The cemetery stood silent before her as she turned back, the sounds of the Baptist hymn left far behind her now. She stared at the rows of silent gravestones that lay ahead of her, shivering involuntarily and pulling her sweater more tightly about herself—why, she wondered, after the days of fear and constant worrying, unable to see Janson because of the danger he had put himself in just for her and the love they shared; why, after the days of being constantly watched and observed, had they chosen this of all places to spend the few moments away from the watching eyes of her father and her family?
She forced herself to walk forward, making her way through the gravestones, going deeper into the old cemetery, away from Main Street, her fear for Janson gnawing at her as it had been for days now. The quiet of the old graveyard seemed to seep into her as she walked, the very finality of it, and she stared around her, realizing for the first time in her life how very uncompromising the end of life could be. Her father’s words kept rising to her mind—“ . . . just try leaving with him . . . and his blood’s on your hands.”
“. . . just try leaving with . . .”
She felt a light touch on her shoulder, and for a moment she felt a sudden and irrational fear that one of the spirits of the dead had risen up to meet her. She jumped, startled, and turned to find Janson behind her, smiling at the very real fear in her eyes.
Suddenly she was in his arms, warm and safe from all the things that had haunted her mind in the last days.
“I’ve been waitin’—” His words were warm against her ear, his arms tight about her, as if he would never let her go.
“I didn’t know if I’d be able to get away, if it would be safe.” She stared up at him. “No one saw you, did they? Oh, it’s so dangerous for you to be here. Someone could come. Someone could—”
But he silenced her fears with gentle lips on hers, pressing her body tightly to his. For a moment, she was lost in the warmth and nearness of him, worlds away from the fears and worries that now filled her days. When the kiss ended, she was breathless, staring up at him with eyes that searched his own. He looked tired, though he had put on a good face for her. He was clean shaven, in clean dungarees and a workshirt, his hair neatly combed back, as if there were nothing wrong, just as if he were not hiding out even now for his very life—but she knew differently, as did he. She could see it in his eyes, in the set of his jaw. He knew the danger being here with her placed him in. He was making a good show of trying to ignore it, as if it were nothing, but they both knew the truth.
She held him at arms-length away, staring up at him, assuring herself that, at least for the moment, he was safe. “Mattie Ruth said you had been staying with her, out in her barn—oh, I’ve been going out of my mind worrying about you, wondering if you were safe, if you were warm and dry—” What an answer to her prayers Mattie Ruth had been, coming to her the day after she and Janson had last parted, telling her she knew about the relationship, and that Janson was safe at her home, and that he would remain there until the day she and Janson would be able to leave together. Mattie Ruth had brought her messages from Janson each day since, telling her that he loved her, and that he was safe, and asking her to meet him here in the church cemetery if she could leave choir practice without her father knowing. Those messages had given Elise the little peace of mind she had known in the past days.
“I’m all right,” Janson said, smiling and touching her cheek for a moment.
“Are you eating? Is it dry? Have you been able to keep warm—it was so cold last—”
“I’m all right,” he said again, clearly not wanting to discuss the subject, and she felt a stab of pain go through her at the knowledge of what conditions that loving her might be forcing him to live under. “How’ve things been at your place? If your pa’s hurt you again, I’ll—”
“It’s okay,” she said, cutting his words off. There had been enough threats of death already in the past few days; she did not want to hear any more. “Daddy’s been leaving me alone. He believes it all worked, that you’re gone. But he’s watching me still. Either he or Bill or Franklin have been with me almost constantly since that night—”
She shuddered even now at the memory of Bill’s reaction to her father’s discovery. He had gone into a violent rage, threatening to hunt Janson down and kill him even then. Elise had never seen her brother like that before, had never dreamed to see anyone like that, and it had terrified her. It had been nothing less than her father’s physical restraint that had stopped him—Janson Sanders was long gone, William Whitley had said, and was not worth the time or the trouble it would take to end his life. Bill had not been easily stopped, screaming violent obscenities at both her, her father, and her mother, until the rage had at last cooled—but still, even now, he looked at Elise in a way that made her uneasy, looked at her in a way that made her wonder if he did not know, or at least suspect, that Janson was still somewhere nearby, still somewhere within Endicott County. Somehow she was now almost as frightened of him as she was of her father, frightened for Janson’s sake, and for her own, and for what she knew they might both be capable of doing should they ever see Janson again.
“I guess they thought it was safe enough to leave me at choir practice, or maybe Daddy finally believes that you’re gone, but he drove me this morning, and he’ll be picking me up in a little while. I—”
There was the sound of a car coming along the side road beside the cemetery, going toward Main Street, frightening her into silence. They moved quickly out of sight behind a monument, then stood looking at each other, both praying they had reacted quickly enough to not have been seen. Elise realized suddenly that she was holding her breath, filled with worry that it had been her father or Bill, and that they might have been seen before they had moved into cover. She forced herself to exhale slowly, listening as the car seemed to slow for a moment, and then pick up speed and drive on past. She looked up at Janson, finding the same worry there in his green eyes.
