Cottonwood Whispers (5 page)

Luke’s fists were fixed to his sides, and he had his mouth clenched so tightly I thought his jawbone would pop out of his skin. “You best keep your filthy hands off that girl, Hadley. I swear if I find out you hurt her in some way, I’ll break your scrawny neck with my own two hands.”

Joel’s hands were in his pockets, and I was sure he had them crammed there to keep us from seeing them shake. He shrugged nonchalantly and forced his eyes to square up with Luke’s. “I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”

Luke made a quick jerking motion as though he was about to pounce, and Joel jumped back, leaving no doubt of his true fears. It was Luke’s turn to smirk, and he watched Joel with a wicked glare as he turned and followed in Gemma’s path, veering off only to go around to the front door, where Gemma would never have been welcomed.

My whole body shook from the anger and fear that filled me up to my ears, and I grasped Luke’s tensed arm for support. “She’s in trouble, Luke,” I whispered. “We’ve got to help her.”

He pulled my arm up and tucked it between his arm and his ribs, squeezing it tightly. “She needs help, sure enough. Problem is, I ain’t so sure she’ll let us give it. I ain’t so sure she’ll let anyone give it.”

I walked home with heavy feet because I knew he was right. I’d seen a side of Gemma I didn’t know, and I had no tricks up my sleeve for solving problems I’d never faced in my life.

Daddy was sore when Luke and I told him about Joel Hadley driving Gemma home, but he didn’t storm off to fetch her. Instead, he spent the next hour pacing the porch.

“Ain’t he gonna do nothin’?” I asked Momma when the clock chimed nine thirty.

She looked up from her needlework and watched Daddy through the window. “Ain’t much he can do, honey,” she said quietly so Daddy wouldn’t hear. “We told her she could work tonight, and parties run late sometimes.”

“But she’s drivin’ home with Joel Hadley.”

Momma took my hand and gave me a weak smile. “Honey, I don’t like it any more’n you. Neither does your daddy. But Gemma’s nineteen and near about full grown. Your daddy and me, we got to think hard about how to handle this. Okay?”

I nodded, understanding but unhappy all the same. I trudged upstairs and tossed myself into bed, staring at the circle of lamplight on the ceiling until the heat radiating from it forced me to turn it out.

When I heard Momma and Daddy’s bedroom door shut behind them, I turned my light back on to check the time. Ten thirty, and still no Gemma. I grabbed my book and tried to read for distraction, but I had to repeat every sentence so many times before it sank in, I gave up.

It was near midnight when Gemma got home. I flicked the lamp out quickly and rolled over to face away from the door. I lay still and quiet, straining to hear if my daddy would have a few words for her. But all I heard was the click of his lamp being turned out now that he knew she was home.

I peeked over my shoulder when she tiptoed in. The moonlight cast a shadow on her form and revealed her slumped shoulders, her labored gait. I didn’t know if it was work fatigue or sadness, but I was too angry to ask. Before she got into bed, she paused over me, but I closed my eyes, pretending to sleep, and she turned to her bed with a sigh.

It was hours before I managed to drift off, and when I woke up late the next morning, Gemma had already slipped out, leaving her bed uncharacteristically messy.

The heat of that morning made my head fuzzy, and I moved at a snail’s pace, spending extra time washing up after a sweaty night’s sleep. I’d lived in the South my whole life, so I knew an awful lot about summer heat. But that summer of 1936 brought a heat the likes of which I’d never
seen. It nearly crackled in the air. Going barefoot across the grass was like walking on needles, and I was forced to wear shoes everywhere, which only served to make me even more irritable.

After I had some breakfast, I wandered up to the back fields and found Daddy standing there, staring into the distance, his hand shielding his eyes from the brightening sun.

“Lookin’ at somethin’ particular?” I asked, my tone subdued because I hadn’t quite gotten over his display at dinner Saturday night.

He turned around suddenly. “Oh, mornin’, baby.” He paused a minute, seemingly contemplating the wisdom of keeping that nickname for me, but he smiled at me wanly. “I’m just thinkin’.”

“Gemma at work already?”

“Yep.”

“Did you say anythin’ to her about last night?”

Daddy took his time answering my question. “I don’t much like talkin’ about you girls to each other, Jessilyn. You know that.”

“Yes’r. But this time’s different. She’s got me worried.”

“Baby, you ain’t got to worry none.” He paused again and then reached out to tug my ear affectionately. “I spoke with Gemma. We got an agreement between us so this don’t happen again. Okay? Now that’s all I want to say on the matter.”

