“Now, either you’re here to help me or you’re leavin’,” Gemma continued. “Plain and simple. You got no different choices. But I got me a God to rely on, and I’m goin’ to do just that.”
I nodded at her slow and steady because I needed time to get my voice to work. Then I said, “I’m here to help you, Gemma,” even though it came out in a squeak.
Gemma set off to the barred window of Mr. Poe’s cell. I watched her go, and Luke gave me a pat on my back to reassure me. “It’ll be okay, Jessie. Gemma’s got good sense.”
We followed her and found Mr. Poe curled up on the floor, his body bobbing rhythmically from one side to the other. It was an odd movement that I feared told a story of his deteriorating mental condition, but when he turned his head to answer Gemma’s whispered call to him, there was a smile on his face.
“You okay, Mr. Poe?” Gemma whispered.
“Jes’ fine, Miss Gemma. Jes’ enjoyin’ God’s music.”
I eyed Luke nervously, fearing Mr. Poe was near to insanity. “What music’s that, Mr. Poe?”
“God’s music, Miss Jessilyn. Ain’t you hearin’ it?”
We all sat for a moment straining to hear God’s music, but all I heard was the chaotic buzz of angry voices in the distance and the sporadic pop of fiery torches.
“What sort of music is it?” Gemma asked.
“Night music. God’s got Him some frogs and crickets, buzzin’ cicadas. He got the whole symphony lightin’ up the night. Makes me feel like dancin’.”
“Well, Mr. Poe,” Gemma said, a smile gracing her tearstained face, “we got plenty of that music out here in the open. So we come to take you out to hear it with us.”
“But ah cain’t come out. Sheriff says ah cain’t.”
“There’s some trouble out front, and we got to get you away from it, you hear?”
“Sheriff wouldn’t like it.”
Gemma lay down flat in front of the window and grabbed onto the bars with both hands. “Lord’s tellin’ me to take you away from here, Mr. Poe, and I got to do what He says.”
Mr. Poe stopped dancing to God’s music. “That so, Miss Gemma?”
“Yes’r. I believe with my heart He means for us to take you away from here.”
I squatted down and peered into Mr. Poe’s dimly lit cell. He stood up slowly with bones that were weary and stiff and went to his cot to lift his worn Bible from it. “This is all ah got with me that counts,” he said without a hint of doubt on his face. “Ah reckon it’s all ah need to go with you.”
I was heartsick to see the faith in his expression because I saw no way at all that we’d be able to help him get out. Gemma had all kinds of faith, I knew that for certain, but I didn’t see any way that faith could remove bars from windows or unlock jailhouse doors.
I didn’t know much about faith then, and I certainly didn’t know that God could use a man who was mostly low-down to honor someone’s faith. But He did.
We all watched, awestruck, as Mr. Poe’s cell door swung open, and for a minute I thought it must have been done by an angel. Well, maybe it was. Because the way I figured it, it would take a mighty big, convincing angel to make Sheriff Clancy open that jail door so we could take away his prisoner. But that’s exactly what happened. Without a word he looked at the three of us, jerked his head sideways toward the back entrance of the jail, and then disappeared.
Mr. Poe peered at the ceiling, said a word of thanks to God, and shuffled out of his cell. We all took off like squirrels to the back door, with Gemma reaching it first. She yanked on the door, which opened with ease, and ran inside. Luke and I waited on the worn patch of grass until the two of them came out together, and then we all made off into the woods behind the jail as fast as Mr. Poe’s shaky legs could carry him.
The rain opened up on us again, and we trudged along with clothes that stuck to our skin like paste. Poor Luke was ill equipped for it in Daddy’s old shirt and pants, and my heart warmed toward him even more for never letting me down. As we walked, heavy with the burden of uncertainty, Mr. Poe, broken down as his body was, kept his head held high, listening to more of God’s music, I supposed. I marveled at his peace and wondered how a body could find such a thing.
