The Secret Sense of Wildflower (17 page)

Preacher married them on a Sunday afternoon six weeks later and they went into Rocky Bluff for the night to have their honeymoon in a room at the Rocky Bluff Inn that Aunt Chloe and Uncle John paid for. It was like a fairy tale how much they loved each other. And now the king and queen are expecting a prince or princess.

Mama’s footsteps reach the porch first. I am suddenly home free, as if I’ve been playing tag and have come to that safe place where no one can touch me. I love this porch. I love the steps, the floorboards, the railings and the porch swing that has hung there all these years.

“You’re home, Wildflower,” Daniel says, his breath still labored. But I hear relief in his voice, too. With the slam of the screen door the rest of the world goes dark.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

“She’s waking up,” Jo says.

Hearing her voice, I wonder if I’ve fallen asleep on Daddy’s grave again, and she’s come to find me. Maybe I imagined the whole incident with Johnny Monroe and I still have time to get back to the house before Mama and Meg have time to worry.

I open the one eye that can still see. It is daylight again. Mama and Jo are there, along with Daniel and Amy. My face hurts like it is on fire. I touch my ribs and feel bandages wrapped around my waist, hoping Doc Lester wasn’t the one who wrapped them.

I am laid out on Mama’s bed like Daddy had been that last day. “Am I dying?” I ask softly.

“You’re hurt pretty bad, but you’ll mend,” Mama says. She sounds confident and I believe her, though I’ve decided that dying might not be that bad. All your pain goes away and you get to see your loved ones again, not to mention the golden Mary.

“You need to tell us who did this to you,” Daniel says, about as serious as I’ve ever heard him.

Everybody looks at me.

“You need to tell us,” Jo repeats.

It isn’t that I don’t want to tell, I’m just afraid I’ll be blamed for what Johnny did.

“You’re not in trouble,” Mama says to me, like she’s been reading my mind.

“Whoever did this won’t get away with it,” Daniel says.

Amy is stone silent. This isn’t that unusual, except she isn’t looking at me. Her current silence has secrets in it, like she knows something I don’t know. When I try to sit up, pellets of pain shoot through me like buckshot. I can’t believe so many different places can hurt at once.

I am afraid to speak. Johnny threatened to kill me if I did. But I’m also too stubborn to let Johnny win.

“Tell us,” Daniel says again.

I would do just about anything for Daniel after he carried me home in the dark. The look in his eyes tells me that it’s okay to say it, that he’ll keep me safe.

“It was Johnny Monroe,” I say finally.

“I figured it was him,” he says, looking over at Jo. “But we had to be sure. Nathan and his brothers are already out looking for him. His father said he hasn’t been around for days.”

Jo opens the curtains to let light in. I cover the one eye not swollen shut. I remember the golden Mary, her rays flowing straight through me. I look over at my family, wishing I could tell them about what I’ve seen. But they don’t believe in ghosts or visions. Aunt Sadie is the only one I might tell—someday.

“The sheriff from Rocky Bluff needs to talk to you,” Daniel says. “If you don’t feel like it today we can put it off till tomorrow, but he needs to make a detailed report.”

I can’t imagine telling anybody all of what happened to me, especially a stranger. Not to mention that as soon as Johnny catches wind the sheriff is after him, he’ll know I told. That’s like putting a bulls-eye on my back.

“Maybe we don’t need the sheriff,” I say.

“Why not?” Daniel asks. It is the first time I’ve seen him even halfway angry.

“Johnny’s probably long gone by now,” I say, wishing my words could make it true.

“You can’t let him get away with this,” Amy blurts out. We all turn to look at her, the silent one in our family. “Well, she can’t,” she says.

I know she knows something. But whatever it is she won’t say in front of the rest of the family.

“Did he threaten you?” Daniel asks me.

I don’t answer.

“Don’t believe it if he did,” Daniel says. “He couldn’t get to you now if he tried.”

I am not so sure.

“Louisa May, you need to say what really happened,” Mama says.

I am not so sure of that, either.

