So I didn’t want to go to town. I wanted to stay home and play baseball and maybe go for a walk with Tally.

Little was said over breakfast. We were still very subdued, and I think this was because we all knew the truth. Ricky had left behind a little memory. I wondered to myself if he knew about Libby and the baby, but I wasn’t about to bring up the subject. I’d ask my mother later.

“Carnival’s in town,” Pappy said. Suddenly the day was better. My fork froze in midair.

“What time are we goin’?” I asked.

“The same. Just after lunch,” Pappy said.

“How late can we stay?”

“We’ll see about that,” he said.

The carnival was a wandering band of gypsies with funny accents who lived in Florida during the winter and hit the small farming towns in the fall, when the harvest was in full swing and folks had money in their pockets. They usually arrived abruptly on a Thursday and then set up on the baseball field without permission, and stayed through the weekend. Nothing excited Black Oak like the carnival.

A different one came to town each year. One had an elephant and a giant loggerhead turtle. One had no animals at all but specialized in odd humans-tumbling midgets, the girl with six fingers, the man with an extra leg. But all carnivals had a Ferris wheel, a merry-go-round, and two or three other rides that squeaked and rattled and generally terrified all the mothers. The Slinger had been such a ride, a circle of swings on chains that went faster and faster until the riders were flying parallel to the ground and screaming and begging to stop. A couple of years earlier in Monette, a chain had snapped, and a little girl had been flung across the midway and into the side of a trailer. The next week the Slinger was in Black Oak, with new chains, and folks lined up to ride it.

There were booths where you threw rings and darts and shot pellet pistols to win prizes. Some carnivals had fortune-tellers, others had photo booths, still others had magicians. They were all loud and colorful and filled with excitement. Word would spread quickly through the county, and people would flock in, and in a few hours Black Oak would be packed. I was desperate to go.

Perhaps, I thought, the excitement of the carnival would suppress any curiosity about Libby Latcher. I choked down my biscuits and ran outside.

“The carnival’s in town,” I whispered to Tally when we met at the tractor for the ride to the fields.

“Y’all goin’?” she asked.

“Of course. Nobody misses the carnival.”

“I know a secret,” she whispered, her eyes darting around.

“What is it?”

“Somethin’ I heard last night.”

“Where’d you hear it?”

“By the front porch.”

I didn’t like the way she was stringing me along. “What is it?”

She leaned even closer. “ ‘Bout Ricky and that Latcher girl. Guess you got a new cousin.” Her words were cruel, and her eyes looked mean. This was not the Tally I knew.

“What were you doin’ out there?” I asked.

“None of your business.”

Pappy came from the house and walked to the tractor. “You’d better not tell,” I said through clenched teeth.

“We keep our secrets, remember?” she said, moving away.

“Yeah.”

I ate lunch quickly, then hurried about the task of getting myself scrubbed and bathed. My mother knew I was anxious to get to town, so she wasted no time with her scouring.

All ten Mexicans piled into the back of the truck with me and my father, and we pulled away from our farm. Cowboy had picked cotton all week with broken ribs, a fact that had not gone unnoticed by Pappy and my father. They admired him greatly. “They’re tough people,” Pappy had said.

The Spruills were scurrying about, trying to catch us. Tally had spread the word about the carnival, and even Trot seemed to be moving with a purpose.

When we crossed the river, I looked long and hard down the field road that led to the Latchers’ place, but their little shack was not visible. I glanced at my father. He was looking, too, his eyes hard, almost angry. How could those people have intruded into our lives?

We crept along the gravel road, and soon the Latcher fields were behind us. By the time we stopped at the highway, I was once again dreaming of the carnival.

Our driver, of course, would never get in a hurry. With the truck so loaded with people, I doubted if it would do thirty-seven, and Pappy certainly didn’t push it. It took an hour, it seemed.

Stick’s patrol car was parked by the Baptist church. Traffic on Main was already slow, the sidewalks brimming with activity. We parked, and the Mexicans scattered. Stick appeared from under a shade tree and walked straight for us. Gran and my mother headed for the stores. I hung back with the men, certain that serious matters were about to be discussed.

“Howdy, Eli. Jesse,” Stick said, his hat tilted to one side, a blade of grass in the corner of his mouth.

“Afternoon, Stick,” Pappy said. My father just nodded. They had not come to town to spend time with Stick, and their irritation was just under the surface.

“I’m thinkin’ ‘bout arrestin’ that Spruill boy,” he said.

“I don’t care what you do,” Pappy shot back, his anger rising fast. “Just wait till the cotton’s in.”

“Surely you can wait a month,” my father said.

Stick chewed on the grass, spat, and said, “I suppose so.”

“He’s a good worker,” my father said. “And there’s plenty of cotton. You take him now, and we’ll lose six field hands. You know how those people are.”

“I suppose I could wait,” Stick said again. He seemed anxious to reach a compromise. “I been talkin’ to a lot of people, and I ain’t so sure your boy here is tellin’ the truth.” He gave me a long look as he said this, and I kicked gravel.

“Leave him out of it, Stick,” my father said. “He’s just a kid.”

“He’s seven years old!” Pappy snapped. “Why don’t you find you some real witnesses.”

Stick’s shoulders drew back as if he’d been hit.

“Here’s the deal,” Pappy said. “You leave Hank alone until the cotton’s in, then I’ll drive to town and let you know we’re finished with him. At that point, I don’t care what you do with him.”

“That’ll work,” Stick said.

“But I still think you ain’t got a case. It was three against one, Stick, and no jury will convict.”

“We’ll see,” Stick said smugly. He walked away, thumbs in his pockets, with just enough of a swagger to annoy us.

“Can I go to the carnival?” I asked.

“Of course you can,” Pappy said.

“How much money do you have?” my father asked.

“Four dollars.”

“How much you gonna spend?”

“Four dollars.”

“I think two’s enough.”

“How’bout three?”

“Make it two-fifty, okay?”

“Yes sir.” I ran from the church, along the sidewalk, darting between people, and was soon at the baseball field, which was across the street from the Co-op, the Dixie theater, and the pool hall. The carnival covered it all, from the backstop to the outfield fence. The Ferris wheel stood in the middle, surrounded by the smaller rides, the booths, and the midway. Shrill music rattled from the loudspeakers on the merry-go-round and the carousel. Long lines of people were already waiting. I could smell popcorn and corn dogs and something frying in grease.

I found the trailer with the cotton candy. It cost a dime, but I would’ve paid much more for it. Dewayne saw me at the midway as I was watching some older boys shoot air guns at little ducks that swam in a pool. They never hit them, and this was because, according to Pappy, the gun sights were crooked.

Candied apples were also a dime. We bought one apiece and took our time inspecting the carnival. There was a witch in a long black dress, black hair, black everything, and for twenty-five cents she could tell your future. A dark-eyed old lady could do the same thing, for the same price, with tarot cards. A flamboyant man with a microphone could guess your age or your weight for a dime. If he didn’t get within three years or ten pounds you won a prize. The midway had the usual collection of games-softballs thrown at milk jugs, basketballs aimed at rims that were too small, darts at balloons, hoops over bottlenecks.