The Promise of Jesse Woods (25 page)

“What did you do?”

“I ran under the eave. Jesse was screaming and Gentry was yelling for her to be quiet.”

I paused there. Things of a sexual nature had been forbidden territory between us, though I had heard my parents discuss having “the talk” with me and that my father needed to do it. I had heard and seen enough on the bus to junior high to curl my mother’s hair, but still nothing from him.

My father ran a hand over his mouth, his eyes looking at something not in the room. “Go on.”

“I wanted to help but I was scared. Gentry can tear kids like me apart. I climbed up a ladder and took a picture. The flash stopped him.”

“You did what?”

I reached in my pocket and pulled out the Polaroid photo and handed it to him. He looked at it and winced.

“He tore her shirt, Dad. She was scratching and clawing, but he was strong. If I hadn’t done something . . .”

“He saw you?” he said.

I nodded and told him about running to the barn, then the feeling when I saw Jesse escape. “I got on my bike and came here.”

He put the picture on his desk, facedown, and laid a hand on my shoulder. I could tell he wanted to say something, and I wanted him to, but a rumbling noise outside stopped him.

“Are you expecting somebody?” I said.

He shook his head and I saw a mixture of fear and resignation. Keys jangled and the front door opened and footsteps lumbered through the sanctuary. It was like waiting for two of the four horsemen of the Apocalypse. I moved behind my dad’s desk and stuffed the picture in my pocket.

The office door flew open and Basil and Gentry Blackwood burst inside.

“Can I help you, Basil?” my father said.

“Is that him?” the man said to his son.

“Yeah, that’s him,” Gentry said.

Old Man Blackwood’s eyes were fiery red and his neck veins raised like an overpumped bike tire. “Paul says a
pastor ‘ruleth well his own house, having his children in subjection with all gravity.’”

“I know the passage, Basil.”

“‘For if a man know not how to rule his own house, how shall he take care of the church of God?’”

“Indeed,” my father said.

“You need to control your children,” Blackwood said. “A man’s property is sacred. Your son violated my property.”

“Basil, I was just talking to Matt about what happened. He was looking for shelter from the—”

Gentry pointed a finger and interrupted. “He was spying on me and getting into my business.”

“You were hurting Jesse,” I said, my voice sounding like a mouse squeaking.

My father turned and gave me a look that told me to keep quiet.

“You defendin’ that trash you hang out with?” Blackwood said to me. He said
trash
but seemed like he wanted to use a different word. “We’ve talked about this, Calvin. You’re to be above reproach. You’re raising a son who’s a snare of the devil. Just like the other one.”

My father looked pained at the reference to Ben but shook it off. “Now, Basil, let’s be fair—”

“Get the camera from him,” Gentry said.

Blackwood turned to his son. “You don’t tell me what to do.”

My father held up both hands and his voice was soft and low. “Why don’t we calm down. We can work this out. This is probably all a misunderstanding. In fact, I’m—”

“It’s not a misunderstanding,” I said. I was a roaring mouse now. “Gentry was hurting Jesse. He had her in his room. He ripped her shirt.”

“You lyin’ sack of—”

“Shut up!” Blackwood thundered. He pointed a finger at me. “You know what bearing false witness against somebody means?”

“Yeah, it means lying. And I’m not lying. He had Jesse on his bed and she was screaming. It was me taking the picture that stopped him.”

Blackwood looked back at his son before asking me, “Where’s this picture?”

My father glanced at his desk, then at me.

“I’m not giving it to him,” I said.

“You give it to me now,” Blackwood said.

“Matt, let me have it,” my father said.

He reminded me of Gregory Peck in the film version of
To Kill a Mockingbird
. His voice was just as deep and clipped when he spoke. He didn’t sound like everyone else in Dogwood—his twang had lessened. But as he held out his hand, I took a step backward toward his bookshelf. I put a hand on a red copy of
Strong’s Exhaustive Concordance
to steady myself.

“Just let him see what you’re saying is true,” my father said.

I searched my father’s eyes for something I could trust. I wanted him to stand up to Blackwood. To order him out of his office, out of the church. I wanted him to be Atticus and stand against injustice and stick up for Jesse.

