The Secret Sense of Wildflower (16 page)

The footbridge is just ahead. When Johnny caught me, I was halfway home and only a few steps away from getting free. If I can make it to the road somebody will find me. Otherwise I might have to stay here all night, and there will probably be a frost—or worse, Johnny might come back.

I struggle to pull myself up onto my hands and knees. My dress is ripped beyond repair, even by my sister, Amy. I do my best to cover myself but most of me is exposed. Without the sun it is much cooler. Every inch I move causes me yards of pain as I pull myself in the direction of the bridge.

I remember the dream I had where Daddy came to me. Was it really a dream? I call out his name now. But only silence answers me.

“I need your help, Daddy,” I say, as I pull myself forward with all my strength.

I stop, hoping to hear his voice or revisit the dream. Tears sting my swollen eye and my nose drips from the tears. Another rush of pain shoots through me when I attempt to wipe my nose with my sleeve.

“My nose must be broken,” I say to myself, “and maybe some ribs.” Even though my voice is weak it feels good to hear it. It means I am still alive.

After I pull myself onto the first step of the bridge, I stop to rest. The one sturdy board I count on to get me safely across seems more narrow than it ever has. Not to mention that the broken handrail doesn’t look stable enough to hold onto. My only hope is crawling across, with the help of my one good eye.

More than anything, I want to go home. Mama will be mad at me for getting myself in this mess, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing she can say or do will be worse than what I’ve already been through. I drag myself up the two rough steps and steady myself on the board. Then I shuffle my hands and knees forward. With every effort, I cry out in pain. What keeps me going is more than determination. It is anger. I refuse to let Johnny win.

The wind blows through the trees. For a second I think I hear Daddy’s voice. I stop to listen. A squirrel chatters on a nearby tree. The bridge sways with my weight. I steady myself again and look up. Since this part of the handrail looks stable, I pull myself up to walk part of the way. I scream and cuss every bad word I know. I take the Lord’s name in vain and then dare him to punish me for it. In the meantime, I hug the railing and sweat joins the blood on my face.

Now standing, I feel proud of myself and start to smile, but my busted lip won’t let me. While clinging to the rail, I test to see if my feet will move. I take small, shuffling steps across the middle of the bridge. At a certain point I realize there is no turning back. The danger behind is greater than what lies ahead. I call on every ounce of resilience I have and refuse to fall off the bridge into the ravine. I am like Mama. I will plow to the end of this row.

I reach for my medallion and then remember Johnny ripping it from my neck. I look back and think briefly about looking for it. But it is too much to ask myself to do. Instead, I pray for the good Mary’s help and also help from the baby Jesus who we learned in Sunday school grew up to be a shepherd of people instead of sheep. Clinging to the rail, I pray to the Lord, who is my shepherd, not to ask me to lie down in green pastures just yet because I am not quite ready to go. I remember how Preacher read the 23rd Psalm at Daddy’s funeral and had everybody say it with him. I have the opposite of still waters here, and my soul could use some help. And I figure I’ve already walked through the valley of the shadow of death and have seen evil right there in Johnny’s eyes. I have trouble right now believing that the Lord is with me. I especially wonder where God was while Johnny was trying to knock my lights out forever.

When I reach into my dress pocket for my rabbit’s foot from Woolworth’s, I discover it isn’t there. I sink my hand deeper into each pocket, thinking it must have fallen out while I ran. Without my medallion or my rabbit’s foot I wonder if my luck has run out. I hold my head up and pretend the rabbit’s foot is there anyway, as well as my Mary medallion. I give myself three wishes just to round things out. As I inch my way across the footbridge, I wish for courage, sure footing and strength. I thank the trees used to make the lumber to build this old bridge that holds me up. I thank the mountain for holding us all.

The board creaks from my weight and the sound of the stream grows louder. If I don’t make it, people in Katy’s Ridge will be telling the story forever about that unfortunate girl, Louisa May, who died one year to the day after her poor Daddy died in a horrible sawmill accident.

I take another step. A part of the board snaps. The bridge sways underneath me. A piece of bridge falls away, the size of a small cat, and my body goes rigid. That piece of bridge could have just as easily been me. It crashes on the rocks below. Dizziness sweeps over me as I try to steady myself. I cling to the rail, forcing myself not to look down.

The roaring stream calls out the danger below. After another step I see the end of the bridge and the path beyond. Pain stabs at me, and the tears won’t stop. I push them back, thinking they will hinder my survival. My only job is to get back home where it is safe. I can’t risk running into Johnny again.

“What did I do to deserve this?” I ask God.

As usual, he doesn’t answer. What use is it to have a God who doesn’t even help when you need him the most?

People aren’t supposed to beat other people up. Johnny used me as a punching bag for all that had ever gone wrong in his life. Then he forced himself on me. That part I have trouble remembering. It’s as if my mind wants to protect me from it somehow. But at least I fought back as much as I could. And even though Johnny nearly killed me, and threatened to finish the job if I told, I refuse to let him get away with this.

The handrail now gone, I drop to my knees and begin to crawl again. The board underneath me feels damp. A slippery smooth layer of moss covers the crevices. I grasp the dry edges and shuffle forward, an inchworm in human form. A steady, constant pain stabs at me with every move.

When I finally reach solid ground, I stay on my knees thanking God, Mary, the forest, and every rabbit that ever sacrificed a foot to bring good luck. Exhausted, I roll onto my side, wincing as I do. My cheek rests against the cold, moist earth. I wonder why life has to be so hard. It hurts to move. It hurts not to move. Nothing brings relief. I scream my frustration. My voice echoes faintly against the mountain. I scream again.