“You don’t want Johnny doing this to anybody else, do you?” Jo says.

This much is true. I don’t want anybody else getting hurt.

“The only place for Johnny Monroe is jail,” Daniel says.

I pause. “Okay. I’ll tell the sheriff,” I say. My words come out mumbled from my busted lip.

“Good girl,” Daniel says. “You just get well and we’ll take care of it.”

“What are you going to do?” Jo asks. She looks concerned. Like she’s afraid Johnny might go after Daniel, too.

“Now that we know for sure, I’ll go join up with Nathan,” Daniel says to Jo.

Before he leaves the room, Daniel kisses me on the forehead and then kisses Jo lightly on the lips.

“How long have I been asleep?” I ask Jo, who is sitting next to me.

“Two days,” she says.

“Two days?” I ask in disbelief. “I’ve never slept two days in my life.”

“It’s good for you,” Mama says. “Doc Lester says you’ll probably need to sleep for a week.”

“You let that old horse doctor touch me?” I ask.

Mama and Jo smile at each other, like there is still hope if I am complaining about Doc Lester.

“He was the only one around to bandage you up,” Mama says to me. “Sadie was out delivering a baby. She’s over at the Sector’s place now. June’s having a rough time with her latest.”

I remember the red gemstone Horatio Sector gave me the night Daddy died that is still wrapped in paper inside the leather pouch. I hope June is all right. And I am glad Doc Lester won’t get a hold of her.

“Don’t worry,” Jo says. “Mama watched Doc real close so he wouldn’t botch it up.” Jo reaches over and holds my hand. “Do you need anything?” she asks.

“Maybe something to drink,” I say. “My mouth feels like it’s full of cotton.”

“How about some sweet tea,” Mama asks, as if happy to have something to do.

“Yes, please,” I say, and it sounds like “yesh, peas.” I touch my swollen jaw. Simply lifting my arm sends a searing reminder of what happened.

Mama leaves and Jo pets my hand while Amy sews. I’ve never known Amy not to be sewing on something. The world could be ending and she’d have a needle and thread, ready to stitch up a new one. Amy has also never been the type to dwell on bad news. Once things are done, they’re done. But she is dwelling on something now because bad news is written all over her face.

Mama returns with the tea and I pull myself up in the bed, nearly screaming. Nothing has ever been this hard for me. All these years, I took feeling good for granted.

“Just try to stay still,” Mama says, with the tone of voice she used when I was a little girl acting up in church.

Jo shoots her a look like Mama needs to behave. I’ve never seen Jo defiant, especially to Mama, but even in my pain I enjoy it. “What would make you more comfortable?” Jo asks me.

“Can you help me sit up?” I say.

Jo helps me sit upright against the pillow even as I yelp and moan. I sip the tea slowly, taking in the liquid on the side of my mouth that doesn’t hurt.

“Are you hungry?” Mama asks. She doesn’t take to sitting still.

“A little bit,” I say.

“I have some leftover cornbread,” she says. “Would you like that?”

“That sounds good,” I say, grateful that there is still something so ordinary and perfect in the world as Mama’s cornbread. “Maybe I’ll talk to the sheriff tomorrow,” I say to Jo. Every word I utter is through gritted teeth, to keep my face from hurting.

“I’ll tell Daniel,” she says.

Lying there, it’s impossible to take in all that has happened. I want my old life back. I want to be an innocent, thirteen-year-old girl again. Too much has changed. I survived the wrath of Johnny Monroe, but just barely. How do I know he won’t come looking for me again? Maybe I shouldn’t have been so quick to tell who did it.

Mama shows up with a large piece of cornbread on a plate. Jo breaks off tiny pieces and puts it in my mouth like I am a little bird in a nest waiting for its mother to bring a worm. The cornbread, cold and a day old, is still delicious. I yawn, which causes excruciating pain, and I can’t believe how sleepy I am even though I’ve already slept for two days.