“Matt, show him the picture.”

I reached in my pocket. My father handed the photo to Blackwood, who grabbed it and studied it closely. “Trash is growing up.”

He tore the picture in two, flicked a cigarette lighter, and burned it in front of us, dropping it in the metal trash can. It smoked and my father tossed a cup of water inside.

Blackwood stepped toward me and leaned down. His breath was as smoky as the burning Polaroid. “You’re never going to talk about this, you understand?”

I looked at my father, then at the floor.

“You answer me, son,” Blackwood said. “You’re never going to talk about this with anybody. And if you do, I’m going to talk about that brother of yours.”

“Basil, that’s not necessary,” my father said weakly.

“And you’re going to stay away from our property. You hear?”

I looked at my father, teeth clenched, tears welling. I was overcome by the man’s venom and my father’s impotence. I wanted to yell that I was going to call the sheriff. I wanted to say they would be sorry they hurt Jesse. But my trembling chin made me hold back.

“He understands,” my father said.

Blackwood stood straight. “He’d better. And you better too, Calvin. That parsonage could run into more snags. You don’t want to be living with your mama when winter comes.”

Gentry smiled at me like he had won a gold medal at the Olympics. All the evidence of his wrongdoing was gone. All the evidence but Jesse and me.

Blackwood looked back as he was leaving. “Listen, boy. Don’t worry about that trash. Pretty soon that family will be gone and the hollow will be better for it. We’ll all be better off.”

I looked at the smoldering ruins of my photo, then at my father. “I’ll never forgive you for this,” I said through tears. I ran past the Blackwoods and out of the sanctuary.

“Matt!” my father yelled.

I grabbed my bike and took off toward the road, tears streaming. When the truck passed me, Gentry made a face and rubbed his eyes, mouthing, “Poor baby.”

I rode to Dickie’s and was glad it wasn’t burning. A smoke smell hung in the area. Dickie came outside and sat on the front steps eating a bag of Fritos.

“It was the Thompson place,” he said. “Those kids like to play with matches when their parents aren’t around. They were in a closet and things got out of hand.”

“Are they okay?”

“Nobody died. I figure they learned a valuable lesson that’ll last about a week. What are you up to?”

“Nothing,” I said. I wanted to tell Dickie all about it. I wanted somebody else to know what had happened. But the more I thought, the more I knew this would have to be another secret Jesse and I would share.

That night I lay in bed with the microphone, giving two clicks every few minutes. My father came in and sat on the bed, but I turned my face to the wall. I wanted him to
apologize or do something to explain his inaction. Instead he stood and walked out of the room.

I fell asleep waiting for the return clicks that never came. I dreamed I was running from a bear in the woods that growled and bared its fangs. The bear looked like Gentry Blackwood.

The next day I rode to Jesse’s house. Daisy Grace was in the backyard picking flowers and Jesse was at the front window pulling dead ones from the Ball jar. Carl had gotten used to me and only barked a couple of times when I rode up, then retreated under the house. I wondered how Jesse managed to feed herself, Daisy, and the dog on the little they received in her mother’s check.

Jesse opened the door, wearing the shirt from the day before, hand-sewn, and invited me inside. She must have felt self-conscious about her home, like a pretty woman with bad teeth will put a hand over her face when she smiles, but the walls were breaking down between us.

“I came to see if you were okay,” I said.

She looked out the back window at Daisy Grace. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I tried to reach you last night on the CB.”

“I got tired early.”

I pulled out one of the unmatched chairs at the kitchen table and sat. The table wobbled to one side and I figured it was probably because the floor was crooked.

“Is that the first time he’s done something like that?”

She turned and pulled herself up onto the counter by
the sink, her dirty bare feet swinging. “What are you talking about?”

“Gentry.”

The name took her aback and she looked out the window again. “I can take care of myself. I don’t need your help.”

“But you need my help with Daisy.”

“That’s different.”

I took a deep breath. “There were marks on your stomach. Did Gentry do that?”

She squinted at me, not understanding. Then she lifted up her shirt. “You mean these?” She had a tight abdomen and I could see her ribs and a lot of her bra. She had bruises on her arms and a scratch on her neck, but it was the marks on her stomach that troubled me most. “These are my birthmarks.”

