Cottonwood Whispers

by Jennifer Erin Valent

  Neither of us knew what to say. There was a deep silence between us, and even the crickets seemed quieter than usual. I tried swallowing, but my throat was dry, and I backed up a little bit, awkwardly fumbling for my next move.

  Luke was just standing there, looking toward the ground at nothing in particular, his eyes never meeting mine.

  At length, I managed to speak after twice clearing my throat. “You got paint on your trousers.”

  Luke seemed not to hear me for a moment; then he blinked a few times fast and bent his head down to look at his pants. “Ain’t I clumsy,” he mumbled uncomfortably. And then he took advantage of the opportunity to excuse himself from our strange meeting. “Better go scrub it off. I’ll see you later, Jessilyn.”

  I watched him as he tripped over a chair and then a tree stump before managing to make it inside his house.

  I knew my daddy would want me home before dark, but I still wandered home at a snail’s pace, lost in a daydream.

  After all, my smile lit my way home.

  Chapter 7

  Saturday seemed a day like any other day when I woke up. I looked out the window at the pink streaks that were starting to fill the sky and glanced over at Gemma still sleeping in her bed. She had tossed and turned until very late last night just as she had done many nights of late. I watched her there and felt the sadness of our strained friendship, hoping this day wouldn’t bring more pain than I already felt.

  As was common for me of late, my first thoughts were of Gemma and my second thoughts of Callie. True to his word, Luke had taken me to the hospital on Thursday night, but we hadn’t had any news of Callie since. I decided to head down the road in search of some.

  Old Joe Callahan was fixing Miss Cleta’s roof when I passed by, and he waved a hello to me.

  “Out awfully early this morning, ain’t you, Miss Jessilyn?” he called.

  “Same for you, Joe.”

  “You know Miss Cleta. She’s got to have things done soon as they need doin’, and she’ll bother you till she gets her way.”

  Miss Cleta came out onto the porch, letting the screen door slam to with a clang that made old Joe jump up on that roof.

  “You talkin’ about me again, Joe Callahan?” she hollered.

  Joe grabbed his hammer back up good and quick. “No’m, I ain’t,” he lied, before his words were drowned out by the sound of his hammering.

  Miss Cleta, her hands squarely on her apron-covered hips, nodded at me with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Come on in for some banana bread, Jessilyn. Ain’t nothin’ else for a morning like this but some banana bread.”

  “I don’t want to take up your time, Miss Cleta.”

  “It ain’t takin’ up my time. Just the same, I have somethin’ to talk over with you.”

  I wandered into the house, where it wasn’t much cooler than it had been outside, but the smell of the bread took my mind off the heat. Miss Cleta gave no indication of what she wanted to talk to me about for the first little while. She just rattled around in her kitchen, setting out plates and butter. I sat idly by, knowing full well any offers to help her would be rejected since Miss Cleta felt no guest should ever lift a finger and today I was a guest, not her household help. It wasn’t until she was settled opposite me and halfway through her first slice of bread that she murmured a single word.

  “You know, Miss Jessilyn, I think you seen a lot of unpleasantness in your short life.”

  I looked at her oddly and shrugged. “S’pose so, Miss Cleta. Though it seems near everyone’s gone through the same sadness. People all over the place are losin’ kin and whatnot. Can’t see as though I’m much different from the rest.”

  “Well, you know God has a plan for things, don’t you? Out of things that seem bad at the time, good things can come.”

  “Yes’m. I’ve seen that before.”

  Miss Cleta took one long sip of her tea, then a second and then a third. I could tell she was uncomfortable and unhappy though she was talking fine and pleasant, and there was a sudden tightening of my stomach as I watched her face.

  “Miss Cleta,” I said hesitantly, “you got some bad news to tell me, I’d like you to come on out and tell me. I ain’t going to feel any better findin’ bad news out from anybody else, and around these parts, I’m gonna hear about it later if I don’t hear about it now.”

  She thought for a moment and looked like she was going to speak; then she thought twice and got up to put the teapot back on. But as she went to strike the match for the stove, she stopped and looked at me, and I could see her eyes were starting to wet.

  “Miss Cleta?” I murmured nervously.

