Chapter 7
A Rock Jail House
The smell of fresh-cut pine drifted through the open doors of Morgan Miller’s sawmill long before Big Jim reached it.
The waterwheel turned steady as ever, groaning under its own weight while belts slapped and saws sang their familiar song. Men nodded as the preacher passed, but nobody stopped him. They knew where he was headed.
Morgan sat on the same bench he’d favored for years, a set of figures scratched across a board balanced on his knee.
He looked up before Jim spoke.
“Well,” Morgan grinned, “looks like the devil had that gold a mite shorter than he thought.”
Jim laughed.
“I swear that story outran me all the way back to Winze.”
“It outran everybody.”
Morgan leaned back.
“Feller come through an hour ago tellin’ it like he’d been standin’ there watchin’.”
Jim shook his head.
“Folks’ll be tellin’ that one long after we’re both gone.”
“‘The devil’s had it long enough.’”
Morgan chuckled.
“I reckon he had.”
The laughter settled into comfortable silence.
Morgan laid the figures aside.
“I’ve been thinkin’ on that money.”
Jim nodded.
“So have I.”
“I ain’t takin’ it back.”
Jim raised an eyebrow.
“No?”
“No.”
Morgan looked across the yard where stacks of lumber waited for wagons.
“When Shelby and me offered it, we meant it.”
Jim smiled.
“I know.”
“But…”
Morgan rubbed the edge of the board with his thumb.
“I don’t believe we need every dollar of it now.”
Jim waited.
“The courthouse still needs to be brick.”
“It does.”
“You can build onto brick.”
Jim nodded.
“One room today.”
“Another twenty year from now.”
Morgan smiled.
“Exactly.”
He pointed toward the quarry on the ridge.
“But a jail?”
Jim followed his finger.
“Rock’s free.”
“It surely is.”
“We got enough stone in these hills to build a jail that’ll outlive every man sittin’ in it.”
Jim leaned back against the post.
“What’re you thinkin’?”
Morgan’s eyes brightened.
“Not three cells.”
Jim smiled.
“No?”
“No.”
“I want enough cells that neighboring counties can use ’em too.”
Jim looked thoughtful.
“Go on.”
“The circuit judge’s comin’ through whether we build ’em or not.”
“He is.”
“So why not let prisoners wait here till court?”
Morgan spread his hands.
“One sheriff can watch fifteen men easier’n five sheriffs watch three apiece.”
Jim rubbed his chin.
“There is sense in that.”
“And if Blue Ridge… Dahlonega… Ellijay…”
He shrugged.
“…or whoever wants to help build it…”
“…they might just help pay for it.”
Jim nodded slowly.
“I hadn’t thought of askin’.”
“I have.”
Morgan stood and walked toward a rough drawing hanging from a beam.
“It ain’t just the cells.”
Jim stepped closer.
Morgan pointed to the rear of the sketch.
“I’d put a room back here.”
“For what?”
“A sheriff.”
Jim frowned.
“Chance has got a roof over his head.”
“He does.”
“But maybe someday he’ll have a deputy.”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe one night there’ll be more prisoners than sleep.”
Jim studied the drawing.
Morgan continued.
“If a man stays awake guardin’ all night…”
“…he ought to have a place to sleep all day.”
Jim nodded.
“That’s practical.”
Morgan’s finger moved one room farther.
“And this one.”
Jim looked at him.
Morgan’s voice grew quieter.
“I pray it don’t get used often.”
Jim waited.
“But if justice ever has to be carried out…”
“…I’d rather it be done private.”
“No crowds.”
“No cheerin’.”
“No children climbin’ fences to watch.”
“Just the men who need to be there.”
Jim looked at the drawing for a long time.
“I don’t reckon that’s a room anybody wants.”
Morgan sighed.
“No.”
“But if it ever becomes necessary…”
“…it ought to be handled with dignity.”
Silence settled between them.
Finally Jim folded the sketch closed.
“You’ve give me a powerful lot to think about.”
“I know.”
“I ain’t promisin’ nothin’.”
“I wasn’t askin’ for one.”
Jim smiled.
“I’ll pray on it.”
“I figured you would.”
The mill door opened behind them.
Shelby stepped out carrying her sewing basket.
“There you two are.”
Morgan smiled.
“We was just spendin’ your money.”
She laughed.
“Were you now?”
Morgan stood.
“Looks like I may be able to give some of it back.”
Shelby looked puzzled.
“I thought we’d settled that.”
“We did.”
“But thanks to a certain gold mine…”
“…I reckon you won’t have to do without every one of your pretties for the next two years.”
Shelby smiled warmly.
“Morgan…”
She laid a hand on his arm.
“We already decided.”
“I know.”
“The money wasn’t about curtains.”
“It was about our town.”
Jim nodded quietly.
“I know that too.”
Morgan smiled.
“Well…”
“…I ain’t opposed to savin’ a little if we can.”
Shelby laughed.
“I suspected as much.”
She adjusted the basket on her arm.
“I best be gettin’ on.”
“Quiltin’ bee?”
“Where else?”
Morgan tipped his head toward the square.
“Go on.”
“I promise…”
“…I’ll hear every bit of what happened before supper.”
Shelby grinned.
“You surely will.”
She started toward town.
Jim watched her go.
Morgan chuckled.
“I don’t know what all goes on at them quiltin’ bees…”
“…but somehow they always know more than the sheriff by the time they’re over.”
Jim laughed.
“I expect that’s because they’re payin’ attention.”
Morgan nodded.
“I reckon they are.”
The two men watched Shelby disappear around the corner toward the watering hole.
Then Morgan unfolded the sketch once more.
Jim leaned in.
“Now…”
“…show me that jail again.”