There was a stiff wind along with the rain, and at times it pricked our faces like bee stings.
“Where are we goin’?” I asked Luke. “Ain’t many places to hide out those men won’t know about.”
“Gemma seems to know where she’s goin’.” He nodded at her as she led the way. “Best follow her since she’s been right so far tonight. I reckon God really is talkin’ to her.”
“You believe God talks to people, Luke? Right up talks to them?”
“Can’t say as I’ve seen anythin’ like it, but you can’t rightly say this here happened by chance, now can you?” He looked at me from beneath his soggy hat. “You and I, we’ve seen enough over the years to get us thinkin’, don’t you reckon?” He stuck his hands in his pockets, shrugged, and lowered his head to concentrate on making his legs move.
We’d been walking for what must have been a solid hour when Gemma motioned toward an old shack that was nestled amid a mass of trees and shrubs. In the dark it looked unfamiliar, but once Gemma unlocked the door, I realized where we were.
“Gemma and I used to play here when we were younger,” I said to Luke.
“This old shack?”
The shutters were falling off, rusty hinges held the door on by threads, and it looked haunted by bad memories if not by ghosts. But for me it held only good memories, and a weary smile settled on my lips. “It wasn’t a shack to us.”
I entered the house on legs that were beginning to revolt, and before I could even find a spot to rest, Gemma had lit strategically placed lamps with a box of matches, popped another match into a stocked woodstove, and arranged chairs for all of us to settle into.
I watched her in awe, and she caught the question in my eyes right off the bat.
“Been plannin’ for a while now” was all she said in reply. “We got all we need for a spell.”
Luke helped Mr. Poe into a chair, and I followed Gemma into the cramped space that served as a kitchen. There were stacks of canned goods, a sack of biscuits, and containers of well water crowding the countertops.
She no doubt saw the expression of wonder on my face, but she ignored it and busied herself by putting some stew in a pot on the woodstove. “Made this yesterday. I bought the goods with my own money so as not to steal from your momma.”
“My momma would’ve welcomed you to use her things,” I whispered. “Gemma . . .”
“Don’t say nothin’, Jessie. I’m just glad you’re here.”
Gemma hadn’t forgotten a thing, and I noticed every detail of a plan she must have been keeping from me for days. She’d even brought some clothes along for me since she knew me well enough that there was no doubt in her I’d follow her here. After all, I’d always followed her everywhere.
We had enough to hide out for at least a week, but beyond that I couldn’t see what we’d do. We couldn’t all live here forever like some mishmashed family. But I wouldn’t say as much to her. She’d done all she could, and besides, she said God had led her to do it all. Questioning God was something I’d done plenty in my life, but I didn’t think Gemma would like it if I did it to her face.
By the time I’d changed into fresh clothes, Mr. Poe had fallen asleep on the dusty old sofa in the main room. The ratty thing was broken on one side, and it slanted so much I worried Mr. Poe might slip off onto his head. There was a wool blanket over him that I recognized as the one Momma kept in the truck for her legs.
“Got moth-eaten,” Gemma said, noticing my gaze. She poked a finger through a frayed hole in the cover near Mr. Poe’s feet. “Your momma sent me off with it to the poor closet at church.
“Daddy’s shirt,” I murmured, seeing Daddy’s old plaid keeping Mr. Poe warm.
“Your momma gave me a whole bag that day for the poor closet.”
I guess God found another way to clothe the poor that month.
“Where’s Luke?” I asked as I started helping Gemma dish out stew.
“Gettin’ more wood.”
“But I saw some by the fireplace.”
“I put some there, but he says we may need more, and he’d best collect it now so it has time to dry up before we need it.”
“He’ll be soaked.”
“He can use some of the things I brought for Mr. Poe.”
The thought of Luke in more of Daddy’s castoffs made me grin. I sat down opposite Gemma at a wooden table littered with splinters, eager for some food. But before I could get the first spoonful into my mouth, Gemma grabbed my hand.
