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“Yeah,” said Jack, trying hard to keep the disgust out of his voice. “So how’d he become a judge with that in his background?”
Ashby chuckled. “Hell, back then, pretty much every white man I knew was either in the Klan for real, or in spirit. You use that as a disqualifier, son, you wouldn’t have many judges or lawyers left. Or police. But they gonna win in the end,” he added.
Jack looked confused. “Who is?”
“Coloreds, o’course.” Ashby laughed so hard he nearly spilled his three fingers of scotch. “Won’t that be somethin’. Rile up a bunch ’a folks, yes sir.”
Jack studied the old man. “And how do you feel about that, Mr. Ashby? Will you be riled up?”
Ashby gummed his drink and got some of it down his shirt. “You know your end is comin’ fast when you can’t even sip good scotch without dribblin’ it down your shirt like a goddamn infant.”
“Yes, sir.”
Ashby let his cane go and used both hands to get the drink properly to his mouth. He smacked his lips and said, “Now, that is mighty fine.” He looked over at Jack. “I find myself actually quite inspired by the idea that old Jim Crow is about to breathe his last.”
“You mind me asking why?”
Ashby grinned. “You think only coon hunters live in Freeman County, Jack Lee?”
“Not by a long shot, since I’m here. But I imagine your parents raised you to think a certain way when it comes to that issue. And you said you were in the Klan.”
“My momma and daddy raised me to believe that white people were up here”—he lifted his shaky arm as high as he could—“and n——s, though I do not use that term anymore, were down here.” He got his quivering hand as close to the floor as he could.
“Well, what changed you then?”
“Miss Jessup did, that’s what.”
“How?”
“You know her, right?”
“Yes, I do. She’s a remarkable woman.”
“And remarkable women do remarkable things. Particularly when it comes to men.” He gave Jack a penetrating stare. “You sure Miss Jessup didn’t tell you nothin’?”
“Nothing other than what I already told you.”
Ashby nodded, then set his drink down and wiped his mouth. “What the hell. I’m old and feel like shit, and how much time do I have left really?” He looked at Jack. “You ever wonder why my wife killed herself?”
“I guess so, yeah.”
“She thought that way back when, me and Miss Jessup were, well, you know.”
Jack narrowed his eyes. “I’m not sure I do know.” He took a sip of his drink.
“She thought me and Miss Jessup were... gettin’ it on, like the teenagers say.”
Jack nearly spit out his scotch. “What!”
“Exactly, son. Exactly. Absurd, on its face.”
“So why did she suspect?”
“Oh, little things she saw here and there, looks and words exchanged, which she transformed into paranoid fantasies of debauchery on my part.”
“So it wasn’t true then?”
Ashby looked at his scotch, as though he wanted another sip but wondered if he could manage the lift. “Well, I can’t say I didn’t want it to be true.”
