Fireflies In December Part 6

Chapter 7.

If there was anything I knew about the South, it was that everything in the South was slow. People ate slow, talked slow, and walked slow. Heck, people even thought slow.

For example, Mr. Poppleberry, who ran the pharmacy on Second Street, was the slowest thinker I knew. If I asked him where he kept the quinine, he'd put a finger to his chin and say, "Hmm . . ." for about a minute, and then he'd say, "Miss Jessilyn, I think it's on aisle three. No . . . no. I moved it last Friday. Or was that Wednesday? Couldn't have been Wednesday because I closed up early on Wednesday seein' as how my back was actin' up. And it couldn't have been Friday, neither, seein' as how I spent Friday afternoon talkin' to Digger Thompson about his gra.s.shopper problem."

Finally, after I'd heard about every day, he'd figure out which day it was by saying something like, "Now, that's it, Miss Jessilyn. It was Tuesday. So it was. And it was about three o'clock because that was when Mrs. Sykes came in for her heart pills." About five minutes in, I'd finally be shown to the quinine. And that was how it went when I wanted foot soak for Momma or bandages for Daddy's blisters or anything.

Most people in town weren't much different. It wasn't that they were stupid; it was just that they liked to take their time and not rush at anything. That sort of way didn't suit me too well. I was more of a rusher.

Momma always said she didn't understand where I got it from. "But heaven knows, Jessilyn," she'd often tell me, "if you keep rushin' around for somethin', you won't notice when you've got it."

That Friday night was one of those times when the slowness of the South was making me restless. That night just plain lasted too long.

Gemma had said she didn't want to go fishing. I'd figured she might not because she'd never really taken to it before. So she was sleeping soundly and snoring in the bed near mine.

But me? I'd close my eyes and toss and turn; then I'd hold my clock up to the moonlight to find that I'd wasted only ten minutes. I'd get up, wander the room awhile, trying not to squeak the floorboards and wake Gemma, and stick my face against the window screen for a little fresh air. Then I'd get back to bed and try again.

It was no use. I wasn't sleeping that night.

By four o'clock, I knew I couldn't take it any longer. The plan had been that I would wait outside for Luke to come by and pick me up at five o'clock, but I decided that since I was already awake, I'd head on over to Luke's and wait outside his house instead. The walk through the fields would spend a good twenty minutes of my time, and I thought it was easier to go to the lake from his house because he was closer to it than we were. Seemed to me I was doing him a favor.

When I set out at quarter past four, I had made a pretty good case to myself that I was doing the right thing. I grabbed my pole and some bait I'd gotten ready the day before and walked off through the darkened fields. I cut through the corn crop to save time. It took me about a minute to get my eyes used to the dark, but I managed to find a good path in the middle. The corn rustled and whacked my face as I went, but I ignored it, breathing in the early morning air and daydreaming about my day with Luke.

It was as still and quiet as could be once I came out on the other side of the crop, with only the crickets and frogs to interrupt, and I slowed my pace to enjoy the peace of it.

I pa.s.sed Herschel Jode's house, climbed over the fallen tree that belonged to Lyle Bowman, and splashed through the creek that ran across the back section of Tyrus Black-well's farm. Just five minutes from Luke's house, I started to think it wasn't so peaceful as it had been, and I slowed down. I knew I heard something, but I couldn't figure out what, so I stopped altogether and tilted my head to one side to get a good listen.

It seemed to me there was some sort of buzzing noise, and as I crept farther, I realized it was whispering I was hearing. Not really whispering, though, it was more like what Ginny Lee's little sister called whispering, which was really just yelling in a hoa.r.s.e voice.

That's what I heard as I continued to move closer to Cole Mundy's property. I knew that property well because all of us kids used to climb on the big magnolia tree there. But when Cole bought it, he caught us playing on that tree and raised a ruckus, swinging his big rifle around and yelling at us to get off his land. I never went near it anymore, but I was feeling that curiosity Daddy had always told me would get me in big trouble one day, and I went even closer until I reached the magnolia tree. It was there that I hid, practically holding my breath as I peeked through the split in the trunk.

