OCTOBER 1972
The day after I met Jesse’s father, I found Dickie at school again. He saw me coming and walked the other way down the long hallway that smelled like WWII chewing gum. I caught up to him near the library.
“What do you want now?”
“I’m looking for a breakthrough,” I said.
I hoped he would smile but he didn’t. When he walked away, I grabbed his arm. “This is not about you and me or my brother or your dad. This is about Jesse. She needs our help.”
“I’m done with you, Plumley.”
“They took Daisy. We have to help Jesse find her.”
“No. I don’t have to help. But you need to let go of my arm.”
I forged ahead. “If you could talk with her cousins, maybe they know something they’re not telling me.”
“I don’t go near those people,” Dickie said.
“You don’t care what happens to Daisy?”
“Don’t try the guilt trip. Let go.” When I didn’t, he clenched his teeth. “You want me to pretend everything is fine between us. It’s not.”
“I know that. I can’t help what my brother did. I’m sorry about your dad. If I could do something about it, I would.”
“You lied to me.”
“I never lied.”
“Every day you didn’t tell me your brother ran to Canada, you lied.”
“Dickie, he didn’t want to get killed. What does that make him?”
“A coward.”
“Okay, he’s a coward. He should have gone to war. I wish he wasn’t scared. But he’s my brother. And I miss him, just like you miss your dad.”
Kids passed us in the hall but unlike during a schoolyard brawl, no one congregated.
“You lied every day you didn’t tell me about Jesse’s mom.”
“I promised her. Please, we need—”
Dickie pushed me to the wall. “Stop talking to me. I’m done.”
It was like the end of some sad movie. Like shooting Old Yeller and moving on. Watching Dickie walk away made me want to cry, but I knew I couldn’t.
All through classes I tried to figure out a way to find Daisy. I could pretend to be somebody else and make a phone call. At lunch I tracked down every cousin of Jesse’s I could find, but there was nothing new. On the bus ride home I looked in the windows of every house we passed, hoping Daisy would peek out by chance and I could tell Jesse where she was.
As the bus rumbled, more questions surfaced. What would Jesse do if she found Daisy? And what about her father? Jesse never wanted to see her dad, Dickie longed to have his father return, and I was ashamed of my father.
I looked at the hill behind my grandmother’s house. That we were still living in that house felt crazy—we were supposed to be in the parsonage, but Blackwood was stringing us along, keeping my father under his thumb. I didn’t see any smoke on the hilltop. Where was Jesse? Was her father still at their house?
I rode my bike to Jesse’s but the house looked empty. A little further up the road I saw two figures standing by the gate at Blackwood’s farm. I hid my bike in a grove of autumn olives by the road and crept through the woods until I got close enough to hear them.
“I got the deed back at the house,” Jesse’s father said with a crusty cough. “I just have to get it altered and we’re good to go.”
Blackwood looked at him like he was a stain. “What kind of change you talking about?”
“A technicality. It won’t take long.”
“What kind of technicality?” Blackwood said, spitting in the road.
“That wife of mine signed the deed over to my daughter. I just got to get her to sign it back to me.” He held out a hand to shake. “So we’re agreed on the price, right?”
“We’re agreed,” Blackwood said. “Get the deed situated and I’ll get the lawyer to make sure everything is copacetic.”
“I’ll get it done.”
“You have to find that daughter of yours first. Sheriff was by here this morning asking if I’d seen her.”
“I’ll find her. She’s likely with my kin over on Gobbler’s Knob—that’s where they took the younger one. Spent all day finding a social worker who would tell me the truth.”
“Well, you better get over there. Meet me tomorrow or the deal’s off.”
Jesse’s father turned to leave, then stopped. “You don’t reckon I could borrow your truck tonight?”
“I don’t trust the likes of you with nothing of mine,” Blackwood said.
Jesse’s father smiled and waved his hand. “It don’t matter. I’ll get a ride.”
I found Jesse on the hill trying to cook potatoes on a fire that wouldn’t stay lit because of the rain. Dark clouds hung and creeks swelled.
I told Jesse what I’d heard and when I mentioned Gobbler’s Knob, she perked up. “That’s where Daisy is?”