My head hurts so much I can barely lift it. Getting across that bridge was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done; now all I want to do is sleep. But I know how dangerous sleep can be. I need to stay awake, stay warm and yell for help. But when I try to stand the ground rolls and swells underneath me like a stormy ocean, and I begin to fall again. My legs buckle and the ground comes up to meet me. I hit hard. The fall knocks the last bit of fight out of me.

The earth is my bed; the rotting leaves my pillow. I want Daddy back. Preacher says God answers all our questions when we meet him face to face, and I have plenty of those. I want to know why he would let people like Johnny Monroe walk around just to hate and beat up other people.

Darkness is falling. It no longer matters if Johnny wins. All I want is rest. Life doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t matter if you’re good or bad. People die for no reason. People suffer for no reason. I close my eyes and imagine my funeral. Silas Magee will make me a pine box, just like Daddy’s but smaller. Miss Mildred will play something off-tune on the organ for me. Preacher will give me the benefit of heaven, since I’ve been baptized and accepted Jesus into my life. Mama might even cry, when she realizes how little she knew me. And I’ll rest forever under the willow tree, right between Daddy and baby Beth, with a little marker paid for out of Aunt Sadie’s quilt money reading
Wildflower McAllister, 1928-1941
. Like baby Beth, I will never age. I will always be thirteen. And then, every year on my birthday one of my sisters will wistfully say how old I’d be if Johnny Monroe hadn’t killed me with his bare hands.

My body shivers and quakes from the cold. I wait to see what death will be like. Will it hurt? Will my soul throw off my body right in front of me?

In the distance, a light comes toward me. It is the most beautiful light I’ve ever seen—a combination of sunlight and moonlight, soft and rich, with gold, yellow and white rays coming out of the center. The gold Mary walks toward me with a lamb and a rabbit at her side. I am relieved to see the rabbit still has all his feet and luck with him. The gold Mary smiles at me and glows like the sun. Her rays wash over me, but don’t cause pain, only strong, warm, peaceful feelings. The pain leaves me. I become the baby Jesus, resting in her arms.

I will join Daddy soon. We will rest in peace, watching the river flow by Katy’s Ridge on its way to the Atlantic Ocean. In spirit, we’ll flow with the river, making our way across America and across the wide sea to where my grandparents lived. We’ll flow past my ancestors and up into heaven, making our way to God and Mary, where we’ll never be alone again.

I close my eyes and let the ocean take me in her arms.

CHAPTER TWELVE

“There she is!” The voice breaks into my dream, sounding far away. I fight to stay where I am, to stay with the golden Mary. I am at peace. I’m not cold anymore.

I hear footsteps. I force one eye open and see a lantern swinging along the path. “Wildflower, is that you?” It sounds like Daniel’s voice.

“Oh my God,” Mama says in the distance. “What have you gotten yourself into now?” But I hear more fear in her voice than anger. It dawns on me that all her fussing my whole life has been about fear.

I feel regret that I won’t be staying with the woman in gold. Her light disappears into the trees and the pain returns. Daniel and Mama arrive at my side. I try to turn in their direction but can’t move.

Daniel wraps his jacket around me, covering my exposed skin. My eyes are swollen shut from my beating. The world is fuzzy and dark except for their voices. I listen as they discuss how to get me home.

“Hi Daniel,” I say, as if we’ve just met on the road.

“Everything’s going to be fine,” he says to me. He sounds like Daddy for a second and tears come quickly to my swollen eyes. Salt water on a wound, the pain stabs fiercely to the point that I can’t even scream.

“How bad is she?” Mama asks Daniel.

Daniel doesn’t answer.

Mama holds the lantern close to my face. She gasps, as if not expecting what she sees.

“Let’s get her home,” she says to Daniel, her voice soft and sure. This attitude comes to Mama when a job needs to get done. This is the part of her I can count on. She will get me back home and patch me together again like a broken vase.

Darkness mingles with the lantern light as I sink into Daniel’s chest and crawl inside his smell. A dreamy sleep carries me away. Daddy is carrying me now. He is still alive. He has been hiding in the woods. He was lost but now he is found, and he will never leave again.

Every few steps I am jarred awake. I am no longer a little girl and worry that I am too heavy for Daniel to carry. But he doesn’t complain. In Daniel’s arms, every inch of me cries out in pain. Mama doesn’t speak but I hear her breathing next to Daniel’s. They are moving as fast as they can without running. Mama pushes away tree branches and vines, clearing the path and telling Daniel the places to look out for, in that same strong voice she used when the men were bringing Daddy up the hill. I wonder if she knows something I don’t know. Maybe I have that look that Daddy had, like I am leaving this world and there is nothing anybody can do to stop me.

Daniel’s footsteps sound different when they reach the road. The earth has gravel mixed in it. The burden of carrying me runs up through his legs and arms and into me. We turn up the hill, and I know we are almost home. The earth is soft again. Mama’s breathing is labored and so is Daniel’s. They are racing up the hill in the dark. With one eye half open, I see stars and lantern light on a swatch of the hill. Daniel’s chest heaves underneath my head, his heart and lungs calling on all their strength. I wish I was lighter so he wouldn’t have to struggle. Maybe if I were light as a feather I could stay in Daniel’s arms forever.

In the blurry, dreamlike darkness, Daniel smells just like Daddy—a mixture of sweat and sawdust, river and earth. I remember Daniel coming up the hill another time, the very first time he came to court Jo. He asked Jo out a few weeks after Daddy died, to go to a movie in Rocky Bluff. Jo had been so shy, which was really not like her, and she had invited him to dinner instead. He sat at the table where Daddy used to sit and Jo blushed more than I’ve ever seen her blush. Of course we all knew they’d get married after that. It seemed as sure as spring coming after winter, or the dogwood tree blooming down the road.