or anybody. They’d drag me into the sheriff’s office and make me describe what happened to a bunch of men. I can’t live through that.” Kya dropped her face in her hands.
“Well, sump’m gotta be done. He cain’t go an’ do a thing like that, and then just go on boatin’ ’round in that fancy boat a’ his. King of the World.”
“Jumpin’, you know how it is. They’ll take his side. They’ll say I’m just stirring up trouble. Trying to get money out of his parents or something. Think what would happen if one of the girls from Colored Town accused Chase Andrews of assault and attempted rape. They’d do nothing. Zero.” Kya’s voice became more and more shrill. “It would end in big trouble for that girl. Write-ups in the newspaper. People accusing her of whoring. Well, it’d be the same for me, and you know it. Please promise me you won’t tell anybody.” She ended in a sob.
“Ya right, Miss Kya. I know ya right. Ya don’t gotta worry ’bout me doin’ anythang to make this thang worse. But how