Nobody Cares

There were two people in the world who knew the condemned man was innocent: the young man inside the jail awaiting his fate and Sam Warden. Tomorrow, Sam promised himself, he would go to his father, Judge Henry Warden, and make a clean breast of his knowledge. He had made that promise for the past three months. Months while the trial had dragged to its inevitable conclusion.

The convicted killer was Woodrow “Woody” Baker, a grade school dropout, an overall clad redneck from the red clay, back wood hills of Warden County Mississippi. The Mississippi court had convicted him of murdering his sixteen-year-old pregnant girl friend.

According to Sam's mother, Angela, all the people associated with Woodrow Baker were "White trash". And Sam had been drilled by his mother not to associate with the likes of "Those hillbilly rednecks."

Sam had disobeyed his snobbish mother's admonitions, but he dreaded her ire and that was the primary cause for his reluctance. That and his natural fear of the consequences of his acts, had sealed his lips.

As he stared sightless across the street, his bosom buddy, Thomas Jefferson "Tump" Johnson came into the store. "Sammy, whatcha doin' boy?’ he called in his gravelly loud voice.

Sam turned to face Tump, "Nothing, just loafing." he replied.

"Hey, they 'bout got that sucker finished," Tump said, motioning at the gallows.

"Yeah," Sam replied. Tump's exuberance had become Increasingly annoying as the time had slipped by.

"Ya' know Sammy they tell me that big rope has got thirteen wraps in the knot they slip under a man's ear. But 'ah hell it don't break his neck, he just chokes to death."

Tump kept up an endless dialog about the up coming hanging and the more he talked the more intense Sam's pain became. Finally, without a word he turned and walked from the store.

Tomorrow, he promised himself he would go to his father and make a clean breast of the whole affair. This time he would not fail. Just believing that he would gave him a great sense of relief. The pain in his gut eased a little and that night he slept through the night, the first time since he had become involved in the incident.

He was awakened by his father's loud angry voice. He caught snatches of conversation, "--hanged,-- in his cell."

Angela: " Suicide?" Judge Warden: "Made to look that I--- he was lynched." Sam slipped out of bed and went to the door of the living room. His father was standing with his hands on his hips facing Angela, who was sipping coffee, very calmly, the newspaper spread out before her.

"Why are you so upset?" she queried. "He's a condemned killer, what difference does it make if he decided he couldn't face the music? And what makes you think it was otherwise?" "He's just a dumb nobody."

Sam's head was spinning. He groped for the doorjamb to steady his swaying body. Angela saw him and jumped to her feet.

Tj had sworn off drinking, but he remembered this man from the days he and Joe had hunted with him. Drinking was a ritual, refusing would be an affront. He took the jug and held it to his mouth and felt the warmth of the aged whiskey as he swallowed. When he was finished, Jake took the jug and took a long drink. He wiped his mouth and said, "I hate like hell to drink alone. Hate it but I do it. Where you been Tj? I ain't seen you in a long time. What brings you to this neck of the woods? It ain't huntin' season."

"I got something I want to discuss with you," Tj replied, thinking rapidly about how to go about his mission.

"Here have another drink Tj. I got something I want to discuss with you. I been watching T.V. and theys showing that shuttle launch. What do you think of that shit?"

Tj was careful about his answer. He believed the shuttle missions were a great accomplishment, but he detected a tone in the older man's voice. "Ah hell, Jake, I never did like to fly."

"Have another drink," Jake passed the jug to Tj and as he drank Jake said, "I think that whole thing is a crock of shit. It's government bull. Everybody knows the world is flat and them bastards just flying around in circles trying to confuse the tax payers." He took the jug and drank deeply.

Tj could feel the whiskey spreading from his belly up to his brain. He wanted to have a clear head for the answers to his questions. "Jake, let me ask you a question."

Jake was beginning to mellow." Shoot," he replied.

"What if I told you Woody didn't kill Camille Dotson?"

"Hell Tj, I allus knowed he didn't kill her."

"How did you know that, Jake?"

"He told me he didn't do it."

"And you believed him?"

"Hell yes, I believed him. He wouldn't lie to me. I'm his brother."

"What if I told you it was an accident and that Woody killed himself for nothing?"

Jake rolled his cud of tobacco around in his cheek and spat a stream of juice at a crawling bug. The bug rolled over and scampered away. He squinted at Tj and his jaw hardened. "What if I told you Woody didn't kill hisself?"

A surprised Tj asked, "Who did kill him?"

"Nobody, he ain't dead."

Tj thought the whiskey was affecting his hearing. "What did you say?"

"You gettin' hard a hearing boy, I said he ain't dead. He come to see me a couple months ago."

A shock ran through Tj. "But Jake, the body, the grave, the tombstone. I don't understand."

Jake passed the jug and said, "Have another drink Tj. I'll tell you something that only a few people know. The only reason I tell you is cause you married one of our girls and yore kids are kin f'oks."

Tj now felt like he needed a drink. His head was spinning and he wasn't sure it was Jake's statements or the whiskey. He took a drink from the jug and passed it back to Jake. He knew he was no drinking match for big Jake and he wanted to hear the story with, at least, some memory left.

Jake took a long drink. His Adam's apple bobbing up and down as he swallowed. The jug was beginning to show signs of being empty. He reached inside the open door and brought out a full one. "Plenty more where that come from," he notified Tj.

"Tell me, who is in the grave Jake. People saw the body of Woody. Judge Warner and a lot of other people."

"They saw a body, but not Woody. All of