“That’s what he said.”
“I can get there by riding past the haunted house.”
“No, he’s going there to look for you. You can’t go.”
“I’m not letting him near my sister. I’m going to bring her back.”
“Jesse, that’s like a dog chasing a car. What do you do after you catch it?”
She got up and wiped the seat of her jeans. “I promised my mama. I keep my promises.”
I followed her down the hill, trying to talk sense into her, slipping and sliding. I told her it would be dark soon and that the roads would be muddy. She didn’t listen.
She cut through the woods near our house and moved through the wet leaves to the road. I grabbed two flashlights from the garage and hopped on my bike, reaching her house as she ran out.
“Where do you think you’re going?” she said.
“I’m going with you.”
“No, you ain’t. Go back.”
When she got on the bike, I saw a lump under her T-shirt in the back. A hundred yards past the Blackwood farm, she turned. I was keeping pace but just barely. Rain was steady now.
“You’re not going with me, Matt.”
“You need a flashlight. It’s going to be late when you get there. And you’ll probably need somebody to create a diversion.”
“I don’t need your help.”
She stood on her pedals and rode hard to the base of the hill. Then she got off and pushed, glancing back. I clicked the flashlight twice and pulled up beside her. I couldn’t believe how much stronger I had become since moving to Dogwood.
“If you go now, you’ll be home for dinner,” Jesse said. “Your parents are going to have a fit.”
“They’ll get over it.”
She stopped at the top of the hill to catch her breath. “This is the last time I’m telling you. If I go alone, nobody knows. I get Daisy and slip away. Then you can help. But if you come along, there’s going to be a posse.”
“I stay on the hill till dark all the time.”
“In the rain? Just hand me a flashlight.”
I gave her one and watched her pull up the next incline. Over that ridge the road dipped, then flattened out until the next hill. I pointed my bike toward home, then looked back. Her legs pumped, muscles straining. She was nothing but muscle and bone and that long hair chopped short.
Water dripped from my hair and my shirt was wet and muddy from the back tire spray. Daylight faded and I looked at the treetops for red eyes or flapping wings.
People’s lives turn on a dime, on some split decision they make to turn left or right. On some compulsion to be different from their fathers and act instead of passively looking on at life. Destinies are determined by such things. Mine was changed that night when I couldn’t let Jesse ride alone. Call it hubris or fear that Jesse might be the one to die, but I put my feet on the pedals and pointed my bike toward the haunted house, the little cemetery, and the gate that would take us to Gobbler’s Knob.
Every mud puddle, every fallen tree branch, was a step closer to Daisy. Jesse rode with purpose, pedaling hard. When she came to the end of the road and the gate, we couldn’t get the lock off the chain. The rain fell in sheets. I suggested we turn back. She scowled and lifted her bike up and over the gate, letting it fall with a bang. She scampered over, hopped on, and rode away.
“Wait up!” I yelled.
“Go home!”
I picked up my bike and tried to do the same thing she had done, but when I crawled to the top of the gate, my pants got hung up and I put my hand on the rusty, sharp edge of the metal. I had a sudden fear of falling, of losing my balance and hitting my head and bleeding to death. I had visions of the Mothman. Maybe I was the one who would die. He had warned me.
“Give me your hand,” Jesse yelled. She was standing in the muck with her face into the rain. Her shirt was soaked and I felt I should look away but couldn’t. “Come on, we’ve burnt the daylight!”
Seeing my pants were caught, she reached up and yanked on them, ripping a hole. But I was free. I jumped down and hopped on my bike.
I kept the flashlight on as we rode, obsessed with the Mothman. We bounced along and hit a dense forest with trees spreading over us and blocking the water. The road was almost dry underneath and pedaling became easier. My light hit Jesse’s rear and I saw the mud splatters up her wet shirt.
“How are you going to bring her back?” I said as I pulled up behind her.
“She’ll ride in back like she always does.”
“And what happens when the sheriff finds you and takes her away?”
“I ain’t telling you nothing about the plan, PB. You help me get her. I’ll take care of the rest.”
