Jack said, “Yes, we’ve discussed this before. They probably have some of local law enforcement bribed off.”
“I need more to hang over them. These letters could be that.”
“But there’s nothing in those letters that clashes with the Branches’ cover-up story. The crime hadn’t even happened yet.”
“Yes, but do you think the Branches would want these letters to be made public? It would ruin their dead son’s reputation and also question the way she died. Supposedly she died on the Branches’ farm, and who would believe that ‘accident’ story after having read these letters? I’m talking about the court of public opinion.”
Somber, Jack breathed out, “People are already wary of them, but I’m not sure the Branches are wise enough to recognize it. This would set them apart in a way that even they would be able to see. Yes, I understand what you mean.”
“They don’t love Daisy anyway. They’re cruel to her. They just want to win. And if I can disappear and leave a note saying that the letters are in safekeeping but can be brought out at any time, I’m thinking the Branches wouldn’t want to take a chance on coming after me and making the entire community suspect them.”
His face was starting to darken. “It’s risky. No telling what the Branches might do. And since people don’t like them much anyway, maybe they won’t care about those letters.”
“The Branches will care. Mabel will care. They wouldn’t want to be seen as murderers , and even if these letters don’t provide definite proof of murder, they still make it clear that Betsy was being beaten and was planning to leave with Daisy. Most people will be able to put two and two together, and taken with what you could say about the day of Betsy’s death, I think everyone in town will know what happened to Betsy. It could ruin Jesse’s wedding plans; it could ruin everything for them.”
Jack gazed down at his grasped hands between his knees. “I guess you’re right. It’s a real threat.” He glanced up. “So what do you want me to do?”
“Will you keep these letters for me? When I escape I’ll leave a note saying that someone in town has them and will give them to the police and the newspaper if they try to get me for kidnapping. It’s my only card to play.”
“You’re making a lot of assumptions about what they’ll do,” Jack said, and then his voice lowered and eased, “but of course I’ll do anything you ask.” There was a sad sinking of the skin at the corners of his eyes.
Adah stared into the pollen-filled air before her. Making escape plans had helped her keep panic at bay. “I told you that when I next came back here, I’d have a plan . . . I don’t know if I should tell you or not . . .”
“Tell me.”
“I don’t want the Branches to find out you had anything to do with my leaving. I don’t want them to know you’re the one holding the letters. If you have to use them, you can turn them over only with a promise of anonymity.”
“I’m not afraid of the Branches for myself, only for you.”
Adah breathed deeply. “Okay, I’ll tell you. I could use some advice anyway.” She paused. “So last night they made Daisy sleep in the barn, and I couldn’t sleep at all. Then a plan came to me, Jack,” she said and turned to face him. “I have to create a distraction, a big and unexpected distraction.” She gulped.
“And . . . ?”
“I’m thinking . . . I can do something to the still. Maybe . . . blow it up.”
Jack’s eyebrows flew skyward.
“I know,” Adah said. She’d even mouthed a few words of prayer, asking for divine guidance. She’d heard it said that everything was the will of God. Often when she was out in the fields, she laid her palms flat on the earth, feeling its lingering warmth, letting it seep into her. She had never before been in such need of help. But she’d received no answers to her prayers so far. “I know it’s a crime, but I have to fight criminals with something as deep and dark as the crimes they commit. I’m thinking I’ll slip away after supper one night and light the fire, then sabotage the still so that it explodes. If the sound’s loud, as I expect it will be, people will come, and the Branches will be terrified of discovery. They’ll hightail it to the still to get rid of any remaining evidence. Then I’ll make my escape.”
“What of Mabel?” Jack asked.
“That’s the part I’m unclear on. I’m not sure she’ll go outside to help. But I’m certain she’ll do something. She might call on the telephone for help, but I don’t know. If she does, people could find evidence of the still, and it would be difficult for the police to ignore it. But I don’t have any idea how to explode a still.”
