When I return to the house the whole family sits around the kitchen table and Mama has biscuits just out of the oven. Her biscuits can cure just about anything, but I still have a gnawing feeling in my stomach that no food is going to help.
“I think Max should stay up here with you all for a while,” Aunt Sadie says. “He won’t let anybody get within fifty feet of the house without barking.”
Mama likes dogs even less than she likes cats, but she puts up with Max because of Sadie.
“Max is a good idea,” Daniel says, “but I think we need to do more than that. We’ve got to find Johnny.”
Nathan nods and swallows a mouthful of biscuit. “If Johnny’s in these mountains somewhere, he’s got to come down before the snows come,” he says. “Unless he’s in a cave somewhere, but even then he’ll need to get his hands on some warm clothes.”
“We need to call the sheriff and tell him what’s happened,” Daniel says, “and then I think we need to go looking for Johnny ourselves.”
“Can I go with you to make the phone call?” I ask Daniel. He’ll have to make the call from Mary Jane’s and I could use a friend right now. But the main reason is I want to stay close to Daniel. I feel safe with him.
“Sure,” he says.
“From now on you’re not to go anywhere alone,” Mama says.
“At least not until Johnny’s caught,” Daniel agrees.
We walk to Mary Jane’s and Daniel calls the sheriff while Nathan waits on the front porch like he is a sentry standing guard. Nathan’s grandfather fought in the Civil War for the Confederacy and died at the battle of Vicksburg. Nathan’s family still has the sword he carried in the Calvary.
Even though it has been nearly a hundred years ago, people in Katy’s Ridge still talk about the war like it has just been fought. Daddy always said that people in the South have long memories. With this in mind, I wonder how long it will take me to forget Johnny.
“I can’t believe he left a note,” Mary Jane says. “And right on the front porch.”
“It was creepy,” I say. We sit on the bed in her bedroom. If feels like a hundred years since we did this last.
“Are you scared?” she asks.
“Sure, I’m scared. I’d be stupid not to be.” Even though Mary Jane is trying to be nice, I realize she has no idea what this is like for me.
“Johnny wouldn’t have the nerve to do anything else,” she says. She chews on the ends of her hair.
“Yes, he would,” I say. “If anybody knows first hand what Johnny Monroe has the nerve to do, it’s me.”
Mary Jane gets quiet. Ever since Johnny attacked me, she seems different. Or maybe I am the one who is different. Mary Jane still daydreams about boys and about having a fairy tale wedding someday. All I think about is how to stay alive in this moment.
“Are you ready to go?” Daniel says to me after he makes the call. In Mary Jane’s bedroom, his head nearly touches the top of the doorframe.
I get up from the bed and take one last look around the room as if I am trying to remember my childhood. Everything has changed. Everything.
“Come over later if you want to do something fun,” Mary Jane says.
Playfulness feels like something I lost at the footbridge, along with my medallion, my rabbit’s foot and the secret sense.
“It’ll probably work better if you come over to my house,” I say. “And have Victor walk you so you don’t have to go alone.”
She frowns, like being my friend isn’t any fun anymore and comes at too big of a cost.
Daniel and Nathan and I walk the dirt road back to the house, and I remember all those walks I took in the evenings with Daddy. Back then it never even entered my mind to be scared of anything, or that there were bad people in the world who might be watching.
“One of us should be at the house all the time,” Daniel says to Nathan.
Nathan agrees and says he’ll take the first shift. Later that night, he sleeps on the sofa while Amy sews in the kitchen. I come in to get a glass of milk and Amy is working on Miss Mildred’s latest dress request, a direct copy from the Sears & Roebuck catalog. Daddy’s shotgun sits next to the kitchen table, loaded, a package of shells sitting next to it. She sees me looking at the gun.
“Don’t worry, Louisa May, they’ll get him,” Amy says. Her long hair is in a loose braid.
I always thought me and Amy were as different as night and day. But Johnny threw her to the ground, too, though she never said he did any more than that. Knowing Johnny, he must have tried. But how did Amy escape and not me? My brain is too full of fear to ask.