Jesse stopped talking and slowed. When I caught up to her, she was wiping at her face.
“We’ll get her,” I said.
The road was impossibly long but Jesse seemed to have an innate sense, a magnet that drew her. We came to a fork with three choices. We could go right down a paved road, left to a dirt road, or straight up the hill.
“I remember this,” she said. “I remember looking out the window and thinking we’d never make it in our car because it was bogging down. Come on, we’re almost there.”
I rode behind her as long as I could, then got off and pushed, running uphill. We came out at what looked like the edge of a field. I could only see as far as the flashlight beam but the land looked pretty and the trees were flecked with yellow and red and brown.
“Through here,” she said, riding down a short driveway and jumping off. “Right there’s the house on that knoll yonder.”
I saw light through the trees but the rain picked up again and I put my head down and followed. We parked our bikes on the other side of an oak tree and Jesse started for the house.
“What about dogs?” I said.
“We’ve come too far to be scared of dogs,” she said, running toward the house. She stopped by a small shed. “You stay here. I’ll go look in the window.”
I looked in the trees. “No, I’m coming with you.”
“Suit yourself, but don’t make a sound.”
We crept toward the house. It had a covered front porch that reminded me of the Waltons’ farmhouse. I kept the flashlight off and worried we would trip, but Jesse seemed to have cat vision. She rose up, peeking over the windowsill.
“That’s the kitchen,” she whispered.
“It’s late. Daisy should be in bed by now, don’t you think?”
“Let’s hope so. It’ll be easier if she’s asleep.”
We walked to the back, where there was a screened-in porch that held a white contraption with rollers on top. “What in the world is that?”
“An old-timey washing machine. See the crank handle? Mama used to have one of those but we got rid of it.”
I heard someone talking inside. Jesse peeked, then ran to the other side of the house. Rain pitter-patted from the roof in pools beneath us. Jesse found another window, a dim light glowing inside.
“There she is!” she said in a whisper. She reached up to knock, then held back.
“What’s she doing? Is she in bed?”
Jesse stared, then slid down, her hands still on the windowsill. “She’s playing. She’s got a doll in a stroller. Feeding it a bottle.” She pulled herself back up, then slid down again. “I thought she’d be crying her head off.”
“At least they’re taking good care of her.”
She scanned the room through the rain-drenched window. “There’s a real bed in there, too. Not just a mattress on the floor. And a dresser with a mirror.” Jesse looked at me, her chin puckering slightly. “She’s wearing a new dress. And somebody’s put a bow in her hair.”
I shivered and thought of the return trip home. Daisy could catch pneumonia. The last thing Jesse needed was to lose another sister.
Jesse punched me in the shoulder. “Come on.”
She moved to the front of the house under the porch, where we could get out of the rain. The temperature had dropped and I could see our breath. It wouldn’t be long until winter was here.
“Are you having second thoughts?” I said.
“Mama always said no matter how bad things got, it was better to be with your family. People down in Kentucky offered to take me and Daisy until Mama got on her feet. But she knew we should stay together.”
“But if Daisy is being cared for . . . ,” I said, my voice trailing off.
“We used to have a Sears and Roebuck catalog. The big thick one. Daisy would flip to the toys and just stare at the dollhouses. She always talked about having a baby with a stroller and a bottle to feed it. No wonder she’s not asleep.”
She stared into the darkness. “I don’t get it, Matt. If God cares about sparrows and how many hairs you got, why does he let mean daddies come back?”
We had never talked about sparrows or hairs, and I wondered where Jesse had heard those concepts. Maybe from a radio preacher. It was the same conversation we’d had before, but my answers were changing.
“Maybe God lets us choose. Maybe he lets the good and bad happen so we can work it all out ourselves.”
“Is that what you believe?”
“That’s the way it’s starting to appear to me.”
The rain slowed and a little light peeked through the clouds from the moon, but only for a moment. I wondered what this secluded place looked like in the daylight.
“I wish everything could be like it was,” Jesse said. “Mama sitting on the couch and Daisy bringing her flowers. We never had much, but we was happy.”
“You’ll be happy again, Jesse,” I said, trying to deliver the line as believably as I could.