“Okay.” I followed Daddy’s gaze out to the fields where some dried brown leaves had begun to dot the crops. “In
town the other day, I heard Mr. Poe talkin’ about how we ain’t gonna get much rain. He could feel it in his bones, he said.”

“Well, let’s hope Mr. Poe’s bones are wrong.” He pushed his hat back and leaned down to kiss my cheek. “I’ll see you at dinnertime, Jessilyn.”

“Yes’r.” I watched him go, his shoulders low. My daddy always walked tall and proud, and when he didn’t, I knew there was trouble around the bend. Hot and dry was a bad prescription for growing crops, and bad crops meant bad earnings for my daddy. I was starting to think hard about that job I’d talked about getting, only this time I was thinking the money might need to be used for family matters instead of for my own.

My heart was heavy and my face was already dripping with sweat, so I decided to head over to Miss Cleta’s house down the road. She always had sweet tea at the ready, and she’d toss some fruit in it for extra taste. Not to mention that she liked to bake and I could count on getting treats at her house. If I was going to be hot, I might as well be hot and full.

I found her sitting on her porch, and she clapped her hands the minute she saw me. “I was just tellin’ the Lord I could use some company today,” she hollered. “And here some comes.”

“Hey there, Miss Cleta,” I called with a wave. “How’ve you been?”

“Oh, I always get by, Jessilyn Lassiter. You know me.” She waved for me to come into the house, and I followed her
inside. To my disappointment, the house didn’t smell like something just out of the oven as it usually did.

“I’ll tell you, this heat is just the end,” Miss Cleta said as she pulled two glasses from her cupboard. “And don’t you know, I had Elmer Poe stop in yesterday, and he said he sees a drought ahead.”

“I know. He feels it in his bones.”

“That’s right. And long as I’ve known that man, he’s never been wrong about the weather. He’s like a walkin’ almanac.” She waved off my attempts to help her and pushed me into one of the kitchen chairs. As she poured the sweet tea, she continued talking. “Now then, that Elmer Poe . . . he ain’t never been quite right since the day he was born. I remember seein’ him a few days after he came into the world. I was only ten years old then, but I could see he weren’t like other babies. Slow, the doctor called him. But that boy’s got a sixth sense, I’m tellin’ you. He knows things other people don’t know. Even gettin’ old and gray as he is, he’s still got more instinct than any of the smart folk in town.”

“I know he does. That’s why I’m worried. Drought means bad things for my family, you know.”

She set a glass in front of me and then put one of her blue-veined hands on my shoulder. “Jessilyn, God’s got you in the palm of His hand. Every one of you. He has His eyes on everythin’. You have faith in that, now.”

I smiled at her, but I wasn’t so sure about what she said. Faith was something my momma and daddy shared. It was
something I saw in Gemma and in Miss Cleta. But it wasn’t something I had yet come to know for myself.

I watched her continue to chatter on about this and that while she pulled a tray of small round balls out of the icebox.

“No-bake cookies,” she told me as she set them in the center of the kitchen table. “It’s the only way I can dabble in the kitchen on days like this.”

I ate quietly for a minute before I said, “Think my daddy’s pretty worried about a drought.”

I could always talk easily to Miss Cleta, and I watched her while she took a long sip of sweet tea, contemplating what she would say.

“Well now,” she began, “seems to me your daddy’s known adversity before and got through it just fine.”

“I s’pose.”

“Not to mention that we don’t know for sure that Elmer Poe’s right with his predictin’. Besides, you remember what I said about bein’ in God’s hand. He’ll watch out for you all right.”

“Maybe so, but I got to find me some work. It ain’t right to be sittin’ around doin’ nothin’ all summer when my daddy’s workin’ so hard.”

“Your daddy won’t like you takin’ work in town, Jessilyn. I can near about guarantee that.”

“But we need money.”

“You think he’d have your momma go out and get work?”

“No, ma’am!”

“Well then, he ain’t gonna want you goin’ out for work, neither.”

“But he let Gemma.”

“Gemma’s a woman of nineteen. And besides that, no matter how much you feel like family, Gemma’s not blood kin. He likely figures she’s got a right to make her own choice.”

I stirred my sweet tea with a spoon to corral a berry and plop it in my mouth. “Momma’s got all sorts of things to do around the house. I ain’t got nothin’ to do all summer. And Gemma, she’s workin’ so much I barely ever see her. She didn’t get home last night until midnight. My daddy was near fit to be tied. I swear I won’t see her this summer at all, and I’ll be bored as can be.”

“You help your momma, don’t you?”