After drinking the milk, I say my goodnights and go to the bedroom where Meg is already snoring like a lumberjack. She always falls asleep before me. Instead of the porch, where Max usually sleeps, he lies on the floor next to the bed, close enough that I can lean down and pet him.
“Thanks for being here, Max,” I whisper, “and don’t you worry about Sadie, she’ll be just fine.” His tail dusts the wooden floor.
It takes forever for me to fall asleep and then when I finally do, a loud gunshot, in the middle of the night, shakes us all awake. Meg and I run in the direction of the shot, following Max who is barking like crazy. Mama, Nathan, Meg and I all arrive in the kitchen at the same time.
The back door stands wide open. Amy has Daddy’s shotgun still aimed at the door. Her arms are shaking and the gun rattles with the movement. The acrid smell of gunpowder fills the room. Max, finally awake, runs outside and continues barking wildly on the back porch. Nathan takes the gun from Amy.
“I think I hit him,” she says, her voice quivering. “He jimmied the lock and came right on in. I didn’t even have time to call out or anything. But he didn’t expect I’d be sitting here waiting on him.”
Amy buries her head in Nathan’s chest, her entire body shaking. “I think I hit him,” she says again, her words muffled in Nathan’s shirt. She’s crying now.
“Go get Daniel,” Mama tells Nathan, stepping in to hold Amy.
Nathan does as he is told and goes into the living room to lace up his boots. Within seconds he runs out the door with a lantern. Through the living room window I watch the light he carries fade and then disappear down the hill.
As Meg reloads the shotgun, I pace the house. A kitchen chair is jammed under the doorknob in case Johnny returns. Amy is still shaking like a leaf in a strong wind. But after I tell her about our watchdog, Max, not waking up until the shot, she starts to laugh.
“Max slept through it?” Amy asks. "So much for him not letting anybody get within fifty feet."
“He was curled up in our room,” I say.
Amy’s laughter calms her and she stops shaking.
“Don’t tell Sadie,” Mama says. “She thinks that old dog can walk on water.”
“Well, at least he’s doing a good job, now,” I say.
Max hasn’t stopped barking on the back porch, no matter how much we try to shush him. Maybe his old man pride is injured and he’s trying to make it up to us.
Mama passes Amy to Meg and puts on a pot of coffee while we wait on the men to return. I sit in Daddy’s chair in the shadows of the living room, wishing he were here. My hands are shaking now and before I have time to stop it, vomit rises in my throat. I rush outside and heave over the porch rail into the dark night. It is as if my body wants to rid itself of all the fear. The purging feels awful and good at the same time.
I hear Meg’s voice behind me. “Are you okay?” she asks.
“Not really,” I say truthfully, wiping my mouth on my nightgown.
“We should tell Mama,” she says.
“No,” I say. “Definitely not.”
“Why not? If you’re sick she needs to know.”
“I’m not sick, I’m just scared,” I say. And maybe in a family way, I want to add.
The first hints of daylight outline the mountains in front of us. I turn around. Meg looks worried.
“I’m okay,” I say to reassure her.
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Seconds later we hear voices. It is Nathan, with Daniel and Jo, coming up the hill. Nathan and Daniel carry shotguns.
As soon as the sun comes up more and they are full of Mama’s coffee, Daniel and Nathan go out back to search for clues.
Daniel calls from halfway up the slope that he’s found blood.
“Amy must have hit him!” Nathan calls back. He sounds proud.
It never occurred to me that Amy might be a good shot. Daddy taught us all how to shoot, but none of us have ever really practiced. Amy must have a good eye from all that sewing.
The men come back into the house to warm themselves by the stove and plan what to do next. Mama pours them more hot coffee.
“If he’s hit we may be able to catch him,” Daniel says.
“I agree,” Nathan says, “and we need to leave soon if we’re going.”
Nathan hitches up his pants and tightens his belt while Mama wraps up some ham and biscuits for Daniel to pack in his day bag. They grab their shotguns by the door and are about to set out.
“Wait a minute. I want to go, too,” I say. They turn to look at me and I pull myself up to my full height. “If anyone is going to hunt down Johnny Monroe, it’s me.”
