Faithful Unto Death

A Nestful of Orphans

Terror and de‹ance wavered in the face of Lottie’s displeasure. “Papa’s going to be with Jesus?” He clutched the bedpost again, remembering the evil-smelling thing on the lounge, that everyone persisted in calling Mother. Now the thing would pretend to be Papa, and he must go and be near it! “Whatever do you mean? Of course he’s not going to be with Jesus! He might go to prison!” She began to sob again. Will wasn’t sure what prison was, but relieved, he edged over to Lottie and patted her consolingly . “Papa’s not sick?” “Of course not. He just might go away for a long time. Here’s your jacket. Now button up your shirtwaist and go down and eat your breakfast . I must dress Josie.” july 24, 1894 word got around town quickly; the courtroom was nearly full at nine o’clock to hear the sentence. The courtroom transcript reads, “William H. Thacker, the respondent in this case, having been by the verdict of the Jury duly convicted of the crime of murder as appears by the records thereof, and having been on motion of the Prosecuting Attorney brought to the bar of the Court for sentence and having there been asked by the Court if he had anything to say why judgment should not be pronounced against him and alleging no reason to the contrary, Therefore it is ordered and adjudged by the Court now here that the said William H. Thacker be con‹ned in the State Prison at Jackson at hard labor for the period of his life from and including this day.” Henry, knees trembling, could only whisper hoarsely, “I am an innocent man before God. I have hoped that something would come out to show that.” Sheriff Chandler led him away. A Nestful of Orphans the thackers always returned home by the kitchen door, then up three short steps to the back porch, the boys being sternly enjoined to “wipe those dreadful feet, for merciful heaven’s sake” by whatever adult was in the kitchen at the time. Feet wiped, jackets, dripping oilcloth wraps or sweaters, hats and scarves hung on pegs in a row outside 167 the kitchen door, they would step into the kitchen, thence to the hallway , to the stairs and the rest of the house. This noon, however, they soberly entered the silent, waiting house through the front door. They stood uncertainly in the parlor for a moment , blinking after the blinding August sunshine. “Well,” said Roy. Expectantly, Ralph and Lottie looked at him. “Well,” he said again, and sat down, staring at the ›oor. Lottie fought down the impulse to wail and run down the hallway sobbing. If she began to cry, she felt she might never stop, and who would see to the children, upset as they must be, and bewildered by this sudden orphaning? She struggled to concentrate, then simply let habit take over. “There’s some brown bread left; why don’t I make us some lunch?” “I’m . . .” Ralph started to say he wasn’t hungry, but then he understood , and ‹nished, “—really hungry.” It was necessary for them to go on without either parent, so they would. They had managed to do this for most of the summer, since Father had been absent in every way that mattered. Things were no different now, really, as long as you didn’t think about the permanence of this bereavement. Younger people than they, of course, managed to get along without parents, so why did they all seem so paralyzed by shock now? “I’m not hungry,” muttered Roy, then looked up to see the look of hurt on Lottie’s pinched face, and Ralph’s disgusted little head shake. “What? You can’t be hungry now, of all times? Don’t you understand what’s happened to us?” Will’s lips began to quiver. and Josie, as always, took her cues from Will. “Why didn’t Papa come home wif us?” she whimpered. With a look of “You see?” toward Roy, Lottie took charge again. “Don’t say ‘wif,’ you’re a big girl now. Papa can’t come home with us, not for a long time, so we’ll just have to go ahead and make lunch now. Will, go out and pick us some radishes, please, some nice mild ones to dip in salt.” Chattering away, she steered the children toward the kitchen. Ralph turned to Roy, who...