I could see a dozen men standing around a fire in a pit, all of them wearing white robes. I shivered the minute I caught sight of them and ducked further down behind the tree.

I knew who they were. Maybe not their true names, but I knew what my daddy had told me about those men who wore the white robes and what they did.

"They're cowards," he'd told me when I asked who they were as they held a small parade through town. "They're cowards, plain and simple. That's why they wear them hoods. They like to push around people they're afraid of, and they hide their faces to keep from lettin' on who they are."

He'd told me that they didn't like colored people or Jewish or Catholic people, either. They only liked people like themselves. It frightened me to see them this way, standing around that fire in the dark, sparks from the flames floating on the breeze around them. One of the men was praying in a strained voice, and the others were nodding in agreement I wanted nothing more than to get away from there fast, but I couldn't move. I was too afraid.

I studied the men, trying to figure out who they were. I knew one of them had to be Cole Mundy. After all, it was his property, and he was mean enough to be part of a group like that. And the man talking was Walt Blevins. I'd have known that gravelly voice anywhere. Hoping to get an idea of who the others were, I shifted to get a better look. To my dismay, when I moved my right foot, a stick snapped, making a loud cracking sound.

I froze, and so did the men. The talking stopped, and the hooded heads looked up. I ducked, but only enough to still be able to see them, and I really did stop breathing. I was afraid they'd hear it. I was so scared then that every move I made seemed bigger than it was. To me, that cracking stick had sounded like a gunshot.

"Who's there?" one of the men called gruffly. "Who is it?"

Of course I didn't answer. I didn't move a muscle.

The men started murmuring to one another, and one of them leaned over and seized a rifle that was set against a tree. That was all I needed to get my legs into gear, and though they felt like rubber bands, I managed to make them propel me across the property toward Luke's house. G.o.d graced me with speed that early morning, guiding me across the creek and up to Luke's door before the mournful howling of Cole's dog came within earshot. There was no need to pound on the door, as my fists were c.o.c.ked to do, because Luke threw it open before I had the chance. He had fishing gear in a canvas sack that hung across his back, and his lips were poised to whistle a tune, but when he caught sight of me, he stopped dead still and dropped the sack on the ground.

"Jessie, what're you doin' here?" he demanded. "Is some-thin' wrong? someone hurt over at your place or some-thin'?"

I was so out of breath all I could manage was a shake of my head and a spluttering "Gotta get inside. Now!" I threw one terrified look over my shoulder before Luke picked up the sack in one fist, took my collar in the other, and hauled me inside. By the time Luke slammed and locked the door behind us, I was nearly hysterical inside, my mind reeling with all the ways I could have been hurt.

"You the reason that huntin' party's out?" he asked me pointedly.

The howling was growing louder and closer, and I felt miserable that I'd led trouble to Luke's doorstep, but all I could do was nod. I watched Luke as he peered out his curtain, one hand on his shotgun that lay propped against the wall beside the window. The howling reached a crescendo, a mournful warning that my curiosity had brought the fury of evil against us, and I peered at Luke with a grimace of regret. "I'm sorry, Luke," I managed to murmur. "It's my fault."

Luke said nothing to me. He let the curtains drop back into place and messed up his hair, pushed his suspenders down, and unb.u.t.toned his shirt. He threw his shirt on a chair and then went behind the closet door, coming back out in nothing but sleeping pants. I suddenly felt like I needed to close my eyes.

"Get under the bed," Luke ordered. "Get under there fast and don't make a sound." I hesitated, not sure what was going on, but he whispered to me loudly, "Get under that bed now."

I crawled in with Luke pushing me from behind and squeezed back as far as I could. If I pressed my cheek flat to the floor, I could get a glimpse of the doorway, where Luke went and stood, waiting tensely.

No more than ten seconds later, someone started pounding on the door. I waited, barely breathing, to see what Luke was going to do. He grabbed the shotgun and stood by the door. It took three knocks before he finally opened it. "What in blazes . . . ?" he said drearily, like he'd just woken up. "You boys tryin' to give me a heart attack?"

"We's lookin' for someone, Luke," Cole said. "Someone was sneakin' on my property."