  “Child, little Callie. She ain’t . . .”

  I pushed my chair back from the table, starting to feel suffocated. “She ain’t what, Miss Cleta?”

  “Honey . . .”

  “You’re scarin’ me!”

  “You know how bad she was hurt, Jessilyn.”

  “But she was doin’ better, I thought.”

  “No, honey. She was just the same as ever all along. The only reason she seemed better is because she didn’t seem worse. But now . . .”

  “Now what?”

  “She’s gone, baby. Jesus took her home late last night.”

  I clutched my chair tightly, my thoughts whirling.

  Miss Cleta came across the kitchen to console me, but she only laid a hand on my shoulder, making sure to give me room to figure things out on my own.

  “Why would God take a little girl?” I asked, angry and sad at once. “She’s just a little girl!”

  “Honey, it’s as I said before. God’s got His plans, and we ain’t the wiser to them. We can’t understand His ways.”

  “Ain’t no doubt we can’t. ’Cause ain’t none of it makes any sense.” I got up and paced the room, feeling like nothing was right or familiar. I suddenly felt out of place. “Mr. Poe,” I remembered suddenly. “What’ll they do to Mr. Poe? They’ll string him up for sure.”

  Miss Cleta said nothing, and I could tell by her silence that she felt the same as I did.

  We stood there across from each other in Miss Cleta’s kitchen, faced off over the seeming unfairness of life. I crossed my arms defiantly and shook my head.

  “Honey,” Miss Cleta said, “you got to believe God’s got His reasons, and His reasons are always right.”

  “It ain’t right! No’m, it ain’t right!”

  Miss Cleta tried to console me, but I backed away. “I’ve got to go,” I mumbled.

  “Where you goin’, honey? You want Joe to give you a ride home?”

  “No, ma’am. I just got to go somewhere . . . somewhere else.”

  Miss Cleta followed me to the door. She let me go without another word, but when I turned down the road away from my house, I heard her say, “Joe, you get on over to the Lassiters’ and tell them where Jessilyn’s headin’.”

  But I didn’t want anyone to find me. I just wanted to be alone. I hurried along the road until I was out of sight and then slipped off into the woods.

  I stumbled mindlessly over stumps and fallen tree branches until I reached Squalers Pond. I dropped to the ground and stared into the water, watching the reflection of the clouds, without any thought toward time. It didn’t matter to me that Momma and Daddy might worry or that I’d be bitten to pieces by mosquitoes. All I knew was I was mourning the loss of life as it had been as much as I was mourning the loss of Callie.

  I’d spent many moments by this pond with her, watching her toss stones into the water in search of a good splash. The memory of her laughter echoed in my head as I mindlessly fingered a rock beside me, closing my hand around it. The thought struck me that Callie would never sit by this pond with me again, and I squeezed the rock hard, hoping the pain from its jagged edges would cut the pain in my heart. But it didn’t numb it one bit.

  I was oblivious to anything else around me until a long shadow fell over me. I looked back to see Luke standing behind me.

  “Jes
silyn,” he said, “your momma and daddy are mighty worried about you. You all right?”

  I hadn’t cried a tear that whole time by the pond, but now I could feel them behind my eyes, determined to come out. It was all I could do to say two simple words in a broken whisper: “Callie’s gone.”

  Luke gently pulled me to him and my sobs came in short gasps. “I know, Jessie. And I’m sure sorry,” he murmured. “I’m sure sorry.”

  I let myself cry for a couple minutes more before pushing away from him. I looked into his face desperately. “They got Mr. Poe for hittin’ her, Luke. They’ll kill him now.”

  Luke’s jaw tightened, and I could see in his eyes he knew I was right. “Did you hear any news? Anyone done anythin’ to Mr. Poe?”

  “No, but they will. You know it.”

  He took me by the arm, his touch kind and gentle despite his angry posture, and we traveled the short distance home without saying a word. When we rounded the corner to home, I saw Daddy leaning on a fence post mopping his face with a handkerchief. The minute he saw us, he straightened up tall and approached us with rapid steps.

  “Baby, are you okay?” he asked after one look at my face. “We been lookin’ everywhere for you.”

