The Secret Sense of Wildflower (19 page)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Like a friend who goes away because you never listen to them, my secret sense seems to have left me, too. I sleep uneasily that night. Every time I roll over I am reminded of my bruised ribs. I listen to the house settle into itself, creaking with the slight breeze. I have my ear trained outside, listening to every little sound in the woods, afraid Johnny will come looking for me. Several times a night, I’m convinced I hear someone walking up the path to the house and get out of bed to make sure the doors are locked.

The next day the house is empty except for Mama, who is on the back porch beating the dust out of the rugs with her broom. The wallops echo through the house. She beats them with such force I wonder if she is imagining Johnny Monroe as one of those rugs. Or maybe me.

Holding my bandaged ribs, I shuffle into the living room in my stocking feet, crossing the patches of sunlight making tree shadows across the wooden floors. The metal of Daddy’s banjo splinters light across the ceiling. I take the banjo from its place, then sit in the rocker and hold it for a long time, my nose right up next to the wood. I search for reminders of Daddy’s scent, but all I can smell is Mama’s lemon oil. I touch the strings he touched, imagining that their tautness helps me hold myself together.

I hug the banjo so hard it starts to dig into me. For a second the pain in my chest takes my mind off the pain in my heart. But then the memories return. They always return. A gentle breeze in the yard reminds me of the sound of the wind in the trees that day. The smell of dust and dirt from Mama’s rugs causes tightness in my throat and the feeling of Johnny’s hands pressing on my windpipe. Vivid details spring to life. I remember the buttons on Ruby Monroe’s dress as she hung in the oak tree watching me. And the look in Johnny’s eyes as he crouched on top of me like an animal cornering his prey.

Careful not to nick the wood, I put the banjo back in its place. I haven’t told anybody about Daddy appearing to me. It seems too crazy. But he had been there for me, as real as anything. Just like Ruby had been there to witness the scene.

A huge lump of anger wedges in my throat. I resent that Johnny will always be a part of my history now. I can try to forget the beating, but the rest I don’t think I can forget. He got what he wanted all along. I was just a stupid girl who thought nothing bad would dare touch her again after she lost her father. But I figure bad luck, like good luck, never gets used up.

As for God, I no longer know what to do with him. Since I was
washed in the blood of the lamb
at eight, as Preacher says, it looks like God could have at least warned me, or protected me from Johnny. After Daddy died, I’d pictured them both up in heaven watching out for me. Daddy sat at God’s side, telling him about his Wildflower here on earth. But now, it feels like both have disappeared. Cuts and bruised ribs can heal. But how do you get over heaven turning its back on you?

Becky Blackstone comes over that Saturday to work with me on my schoolwork so I won’t get too far behind. I have missed the beginning of the school year. She is the new teacher at Katy’s Ridge grade school. It feels weird to call Becky,
Miss
Blackstone, and obey her every word because she is only four years older than me. She graduated high school early and went to two years of teachers college. When she was a student at the Katy Ridge School, Becky always acted like she was better than everybody else and talked real big about getting out of Katy’s Ridge someday. So we were surprised that she came back. Her father owns the sawmill and was Daddy’s boss. When we were younger, Becky never let me forget that fact. But she seems different now.

Becky makes herself at home in Mama’s rocker, wearing a dress that has a flower print with a lace collar. At that moment, she seems younger than me, chewing on the eraser of her pencil and quizzing me on my history lesson. It makes no sense to study world history when I have my own more recent history to deal with. I’ve aged in the last few days. I’ve seen and felt things I hope other girls never have to at thirteen, or at any age.

Mary Jane comes to visit only once, just after the attack. She says her mother doesn’t want her to disturb me. But I think her mother is just afraid that some of my bad luck might rub off on Mary Jane. Mary Jane acts like she, too, wonders what I did wrong, and what I could have done to prevent it. For the first time in our long friendship there are silences that I don’t know if we can get beyond.

