Cast a Road Before Me

by Brandilyn Collins

  “Lord Jesus, first I lost Henry,” Aunt Eva hiccuped, wisps of hair plastered to her wet fingers, “then my sister, then Jessie off to college. Now Jessie again for good, and maybe Frank. Please take care of Frank!”

  I paced to her, sighing. Knelt down. “I’m sorry, Aunt Eva, I’m sorry. Come on.” Gently I pried her hands from her face. “I didn’t mean to yell at you.”

  She sniffed loudly, chin trembling. Her face was red, puckered, and old. “Help me pray, Jessie; what else can we do? Only Christ has the power to calm things now.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t think anybody can calm things. Lee’s gone crazy.” I sat back on my haunches, staring at the worn carpet. He and whoever followed him deserved whatever they got. Except Uncle Frank. “I should at least call Bill Scutch. I don’t know what he can do but … he should know what’s happening.”

  Aunt Eva knew his home number. She probably had the whole town memorized, I thought as she recited it between sniffles. I expected a sleepy “hello,” but the policeman’s wife answered, wary and alert.

  “It’s Jessie Callum. Sorry for calling so late, but I need to talk to Bill.”

  “Oh.” Her voice sagged with relief, then tightened again. “He’s not here. What’s wrong?”

  “Lee left here about ten minutes ago. He’s rounding up the men to go to Blair Riddum’s place. Uncle Frank’s with them. Only to pray, he said.” I couldn’t bear for her to place my uncle in the category of those men.

  “Bill already knows,” she breathed.

  My fingers twisted and untwisted the phone cord. “How? And where is he? I have to tell him something.”

  “He’s been with Thomas all evening, looking at that stuff from the fire. A few hours ago they heard from the Albertsville police that Lee had been there, and they figured this thing might not sleep through the night. And now they’re already on their way to the Riddums’; Bill just called. He and Thomas saw a bunch of cars headin’ toward the mill and stopped one of ‘em.”

  Not Thomas in danger too! “But if they want to stop the men, why go to the Riddums’? Why not just go to the mill?”

  “I don’t know.” She sounded scared and defensive and upset at my pressing. I backed off, telling her—unconvincingly at best—not to worry. That everything would work out somehow. That Bill and Thomas were loved and respected and no one would hurt them. She didn’t seem to hear.

  “I said to Bill, ‘If they want to burn down that man’s house, let ‘em.’ He just said, ‘What kind a lawman would that leave me?’ But they better not hurt him.” Her voice turned strident, off-key. “God help anybody who takes this mess out on him, ‘cause they’ll have to deal with me. I swear I’ll shoot the lot of ‘em.”

  I hung up the phone, stomach turning, picturing the town collapsing like dominoes, one ill causing the next. As I stood there, overcome by the immensity of it all, similar scenes were undoubtedly replaying across town, magnified by the sudden clicks of lamps in darkness, the shadows of women begging their hastily dressing husbands. And their inevitable anger at the firm close of each door, their own declarations of reprisal if harm came to that particular man.

  Too much of it would be my fault. I may not have caused the Harding’s fire after all or even supported the strike, but I’d certainly opened my mouth at the wrong time.

  Aunt Eva still watched me, her tear-stained face imploring. “Now what?” she quavered.

  I blew out air, dug two fingers in the center of my forehead. It was hard to think straight, but one thing was clear: I had to tell Thomas and Bill that the men now knew I’d seen Riddum at the fire. No—believed—not knew. Maybe it wasn’t even true; maybe it hadn’t been Riddum at all. It didn’t matter. What mattered was that they believed it, and that belief, coupled with their months-long resentment, would render them blind and deaf to anyone who stood in their path. Thomas fancied himself still back at the town meeting, for goodness sake, expecting reasoning minds to hear reasonable argument. This would be more like a Korean battlefield.

  And that’s when the outcome of my mistake really hit. As I stood in bathrobe and bare feet, eyes thick from lack of sleep, I pictured—in horrific sequence—my old friend Thomas shouting appeals, being threatened, refusing to move, being knocked aside. On a rational level I could not imagine Lee or anyone else doing such things, but rationality had flown, retribution claiming its heyday. Please, Jesus, I breathed, keep them all safe.