“Easy for you to say. You got two parents at home and the whole world spread out for you. What do I got?”
“You’ve got Daisy. And you’ve got me.”
She glanced up at me but didn’t say anything. Then she went back to Daisy’s window and looked inside. I followed and knelt beside her.
“She’s getting tired. When she rubs her eyes like that, she’s ready to plop. I’ve seen her go to sleep standing up in the middle of the room and then she’ll just fall over like a cut tree. It’s the funniest thing you ever seen.”
I put a hand on Jesse’s back and she turned, the glow from the bedroom on her face. I wanted to say how pretty she was, how much I cared. When our eyes met, I didn’t know if she felt the same way about me or if she was turning some rock over in her mind to look for worms. She leaned forward, water dripping from her face, and I met her lips with mine. I’d always heard that you never forget your first kiss. Whoever said that was right.
Jesse pulled back and brushed the water from her face. “Come on, let’s go,” she said, turning. “I don’t want to drag Daisy out in this.”
I smiled and followed. “Right.”
The world felt like a better place. I could see Jesse coming to our house, maybe sleeping on the couch. I would explain to my parents. They would help us. And if they didn’t, I’d work out some other plan. And I would steal another kiss before morning. And when the sun came up, everything would be all right. And Jesse could take a shower and get warm.
As we reached our bikes, lights shone in the trees and the rumble of an engine sounded.
We hid behind the oak and watched the truck pass, pulling into the driveway. Jesse looked like she had seen the Mothman. We had forgotten about her father.
“That was him.”
“Who’s the other man?”
“I don’t know.”
“We should get out of here before he sees you.”
“I ain’t letting him take Daisy.”
Before I could protest, she ran toward the house, her silhouette moving into the red of the truck’s brake lights. When the truck stopped, she went to the right, out of sight.
The truck doors opened and both men got out and slammed the doors. I sat by the tree, frozen, unable to move. I closed my eyes and wished this were a bad dream. When I opened them, I was still there by our bikes and a bare lightbulb came on over top of the men on the front porch. The door opened slightly and Jesse’s father pushed it wider.
When the door shut, I ran toward the house. There was yelling inside. The truck was still running, so the men didn’t plan on staying long. I found Jesse at Daisy’s window. She had the screen off and was trying to push on the glass but the window was stuck.
“I can’t get it open,” she said.
“Here,” I said, falling in the mud on all fours. “Step up.”
She hesitated, then put her muddy shoes on my back and it gave her enough height to reach the top of the window. A second later I heard a creak and voices inside like they were right next to us.
“You don’t have no right to take her,” a woman said. Her voice was sharp and husky.
“I got every right,” Jesse’s father said, a little louder than the woman, his words slurred. “She’s my daughter.”
“You turn around and get out of here, Wendell,” another man said. “You ain’t taking her in the shape you’re in.”
“You can’t stop me.”
“We’ll call the law,” the woman said.
I was so engrossed in the conversation I forgot about Jesse until the pressure left my back. I looked up to see her crawling into the room. I stood and peered in the window as Jesse closed the bedroom door and locked it. The argument escalated. Daisy looked at her sister as if in a daze, holding on to the stroller with one hand and the baby doll cradled in the crook of her arm.
Jesse tried to pick Daisy up, but the stroller and doll got in the way. Jesse grabbed the stroller and jerked it away, and Daisy let out a squeal that Jesse caught with one hand clamped over her sister’s mouth.
“You want to go home, don’t you?”
Daisy nodded, tears coming to her eyes.
“Then you need to leave these.”
Daisy shook her head violently.
“We ain’t got time for this,” Jesse hissed. She grabbed the doll and tossed it on the bed.
Daisy reared back to yelp, but Jesse increased the pressure on her mouth.
“She can’t breathe,” I said from the window.
Jesse turned and gave me a look. Then she whispered something in Daisy’s ear and the girl nodded. Jesse let go and grabbed the doll and stroller, handing them to me through the window.
“See, Matt’s going to help us take your baby home. Aren’t you, Matt?”
“Sure.”
