Fireflies In December Part 21

"Leave me be!"

"No!" Gemma argued. "I ain't lettin' you pry into Jeb's things and feel awful about it later."

I leaned my hip into her side, trying to shove her away, but she retained a steady grip.

"Quit pushin' me," she said, breathless from our struggle. "You ain't gettin' me away that easy."

"I want to see inside," I grunted, still pushing her with my hip. "Now leave me be."

"No ma'am! I ain't raised to do such things and neither were you. Ain't nice to let friends make mistakes like you're gonna make."

"I've made lots of mistakes," I said, "and you ain't been able to stop me those times, neither."

"I will this time." Gemma's voice was strained as she pushed her weight against mine. "You ain't gettin' in this crate."

We were both breathing hard from fatigue, standing with our feet wide apart, digging our sides into each other. Back and forth we'd lean, one of us giving in for a second before pushing back with all our might. We were grunting and groaning, and the crate creaked under the pressure.

I gave the top another tug, and I could feel it loosen. "I've almost got it. Now get off so I can see inside before someone gets here."

"No, I won't. I ain't gonna let you do it." Gemma clutched my hands more tightly, but her hold only enabled me to pull the lid off, and the two of us toppled to the ground as it released.

Gemma started to sputter at me, but she stopped dead when she got a glimpse at what had tumbled out of the crate. Half hanging out was a ma.s.s of white fabric, and we instinctively knew just what that white fabric was. We'd seen it up close and personal.

I jumped up and took a closer look in that crate. I dug around and found a matching hood, hollow eye slits staring at us like a demon. "Klan," I whispered, my heart dropping with the realization of what Jeb was.

"You mean we got Klan right here?" Gemma gasped. "We got Klan on La.s.siter property?"

My ears p.r.i.c.ked up when I heard the voices of some of the men on the path. "They're breakin' for dinner. We gotta get out."

Gemma helped me stuff the robe back into the crate and replace the lid. We flew outside, tossed the crowbar back into the shed, and made it down the path and out of sight without getting caught.

Once we were near the house, I led Gemma off the path toward the cover of some trees. "Don't you tell no one," I said.

"Tell no one what? What we saw?"

"Don't say nothin' about what we saw, and I don't want you tellin' what I'm about to tell you, neither."

"What?"

"Well, do you promise not to tell no one?"

Gemma shrugged like she didn't think I was going to say anything worth sharing.

"What's that?" I asked. "That mean you won't tell?"

"No, I won't tell. Mercy's sake!"

"All right, fine." I took another look around for eavesdroppers. "The other day, when I was goin' to find Jeb for Momma, I saw him in the woods by the top fields talkin' to Walt Blevins."

Gemma looked genuinely puzzled. "What for?"

"Don't know what for exactly, but he told Walt to leave me alone."

"Maybe he saw Walt sneakin' around and took care of him for your daddy."

"Don't think so, 'cause he talked to Walt right friendly, like he knows him. He said that messin' with me would spoil his plans."

"Plans?"

"He didn't say nothin' else. Just said he didn't want Walt messin' up his plans."

"That don't make no sense."

"It does if Jeb's in on all the trouble."

"You in more trouble than you're tellin' me?" she asked with a shake in her voice. I was surprised by the fierce look in her eyes. "You tell me straight."

I paused and then said, "Gemma, you got enough to worry about. You ain't got to be worryin' about me."

"If there's somethin' wrong, I want to know. I been sus-pectin' you ain't been tellin' me all. Well, now's the time. I want to know."

Tears started to spring to my eyes, and it made me cringe to feel the way I did. I hated feeling the isolation of being a victim.

"What is it?" Gemma asked anxiously. "Tell me."

"I think Walt's gonna hurt me," I blurted out, all the fear of the past days rushing back full force. "He looks at me like no grown man should look at me."

"He threaten you?"

"As much as he could without actually sayin' so."

"Why didn't you tell your daddy?"

"Daddy's got enough trouble. . . ."

"He would want to know."

"No! I don't want Daddy knowin'. I don't want no one knowin'. You promised me. It's between you and me."

Gemma didn't understand me. I could see that on her face. When it came right down to it, I didn't understand me either. But things were what they were, and I didn't have any experience in handling such things. We barely said two words to each other on the way back to the house.

"Your daddy and momma would feel badder'n I don't know what if you ended up dead," Gemma said as we snapped beans for supper that night.

"Hush your mouth," I whispered. "Luke's comin'."

"Looks like your momma's beans are on the menu," Luke said happily as he ambled up the walkway. "And I could smell her honey ham all the way from Miss Cleta's house."

"I know," I replied. "Been makin' me hungry for the last hour."

He mounted the porch steps in one stride and straddled an old straw chair. "Give me a bowl, Jessie, and I'll help you out."

"There's other more important ways you could help her out," Gemma muttered.

I grabbed Gemma's bowl away from her, making her drop a bean onto the floor, where Duke quickly retrieved it. "Gemma's gotta go help Momma in the kitchen," I said with a glare at her, knowing full well that she'd hint enough to have Luke guessing at my troubles if I let her stay out with us. "You can use her bowl."

She sighed and let the door slam extra hard on her way in.