  “Do you know the Riddums’ number?”

  Aunt Eva’s eyes grew round. “What you want to call them for?”

  “Do you know it?” I sounded like Uncle Frank, each word precise.

  Of course she did. For a fleeting moment, I wondered if she once used to gossip with Mrs. Riddum. I dialed the numbers, hearing my own heartbeat, praying that Bill or Thomas would answer. What could I possibly say to Blair Riddum?

  The phone rang ten times before I hung up. I tried again. Let it ring fifteen.

  “They’re not answering.” I slumped to the closest chair and sank into it, a weight in my chest pulling me into the cushion. My knees were oddly cold, and I drew my robe over them, absently rubbing the fabric. Part of me couldn’t believe this was happening; I wanted to go back to bed, pull a sheet over my head, and in the quiet of this house deny what was taking place a mile outside of town. I also wanted to deny my anger, to let my guardian angel rock me to sleep. For a moment, sitting there, I almost believed; I could almost feel the fear ebb away. But the faces in my head would not let me be: Uncle Frank’s dazed expression at the unthinkable knowledge of Riddum’s act, Lee’s flat-eyed determination for revenge. A force beyond me pushed me to my feet. “I have to go out there.” I did not look at Aunt Eva. “I’ve got to tell Thomas I think I saw Riddum at the fire—and that the men know it.”

  “Are you insane?” Aunt Eva sat up straight, tears gone.

  Probably.

  “What do you think a little thing like you can do?”

  I was already crossing the room. “All I’m going to do is tell him. Then I’ll get out of there.”

  “And what if you get in the way a those men? They could be headin’ out there soon.”

  “I won’t.” My eyes flew to the clock, sudden urgency infusing my limbs. “I’ll hurry.”

  “Jessie, don’t!” she called, but I was already in my room, slipping out of my robe, pulling on shorts and a T-shirt, tennis shoes without socks. I grabbed my purse and plunged in a hand for car keys. I felt my wallet, a hair brush and pen, some wrapped hard candies scattered in the bottom. My fingers scrambled until in irritation I dumped the contents onto my bed. No car keys. Realization slowly dawned. My car wasn’t there.

  “Aunt Eva!” I trotted back into the living area only to hear her answer from her bedroom. She emerged, buttoning up a housedress. “I’m coming with you,” she declared.

  I shook my head impatiently. “Did Uncle Frank take your car? Or did he ride with Lee?”

  She blinked at me.

  “My car’s at Ed’s,” I snapped, turning. I ran through the kitchen and banged out the back door, jumping off the porch toward the driveway. Crossing the small yard in seconds, I saw the answer in the bright moonlight—emptiness. I ran anyway, hearing the pebbles crunch beneath my feet, and looked down the driveway’s length toward the street. I then ran to search in front of the house, even though Uncle Frank never parked there. My feet slowed in the front yard, and I leaned against a tall maple tree, bouncing my head against its bark. A sob rattled up my throat, hot tears stinging my eyes. This was all so stupid. I kicked helplessly at an exposed tree root, grass sanding the top of my foot. Stupid, stupid stupid!

  “Jessie? Jessie!” My aunt hurried out the front door, wan-cheeked under the porch light, clasping her dress. I pushed away from the tree.

  “Aunt Eva, I’ll be all right.”

  “Jessie, come back inside.”

  But there was no going back. For a split second I considered it—imagined giving up and praying for the best—but knew
I couldn’t. Beyond that I did not think, could not consider the foolishness of what I was about to do, even as my feet began to move. “Jessie, where are you goin’!” Aunt Eva cried. I called over my shoulder, “I’ll be okay!” as I jumped off the curb and onto the street, picking up speed, elbows bending. My aunt screamed after me hysterically.

  I did not look back.

  chapter 45

  Aunt Eva’s screams faded behind me. As I ran, my body took over, adrenaline rushing, exhaustion washing away. Not until I reached the first corner, heading toward Main, did I fully realize what I was doing. I remember thinking how crazy it was. A filament of rational thought dimly flickered. It was about two miles to the Riddums’. I had never run that far in my entire life. And only once had I run for all I was worth. Even in P.E., I’d only managed a time or two around the track. I doubted I could make this. And even if I could, who was to say I’d beat the men? The thoughts glimmered, faded, poofed away. For a second my mind went blank, flashing a brilliant white light that exposed empty corners.

