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Tant got Miss Liddy’s boyfriend spook off, or killed. Anyhow, he got took out in a fish boat and never brought back.
    â€œYou know,” I heard Addie Cooter whisper to my daddy’s ear, “they say that them two, Captain and Miss Liddy, live in their big ol’ house and don’t never speak a word to one another.”
    â€œIs that true?” Papa asked.
    â€œGospel. That poorly woman ain’t been seen out of doors in a whole sack of seasons. Some say not since the tragedy. And you want to know who told me?”
    My father nodded.
    â€œRoscoe. Between you and me, Dan Poole, I always had me a hunch that Roscoe Broda would up and wed Miss Liddy Tant and has felt thataway since before Noah’s flood. He never married, ya know. Still lone. I figure Roscoe’s forty and Miss Liddy’s ten year older. But he’d wed her tomorrow if the chance come ripe.”
    Papa grunted. “Love’s a circus.”
    I saw Addie Cooter poke Papa with her hand.“Love,” she said, “ain’t got nothin’ to do with Roscoe’s courting Miss Liddy. It’s the land he’s after. And I figure both Captain and his daughter can see right through Roscoe Broda, and I’m dang glad they do.”
    â€œHey, there’s the judge,” Huff said.
    Sure enough, there he was, in his Sunday black suit, mopping his round face with a square hanky. Jailor Jim Tinner wasn’t what the folks in town called him out loud. To his face, they usual called him Judge Tinner, or just Judge. He was the official law in Jailtown. Judge Tinner also got put in charge, by Captain, of running our jail. And whenever there was enough prisoners to form up a road gang, Judge took to be boss of the chainers. Some said he was a lawyer.
    Addie Cooter curled her lip.
    â€œWell,” she said in a low voice to Papa, “there’s our law. Roscoe told me a sorry tale. He says that it’s mostly moonshiners that rot in the jailhouse, on account of Judge not wanting them to cut in on the whiskey he run hisself.”
    A small black dot appear away out on the straight line of one blue meeting another, in the middle of Lake Okeechobee. People straighted arms and point fingers. Kids got lifted up on shoulders.
    I heared a steamer whistle.

Chapter 6
    â€œI gotta get off my feet,” Addie said.
    Looking down, I saw Mrs. Cooter’s old scuffy shoes, hot as it was. It be a caution shame, I was thinking, if she’d saved up and bought ’em too small at Mrs. Stout’s.
    Lots of folks, I had sort of figure out, tried wearing shoes, or boots. Papa had shoes on. His work boots. They didn’t shine up too prosperous, even though he’d earlier yank a rag to ’em, before we’d left our shack. All five of the Cooter kids was barefoot, like me. I’d guess that about half the town people was shod that Sunday, and most be the grown folks.
    Out on Okeechobee, the steamer boat seem to be taking her own time, as if she weren’t too itching to visit Jailtown. However, lots of people had gather to greet the boat and take a fresh look-see at the famous visitor.
    Huff Cooter sighed. “Sure wish that ol’ boat would whip herself along.”
    â€œYeah,” I telled him. “Me too.”
    It was right then I heared people start to mumble. Heads turning around, away from the lake, and eyes all look in one direction. That was when I saw a very thin lady, dressed in white lace. Her face was paler thanyesterday’s death, more gray than pink, and her hands weren’t much more meaty than twigs. Over her head was a parasol which served to keep her shaded more than the rest of us. The lady stood quietly on the dock.
    She look different.
    Most of the people in Jailtown looked the same. We were pickers, catfishers, gator and plume hunters, fur skinners, cane mill workers, some growers who own citrus, black people and white, dredgers along with their wives and children,