When the sound of the car had at last died away, he bent to gently kiss her and brush her hair back from her eyes. “You know, it’s been drivin’ me crazy these last days, worryin’ about you,” he said, “not bein’ able t’ see you.” His eyes were warm on her, filled again with nothing but love and concern.
“I know. It’s driving me crazy, too—”
“Here, I want you t’ hold ont’ this,” he said, reaching into a pocket of his coat to pull out a handkerchief he had knotted something into. He put it into her hands, then closed her fingers tightly around it, holding both her hands in his. “It’s part ’a th’ money I been savin’—if your pa tries t’ hurt you again, or if we get separated somehow in leavin’, this is enough money t’ get you t’ Eason County an’ t’ make sure you’re okay—”
“But—” She felt a superstitious fear rising within her, compelling her to whisper a secret prayer to counteract his words.
“No—just in case you need it—t’morrow, while everybody’s in church, do you think you can slip out an’ meet me here?”
“I guess so.”
“Well, try if you can. I’ll be waitin’ here for you; bring only what you have t’, an’ we’ll leave.”
Tomorrow—tomorrow they would leave together, she told herself. Only one more day, one more night, and they would never have to be separated again—only one more day, and she would leave here forever.
There was a sudden, unexpected touch of homesickness to the thought. Once she left here, she would never be able to come back again, never be able to see her mother or Stan, never be able to see the house or this place she had grown up a part of—never be able to come home again. For a moment, she felt a sadness and a sense of loss she had never expected to feel. She looked up into Janson’s green eyes, knowing she could never have both him and the security of the home and family she had always known. There had to be a choice—and she knew that choice had already been made.
“I�
�ll meet you tomorrow,” she said, staring up at him, knowing in that moment those words would change her life forever.
Phyllis Ann Bennett eased the LaSalle forward, craning her neck, trying to see—damn them for moving behind the monument! If only she could manage to get a little closer without them hearing the car—
Yes! Yes—she had been right! It was Elise and that damned farmhand! Elise Whitley in the arms of a dirty, sweaty, sunburned trash farmhand! Oh, it was almost too good to be true! Elise and that half red-Indian trash!
She had thought it had been them she had seen in the graveyard the first time she had driven by a few minutes before, but they had moved out of sight before she could be certain. She had gone into town and circled around to come back, creeping along so as not to warn them before she could bet a better look. Oh—she could almost laugh and dance with the discovery!
How she hated Elise Whitley, with a passion she had felt toward few things in her life. Elise had been somewhere behind all her troubles and problems, and now, when it had at last seemed as if her life was straightening out, as if J.C. would propose at any moment, then Elise had ruined that as well. Elise had lured him away, getting him to divide his time and his attentions between the two of them. She was stealing him away, stealing him away deliberately—and Phyllis Ann knew she was doing it out of nothing more than sheer spite.
Well, we’ll see who has the upper hand now, won’t we? Phyllis Ann thought, smiling to herself. She knew Elise did not really want J.C., that she had never wanted him, and that she was apparently even carrying on with this trash farmhand now—she never did have any taste, Phyllis Ann thought, except in J.C. of course.
Phyllis Ann hated the red-Indian almost as much as she hated Elise herself. He had dared to threaten her once, had dared even to stop her from giving Elise what she had so richly earned for her disloyalty—they were probably carrying on even then, she told herself. Well, they deserved each other, Elise and her red-trash farmhand—and, oh, they deserved so much more!
We’ll see who has the last laugh, Miss Whitley! Phyllis Ann told herself, thinking delicious thoughts of the trouble she could stir with this bit of information. Oh, such delicious thoughts indeed.
She slowly turned the LaSalle around in the road and drove toward town again, laughing quietly to herself all the while. Elise Whitley carrying on with that piece of red-Indian trash—William Whitley would not be pleased to hear of this. Oh, he would not be pleased at all.
20
The singing of the Baptist congregation floated faintly over the distance to the church cemetery that next morning. Janson leaned against a tree there in the depths of the graveyard, waiting for Elise, just as he had been waiting for a time already. He fancied that he could almost hear her voice above the others as he listened, pure and clear, and singing, it seemed, only for him. She would be waiting now for the choir to finish their hymns and be dismissed to the congregation, biding her time until she would be able to slip away to meet him. The day had finally come, the first day of the life they would have together.