The men had removed their robes, and I strained to get a good look at who they were. Unfortunately there were only two, Cole and Walt, the ones I already knew of.

"I ain't figurin' on entertainin' this early in the mornin', boys," Luke said in irritation. "I tend to sleep this time of day."

Cole seemed satisfied with Luke's answer, but Walt craned his neck to look inside the cabin. "You sure you ain't seen n.o.body? Cole's dog done tracked somethin' to the creek."

Luke held his hands out in front of himself and asked, "Do I look like I been runnin' through creeks?"

"I ain't talkin' about you," Walt said. "I'm askin' if you seen anybody."

"I just said I ain't," Luke argued back.

Walt looked around the place again and then said, "Then if you ain't, you won't care if I take a look around."

He started to move into the house, but Luke put his arm across the doorway to stop him. "Funny thing is, I kinda do. Ain't nothin' in this here cabin you can't see from where you are. And besides," he continued, glancing down at Walt's feet, "your boots are all muddy." He flashed Walt a smile that was more a warning than a welcome. "I just mopped my floor yesterday."

Every muscle in Luke's body was primed for action, and Cole stepped away, respectful of the fact that Luke was twenty pounds heavier and ten years younger than him. "That's okay, Luke. Sorry we woke ya."

Walt only stared at Luke. Cole called for him to move along, but even when he did, Walt never stopped staring at Luke. He just backed away like Luke was a king or something, although Walt's intent wasn't to show reverence.

Luke slammed the door and locked it, peeked through the curtains for a couple minutes, and then whispered, "You can come on out, Jessilyn."

After I crawled out and straightened my clothes, I sat in a nearby chair.

He swung around to look at me, his face creased with anger. "What in the sam hill were you doin' out there? Are you tryin' to get yourself killed?"

"I didn't think I'd come to any trouble, Luke. Honest! I was just comin' to meet you. I thought it'd save you the trouble . . ."

"Fact is, Jessilyn, you brought trouble to my door instead. Now, what'd you do to get those boys on your trail?"

"All I did was see them. That's it. I was walkin' past Cole Mundy's place, and I saw them there, all dressed in them white hoods. There was a whole bunch of them."

"And you just had to investigate, is that it? Jessilyn, you beat all. Them men ain't playin' around. That ain't no game. Hear that dog? He's out huntin' for spies, not rabbits. Who taught you to sneak around in the dark like that?"

"I was comin' to meet you. I wasn't sneakin' around."

"I didn't tell you to come meet me, now did I? I told you I'd come get you." He ran a hand through his hair in a nervous way before saying, "I swear! That was the stupidest thing you could've ever done."

Luke's angry words painted a clear picture of the danger I'd been in, and I started to shake all over with the shock of everything, like I did when I had the measles.

Luke stopped ranting and looked at me with wide eyes.

"What's wrong with you?"

I couldn't tell him what was wrong with me because I didn't know myself. I just sat there and shook, and a tear ran down my face without me even knowing I was crying.

Luke's face turned pale with anxiety, and he ran to fetch a blanket. After wrapping me up tight, he stoked the fire and got me some coffee from the pot on the stove. "It's all right," he said quietly. "It's all right now, Jessie." The anger had disappeared from his face, replaced by sympathy. "I ain't mad. I really ain't. I was only scared, just like you."

I tried nodding, but my neck wouldn't move. After all, I knew why Luke was so upset. My daddy had acted angry before when he was afraid. "It's just what men do," Momma had told me. But I couldn't find a way to tell Luke that I understood. I couldn't do anything but shake.

Luke helped me take a few sips of the coffee, and I was grateful for it, even though I hated the taste of it. Anything warm was welcome then.

The whole time I took those slow, hard gulps, Luke was telling me how sorry he was for yelling. Finally my shaking started to calm, and I was able to tell him in an unsteady voice, "I'm sorry for causin' trouble. I didn't know . . ."

"'Course you didn't know," he told me. "How would you know about bad stuff like that? You weren't meanin' to get into anythin'."

"But what were they doin'? Why were they out there?"