“Bottle!” Daisy said, pointing.
“Yeah, and your bottle too,” Jesse said, handing it to me.
Jesse picked up Daisy and passed her through the window. I put the stroller and doll down and took the child, who wound her arms around my neck and held tightly.
“Go on,” Jesse whispered as she climbed out the window.
I turned but heard a noise from the room that took my breath away. Somebody was jiggling the knob.
“Daisy? You in there?”
I ran past the porch with Daisy in one arm and the baby and stroller in the other. The bottle fell but I didn’t stop. I heard a dull thud behind me, as if a body had fallen, then footsteps catching up.
“Get her to my bike,” Jesse said, pain in her voice.
“What happened?”
“Just get her to the bike.”
I heard a bang and then another, followed by a splintering sound coming from the house. We reached the bikes and Daisy whimpered. “My dress is getting wet!”
Jesse grabbed her and put her in the basket. “Hang on tight!”
She took off toward the road. I pushed my bike to the driveway and looked back as someone yelled, “Somebody’s been in here, Wendell! There’s mud all over. And the girl’s gone.”
I pulled the flashlight from my pocket and turned it on but it was little help because it bounced and jiggled wildly. I heard Daisy cry, begging for her stroller, which I had dropped behind the oak tree. Jesse told her to be quiet.
We were almost to the place in the road where it split in three directions when I heard the engine rumble.
“Here he comes, Jesse!”
“Faster, Matt!” she said, her bike rattling and jangling.
Lights in the tops of the trees above us.
Jesse flew past the road that went to the left and headed straight. I followed and the road quickly dipped as the headlights cast shadows on the hill. I slammed on my brakes and stayed with Jesse in the dip as we listened to the engine. If it came toward us, we were sunk. Instead, it barreled down the hill and out of sight.
“Yes!” Jesse said and clapped my back. “We did it, Matt!”
I reminded her we had a long way home, but it didn’t take nearly as long to get to the gate and lift her bike over as it had riding there. I helped Daisy get through the fence and we continued past the haunted house. Daisy didn’t sleep in the basket, but she didn’t say much. She sucked on her thumb and kept her doll close.
“Where will you take her?”
“She’s going to sleep in her own bed tonight. My daddy will be out hunting us till daybreak and maybe drinking. I could tell by the way he talked he was drunk.”
“Who was the other guy?”
“Somebody from the Dew Drop, probably. I don’t know. Maybe he promised a big payday for driving him over there.”
“What will you do if he comes to the house?”
“That’s why I brought this,” she said, patting her rear.
I pointed the flashlight there and realized the thing under her shirt was a gun. “Where did you get that?”
“Found it in Mama’s nightstand.”
“Jesse, you’re not going to use that—”
“I’ll do what I have to.”
We rode in silence down the series of hills and wound our way toward her house. When we got there, she took Daisy out of the basket and let the bike fall. Inside, she undressed Daisy, dried her hair with a towel, then got her in some dry clothes and put her to bed.
I looked for a clock but time wasn’t a big deal in Jesse’s world. She had a clock radio in her room, but that was it.
It wasn’t until then that I began to wonder about my parents. They would no doubt be looking for me and concerned. I pictured my father up on the hill, trying to figure out where his flashlights went. My mother calling everyone in town, alerting the prayer chain.
Jesse closed the door. “She was asleep when she hit the pillow. It would take a crowbar to get that doll from her, so I left it.”
“You sure you don’t want to stay at our house?”
“No, you go on. Your parents are probably scared half to death.”
There was no warning. No sound of a truck pulling up. The front door burst open and Jesse’s father lumbered into the room with fire in his eyes. He was wet as a muskrat and he grabbed hold of the doorknob in order to keep himself upright.
“There you are,” he said to Jesse, his speech still slurred.
“Go home, Matt,” Jesse said. She nodded toward the back door.
The man pointed at me. “No, you stay right there.”
“You get out!” Jesse yelled. “This ain’t your house.”
“I’ll get out as soon as you sign that deed over to me.”
“I ain’t never doing that. Mama give this land to me and Daisy. It ain’t yours.”
