Cottonwood Whispers

by Jennifer Erin Valent

  I followed her out of the jail with a heavy heart. It certainly seemed as though the deck was stacked against Mr. Poe, and I was terrified at what they would do to him if evidence to prove him innocent was never found.

  Miss Cleta and I went over to the pharmacy, where she mumbled under her breath the entire time she waited for Mr. Poppleberry to fill her order. She was as mad as a hornet.

  It would have been wise, then, if Mrs. Myra Tucker had realized that Miss Cleta was mad as a hornet because she would likely have avoided saying what she said when she spotted us in the pharmacy.

  The moment Mrs. Tucker called our names in her loud, nasally voice, Miss Cleta rolled her eyes and sighed. “Great balls of fire, what does that woman want now?”

  “Always knew that Poe boy would come to no good,” Mrs. Tucker fairly shouted to us even though she was only a few feet away. “He was always so strange, talkin’ to himself and whatnot. I’m not surprised to hear of him sittin’ in a jail cell.”

  “I do declare, Myra Tucker, if you ain’t just got the mouth of the devil,” Miss Cleta spat out angrily. “Anyone with a lick of sense ought to wash your mouth out with soap. Tellin’ tales about that poor boy and screamin’ it across the store so the whole world hears you. You ought to be ashamed of yourself!” She looked around at the handful of patrons and slapped her money down onto the counter. “You all ought to be ashamed!”

  I picked up her package and followed her out the door, struggling to keep up with her spry seventy-nine-year-old footsteps.

  My stomach began to whirl as it always did when trouble was at hand. There was no good to come of this. Like Mr. Poe would say, I could feel it in my bones.

  Chapter 6

  “Ain’t this town learned enough about makin’ hasty judgments?” Daddy asked no one in particular. “Ain’t no one learned his lesson?”

  Momma stood at the kitchen counter peeling her potatoes, a tear or two dampening her cheeks. I sat across the table from Daddy flouring dough for the potpie, but I was making a mess of it since I was thinking about a lot of things other than potpie.

  “That poor man,” Momma sniffed. “He’s got to be scared to death!”

  “He is, Momma,” I said. “He’s just as scared as can be. And they ain’t got so much as a witness against him.”

  “They’ve got his momma’s car,” Daddy said. “That’s all they think they need to haul that man in there, even though everyone in these parts has known him for years and knows he wouldn’t never do nothin’ like this. Anybody could’ve taken that car. He keeps the dang key sittin’ inside it.”

  “Ain’t nothin’ fair around here, Daddy. This town’ll turn against Mr. Poe with a snap of their fingers.”

  Momma put her knife down with an angry clatter. “Well, we won’t,” she declared. “I’m takin’ that man supper every day, and just you see what’ll happen if Charlie Clancy don’t let me.” She fished around in the potato bin for an extra and began peeling it with vengeance. “Harley, you’re takin’ me into town after we eat so I can take some food to Elmer Poe, you hear?”

  Daddy nodded and got up from the table, slapping his leg with his hat so hard a snap echoed through the room. “I’m gonna call Charlie up and see what I can find out. Maybe I can talk some sense into him.”

  “Then you tell him we’re comin’ with supper.”

  We ate somberly that evening. Luke hadn’t come to supper, leaving a gaping hole at our table, and Gemma still wasn’t speaking to me. She sat beside me at the table, barely eating a thing. Momma and Daddy looked at her a lot, but they didn’t seem to think it prudent to say anything to her.

  Momma and Daddy left just after supper, and I washed while Gemma dried. When I tried telling her about Mr. Poe’s dilemma, she shushed me by saying, “I don’t want to talk about that.”

  “But don’t you care nothin’ about what goes on in this town no more?” I asked desperately. “I swear, Gemma, you ain’t like you at all.”

  “I said I don’t want to talk about none of it,” she hollered. Then she tossed down her dish towel and ran out of the room.

  I watched after her helplessly, dishwater dripping from my hands to the floor. I didn’t follow her—I knew well enough she wanted to be left alone—but I couldn’t help worrying.