They weren’t birthmarks, but I turned my head and decided not to argue. “Pull your shirt down, please?”

“You’re blushing, aren’t you?” She sang, “Matt is blushing.”

“Are you going to pretend yesterday didn’t happen? Because I can’t. I saw what he was trying to do.”

She pulled her shirt down. “Yesterday happened. But what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. That’s what my mama always said.”

“What doesn’t kill you will evidently leave a scar.”

“I reckon you’re right about that.”

She stared at me and I didn’t look away. I wanted to tell her what had happened in my father’s office, but I couldn’t.

A wailing sound wafted through the window and Jesse was off the counter and out the back door in a flash. She returned with Daisy Grace holding her arm.

“Quick, cut me an onion,” Jesse said, pointing toward the corner. I grabbed a butcher knife and an onion, wondering what had happened. I cut the onion in two and Jesse took one slick, wet half and put it directly on Daisy’s arm. “There, that’ll draw out the poison. Just hold it there.”

“What happened?” I said.

“Bee sting. There’s a bunch at the outhouse.”

I remembered the welts on my neck and face and thought I could have used a few onions.

“Run to our room and get a washcloth,” Jesse said.

Nothing could have prepared me for the sadness of Jesse’s bedroom. There was water damage to the windowsill. A small crib mattress lay on the floor in the corner. A tangled mess of a sheet covered it. Jesse’s bed was a stained twin mattress without a box spring. It was on a slab of plywood with bricks underneath. A bare lightbulb hung from the ceiling with a piece of string swinging low.

There was a rickety dresser that had once held a mirror. On top of the dresser were scattered pictures, one frame showing a smiling woman I thought must have been Jesse’s mother.

I found a pile of unfolded washcloths in the corner and returned to the kitchen. Jesse dunked the cloth in the water and put it in the freezer.

“I want Mama,” Daisy whimpered.

“Mama ain’t here. You got me.”

Jesse waited a little, then took the cloth from the freezer and told Daisy to hold it to her arm. Gradually the girl calmed. Her arm swelled, but Jesse’s quick action seemed to make a difference.

“You want to watch TV?” Jesse said to her.

Daisy put her head down and ran toward the living room. There was a loud click and a static sound.

“I’ve been brainstorming what we could do while you’re at school,” I said.

“I been thinking too. I’m just going to drop out.”

“No. You said the truant officer will show up.”

The channel knob turned and I heard the sound effects of Huckleberry Hound.

“I’ll hide, just like when the Jehovah’s Witnesses come.”

“I think there’s a better way.”

“What way is that?”

“I saw a sign yesterday at a house in town that said, ‘Child care.’ I wrote down the number and the address.”

Jesse stared at the scrap of paper I held out. “How much do they charge?”

“I don’t know, but it’s worth asking, don’t you think?”

She nodded and bit her lip. “I can’t leave her with just anybody.”

Daisy giggled in the living room and turned up the sound.

“Turn that down,” Jesse yelled.

“Then y’all be quiet!” Daisy said.

Jesse smiled and shook her head. I could tell she was rolling the idea over in her mind.

“Maybe you could call that lady and find out. I’d have to get her there early, before the bus runs, but then I could get on at the Second Street stop by the gas station. And then get off there in the afternoon and pick her up.”

I nodded. It sounded plausible but exhausting. I had never considered how much my parents did until I thought of Jesse becoming a full-time mother.

“I’ll call when I get home, but you need to keep the CB on so we can talk.”

She rubbed her hands. “I’m worried somebody could listen, Matt. Like Blackwood.” Jesse scrunched up her face. “How did you know about Gentry?”

“I was there. I saw through the window. Didn’t you see me?”

“I saw lightning flash but didn’t hear no thunder. And then Gentry was up and cussing and running for the door.”

She didn’t know I had taken a picture, and I wasn’t about to tell her. “He saw me in the window and followed. But I hid. I was so happy you got away.”

“We was out of meat. And Daisy broke the last eggs we had. I let her watch the TV while I went over to their pond, thinking there was nobody home. Then Gentry came along.”

The cartoon sounds gave way to the familiar theme of
Gilligan’s Island
.