“No you aren’t,” Mama says.
“I don’t see any harm--” I begin.
The look on Mama’s face is designed to shut me down.
“I’m not a little girl anymore, Mama,” I say. “It’s important that I do this. In fact, it may very well be the most important thing I ever do.”
My words make me feel strong again, like I may be Wildflower McAllister after all.
“Daddy would understand this,” I continue. “You see, Mama, I can’t let Johnny Monroe win. If I do, I will forever be looking over my shoulder for him to come back and finish what he started.”
“But you’re still on the mend,” Mama says.
“I feel fine,” I say. “Nothing hurts anymore.”
Daniel and Nathan stay quiet, as if they know better than to get between Mama and an argument. Mama looks at me for a long time, like she’s seeing the ghost of Daddy again and is just now realizing how much she misses him. To my surprise, she nods her okay. Before she has time to change her mind, I give her a quick hug and grab one of her biscuits and wrap it up in a rag.
Within seconds, Nathan leads the way up the hill. It’s steep and I’m grateful my soreness is gone. Daniel and Nathan stop to look at something on a cropping of rocks. Daniel motions for me to come look. A blotch of red blood is splattered on the gray stone.
“He’s been hit, all right,” Daniel says.
“Where do you think he’s going?” I ask.
“Probably back to where he’s been staying,” Daniel says.
For the rest of the morning we wander the mountainside like Indian trackers, searching for which way Johnny might have gone. At the top of the ridge we come to a waterfall that I’ve only been to once before. Daddy brought me up here a few years ago to show me one of his favorite places. I was still small enough to ride on his shoulders.
The water plunges dramatically over the mountain and down the gorge. The spray from the waterfall chills my face. In the middle of winter icicles edge the rocks. Rosettes are frozen into the mud, paw prints of a big cat, either a wildcat or maybe a cougar. We study them for awhile before continuing on.
Nathan knows this part of woods better than Daniel and I do. He motions for us to follow him as he seeks out the best place to cross. The closer we come to the waterfall the louder it roars. Mist, churned up from the pounding of water, covers our faces. My teeth chatter from the cold and I pull my wool jacket closer. When I reach to button the top button, it isn’t there.
The Farmer’s Almanac predicts this winter will be worse than normal. On a normal year we average a foot of snow in December, January, and February. But Thanksgiving is still two weeks away.
We cross several large boulders and come to a place where the water calms. I recognize the place. It is near where Daddy and I found the red fox in the trap.
Nathan points to where we will cross. The sight of the ravine makes my heart pound like the day Johnny chased me.
“Don’t worry,” Daniel says, putting his arm on my shoulder, his habit with me. “It’s not as bad as it looks.”
“I hope not,” I say. We have to speak loudly to be heard over the waterfall. A thick pine tree leans into the waterfall several feet downstream offering a limb to grab if I need it. The footbridge I cross to get to the graveyard is nothing compared to this.
“Hold onto me,” Nathan calls. He hoists up his pants one last time, and I grab his belt. He leads the way with Daniel following me. They put their two shotguns on either side of me like handrails that I can hold onto while we cross. The metal of the guns is ice cold, even through my gloves.
Nathan tests out each step before committing to it and makes his way slowly across the slippery rocks. As soon as his foot leaves a spot I put mine in the same place. The roaring of the waterfall pushes us forward.
I slip and bite my lip and taste my own blood. My vision whirls as the taste of blood brings back the memory of Johnny hitting me in the face. I start to fall and Daniel grabs me from behind.
“Careful there!” he says. He pulls me up by the seat of my pants and places me back on the rock like I weigh no more than a sack of potatoes. My heartbeat echoes in my ears and drowns out the sound of the waterfall. We make our way across boulders as big as a house to get to the other side.
“How are we doing back there?” Nathan asks, not turning around. We are halfway across.
“I’m doing fine,” I call over the roar of the water, wondering how I’ve become such a good liar.
“We’re almost there,” Daniel says. “We’ve already done the hardest part.”