  When I was done with the dishes, I decided I’d head down to the Colbys’. Truth be told, I had no interest in going near the place for all the fear I now associated with it, but I was aching to hear news of Callie. I grabbed some leftover bread pudding and started on my walk.

  When I reached the Colbys’ house, I found Mae sitting on the porch swing, tears in her eyes.

  “Hey there, Mae,” I said softly. “You all right?”

  “Just thinkin’,” she said.

  “I came to see how Callie’s doin’. Brought you some bread puddin’ too.”

  “That’s mighty kind of you, Jessilyn.” She took the bowl and set it on a table beside her. “Your momma makes a fine bread puddin’.”

  She scooted over to make room for me on the swing, and I sat next to her, a knot in my stomach because I hated talking to people about sad things.

  “Is Callie doin’ better, Mae?”

  “Doc says we won’t know for maybe a few days. Sent us home to rest, but I can’t get no rest.”

  “Is Nate home?”

  “He’s gone into town for some things. He can’t seem to sit still for more’n a few minutes.”

  We sat there in silence for a moment, and then I said, “Momma prays for Callie nearly once an hour. You know, she prays out loud all the time, and I can hear her prayin’ for Callie and for you and Nate. And we pray for you every suppertime.”

  “That’s mighty kind of y’all.” She looked up quickly as a truck rounded the bend. “There’s Nate. I guess we’ll be goin’ on back to the hospital in a few minutes now.”

  “Well, I won’t keep you. Just wanted to see if there was any news. If you got some need for help, you let us know.”

  She got up from the swing and followed me to the porch steps. “Will do, Jessilyn. You tell your momma thanks for them prayers. And thank you for that bread puddin’.”

  I was on my way down the walk when Nate came walking toward the house.

  “Hey there, Nate,” I said, but I was taken aback by the angry look on his face.

  The only acknowledgment I got was a nod in my direction and a curt “Jessilyn.”

  “You know what I heard in town, Mae?” he said before he even got to the porch. “They done picked up who hurt our baby girl.”

  Mae put her hands over her mouth in shock.

  “That’s right! They done arrested Elmer Poe, crazy old loon. Didn’t I always say it was the dumbest thing in the world to let that crazy man behind the wheel? And now he done gone and near about killed our baby girl.”

  “But, Nate,” I said without pausing to think, “they ain’t sure it was Mr. Poe who did it.”

  “They got his beat-up old automobile, ain’t they? That’s proof enough.”

  Mae slumped down onto the steps, her shoulders shaking.

  “But Mr. Poe wouldn’t never hurt a fly,” I replied gently. “He’s a fine man. Even if he’d done somethin’ by accident, first thing he’d do is fetch help.”

  “Jessilyn Lassiter, that man ’bout killed my Callie. They got enough proof they seen fit to arrest, and that’s enough for me.”

  “They ain’t got no witness, no way of knowing how that automobile got messed up.”

  “I think we can all figure that out just fine. They got enough to show who done it, and he’ll get what’s comin’ to him.”

  “But they’ll put him in prison . . . or worse.”

  Nate Colby pointed a shaking finger in my direction and said, “For what he done to my baby, he can burn in hell!”

  Mae never uttered a word. I turned sharply and made my way home with fear nipping at my heels. I knew Nate had a good reason for how he was feeling. But I also knew that people in Calloway had a b
ad habit of jumping to conclusions. My memory was good enough to remember how much trouble that could cause, and worries for Mr. Poe’s safety filled my every thought.

  When I got home, I found Gemma sweeping the porch fast and furiously. I didn’t like the looks of her, but I wasn’t about to say anything. She was in no state to be reasonable, I well knew, so I kept quiet. I was never known for keeping my tongue, but I’d never been in such a position with Gemma before.

  She stopped sweeping long enough to look up at me with guarded eyes. “You see the Colbys?” she asked quietly.

  I nodded, not wanting to say much to her just then. “They ain’t good.”

  She stared off into the distance for a minute and then went back to her sweeping. The methodical noise of the broom made me frustrated. “That all you got to say?”

  “Ain’t full of words today.”

  The breeze had littered the porch with azalea petals, and I slid my foot across the porch to kick away one she’d missed. “You goin’ to church on Sunday?”