By way of Meg, Victor sends over three packs of peppermint lifesavers from the store. I pocket them to have handy when I can’t sleep in the middle of the night. It is just like Victor to do something sweet like that.

That afternoon, after Becky leaves, Preacher’s booming voice greets Mama at the door. He comes into the bedroom and walks over next to me. He reeks of mothballs, church hymnals and sweat.

“I trust you’re doing well, Louisa May,” he says, his Sunday morning voice too loud for the small room.

I sigh, sorry to put down the book I’ve been reading. Boredom has set in and Preacher isn’t helping. He crosses his arms across his chest, Bible still in hand, and looks at me over his glasses. He visits shut-ins and sinners and I’m not sure which camp I fall into.

“Let’s see what I can offer you today,” he says. He thumbs through the worn leather Bible and reads out loud for several minutes about people being blessed for being meek and lowly. I think “cursed” might have been closer to the truth. Meek and lowly wouldn’t have saved me from Johnny. If I’d acted meek and lowly I’d probably be dead.

By the time he finishes reading he has lambs lying down with lions, which doesn’t make sense given my life lately, either. I don’t have the energy to question him. The quickest way to get rid of him, I decide, is to nod my head every now and again and say, “Amen,” until he’s convinced his words have sunk straight into my soul. That way, Preacher will think he’s delivered God’s message loud and clear and I’ll be rid of him.

The next day is Sunday and Mama and Meg go about the business of getting ready for church.

“Jo and Daniel are coming over later to visit while we’re gone,” Mama says. “Do you need anything?” she adds, tightening the bun of her hair. I like that she is doting on me a little.

I pull myself up in bed. “I’m fine,” I say. It’s not really true but I know it’s what Mama wants to hear.

She takes off her apron and folds it neatly before she puts it on the dresser. Church is about the only place she goes without her apron on, except for maybe a rare trip into Rocky Bluff. She straightens the covers on the bed, pulling the corners so tight I can’t move my feet.

“That hair of yours is a mess,” she says, taking a closer look at me. “I’m surprised mice haven’t made a nest in those tangles.”

“I’ll comb it later,” I say, a lamb to her lion.

I roll over and close my eyes, pretending to sleep. I listen as Mama and Meg chat while they finish getting ready for church. They have an ease with each other I envy.

Jo calls hello from the front porch and the screen door squeaks before slamming in the familiar way. It never occurs to us to grease the hinges. That was Daddy’s job.

I hear Daniel’s voice, too, and I wonder if he’s heard any news from the sheriff. They talk softly in the living room at first, so I scoot out of bed, put a blanket around my shoulders and shuffle toward their voices. I hide behind the door. I can’t see but I can hear them pretty well.

“They think he’s done this to other girls, too,” Daniel says, his voice low. “There’s at least two in Rocky Bluff that say somebody attacked them in the woods near there.”

“Poor Louisa May,” Jo whispers. “I can hardly stand to look at her with all those bruises.”

“That’s the price you pay for taking shortcuts through the woods,” Mama whispers back.

“Oh, Mama,” Jo says, “why are you so hard on her?”

Silence answers. I start to wonder if eavesdropping is that smart a practice since a person might accidentally hear something they don’t want to hear.

“She’s just so much like your father,” Mama whispers finally. “It’s like being haunted by a ghost.”

Mama’s voice breaks. She excuses herself and I hear her go into the kitchen. I hobble back toward the bed just as Jo comes in.

“What are you doing out of bed?” Jo asks.

“I’m tired of just laying here,” I say, hoping she doesn’t realize I heard.

“You must feel better, then,” Daniel says, entering the room behind her. “I’m not one to lie around either.”

“You want to play a game of checkers?” Jo asks. I can’t remember the last time she asked to play checkers. Maybe never, but I pass.

I ask Daniel if he’s heard anything from the sheriff and he says no.