  I was already winded. I slowed a bit, fell into a rhythm. The moon shone brightly, obliterating the stars. The after-midnight air hung hot and thick. I saw no cars, heard no sounds other than the soft flap-flap of my feet and the whooshing of my breath. By the second corner I could already feel sweat beading on my forehead. One sockless heel began to throb. The third corner was Main. When I reached it, I veered right, beginning the straight shot through town that eventually would send me past the Bradleyville sign, over two long hills, and around numerous curves to the Riddums’ tree-lined driveway.

  The quiet was eerie, like a sleeping dragon soon to be awakened. Trees and flower beds jerked by in peripheral vision, alternately lightened and shadowed by yellowed streetlights. I wondered at the silence, guessing whether it meant the men were still gathering or were long gone. The sound of a distant engine brought my head up, and I sucked in air, listening. Without slowing, I glanced over my shoulder to see a car turn onto Main—headed toward the mill. Air rushed from my lungs.

  I saw the post office in the distance, its wooden bench out front gleaming golden and desolate under the moon. Long before I passed the building I was exhausted. I was only a half-mile from home, a half-mile often traversed by Aunt Eva in good weather. “You drive yourself to work today,” she’d say to Uncle Frank. “I’ll walk.” In time the post office clipped by, and I set my eyes on the next goal—the stoplight at Minton and Main. I watched it bouncing three blocks away, methodically changing from green to yellow to red, directing air.

  My chest ached. Still, I could not think of stopping. Visions—both past and present—crowded into my head, visions I did not want to see. With conscious effort I blocked them, forcing thoughts of Cincinnati. In three days I would be gone. I longed for it, dreamed of it like a parched nomad dreams of water. With a jolt I realized I’d stopped praying to my guardian angel, so I whispered to her, seeking her strength. But I did not sense an answer, and my legs still ached. Then the visions crowded in again, tripping over themselves. I saw myself running the one other time in my life I’d covered any great distance. It had been summer then too, and hot, the midday sun without mercy. And then, as now, I ran with no other plan than to Get There, my legs pumping, my ragged breath singing a tuneless song of its own. Terror had driven me. That and a similar disbelief of what awaited.

  I passed the intersection at Minton and Main, lost in a replay of that day eight years ago. At this moment on this silent and strange night, my weariness and my stumbling run—almost dreamlike—focused the memory acutely. Every jolt of my foot against pavement, every jagged breath, brought it back with numbing wholeness. I’d known then as I knew now that my running was futile, that I was an insignificant cog in a very big wheel that had spun off course.

  The Bradleyville sign bounced by on my left. The sidewalk ended and I hugged the edge of the road, beginning the long climb of the first hill.

  I’d climbed a long hill then too, leaving behind houses and sidewalks and life as I’d known it. Viewridge had been cliffed and winding, and my legs had turned to rubber, the hot sun’s fingers spindling down to squeeze my neck. Far up ahead, on some other plane, a blinding glare skidded off glass fragments and bent metal. Strangers were there, appearing from nowhere, stopping cars, banging doors shut, calling, yelling for a doctor, an ambulance. As I neared the scene, a voice, foreign and rasping, screamed, “Mom! Mommeee!” I flung myself, breathless and sobbing, toward her car, strangers’ arms reaching out, holding me back. “No, no, honey, you musn’t.” “No, NO,” I fought, flailing, straining, knowing my mother was dead, not believing she was dead. Couldn’t somebody just help, couldn’t somebody do something! Sheer obsession possessed me until I broke through their grasps and leapt for the car, which was battered and bent and horribly still. The crushed door clanked and knocked beneath my helpless beating but would not open its precious contents to me. They dragged me away again, overcoming me until the wrecker came with the fire truck and police and ambulance, dissonant sirens shrieking. Sobs wracked my body until my lungs threatened to collapse, my eyes run forever dry. I could not believe it; I would not believe what was happening. For days I would not believe it, could not grasp the stark reality even through the grim-faced policeman’s declaration, the consolations of neighbors, the funeral, the move to Bradleyville. I would not believe it because to do so was to admit my mother had left me, had blithely made a fatal decision to drive away and leave me. Alone.