I remember my words to Mama earlier and wonder where that strong girl went who had the gumption to convince her I could do this. If I had the sense to stay home, I could be sitting in front of the stove having one of Mama’s biscuits right now.
When we step on solid ground instead of boulders, I am not the only one relieved. We sit on a dry boulder and Nathan wipes the mist from his forehead. Daniel pats him on the back like he did a good job in leading us. Nathan, always hungry, pulls shelled walnuts out of a pouch for us to eat. They taste good but smell musty, like they have been in that pouch a long time.
“Everything’s downhill from here,” Daniel says to me.
“Do you really think Johnny came this way?” I ask.
“He might know a better way across,” Nathan says. “His daddy had him up here hunting as soon as he could carry a shotgun.”
I can’t imagine Johnny ever being a little boy. The thought of him rushing to keep up with his father makes him seem too human. I know him as almost a man, and mean.
After we rest we make our way down the other side of the mountain. We don’t find much of anything in the way of clues. Squirrels dash to unbury nuts they’ve stored for winter, making enough noise for us to look to see if it is Johnny.
Our footsteps are loud in the brittle leaves. If Johnny were anywhere around he’d be able to hear us coming, and it makes sense that we could hear him, too. Anytime we stop the forest hushes. Below us, in the distance, is the old footbridge. It looks tiny from this position, a splinter of toothpick, barely in view even with the leaves off the trees.
We descend the mountain and reach the path and the clearing where Johnny caught me. Goose flesh crawls up my arms and I shiver with the feeling that I’ve just walked over the very spot where I could have died. In my memory the area had grown larger than what I find before me, which is little more than the size of the pitchers mound at school. A fresh blanket of autumn leaves covers the ground. The browns and golds mingle with the forest undergrowth. Dying fern fronds wave at us in the wind. A piece of my dress from that day is hanging from a pale spire of a broken flower. I retrieve the piece of red fabric and put it in my pocket.
“I was hoping we’d catch
up with him by now,” Nathan says.
“Did you think he doubled back?” Daniel asks, as he leans on the barrel of his shotgun.
“I doubt it,” Nathan says.
I leave them talking and sweep the leaves away with my boot looking for my medallion. I’ve been afraid to see this place again; afraid the memories would chase me back home. But being here, I realize that it is just a place in the woods. It is not the forest that is dangerous. It’s Johnny.
In order to stay there longer, I remind myself that I didn’t die. Johnny didn’t kill me. He wanted to. He meant to. But he didn’t. If God and I were still on speaking terms, I’d ask him if he has some special plan for me, like Preacher said about Little Wiley Johnson, who swallowed half the lake, spit it back out and lived.
While Daniel and Nathan stand near the old bridge in a patch of sunlight, I push more leaves aside with my boot and see something white peeking from underneath. It is my rabbit’s foot key chain. I hope this means my luck has changed. I pocket the rabbit’s foot, wanting to find my medallion, too. I’d worn that medallion around my neck for an entire year. To have Johnny take it added insult to my injury. Especially after I had that vision of the gold Mary walking toward me in the forest.
Before I give up and walk over to Daniel and Nathan, I spend several minutes looking around, turning leaves over with my foot.
“I didn’t know this path was here until the other day,” Daniel says to Nathan.
“I think it used to be part of an old Indian trail leading to the river,” Nathan says. “This old bridge is useless now, though.”
I don’t mention how many times I’ve managed to cross that useless bridge to get to the graveyard. I reach into my pocket and squeeze my rabbit’s foot thanking it for the good luck it has sent me in the past.
“We should head back,” Daniel says. “I’m meeting the sheriff later.”
Nathan hitches up his pants. “He needs to get some hounds up here. That’s the only way we’ll find him.”
While I wait, they discuss what to tell the sheriff and I realize how tired and cold I am. Being back at the scene of Johnny’s crime reminds me too much of what happened. My determination, so bright before, turns into dull exhaustion. I sit on one of the wooden steps to the bridge and gaze at the distant stream, making its way down the mountain toward the sea.
The Secret Sense of Wildflower Page 16