Instead of lunging for Jesse, he came at me and with one hand grabbed me by the throat. I was so surprised at how quickly he moved. I couldn’t dodge him—and his grip was tight on my windpipe.
“You agree to sign it or lover boy is gonna turn blue.”
I was staring into his bloodshot eyes when the shot rang out. He let go quickly and looked down. There was a hole in the linoleum by his foot.
“You touch him again and I’ll kill you,” Jesse said, and I believed her.
Her father didn’t listen. He grabbed me by the arm and pulled me in front of him. “You never was much of a shot, were you, Jesse?”
“All I got to do is hit you once,” she said.
I expected Daisy to come out to see what the commotion was, but her door stayed shut.
“I know what you’re doing,” Jesse said. “You’re going to sell the place out from under us to Blackwood. You never cared nothing about nobody but yourself.”
Though his grip was strong, he only had one hand to hold me. I looked at Jesse, letting her know I was going to try something. I leaned back against the man, driving him into the wall, then spun to the floor. He let go, falling beside me. I was up and headed to the back door before he could grab me.
“Jesse, get Daisy and let’s go,” I said.
She held the gun on her father. “No. You go home. Call the sheriff. I expect he’ll be able to deal with a drunk like this.”
I felt bad leaving, but worse staying. I hopped on my bike and rode as fast as I could. The light was on at the end of the walk and I hit the door out of breath.
“What in the world?” I heard my grandmother say.
“Matt?” my mother said.
When I saw her, something broke inside. All it took was her voice to touch some place I was trying to protect. “Call the sheriff,” I said, trying to hold back the tears. “Have him go to Jesse’s.”
Lights shone through the front windows and I saw my father’s Impala. I broke free from my mother and ran to him.
“We’ve got to go to Jesse’s,” I said. “Her dad is there. He’s going to hurt her.”
“Are you all right?” he said. “Where have you been?”
“I’ll explain on the way. Hurry up!”
“No, you get in the house,” my father said. “I’ll see what’s going on.”
I protested. I cried. I told him I had to go with him, but my mother held me back and he pulled away. I went inside and heard my mother on the phone with the sheriff’s office.
“Everything’s going to be all right,” my mother said. “You’ll see.”
I got out of my wet clothes and my mother offered me food. But I couldn’t eat. I was shaking and wondering what was happening. A few minutes later the sheriff’s cruiser went past our house with its lights on, the siren off.
“Why don’t you get in bed and rest,” my mother said. “I’ll wake you when we know anything.”
I went to my room but couldn’t think of sleeping. I wanted to crawl out the window and run to Jesse’s. Instead I clicked the CB microphone, hoping she would respond. Fatigue eventually overtook me and I lay on my covers as visions of the red eyes mingled with Roberto Clemente turning to look up. Manny Sanguillen one-handed a wild pitch. Someone grabbed my throat.
I awoke as the front door opened, and I noticed sunlight coming through the window. I ran into the living room and saw my father taking off his hat and shaking water on the tile. He had a grim look on his face.
“What? Is it Jesse?”
He swallowed hard. “Son, Jesse’s father is dead.”
My mother gasped.
“I knew it would come to this,” my grandmother said.
“How did it happen?” my mother said.
“Did Jesse shoot him?” I said.
He walked into the kitchen and sat and I followed, waiting to hear the news.
“He fell. He touched an electric wire and fell. There was nothing anyone could do.”
My mind raced. There was no way it was an accident. Jesse had promised to kill her father and she had done it because of me. And only two living people knew the real truth.
“What about Jesse?” my mother said.
“They took her to the emergency room. To check her. The sheriff called family services to care for Daisy Grace.”
“Those poor children,” my mother said. “Losing a mother and now a father.”
“What happened, Matt?” my father said. “Why did you go back there?”
“I was trying to help. We were trying to keep Daisy safe. She promised she would. Jesse always keeps her promises.”
“I know, Son.” He smiled, but there was something sad about it. “She’s going to get the help she needs. Don’t worry. Go back to sleep.”
His voice comforted me. He seemed so sure. And I believed him. I believed everything he said because the son of a pastor should have no reason to doubt his father.