“I’ve heard of stills exploding while they’re being operated, but Jesse or Buck or both of them would be there if it’s running. When they’re away, you could try to start it up yourself and trigger an explosion, but you would have to know what you’re doing, or you risk doing it wrong.” He drew in a deep breath, brow furrowed. “Do you realize that someone could get hurt or even killed? Do you realize that it could cause a fire, and the fire could get out of hand and spread to the house and the woods and even to other farms? If you’re caught, you could go to jail for the rest of your life. The Branches could say that you started the fire, and you would be wanted for arson even if they don’t report you for kidnapping.”
Adah tried to ignore her shame. It had been awful to admit to herself that she was capable of enacting such a plan, but it was another thing altogether to see the heartlessness of it revealed in Jack’s eyes.
Jack stood up. “You can’t do this, Adah,” he said.
Adah sucked in a tight breath. “All of my life people have been telling me things I can’t do, and yet I do them.”
He took a few steps away, then turned. “You’re being reckless, careless. I understand you’re under pressure, but this is not the best plan.”
“It’s the only plan.”
Jack hinged his hands on his hips as he continued to pace. “You could be killed.”
“I’m very aware of that . . . although I think it’s unlikely.”
Jack finally stood still. He looked helpless and furious about his helplessness. “Don’t do it.”
“I have to.”
A burst of anger entered his eyes as he stared at her. Then he reached down and picked up a small wayward tree branch off the ground.
Adah’s breath halted.
But he flung the branch into the yard and then simply stood, breathing deeply. Jack would never hit a woman. He was no Branch man.
They remained that way, Jack standing and Adah sitting, through a long, suffering silence, and Adah had to pull her eyes away. But she finally pushed herself to face him. She feared a look of condemnation, but his anger had quickly been replaced by concern. Emanating from him was a sad combination of intelligence, awareness, and love, closing in on desperation.
“I know it’s not an ideal plan, but it’s all I have.” Adah’s hands were shaking so much she slipped them under her thighs and pressed them still. “I’ll have to hope that my threat to turn over the letters is enough for them to let me get away with blowing up the still and taking Daisy. I can move around and live on my own. I’ve done it before. But I’ve never had the law on my tail. I know I’m taking huge chances, but there’s no other way.”
“They’re two of the most heinous crimes: kidnapping and arson.”
Adah was hoping for bravado, but her voice sounded hollow and weak. “I know. But I can blow up the still after we’ve had a hard rain and everything is damp. That’ll lessen the chance that the fire spreads.”
His voice barely above a whisper, he said, “There has to be another way. You have to come up with something safer. Don’t fight the Branches.”
Frustration stirring in her chest, Adah audibly exhaled. “We’ve been down this road before.” She avoided his gaze.
Jack stood still, awash in worry, but the helpful part of him won over the worried part. “You don’t know enough about a still to make it explode while it’s operating. I’
d say you need to use a stick of dynamite and simply blow it up.”
Adah flinched. “Dynamite? How would I get that? And how would I get away before it blew me up?”
“I’m thinking,” Jack said. Then sighed. “There has to be a woodpile at the still. You could light a fire on one side of it and place the stick on the other side. The fire will grow and eventually meet the dynamite. But you’d have to hope the dynamite doesn’t go off before you’ve had a chance to get back to the house. How far away is the still?”
“I don’t know.”
“You haven’t found it?”
“I haven’t had a reason to.”
“Well,” Jack said, “you do now. Find it and hope it’s far enough away to stay cut off if a fire gets out of hand, and definitely light the fire after a rain. Let’s also hope the still is close enough so you can get back to the house before it blows.”
“I’ll do that. The only other thing I haven’t figured out is how I’ll get Daisy and me out of town. I’ll have to clear out fast. I’ll leave my bargaining chip on the table in the kitchen—a note telling them about Betsy’s letters—and then we have to . . . vanish.”