  I ran to him, and though he was hot and sweaty, I let him take me in his arms. “We have to help Mr. Poe, Daddy. He ain’t got no one else.”

  “Think we might have some trouble brewin’ in town,” Luke said. “Mr. Poe ain’t likely to get a fair trial now.”

  Daddy let me go and gave me a soft push toward the house. “Jessilyn, you run on in and tell your momma you’re back. She’s been sittin’ by the phone hopin’ for someone to call about you.”

  I wandered off, but I slowed my pace to hear what they might be saying with me gone.

  “Ain’t no good to come from things like this,” Luke told my daddy. “Mr. Poe ain’t got a bad bone in his body, and this town’s bound to treat him no better’n an animal now.”

  I stopped at the porch steps to glance behind me, and I saw Daddy shake his head wearily. “I’ll go fetch my rifle.”

  Daddy mounted the steps past me, but I turned again to look at Luke. He had pulled his pistol from his waistband and was checking to make sure it was loaded. A chill went down my spine as I watched him there, weapon in hand. I pictured him being threatened by other men with guns, angry men wanting nothing more than to exact vengeance, and my heart began to beat fast and hard so that I could feel it in my throat. I stood there for a minute before I found my feet and ran down the steps toward him.

  “Luke,” I called out. “Luke!”

  He quickly replaced his pistol and looked at me with worry in his eyes. “What’s wrong, Jessie? You all right?”

  “I’m okay,” I stammered breathlessly. “It’s just . . . I wanted to say . . . I want you to be careful, is all.”

  He smiled halfway. “I’m always careful, Jessilyn. Your daddy and I are just goin’ into town to check on Mr. Poe. We ain’t really expectin’ a fight or nothin’. We’re just bein’ prepared.”

  “Luke,” I said with a shake of my head, “I ain’t no baby no more. Lyin’ to me don’t make no sense. I know people, and I know what they can do when they’re blind angry. Ain’t no use tryin’ to convince me that there ain’t gonna be no trouble. I know better.”

  Luke pushed his hat back on his head and looked into my eyes. “I reckon you’re right at that, Miss Jessilyn,” he said, his voice soft but certain. “You ain’t no baby no more, sure enough.”

  “’Bout time you realized that.”

  “Well then . . . ,” he wondered aloud. “What should I say? I’m used to sayin’ things to make you feel better.”

  “You can’t make me feel better all the time, Luke. Sometimes things are just bad any way you slice it. All you need to say is you’ll be careful—and mean it.”

  “All right then,” he said quietly. “I’ll be careful, Jessie. So long as you don’t go followin’ behind us when we leave.”

  “Huh?”

  “Don’t tell me ‘huh.’ I know you, Jessilyn Lassiter. The minute we’re outta sight, you’re gonna get it into your head to follow behind us.”

  “I wasn’t goin’ to.”

  “Uh-huh,” he murmured. “Just the same, you listen to what I’m tellin’ you. I can see in your face you’re thinkin’ different than you’re sayin’.”

  “Don’t you go tellin’ me what I’m thinkin’. I got me a mind of my own, and ain’t nobody gonna tell me what I’m usin’ it for. I said I ain’t thinkin’ of followin’ behind, and I ain’t.”

  He raised both palms in front of himself. “Hey there, don’t get so feisty,” he said, giving me a cockeyed grin. “I’m just sayin’ . . .”

  “Maybe you shouldn’t just say. Maybe you should let me make up my own mind, instead of tellin’ me what it is.”

  “Every time I turn around, I find you two spattin’ about somethin’,” Daddy said as he made his way down the steps. “Jessilyn, your momma’s already fixin’ some supper for the Colbys, and she’s wantin’ you to fix up a cobbler if you’re feelin’ up to it.”

  Just hearing the Colbys mentioned brought my senses back a bit, and I swallowed my frustration at Luke and nodded at Daddy. “Yes’r. I reckon puttin’ my hands to work would help me feel better.” I leaned up and planted a kiss on Daddy’s cheek. “You’ll be careful, Daddy, won’t you? I’m worried there’s trouble comin’.”

  “Baby, don’t you worry none. We’ll be fine.”