“We gotta pray first,” she said adamantly.
We’d said a prayer before every meal all my life, but there was more in this prayer of hers than a usual supper prayer. It was more like what I’d heard Daddy pray so many times when he and Momma were talking over the troubles of life. It was a prayer filled with pleading, and I almost felt like I was intruding in this conversation between Gemma and God.
My first bite went down slowly since I could see Gemma had a tear in her eye, and we sat together in silence until I’d gotten to the middle of my bowl.
I put down my spoon and reached across the table to grab Gemma’s free hand. She dropped a wedge of potato out of her spoon back into her bowl and leveled her misty gaze on me. I could see she was starting to wonder, having one of those “tests of faith” I’d heard my daddy talk about many a time, and all I wanted to do was make her feel better.
So I smiled at her and said the only thing I could come up with. “You done good, Gemma. Real good.”
The crease that I’d started to think might make a permanent home on her forehead got a lot smaller, and she managed to turn one corner of her mouth up. She took both of my hands in hers and laid her head down on the table, fatigue hitting her like a punch. I sat there for a few minutes until I heard her rhythmic sleeping breaths, and then I let go of her hands and took a blanket from the small stack Gemma had laid in the corner of the kitchen. I covered her as best I could and then sneaked away to wait on the porch for Luke to come back.
The sky was black and filled with pouring rain, and I peered upward searching for God in the place my momma always looked.
“I don’t see nothin’,” I said aloud. “But I sure hope You’re there, anyways.”
Chapter 21
It may have been the middle of summer, but I woke up that first morning in the cabin with a chill in my bones. Gemma was next to me on our makeshift bed on the floor, and I opened my eyes to see her face nose to nose with mine. I hated to wake her, so I slid away from her slowly and took a good three minutes to dress, I was being so careful. On my way from the room, the floorboards creaked, and I stopped on my toes and turned an eye to Gemma. She snorted once and rolled over, slipping quickly back into steady breathing.
I found Mr. Poe sound asleep, his toes up in the air, his head slipping off to one side of the couch. But Luke was absent, and when I peeked out the front window, I could see him standing on the porch, just staring at the leaden sky. Rain was falling by buckets, and I figured he was calculating how long it might stay with us, but when I pressed my face closer to the windowpane, I could see that wasn’t it.
There was something about his face that wasn’t like any expression I’d ever seen there before. He was staring out at nothing in particular. Not the rain. Not the sky. It was like he’d spotted something I didn’t.
Part of me felt I shouldn’t disturb him, but the other part of me—the stubborn, self-centered part—was too curious not to find out what was going on. The door squeaked when I opened it, but Luke never even budged.
I crept softly across the porch. “Luke?” I whispered, and then when he didn’t answer, I said again, “Luke. You all right?”
He blinked twice and turned at the sound of my voice. His cheeks turned a splotchy pink when he saw me there, and he didn’t quite look me in the eye when he murmured, “Mornin’, Jessie.”
“You worried about somethin’?”
“Nah, I ain’t worried. Everythin’s goin’ to be okay.”
But the way he leaned heavily on the porch rail told me differently, and I went to lean on it next to him.
“Seems there’s somethin’ on your mind.”
“Just life, is all. Gives you plenty to think about.”
There wasn’t much I could say to that, so I stood silently with him for a few more minutes. “Mr. Poe’s sleepin’ sound.”
“Yeah, we were up in the middle of the night, so he’s likely tired.”
“What were you doin’?”
“He wanted some water, and I heard him, so I got up to help. He don’t get around so well these days, especially after all that walkin’ we made him do.” He rubbed the back of his neck hard. I knew there was something he wanted to say. I could always tell when he had something on the tip of his tongue but wasn’t comfortable saying it. So I just waited with a patience that I didn’t usually possess. It was a long time of watching the rain splatter against the mud puddle outside the porch before he finally spoke.
“That Mr. Poe, he knows his Bible.”
“He was raised on it, I guess.”