Jack’s eyes were hazy with sadness when he said, “You can go to the docks. I’ll meet you somewhere near the farm and drive you there. Then bribe your way onto a riverboat, any boat. There’s always some boat put in there for the night. They’ll hide you away even if they’re not leaving until morning. You still have that money, right?”
Adah nodded. She and Daisy would assume new lives on the other side of the river. They would put the cold cage of the Branch family home and the snake of the Ohio behind them.
“For a price, they’ll take you and drop you anywhere along their course.”
Adah almost smiled but couldn’t. Jack was giving her what she wanted even though it was the opposite of what he wanted. A form of illness was coming over her. This was not supposed to happen. She wanted to gaze upon him like this forever. How beautiful he was when his mind looked as open as it did now. What did he dream of? What ideas and memories lived in his mind?
“That’s brilliant, Jack. I knew you would come up with something.”
They sat in a silence that drew out.
He reached over, rubbed her arm, and looked at her with eyes as warm as a fawn’s, his face as bright as moonbeams, and he spoke deeply from the back of his throat. “If the Branches catch you trying to destroy that still, they’ll kill you. You’re really playing with fire now. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: you shouldn’t try to beat the Branches at their own evil games.”
Adah remained silent and let his warning sink in. She knew the stakes were high. More than anything at this very moment, she wanted to go into his arms.
“What if you don’t hear an explosion, and you go back to start all over only to find out that the fire has finally reached the dynamite, and it’s about to blow?”
“I have to take my chances.”
Jack’s gaze was firm and yet easy on her face. She closed her eyes, and it was just the two of them alone in the universe. No farms, no land, no other people, no kidnapping, no arson. If only they’d met under different circumstances. If only she’d met Jack instead of Lester. If only . . .
He tugged in a big breath. And then his voice, languid and lovely. “Your skin is vanilla.”
Dazed by the beauty of his words, even so, she didn’t turn to him. She couldn’t give him false hope. Instead she whispered, “You have to stop this, Jack. Either I’m going to leave here, I’m going to jail, or I’m going to die.”
“I know,” Jack said. “You don’t do anything halfway. That’s why I love you.” Jack spoke as if each word were his last dying wish. Slowly, ever so slowly, convincingly. Sure but sad. And then he said something that ripped away what little she had recovered of her composure. “You’re the bravest woman—no—the bravest of anyone I’ve ever known.”
But she’d never seen herself as brave. True she was a fighter, but not all fighters were brave. Brave people didn’t end up in such a mess, layered in sheets of deceit.
“Where will I get the dynamite?”
“I’ll get it for you,” he said, his voice barely audible. “Wait here.”
Jack vanished inside and returned shortly, holding a small bowl of peaches and a knife. He sat beside her. “Found me some beautiful ones down at the market the other day.” He picked up a plump peach and carved out a slice. He lifted it to his mouth as a line of juice ran down his hand.
An urge to lick it off rose like a deep hunger in Adah. She looked away, and then his hand was before her, holding out a slice.
“Here,” he said softly.
Helplessly Adah opened her mouth and tasted the sweet fruit as he slipped it onto her tongue. She also tasted the slightly salty flavor of his skin. She slowly chewed and then swallowed. It was so sweet, juicy, earthy. “What about the dynamite?”
“You think too much, Adah. I’m going to get it for you. But for now, can you let your burdens go? Let yourself enjoy a moment here and there. Let me worry for you for just a short spell.”
Adah allowed herself to be fed, and with each successive bite Jack’s hand rested a moment longer, until the peach was nearly gone, and he put his finger on her bottom lip, then gently traced it.
She threw herself into a standing position and took a few steps away then, hands clenching her skirt, but finally ready to face something new—she loved him back. She had to have married the wrong man to know the right one when he came along. Maybe only after unhappiness and loss could a man like Jack Darby make sense. A man through whom she might find hope and redemption. Forgiveness, even.