“Yes’m. But that don’t fill my time up much. She insists on doin’ most of it. I expect she thinks I can’t do some things as well as she can.”

“Just stuck in her ways, I reckon. A body can get that way after years of doin’ things themselves.” She refilled my glass. “You know, I don’t think your daddy would take money from you, anyhow. Even if he did let you get work . . . which he wouldn’t.”

“Well, I want some work. Even if Daddy won’t let me give him the money I make, I can at least buy things that I need so he won’t feel like he needs to buy them for me.”

Miss Cleta just sat there in her chair, tapping the table, deep in thought. I ate two more cookies to fill the silence before she spoke up.

“What would you say to workin’ for me?”

“What’s that?”

“I said you might like to work for me. I ain’t no spring chicken anymore. Could use some help with chores. Dustin’ and gardenin’ and such. You know how my arthritis has been actin’ up lately. I could use an extra pair of hands maybe two or three days a week. My dear husband left me settled for a long life, and I could pay you the same as you would make moppin’ floors at the grocery or some other such work.”

“Do you mean that, Miss Cleta?” I exclaimed. “I could work for you?”

“So long as your daddy and momma agree it’s fine.” She folded her hands, a self-satisfied grin spreading across her face. “Yes ma’am. I do believe I’ve come up with a fine idea. I can say it’s been too quiet around here these days. This place could use some livenin’ up. And Lord knows you can liven a place up, Miss Jessilyn.”

“I don’t know I’d feel right takin’ money from you, Miss Cleta. Bein’ neighbors, I ought to be lendin’ you a hand without expectin’ a return for it. I figure Daddy’ll feel the same.”

Miss Cleta set her glass down so hard my iced tea spoon clattered from the vibration. “Now you see here, Jessilyn Lassiter, I ain’t accustomed to takin’ work for nothin’. A neighborly favor is borrowin’ sugar now and again. It ain’t cleanin’ dusty tables and pullin’ weeds.” She crossed her arms emphatically. “No ma’am. If I want some help around this here house, I’m payin’ for it. And you can tell your daddy
that if need be. I’m his elder, after all, so he’ll have to take notice of what I’m sayin’.”

My eyebrows were arched high in surprise, and I sat dead still, not sure how to react.

Miss Cleta took a good look at my face and broke out in that hooting laugh of hers. “Land’s sake, child, you look as if you’d seen a ghost. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you speechless before in your life.”

“I don’t suppose I’ve seen you so determined before, is all.”

“Posh! I’m an ornery old thing six days out of seven, and you know it.” She used her napkin to wipe up a drop of tea that had spilled when she slammed her glass down. “But I still mean what I say. If you’re workin’ for me, you work for pay. You hear?”

“Yes’m.”

“Well then,” she said with a wave of her hand, “get! Ask your daddy so’s I don’t sit here in suspense all day.”

I hopped up, nearly spilling my leftover iced tea.

“Slow down, now,” she cautioned. “A lady doesn’t go galumphin’ around like that. You just take a slow pace.”

“Yes’m.” I took the last few sips of my iced tea to be polite, placed my empty glass in her sink, and thanked her kindly for her hospitality.

“You just come on down to tell me what they say,” Miss Cleta told me, nodding in response to all the words of thanks I gave her as I made my way to the door. “I’ll look for you,
and when you come by, we’ll talk about a work schedule if you get the okay.”

By the time I reached the road, I was about to burst with excitement, and I wanted nothing more than to shoot off like a polecat. But I knew Miss Cleta would be watching me from the porch, and she’d be sure to holler after me to be a lady if she saw me tearing down the road. Instead, I waited until I turned the corner out of sight before I set off at a brisk run. I was breathless and dripping with sweat when I got home.

My heart sank when I saw that the truck was gone. I was stir-crazy, knowing I’d have to wait until Momma came back from wherever she’d gone to ask her about my job. At least it was getting near dinnertime, and she’d be back in time to fix something for Daddy and the field hands. I decided I’d head into the kitchen and get some food started. It couldn’t but help butter Momma up, anyway.

Momma came in while I was putting slices of cold ham onto some of her homemade biscuits.

“Oh, good,” she said when she spotted me working at the counter. “I’m runnin’ late. I was visitin’ with Mrs. Tinker and lost track of the time.”

The mention of Mrs. Tinker made my spine tingle as it did every time. It didn’t matter that Mr. Tinker had been executed for murder four years ago. It was still fresh in my mind, that summer of threats, violence, and betrayal; that summer when my daddy found out his best friend, Mr. Tinker, had betrayed us as a member of the Ku Klux Klan.