With Jo’s help I take bird-sized sips of tea and listen to my family talk about normal things. In a way, this is a salve that soothes me most. My family speaks about what needs to be done to get ready for winter and about Jo and Daniel’s baby that will be coming next spring. We are awash in normalness, but I can’t help noticing that nobody is talking about what happened to me.

I drift off to sleep again and when I wake up the house is dark and quiet. For the longest time I lie motionless in the dark, trying to guess what time it is. Going by the stillness, I decide it must be the middle of the night. I fold my arms across my chest like Daddy when he was laid out in this same spot. I hold my breath, pretending I’m dead, with mourners all around me. I imagine the gold Mary coming to get me, letting me ride in her golden arms to heaven where Daddy waits for me. Then it occurs to me that maybe the gold Mary came for Daddy, too, and that he went to that place that was peaceful and warm. The thought of it makes me want to cry with happiness and sadness all at the same time.

I inhale deeply and my breath catches like barbed wire in my chest. I cuss under my breath, going from heaven to hell in one second. Cussing is a sin, according to Preacher, but it has its place with this level of agony.

Despite the pain, my body wants to function naturally. I need to go to the bathroom. When I notice a figure near the wall, I jump and wince with the pain of moving too fast. My immediate thought is that Johnny has come back to finish the job he started. But then I realize it is Mama, asleep in her rocking chair in the corner. It surprises me that she has stayed so close. “Mama?”

She startles awake. “Joseph?”

“No, Mama, it’s me,” I answer. “Louisa May.” I haven’t called myself by my regular name in four years. But it feels like the part of me that was “Wildflower” died in the woods.

“Louisa May, what is it?” she says. She stands in the shadows. With her hair down she could easily be one of my sisters.

“I need to pee,” I say.

“I’ll go get Bessie,” she says, the name for our chamber pot. Daddy was always naming things, like the stand of four red bud trees at the bottom of the hill that Daddy named as sisters, all starting with the letter “S.” Sally, Susie, Shirley, and Samantha Red Bud.

“I don’t want Bessie,” I say. “I need fresh air. I’ve been in this stuffy old house for days.”

Mama doesn’t argue. “Do you think you can walk?”

“I don’t know, but I might as well find out,” I say.

She helps me out of the bed and holds my arm as I shuffle through the living room and into the kitchen. I move at a turtle’s pace. With every step it feels like Johnny still has a hold on me, squeezing the breath out of me. My head throbs. I feel sick to my stomach. The pain has worn me out, like a dishrag squeezed dry.

With Mama’s help, I slide into a pair of Daddy’s boots at the back door that we all use when we go out back in the middle of the night. As a little girl I always liked the feel of my small feet clomping around in his big old boots. At thirteen, they are still roomy, but not nearly as much.

We cross the back porch and Mama lights a lantern to help us make out the steps. With a full bladder, the path to the outhouse seems unending. The October air has turned cold. We arrive at the privy with the half-moon Daddy carved in front. The door creaks open and then slaps closed. The smell of lye and earth and urine hits my nostrils. The half-moon lets in a whisper of fresh air, and I aim my nose in that direction. Mama stands outside with the lantern. My pee lets loose, and I feel instant relief. But the pee burns as it comes out, which doesn’t feel right. I’ve never burned down there before.

“Mama, something’s wrong,” I say through the door.

“What do you mean?” she asks.

I can hear her shuffling her feet like she is cold.

“My pee burns,” I say.

Her silence answers me. I don’t know what it means that she isn’t saying anything and now I’m sorry I even brought it up. When I come out of the outhouse she has the light pointing down the path toward the house and I can’t see her eyes.

“Damn that Johnny Monroe,” she says. “I hope he rots in hell.”

I’ve never heard Mama damn anybody before, but then her anger turns toward me. “Louisa May, you don’t have the sense God gave you. What were you thinking going out to that graveyard on your own like that?”

Shame crawls up the base of my spine. Did I somehow give Johnny permission to do what he did? My mind flashes on Johnny unbuckling his pants, but I erase the image as quickly as it comes.

“I was just visiting Daddy’s grave on the one year anniversary,” I say in my defense.