"She seems right sober," Luke commented to me when Gemma had gone.

"She gets that way when she's hungry," I lied.

Luke didn't believe me, I could see, but he was used to me and Gemma arguing about things. He likely figured he'd be better off not knowing what our spat was about.

We had an end-of-summer storm that night in late August, and since there wasn't much nearby lightning from it, Momma excused me from dishes so I could enjoy it on the porch. Gemma volunteered to help Momma since she didn't want anything to do with thunderstorms anymore. So Luke and I sat on the porch glider while Daddy smoked his pipe on an old rocker.

"Ain't too many more nights like this left," Daddy murmured after a particularly long clap of thunder. "Gettin' on to the end of the season now."

"Yes'r," I responded quietly. "Summer's almost gone." Most years, I thought summer always went too fast, but I couldn't say that this summer was one I wanted to hang on to any longer than necessary.

"School startin' soon, Jessie?" Luke asked.

"Next week."

"You happy to go?"

"S'pose I'm just toleratin' it. Ain't like I'll be long on friends or nothin'."

"Now, Jessilyn," Daddy said with a tone that likely didn't even convince himself, "there ain't no tellin' for sure that you won't have friends."

"You been around town lately, Daddy? Ain't no one wants to be our friends." I crossed my arms and said with sincerity, "I don't care none if they don't, neither. If they got worries 'cause we got Gemma, then they ain't worth bein' friends with, nohow."

"That's my girl," Luke said, tousling my hair with a hand that nearly covered the top of my head. His brotherly gesture did nothing to improve my opinion of the current summer.

Another loud jolt of thunder sent Duke cowering underneath the glider with a squeal. Then almost as quickly he came flying back out in excitement as Mr. Tinker's truck rumbled up our gravel driveway.

"What in the . . . ?" Daddy mumbled. "Ain't expectin' to see him tonight."

Mr. Tinker popped his head out the side window and hollered for Daddy.

"What is it, Otis?" he hollered.

"Got some trouble at the Pollard place, and the sheriff's out in Sellers County for a meetin'. Could sure use your help."

Daddy stood and stretched. "What kind of trouble?"

"Same as usual. Old Jeff Pollard's been into the jug too much today, and his missus swears he's gonna kill 'em all with his flailin' and cussin'. You know how she gets."

Daddy shook his head, handing me his pipe. "Stick this inside for me, will you? And tell your momma where I'm headin'."

"You need me to go along?" Luke asked.

"Naw, you stay on here."

"Don't know, Harley," Mr. Tinker said. "Might come in handy if Jeff's all a sight like his missus says he is. He's no small man, you know."

"He ain't so big as the two of us can't handle him. 'Sides, he gets all tottery when he's tight. Won't be able to see straight enough to figure out who to punch."

"No trouble, if you need me," Luke insisted.

"Ain't no harm in a couple more good hands," Mr. Tinker said.

Daddy turned to Luke, who was now standing near him, one hand hanging on to the porch pillar. "Luke, I'd be just as obliged if you'd stay behind with my girls." He lowered his voice. "I'd feel mighty good knowin' they wasn't alone tonight, you hear?"

Luke tipped his hat. "Yes'r."

Daddy's tone and the look on his face when he spoke to Luke made me even more nervous than I'd been. Now I knew for sure that he was scared for us, and my daddy didn't scare too easily. I pulled my knees up to my chin and hugged them, watching Daddy tug his hat down tighter before heading out into the light droplets of rain that had begun to fall. "Be careful, Daddy."

"Oh, I'll be fine, darlin'," he said with a lighthearted smile.

"Ain't nothin' old Jeff Pollard's goin' to do to me. He's been a fine neighbor right these twenty years, and he ain't like to do nothin' bad."

I returned the pipe to its place on the mantel and told Momma where Daddy had gone. I stared out the front window, watching the truck leave the house, my heart heavy. I had a persistent feeling of doom these days, like something awful waited for me around every corner. Fear had become my constant companion, and I hated to see my daddy head off into any situation that could be dangerous.

Momma came up behind me and took a look out the window. "That Jeff Pollard. What a sight." Then she went back to her humming and dish cleaning.

I left Momma and Gemma to their busy work and walked out to the porch, where Luke sat tapping his foot.

"Rainin' good now," he told me.

"S'pose." I settled in the seat next to him. "You think Daddy's safe out there at the Pollard place?"

"Don't see why not."

"But his wife says he's bound to kill 'em, Mr. Otis said."

"Aw, his bark's worse than his bite, I'll wager."

"How d'you know?"

"Well, your daddy says so, and what your daddy says is usually right. Besides, Jeff Pollard works at the factory with me, and he seems a right good man. Most decent men don't go doin' awful stuff when they're liquored up."

"But the drink does bad things to people."

Luke looked at me sideways. "How do you know? Your daddy don't drink."

I stumbled a little because I hadn't told anybody about Buddy Pernell's advances at the Independence Day social, and I didn't feel like letting on now. So I just said, "I been to enough barn dances to know what men are like on the drink. It ain't nice, is all."

"No, it ain't nice, but I don't think a basically decent man would kill his family just from bein' drunk. I'd say he's gotta be a mean one to begin with if he's gonna do somethin' crazy like that."