  She stopped sweeping and looked at me. “What’re you askin’ that for?”

  I shrugged and examined my fingernails. “Just thought they might miss you over there since you ain’t been lately.”

  Gemma tossed the broom to the floor. “You been spyin’ on me, Jessilyn Lassiter?”

  “In case you didn’t know it, this town has eyes. I ain’t got to spy on nobody. All’s I’ve got to do is listen. People talk.”

  “Well, maybe people ought to find better things to talk about.”

  “If you don’t want them talkin’ about you, maybe you ought to keep better company.”

  Gemma didn’t say anything, but her glare was enough to burn a hole clear through me.

  “’Course, maybe you ain’t spendin’ time with someone on Sundays. Maybe you’re just spendin’ some time alone somewhere.” I waited, hoping she’d give me the answer I wanted to hear. But she didn’t say anything, which only made me figure the worst. “Or don’t Joel Hadley go to church on Sundays, neither?”

  Gemma picked the broom back up so sharply, I was afraid she’d spear me with it, but she just angrily went back to sweeping. “Who I spend my Sundays with ain’t none of your business.”

  Even though her words were harsh, her expression worried me, and I reached a hand out to touch her arm. “You got things to talk about, Gemma, you can talk to me. You can talk to me about everythin’.”

  She stood motionless for a moment, looking aimlessly into the distance. When she spoke, her voice came out strained. “Not everythin’.” Then she leaned the broom against the porch rail, walked down the steps, and hurried away down the road.

  There didn’t seem to be one place I could go where worry would leave me alone.

  Except Luke’s.

  I swept the last few petals from the porch, propped the broom against the house, and headed down the road. The evening was hot as usual, but the air wasn’t so damp as I was used to and there was a good breeze to lighten my spirits. The sky was turning pink when I rounded the corner to Luke’s property. He’d made a good business for himself in the last year making furniture, and when I found him, he was busy painting a kitchen table a pale shade of green.

  The remaining sunlight cast a golden sheen on Luke’s hair, and I stopped short to get a good, long, admiring glance at him. My infatuation with him had done nothing but grow over the last four years, and I got my looks at him whenever I could do it without his notice. When he stood to stretch his back, I shook myself out of my reverie and moved into his view.

  He turned his head and smiled sleepily at me. “Hey there, Jessie. What’s got you over this side of the creek?”

  “Just wanted some company,” I said. “Gemma and me ain’t talkin’.”

  “That’s a shame about you and Gemma.”

  “Ain’t nothin’ I can do about it. Ain’t no point in worryin’ about somethin’ I can’t change.”

  My words sounded very mature and calm, but they had nothing to do with my real feelings. It was just something that made me hurt inside, and I didn’t much feel like talking about hurtful things.

  “You hear about Mr. Poe?” I asked. “He’s in the county jail, you know.”

  Luke stood up straight and squinted to see me against the setting sun. “What in blazes for?”

  “They think he’s responsible for Callie bein’ hurt. They found his momma’s car bashed in, and they think he hit Callie with it.”

  “That’s a fool thing,” he spat out, tossing his paintbrush down on the table. “Ain’t never a day Mr. Poe would do somethin’ like hurtin’ a girl and leavin’ her on the side of the road to die.”

  “I know that. Daddy knows that. Momma knows that. Miss Cleta . . . she knows it, and she already done told the sheriff he’s a crazy fool, but nobody’s listenin’. It’s just like it was when people were hatin’ on us because of Gemma years ago, Luke. People up and make decisions that don’t make sense, and then they go out and hurt innocent people because of them. There ain’t gonna be no hope for Mr. Poe unless they find out what really happened.”

  Luke ran the back of his hand over his sweaty forehead and paced the dirt path where he stood. “You say the car was bashed up?” he asked me after a couple of minutes.

  “That’s what they’re sayin’. But Mr. Poe . . . he says he didn’t do nothin’ to that car. And he means it,” I said adamantly. “You should’ve seen his face when he told me and Miss Cleta. There ain’t no lyin’ in that man, Luke, and you know it.”