  I nodded without conviction and walked toward the house. Halfway up the porch steps, I stopped to look at Luke. He was walking to the truck in that familiar loping gait of his, but the minute I turned around, he turned too, walking slowly backward as he peered at the porch. I gave him a sad, halfhearted wave, and he smiled, tipped his hat at me, and disappeared into the truck.

  I wasn’t much of a praying girl, but I said a quick one for Daddy and Luke as I stood there in the heat of summer, worrying for the two men I loved most.

  Chapter 8

  Momma was sniffling about every fifteen seconds, and though I could understand why she was crying, I wished she weren’t. It only made me think about Callie Colby even more, and what I wanted just then was to forget. But my momma cried when she found a dead bird, so asking her to stop crying about such a horrible thing as Mae and Nate Colby’s losing their baby girl was out of the question. I just tried to think of something else as I coated blueberries with flour in Momma’s big green mixing bowl. The slam of the screen door announced someone’s entrance, and Momma and I looked up to find Gemma coming around the corner.

  She took one look at the odd scene of the two of us, elbow-deep in flour and cooking grease, our faces stained with tears, and dropped her purse in a panic. “What’s goin’ on?”

  Momma couldn’t talk, she was too upset, so Gemma looked at me. “Jessie, you tell me what’s wrong.”

  I swallowed hard twice to push down the lump in my throat and simply said, “Callie Colby died.”

  Gemma’s face paled two shades, and I saw her grip the doorframe so that her knuckles paled too. Her knees seemed so unsteady, I jumped up in case she needed help to stay standing.

  “Gemma,” I said, “you okay? You need to sit down?”

  She didn’t say a word, and even Momma seemed shocked at her reaction to the news. There wasn’t a single body in Calloway who wouldn’t feel a solid stroke of sadness on hearing such a thing, but Gemma hadn’t ever been around the Colbys as much as I had, and I never expected to see her so torn up over the loss of their daughter.

  Gemma closed her eyes tight for a few seconds, used the wall to steady herself, and then stumbled down the hall and up the stairs. Momma and I exchanged a glance before I wordlessly followed Gemma upstairs. I found her on her bed, sobbing into her pillow, and I could tell by the sound that she was trying her best not to let anyone hear.

  “Gemma,” I murmured, touching her shoulder lightly, “is there somethin’ I can do for you?”<
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  She said nothing, and for the next several moments I sat there and let her cry, tears slipping from my own eyes all the while. I had just risen to leave when she sat up suddenly and looked at me with desperation. “What’s goin’ to happen to Mr. Poe?” she asked, her voice rising in pitch.

  I got a chill at the reminder of what Luke and Daddy were walking into, and I rubbed my arms to fight it off. “Don’t know. Daddy and Luke went off into town to see if there was any trouble brewin’.”

  “There will be trouble. You know it!”

  “I reckon,” I said sadly. “Sheriff Clancy’s got him safe at the jailhouse, though, and even if he is a hardheaded boor, he’s bound to do his duty by him.”

  Gemma sat there on her bed, slowly shaking her head back and forth. Then she hopped up and started to take off her work clothes.

  “What’re you doin’?” I asked.

  “Goin’ out.”

  “Goin’ out where?”

  She just kept getting dressed, the tears still coursing down her cheeks.

  “Gemma Teague, you tell me where you’re goin’,” I demanded.

  She still held her tongue, and I went around to look square into her eyes, where I could usually find what she was thinking. “Are you goin’ into town?” I asked with surprise.

  Still she didn’t reply.

  “Why would you want to go into town?”

  “Because Mr. Poe’s in trouble,” she moaned. “He needs help.”

  “And how are you gonna help him? What are you gonna do that can help?”

  “It ain’t a matter for figurin’ on, Jessie. I just gotta go, and I’m goin’.”

  “There’ll be trouble there. Daddy and Luke took their guns with them and everythin’.”

  She slipped her feet into her shoes and walked past me. “Ain’t no matter. I’m goin’. There’s gotta be some way I can help.”

  “Just what d’you think a colored girl’s gonna be able to do in settlin’ down the people in Calloway?” I asked, determined that the only way I could stop her was by being painfully honest.