But instead of relief and peace as he had expected to feel now, there was a growing tension building in the pit of his stomach. Nothing in life had ever come easy to him. He had always had to fight and struggle his way through each day, from that very first moment he had been born the son of Henry and Nell Sanders, with skin darker than that of his neighbors in Eason County, and a pride unwilling to accept anything less than what his soul demanded. In the twenty years since that birth, he had well learned the meaning of poverty and loss, of hard work and doing without. He knew the struggle to hold onto a dream by its bare, tattered remnants; he knew the feeling of cold and hunger, of worry over where the next meal would come from, and of working until he felt he would drop—but now it seemed all his dreams were finally within sight. The money he had saved from his wages and the moonshining, except for the part he had given Elise, was safely stored away in the portmanteau at his feet, and Elise would be meeting him here within minutes so they could leave together. She would soon be his wife, and they would be back home in Alabama. The land would be his again, even if there would have to be a mortgage. Elise would have the home he had promised her, the best life he could give. It was all within reach finally—it seemed. And that worried him.
He and Elise had known their troubles in getting together. They had fought and struggled, often against each other, in learning to love and in deciding to leave. Now it seemed as if all the troubles were behind them—it seemed.
Some instinct deep within him, something very closely akin to self-preservation, would not allow him to relax. Something kept warning that this was coming all too easily now, that there would still be a struggle ahead to make Elise his wife. He was willing to fight for their life together if he had to; he just prayed it would not come to that. Elise had been through so much already—please, God, no more.
He was on edge, watching, nervous, and, as the minutes passed, the worry only increased—where was she? What was taking so long? Why had she not come to meet him yet? He looked up at the sky, judging the time from the position of the sun through the trees. The minutes were slipping away from them. They would need time to be gone from here before church services could break up, before Elise could be missed. They would need time to—
There was no sound coming from within the church now, nothing coming to his ears but the slight nicker of horses in the pasture beyond the cemetery, and the distant sound of a truck rattling by along Main Street. He looked back up at the sky—she would have to come soon or the opportunity would be gone. She would have to—
Elise slipped into the back hallway of the church and closed the door quietly behind herself. She leaned back against it, trying to calm the beating of her heart and slow her hurried breathing. It had seemed as if she would never be able to get away. Janson would be worried about her by now, but it could not have been helped. Her father and Bill had both seemed to be watching her even more closely today than in the past days, and Franklin Bates had been near since early that morning. There had been something about the look in their eyes that had frightened her, something that had set her on guard—had they found out? Had she somehow given both herself and Janson away? Were they only waiting now for her to make her move so they could follow her to Janson, so they could do what they had threatened to do? She had kept reassuring herself all morning that there was no way they could know, no way they could have found out—but still there was that look in their eyes. Still there was that look.
When she had suddenly found herself unwatched in the midst of the services, her father and brother both involved in passing collection plates through the congregation, and Franklin Bates nowhere within sight, she had taken the opportunity to slip away, breathing a sigh of relief—if they had suspected her plans, they would never have left her unobserved even for that moment. Janson was still safe—thank God, he was still safe.
This is it, she told herself silently. I’m leaving.
She paused for a moment there in the back hallway, letting the thought sink into her. She wished there could have been some way she could have said goodbye to her mother and to Stan, but she knew there was no safe way she could have done so. She would write to them once she and Janson were safely away from here, sending the letter in care of Mattie Ruth and Titus so that her father would never have to know, and would explain why she had to leave, and why she had been unable to tell them. She would miss them both horribly; she knew that, but she also knew she had to be with Janson. They would understand; they would have to.
Janson—the thought spurred her to movement. She was being foolhardy to stand here in the rear hallway of the church. Each moment she wasted now only served to put them both in greater jeopardy, each was nothing but a moment lost to them—and suddenly moments seemed so very precious to her.
She slipped out the side door of the church, a chill wind hitting her as she stepped out into the autumn air,
and made her way across the parking area to the old Tin Lizzie, to retrieve the small valise she had hidden there the night before. In it were the few things she would be taking on to her new life with Janson—a family photograph, a book of poetry, her Bible, what clothing she could carry, the ribbons and small mementos Janson had given her over the months, as well as the money he had given her the day before, and the little money she had managed to save from her clothing allowance, money she had still told Janson nothing about. At first it had seemed so hard to choose among all her possessions as she had packed the small bag, among all the personal items grown fond and favorite over the years. There was so little she could take, and so much that would have to be left behind her forever, that the choices had seemed impossible—but, in looking around her room, she had suddenly realized that the things around her, things so important and vital only months before, mattered little to her now. It was as if they belonged to someone else, a girl she remembered but who she no longer knew. The things now packed within the small bag had been easily enough chosen then, things for their future, and not of the past.
She took the valise from its hiding place and quietly closed the door of the Model T, then made her way across the remainder of the parking area toward the cemetery. There was a nervous worry growing within her, a feeling that there was something wrong, though she could not pinpoint the source of the worry, no matter how hard she searched her mind—but it was there, nagging at the back of her thoughts, making her fret even more for Janson’s safety.
She sped up her pace, wincing at the slight squeal the aged hinges of the iron gate gave when she opened it. She moved on into the graveyard, the nagging worry sitting like a lump near her heart—there was something wrong, some part of her mind kept telling her, something very wrong; she could feel it.
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