  “No, there ain’t no lyin’ in him, Jessie, but there’s lyin’ in lots of other folks. You can just bet someone in this town knows what happened to Callie Colby, but they ain’t sayin’ nothin’. They’d rather let a poor, innocent man go to jail for doin’ nothin’ but mindin’ his own business.”

  “You know that feelin’ I get right in the middle of my stomach when somethin’ bad’s gonna happen? Well, I got it now. This ain’t gonna come to no good.”

  Luke came over and lifted my chin with a paint-stained finger. “Don’t you go losin’ hope, Jessilyn,” he told me seriously. “Ain’t no reason to lose hope until all possibilities are used up, you hear? We got things we can do. Givin’ up hope is the same as givin’ up on Mr. Poe.”

  His voice was firm but kind all the same, and it took some of the bitter taste out of my mouth.

  I smiled at him as well as I could with a heavy heart and looked down at his green-tinted hands, eager to think about anything but trouble. “Who on earth wants a green kitchen table?”

  He smiled and gave the tip of my nose a tap. Then he walked back to the table. “Mrs. Polk. She’s got a big new cookin’ range comin’ in this week that’s green, and she figures she ought to have a green table to match.” He bent down level with the tabletop and ran his finger over one spot in examination. “Makes me a little sick puttin’ this color on a sturdy table like this, but she’s the customer. Customer’s always right, you know, Jessie.” He stood up and winked at me. “Just don’t always mean they have good taste, is all.”

  “I knew Mrs. Polk was gettin’ a new cookin’ range. She spread it all round town, and Miss Cleta told me Mrs. Polk was all full of herself. She says Mrs. Polk’d be better off gettin’ a new face; that’d give her somethin’ to truly be thankful for.”

  Luke laughed out loud, and I smiled at his amusement.

  “’Course she followed it up by sayin’ what an awful thing that was of her to say, and the Lord should strike her speechless for sayin’ it.” I bent to pick a nearby violet and twirled it between two fingers. “Then she followed that up by sayin’ that the Lord would likely forgive her, though, since she was only near enough speakin’ the truth. ‘Weren’t the Lord who gave her that face, after all,’ she told me. ‘It’s a sour disposition and a greedy heart that gave her face that sorry, crinkled-up look.’”

  “There ain’t no more honest soul in the world than Miss Cleta,” Luke said, still laughing. “Lord love a woman like that. She�
�s got more pluck than all the women in Calloway put together.”

  I straightened up tall. “I got plenty of pluck myself.”

  “Oh, I know you got plenty of pluck, Miss Jessie. I’ve been on the receivin’ end of it many a time.”

  “And you wouldn’t like me as much if you hadn’t been, neither,” I said coyly. “You like havin’ spats with me, and you know it.”

  “Well now, I don’t know,” he said, rubbing his chin in feigned thought. “Might be life would get a bit simpler if I didn’t have to put up a fuss with you so much.”

  “No sir. You like our rows. I can see it on your face. If I were just some mouse, sayin’ all ‘yes sirs’ and ‘no sirs,’ you’d be bored stiff.”

  “But there ain’t no use arguin’ about whether or not I like to argue with you, is there?” he asked with a grin. “Seems since you’re near about a lady, and you ain’t changed none, you ain’t bound to change now. Seems you’re full of pluck and sure to stay full of it.”

  He turned away and picked up an old rag to wipe his hands on. “Still, though . . . ,” he murmured wryly. “Ain’t no one said I can’t put a bar of soap in that mouth of yours every now and again.”

  “You just try it, Luke Talley,” I exclaimed tartly, “and I’ll have you tarred and feathered by mornin’.”

  “Ain’t no feathers anywhere near here, so I can figure. I reckon I got me a good chance of gettin’ away with it. Heck, your daddy’d probably pay me money for it.”

  I reached over and picked up the green paintbrush, wielding it like a weapon, but Luke grabbed my wrist before I had the chance to catch him with it. I tripped forward into him, and for one short but glorious minute we stood there, face-to-face, his hand gently gripping my arm.

  I was afraid to blink in case I’d miss anything, so I stood there wide-eyed, my heart beating a mile a minute. The fleeting brilliance of that moment passed when Luke suddenly dropped my hand like it had stung him and stumbled backward, bumping into his worktable.