  Why did you do it, Mom? I gasped as I neared the top of the first hill outside Bradleyville. Why did you have to go to Hope Center that day? I told you to stay home. Why didn’t you stay and rest? Look at what your decision to help others has cost me!

  I started downhill, hitting the pavement with hard, robot-like strides. Somewhere along the way I had begun crying. The symmetry of motion now and eight years ago had cycled me back to then. I couldn’t be sure which crisis the tears were for. My cheeks were wet, nose dripping. I registered the sound of ragged sobs remotely, like a distant radio station fading in and out. I could hardly feel my body.

  I would not have made it. I would have collapsed, for the weight of my crying dragged at what little reserve I had. The second hill loomed before me, oversized and impassable. My legs slowed. Then a crack of light split the road before me, spilling downward as a car crested the ridge behind. I jerked around, fear prickling my scalp, expecting to view a cavalcade, but I spied only one vehicle, racing toward me with abandon. I jumped into brush, awash in the car’s headlights, and froze. It caught up to me. A big car. It braked suddenly and stopped. A portly figure leaned over and yanked down the window.

  “Jessie Callum? What on earth are you doin’?”

  Relief crackled up my throat. “Mr. Lewellyn! What … where are you going?”

  He gaped at me. “I’m goin’ out to Riddums’; where’re you goin’?”

  “Oh,” I managed to say and then started to cry all over again, squeaky strangles of breath adding even more weirdness to this bizarre night. “Would you give me a ride?”

  He unlatched the door and pushed it open. I fell inside, gasping, holding my ribs. The car surged forward.

  “You run all the way out here?”

  “Yeah, my car’s in the garage.”

  “What for?”

  “Flat tire.”

  He looked at me, a parent to an idiot child. “Jessie. Why are you out here?”

  I sucked in air while trying to form an answer. How much to tell him? He wasn’t Thomas; never would be. “The men are on their way there. I guess you know that.”

  He nodded impatiently.

  “Thomas and Bill Scutch are already there. I have to tell them something.”

  “Must be important.”

  “It is.”

  He obviously expected me to tell him too. He drove in reckless silence that I would not fill until the tilt of his shoulders displayed his disappointment. “Good thing I came along,” he said finally. “Don’t think
you’d a made it.”

  “No, Mr. Lewellyn,” I reassured him. “You saved me, no doubt about it.”

  He braked quickly, throwing me forward, and screeched onto the Riddums’ driveway. I saw house lights in the distance.

  “I couldn’t sleep,” he rattled, hunching over the wheel. “Saw a bunch a cars go by and knew somethin’ was up. Called Bill to see what I could do to help and got his wife. She said they was already out here.”

  “How can they do this, Mr. Lewellyn?” I demanded. “How can they?”

  He shook his head, his words clipped. “If we get through this, Jessie, maybe someday we’ll understand. For now, just remember one thing. God can use the worst times in life to teach us the most, if only we’ll listen.”

  The meaning of his statement was buried under my own surprise. Even though he was in church every Sunday, I’d never heard Jake Lewellyn talk much about God. I wiped at my face with a sleeve.

  “Oh, boy, look at that.”

  I lifted my head, arm in midair. The Riddums’ long, white-columned porch sat awash in carriage lamplight. Five, no six, Albertsville police cars were parked haphazardly in front of the house and to the left. Bill Scutch’s car was farther aside.

  “How did they know?” I gasped.

  “Bill musta called ‘em for help,” he muttered, snatching his keys from the ignition. “Things’ve got to be bad for him to do that.”

  He tried to hurry but his age and size slowed him down. Even in my weariness, I hit the porch before he’d clambered out of the car. “Thomas!” I shouted, banging on the door. “Thomas!”

  Blair Riddum’s massive oak door swung open, and Thomas appeared in the threshold, forehead creased with tension and amazement. “Lord’s sake, Jessie! You cain’t be here! Jake? What y’all think you’re doin’?”

  “I’m here to help you, ol’ man,” Mr. Lewellyn huffed, mounting the porch steps with indignance.

  I stumbled over the entryway, fresh tears welling. “I have to tell you something, I just want to tell you something!”