A new concern had now been added to her life. Jack.
One foot before the other. She could do it; she had to walk away. Then she began running, adrenaline surging through her every cell. She was way too scared and shaky to even turn around and wave goodbye. She ran with a kind of madness. A wild dash.
And still it made no difference. She loved him back.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The next day, she went in search of the Branch still. Plunging through the woods and looking for clearings, she focused on land near the creek. It was as hot as blue blazes that day, and the creek was running high from some recent rain. She swatted at gnats that gathered about her head and picked her way among fallen branches, stones, and leaves. The air away from the house tasted of freedom, and Adah drew it deeply into her lungs.
Adah searched quickly, and the still wasn’t difficult to find, located on the high side of the creek bed, up away from the water, and partially dug in. There she came upon a cleared spot of packed dirt shaded by a circle of trees and a tarp, under which there was a large barrel made of copper set on planks of wood, the ash remaining from doused fires, some wooden boxes, buckets, pipes, and other equipment she hadn’t seen before. She’d never seen a still, but she had no doubt. This was where Jesse and Buck made their moonshine.
Not wanting to linger and hoping her absence hadn’t been noticed, she backed away. The still was far enough away to pose little threat to any person, but it was close enough that she ought to be able to run back to the house in only a short time.
She could only imagine the expressions on both Buck’s and Jesse’s faces when they heard the explosion and knew where it had come from. She smiled despite hearing Jack’s words in her head: You’re playing with fire.
As she traipsed back through the woods, she kept spinning her web. The next step would be to clean up the old house, making it appear as if she were hoping to live there again someday.
Thoughts raced and whirled. She closed her eyes and envisioned Daisy and her leaving, like two threads pulled straight out from a tightly woven trap, finding escape from the matting and floating away free. But she also knew that imagining things did not make them come true. She had to be diligent about secrecy, leaving no trails, and she had to be thorough in her planning. Concentrating so hard during the day left her exhausted and s
leeping soundly, as if transported to another place, and although she vaguely remembered having complex, swirling dreams, she awakened with a blank mind.
But as arid days dragged on, something of those harried dreams returned. Adah touched her neck; her pulse was rapid. Could she do this?
On top of all her worries, it was the beginning of the driest season of the year. The grass outside seemed to spark like striking a match and the creaking porch steps sounded like brittle bones breaking. She didn’t know when she could count on a hard rain to come, and Jack was planning to buy dynamite in another town, just to be sure that it couldn’t be traced back to him or to Adah. But he hadn’t had time to make the journey yet. She had to wait.
August arrived so quickly, more wasted days falling away from the calendar. Time was marching on while Adah’s plans stagnated. She needed dynamite and wet weather. In the meantime, the life of the farm rolled on. The tobacco plants had to be suckered, and Adah was able to help once again, taking Daisy with her and teaching the girl how to locate and remove secondary stems that had grown from the base or leaves of each tobacco plant. It was one of the most tedious and time-consuming steps in tobacco cultivation, and although Buck had been keeping the colored men on at eighty-five cents a day and pushing them to their limits, Adah made time to be of assistance. As she worked she knew Jesse was always keeping an eye on her, while trying to pretend he wasn’t.
Daisy tired of the task after working on just a few plants, and Adah released her to play nearby among the rows. There she ran up and down, waving her arms as if she wished she could fly. Daisy had been having nightmares, suddenly waking with a scream so pitiful and weak that only Adah heard it. It often took a half hour of consolation and gentle touching to calm her enough to send the ghosts of her dreams away and get her back to sleep.
Often Adah stayed awake, finally giving in to sleep again as the stars came out, distant mad explosions showering her into slumber. She imagined Daisy as a beautiful little bird rising out of the ashes of her wounded past, soaring far and away, away from this farm, away from this family, away from this life. It wasn’t too late; Adah knew it.
The River Widow Page 21