"Ain't no knowin' why they do what they do. They were holdin' a meetin' of some sort, I guess."

"They were prayin'," I said. "To G.o.d. But what my daddy said those people do ain't G.o.d-fearin'."

Luke leaned back in his chair and sighed. "They ain't prayin' to the G.o.d they think they're prayin' to. They don't even know who G.o.d is."

We sat quietly for a few minutes before I asked, "You don't suppose they're figurin' on doin' anythin' to my family, do you? I heard they forced Becky Luter's daddy out of business 'cause he served colored people in his restaurant, and they had to up and leave town because of it. Those same people might try and hurt my daddy somehow too."

"They ain't nothin' to worry about," he said adamantly, taking my hands in his. "They ain't nothin' but a bunch of cowards, and your daddy is a fine, respectable man. Your daddy prays to the real G.o.d. He's watchin' over him."

There was a moment of silence while I was thinking things over and then I asked, "You believe in G.o.d, Luke?"

"Well sure I do," he said, giving my hands a squeeze. "I was brought up on the Scriptures."

"But do you believe in G.o.d and Jesus . . . like my momma and daddy do?"

Luke let go of my hands and leaned back in his chair. "Well now, Jessie. I expect maybe I ain't never thought about it much."

"I have," I told him. "I've thought about it a lot seein' as how I hear about it all the time at home." In my mind I saw those hooded men illuminated in firelight, and I shivered beneath the warmth of the blanket. "I don't know what I think, but it makes me wonder when I see things like this. Seems to me if there's so much evil in the world, then there needs to be an awful lot of good out there somewhere to win out over it."

"You can bet there's good out there, Jessie. Don't you ever go thinkin' them men are what this world is made of. There's plenty of good people out there."

"I know it." I flashed him a smile that wobbled with my shivers. "You're proof of that."

He ruffled my hair and made his way to his closet to get dressed again, and I settled back in the chair and relaxed, warmed by his presence.

We did end up going fishing that morning just as we'd planned. Only we waited until well after sunup to go. Luke didn't want us running into Walt or anyone from our morning adventure. The fishing wasn't fun like I had been expecting, though. We were both quiet, thinking about that morning's worries, and neither of us caught one little thing. We went home empty-handed around noon, and Luke and Daddy went off into Daddy's shed to have a talk. I knew what they were talking about, and I sat down on the front steps to wait for them to finish.

When they came out, Daddy had a tight look on his face, and he stooped down in front of me. "You okay, baby?"

"Yes'r."

"Ain't no one hurt you?"

"No, Daddy. Luke took care of it."

"Well, ain't no one gonna hurt you, neither. You hear?"

"Yes'r."

That was all that was said. Daddy shook Luke's hand, said good-bye, and went on inside, slamming the door behind him.

"He's mad," I told Luke.

"Not at you. At them." Luke walked over and tousled my hair like Daddy always did. "You be good, Jessie girl. I had a fine time fishin' with you. We'll have to do it again sometime."

I just smiled at him halfheartedly and nodded my goodbye.

The day had not gone as I'd hoped.

Chapter 8.

We were in the end of June, and the summer was giving us a good taste of its heat. Some days were so still and blistering we didn't want to do anything. Gemma and I would usually head to the big oak tree on the hill because that was the best place to get out of the sun but still be outdoors where the air could move around us. Inside the house was like an oven. Even the doork.n.o.bs were hot.

I'd take a book and trudge up there with Gemma, roll my pants up as far as I could, and lie down in the gra.s.s. We were getting started on Anne of Green Gables Anne of Green Gables one such day, and I made it through only three pages before I stopped for air. "It's so hot, talkin' ain't even fun," I complained. one such day, and I made it through only three pages before I stopped for air. "It's so hot, talkin' ain't even fun," I complained.

For several minutes, we sat there hearing nothing but crickets, and I swore the air was so thick with wet heat, I could hear it moving, like wind. I pulled my braid out from under me to cool my neck. "This hair," I moaned. "I should cut it all off."

"Don't go talkin' about it," Gemma said. "You won't like your hair short, nohow. Last time you did it, you said to never let you do it again."