He looked at me quickly. “So were you.”
“So?”
“So, you don’t know your Bible like he does. Seems he’s got somethin’ in his knowin’ of it that most people don’t have, you know? Somethin’ special.”
“Like what?”
“Don’t know.” He turned and put his back against the rail and looked at the house like he was watching Mr. Poe even though he couldn’t see him from where we stood. “That man in there, he’s what? Almost seventy? He’s lost all his kin, got nobody to take care of him, and he’s been wrongly accused and thrown in jail for somethin’ he ain’t never done. Now we got him on the run now like some murderin’ convict. And you know what? He ain’t the least scared.” He looked at me with a sort of surprise in his eyes. “Not in the least,” he confirmed. “What makes a man like that?”
“Well, Momma always said there’s somethin’ off about Mr. Poe. He’s slow, they like to say.”
“That ain’t it. Not this time, anyways. There’s somethin’ else. Ain’t you seen it?”
“I reckon. Maybe I just ain’t thought about it like you have.”
There were another few minutes of silence before Luke said in a voice I could barely hear, “Mr. Poe says it’s God.”
“Doin’ what?”
“Givin’ him peace, he says. He says he has faith God’ll take care of him, so he don’t worry about things.”
For the first time in our conversation I recognized the look on his face as one I was sure to have worn many times in my life. I could guess what was going on in his mind now as sure as I’d known it to go through my own time and time again. It was the look of someone who knows there’s something important to pay attention to but doesn’t know how.
“That’s what my daddy says,” I fairly whispered. “Heard it every other day, near about.”
“What do you think about it?”
It nearly broke my heart to say it, since it meant I was likely the most selfish, sinful girl in the world, but I told him the truth. “Guess I don’t think about it much at all. Leastways, not serious-like.”
“Uh-huh.” He nodded and turned back around to look at the rain that now fell in sheets and made it hard to hear anything else. “But I reckon I got to think about it sometime.”
We didn’t say anything more about it then. And we didn’t say anything more about it all that
dreary, rain-filled day. Mr. Poe had plenty of stories to tell—even though his tongue seemed heavy and he tripped over words a lot—and most of his stories brought the Lord into it. It was as natural as a sunset for him to do that. He got under my skin enough that I started praying almost every hour, prayers that I figured might not mean much coming from me. But I prayed the Lord would take care of Mr. Poe, no matter what. He was such a good soul, I figured God would hear prayers about him from someone who wasn’t sure she even believed they made a difference.
Hours went by with nothing but rain and more rain. And hours went by with worries and more worries. I thought of Momma and Daddy and knew they’d be worried stiff. My mind wandered to the scenes that were likely taking place just out of our reach—an anxious Momma and Daddy, an overwhelmed sheriff, and rioting townspeople played around in my thoughts.
We were all about as quiet as mice that day, full of thoughts that made words hard. Mr. Poe was worn and often mumbled things under his breath that didn’t make any sense to the rest of us. Any time I asked him how he was, he’d nod his head and say, “Jes’ fine, Miss Jessie. The good Lord provides.”
It was late afternoon, and I longed to see the sun dipping down, but it kept its place behind the clouds. I sat in front of the window, my face so close to it my breath clouded the glass. Gemma had dozed off in the bedroom, and Mr. Poe slept noiselessly behind me on the couch.
Luke came over and made his own clouds on the glass several inches above my head. “Rain’s slowed.”
I nodded, but I didn’t feel there was anything to say. We sat quietly on that windowsill for so long, I drifted off, but I awoke with a start, banging my head against the windowpane. Luke was at the front door, his head stuck outside.
“Luke?”
He shushed me with a wave of his hand, and I sat by waiting impatiently to find out what was happening. It didn’t take me long to guess. I could hear a whine in the distance, an eerie, disconnected sound that gave me a chill.
In no time I was standing next to Luke, my head out the door like his. Seconds passed before it became clear what we were hearing.
Cottonwood Whispers Page 23