“We’ll be back soon,” Mama calls from the front door. She and Meg leave, and Jo and Daniel and I go out on the porch to sit in the sun. It is chilly, but not cold, and the blanket is warm around my shoulders. In mid-October almost all the leaves are off the trees, but it is still warm in the middle of the day. So warm you can almost trick yourself into thinking that spring waits just around the corner instead of winter.

While I lean against the porch post, Jo rests a hand on her newly bulging stomach. Daniel sits on the step below me, whittling a piece of wood. I remember the cat he made me for my birthday, a day that now feels in the distant past, even though it was just two weeks ago.

“You really do look like you’re feeling better,” Jo says.

“A little,” I say.

“You know, you gave us quite a scare,” she says.

“I know.” I wrap the blanket closer, thinking about how I haunt Mama just by being alive.

Jo leans toward me and smoothes my hair. I lean into her touch. At that moment, I feel like a little girl and a grown woman at the same time, a frequent occurrence these days.

“I know just what you need,” Daniel turns around and says to me. He winks at Jo. “Let’s go down by the river.”

My body tightens with fear. The river is one of my favorite places, but I don’t want to go.

“I don’t know if I can walk that far,” I say. I’ve been holed up in the house long enough to see the value in it. Walls keep a person safe. Locked doors do, too.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you turn down a trip to the river,” Daniel says. He glances at Jo, like maybe he’s stopped worrying about me too soon.

I think about it for a solid minute and weigh all the things that could go wrong—meaning Johnny—and how wonderful it would feel to visit a place so beautiful. “I guess we could try it,” I say finally.

We go inside and Jo goes into my dresser drawer to get a sweater for me to wear and helps me pull it over my head. I make sounds like I’m being tortured. Then she helps me pull on an old pair of pants. My boots, next to the door, are scrubbed clean, as if Mama took her strongest bristle brush to them.

We walk slowly down the hill and I remember the last time I traveled this path in Daniel’s arms. My heart beats faster than usual and my eyes dart left and right. I realize I am looking for Johnny behind every tree and rock.

“What’s the matter?” Jo asks.

“I’m having a hard time breathing,” I say.

Daniel and Jo stop and turn to look at me.

“We’re in no rush,” Daniel says. “Just take your time.”

“But what if he’s watching us?” I say to Daniel. My voice sounds small.

“Johnny’s probably a hundred miles from here by now,” Daniel says. “Sheriff seems to think he’s long gone, too. He’d be an idiot to stick around here after what he’s done.”

I want to believe him, I really do. We start walking again and Daniel and Jo each offer a hand for me to hold onto. After we travel down the road a ways, it starts to feel good to be out of the house. The air is crisp, but not enough to show your breath, and the sun warms my back. I could have done without the sweater, but don’t want the pain of taking it off.

We pass the twisted dogwood that hides my shortcut to the graveyard. It isn’t a secret anymore, and Daniel takes a long look as we pass as if he’s remembering that night, too.

With the baby coming, Jo and Daniel seem happier than ever. They act like newlyweds, giving each other glances that are full of secret meaning. If Meg saw this, she’d be swooning all over the place.

I haven’t taken the path to the river since the day of Daddy’s accident, afraid it would remind me of all the sadness. But when we get closer I realize how much I’ve missed it. The path narrows as me and Daniel and Jo walk single file through the reeds. Daddy and I always held our fishing lines over our heads through here, so that our lines wouldn’t get tangled. The river gurgles its greeting, ripples expanding outward from the shore.

At the riverbank, Jo spreads a blanket she’s brought and we sit; Daniel on one side, Jo on the other. We watch the water for a long time, as if settling into its rhythms. It is a perfect day, blue skies and sunny. I throw a pebble into the water and watch new ripples break the glassy surface.

Daniel weaves two grasses together and places it in my hand like he's offering me a gift. Then his face turns serious, as if he’s been waiting for this moment to tell me something.