Page 97 of Call It Home

Reid scowled at her. Even the members at the table looked startled by her comment.

The chairman looked at her. “Mrs. Engold, I will remind you that we must have order here. Another outburst and you’ll be removed.”

She glared at everyone but sat down with ahuffand crossed her arms.

One of the women at the front spoke up. “That’s a lot of support for someone you don’t really know, except by association. And while Mr. Caldwell has done well during his incarceration, earning his GED and taking some college classes, that still doesn’t diminish what happened. And despite the very strong showing of support and having a contract to build furniture with his brother, which is commendable but temporary, there is no plan in place, with any guaranteed longevity, in case the transfer process to Tennessee fails. And while I applaud self-employment, that’s very hard work that often fails because people get in over their heads. Further, I don’t see any physical place of business or a work license to build these items.”

“Mackenzie Caldwell is in the process of obtaining them,” Christian answered, but a pit had already formed in my stomach. I knew the appeal boards were hard, but even after this tremendous showing of support, they were going to ignore it?

“Your Honor, if I can add something,” the older man who’d remained quiet spoke up.

The same woman smiled. “We’re not judges, so no need for the title. Please, continue.”

“Thank you. My name is Leo Fox.”

My head jerked forward. So did Trey’s.

He noticed and spoke directly to us. “It’s been a while, boys. I’m sure you thought I’d forgotten all about you, but I haven’t.”

“And what is your relationship to Mr. Caldwell?” another board member prompted when Leo got a nostalgic look on his face.

He twisted his newsboy-style cap in his hands, then spoke in that soft, slow drawl I still remembered. “I was a foster parent. My wife, Molly, and I couldn’t have children. Molly had a real soft spot for kids. Took some convincing on my part, but she sorta sweet-talked me into becoming foster parents.” He shook his head. “Some of those kids, well, they were a right handful, cussin’ and stealin’ when they thought you weren’t lookin’. Never minded too much when they were moved. The last set of kids we took in was Trey and Mackenzie Caldwell. But Molly was diagnosed with cancer. It spread fast. I had a hard time and didn’t think I could handle taking care of her and the boys. I wanted to.”

He winced as he looked at Trey and me. I remembered him being tall and strong, but now his posture was bent, and he looked tired. He took a step closer. “I should have tried harder. I’m so sorry for that.” His hand went across his chest as if making a pledge. “They were good boys. Never caused a lick of trouble. Never complained if we gave them chores. They liked to follow me out to my barn where I’d piddle around a little, making something simple like a bird feeder or some other small woodwork I knew they could learn easily enough. It worked. It got their attention. So, little by little, I tried to teach them about woodwork. They were naturals, I tell ya. They were quiet, though. I think they were afraid if they said anything wrong, we’d send them away. And I would have, but not because they did anything wrong. But they ran off over the summer. Guess they caught on to what was going to happen. That was on me, and I’ve struggled every day about that. They were so afraid of being separated they insisted on sharing a room, even though we had one for each of them.”

I remembered how, for the first few nights, we didn’t just share a room, but I would squish into the same twin bed as my brother, holding tight to the little stuffed dog they had given me.

“This is all a very nice testimony, Mr. Fox, but I’m afraid it doesn’t have anything to do with our hearing today,” the chairman said.

“Well, wait just a doggone hootin’ minute. Yes, it does. I lost my wife just a couple of weeks after these boys disappeared. I tried like hell to find them—pardon my language—but I couldn’t. But I still have my farm, right here in the good ole Virginia. And if helps these boys, they can have it to make all the furniture they want, startin’ today. Might be nice to have some more life around there. It’s gonna be theirs, anyway. Like I said, I don’t have any kids of my own, and I’ve already written it up in my will. They’re going to inherit the farm someday. They can keep it or sell it, but it’s theirs. I was really glad when that man,”—he pointed at Christian—“found me a couple days ago and asked if I’d write up some paper sayin’ all this, but I’m not much for writin’. Hurts my hands, you know.” He held them up, and those strong hands that once maneuvered wood so easily were now swollen and stiff looking.

Trey’s head bowed, and I saw his shoulders shake. I started to go to him, but Christian quickly grabbed me and held me back. I didn’t care that tears were running down my face at this point.

The board was quiet for several minutes, allowing us—and maybe themselves—a moment to compose ourselves.

“Is there anything else you’d like to add, Mr. Caldwell?”

“Just…just that…” he cleared his throat. “I’m incredible overwhelmed right now. And no matter what your decision is, this moment has given me the strength to go on. I can promise that no one’s belief in me will be wasted.” He turned around and spoke to the two people who smiled back at him. “Thank you. I don’t know what else to say.”

“Then, Mrs. Engold, you may now have your chance to speak.”

Helena stood, her face pinched like she’d been chewing on lemons. “This is all a bunch of BS. That man took my husband’s life and with it, took mine, too. Everything changed. None of these people know him, yet they’re willing to come in here and say whatever to help him get out of jail. I think a person should pay what they owe, and he should have to pay for what he did.”

The board members looked at her expectantly. “Is that all, Mrs. Engold?” the chairman asked.

She nodded.

“Then you may be seated. Please give us a few minutes while we consider everything. We ask that the guests wait outside, please.”

A few of the board members looked through the papers in front of them; others chatted in whispers. Finally, they all nodded.

“As chairman, I ask that each parole board member state their answer as to whether Trey Caldwell should be granted parole.”

The first man, who’d remained completely stoic the entire hearing, spoke. “Yes.”

My heart skipped a beat. One down, four to go.

“Yes.”

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