Redwood and Wildfire

by Andrea Hairston

  Everywhere she turned, Aidan Cooper was asking after her, talking ’bout her. It was not much of a secret anymore that something was going on between them. Even Bubba complained ’bout her having somebody else. Redwood hemmed and hawed under the peach trees. Aidan was supposed to be her special friend, somebody she could trust with anything, yet in all these years, he never told her what happened that Christmas night in 1898. In his favor, Aidan didn’t lie to her. He just didn’t say. The man carried all sorts of secrets. His journal was full of things he kept to hisself. She was dying to get a look inside and not really that mad at him. Mad at everybody else.

  Truth be told, she felt ashamed for accepting what folks didn’t say to her, for being a grown woman and still believing angels took Mama to Glory. A trusting fool and a coward too, she never found the nerve to ask Aidan who his people were.

  She started toward his place. Two bobcats fussed at each other, making her spine tingle. Bobcats didn’t scare her, and now that she’d imagined how it might feel for Aidan to hold and kiss her, for him to touch her, now that she’d imagined touching him, she wanted to do it and see if it felt as good as she hoped. Redwood stopped cold. What if he didn’t want her, like he wanted May Ellen or even orange-haired Josie Fields? Aidan barely let Redwood touch him. What if he didn’t like colored gals the way he liked white ones? You had to wonder ’bout white folk and all the misery they done in this world — even one that made your heart race. So how could she, with all this sadness hemming her in, still want Aidan to make her feel good right now? How come she would gladly do the same for him?

  Can’t hide from God’s truth, just gotta work with it.

  Mama hadn’t talked to Redwood since she’d gone on to Glory. To hear the wind buzzing with her voice was a blessing. Redwood was walking again. She stepped from the trees and spied somebody sitting in the dirt down the road a piece with what must’ve been a banjo on his back. She started to wave and shout at Aidan, but Jerome Williams rode his shiny black stallion right in front of her and dismounted. Redwood frowned at first. She didn’t want to see anybody but Aidan, yet Jerome looked so happy to see her, she smiled at him too. “How do, Mr. Williams.”

  Jerome slapped at a bug. “How do yourself.”

  “Fog coming in, but that don’t make the bugs no nevermind.” Cool mist tickled her ankles.

  “Bugs don’t seem to bother you.”

  “Me and mosquitoes and no-see’ems, we have an understanding.”

  Jerome shook his head, charmed. “Do tell.”

  “What you doing ’cross the creek? Coming to see Mr. Cooper too?”

  “This is my orchard.” Jerome moved close. “Actually, I was hoping to find you. Cherokee Will said he saw you coming this way.”

  “Me? You sick or something?” Redwood clutched the red mojo bag at her hip.

  Jerome tilted his head, furrowed his brow. “Would that worry you?”

  “Depends on how sick you are.” She teased him. “Ain’t Doc Johnson still in town?”

  “I don’t need doctoring.” He sounded mad at somebody. “I’ve come to…” He searched for a good line. “I’ve come to take you away.”

  “What you say?”

  “Before they ruin you.”

  “Who? No!” Redwood almost laughed, but his face looked too serious.

  “Ruin you the way they did your mother.” Jerome’s gray eyes got misty, looking into now and then. “You’re even prettier than she was.”

  Redwood wanted to run, but the horse was behind her.

  “I forgave her, you know. Uncle Everett was a pig. But I can take you away from all that.” Jerome was talking to hisself really, feverish eyes flitting ’round his face.

  “I don’t need you to take me nowhere. You talking out your head.”

  Jerome grabbed her wrist, so tight, he could’ve snapped the bone. “Every time you saunter through town, you got a smile for me.” He tried to kiss her.

  Redwood shoved him away. “Stop, don’t.” How was this happening to her?

  Jerome ripped at her clothes, tearing easily through her blouse and undershirt. Spooked by their thrashing, the stallion reared up and galloped off down the road.

  “Can’t get your scent out of my dreams. Walking ’round like Queen Somebody.”

  Redwood punched his chest with her free hand. He grunted at her blows and then caught her fist. She was strong, but not strong enough to escape him. They crashed to the ground with her fighting fiercely. The weight of him knocked the wind out of her. One of her arms got twisted and pinned under her back. Jerome was wiggling out his pants and pawing her tiddies. She couldn’t think straight.

  “Don’t do me like this,” she hissed right in his ear.

  Jerome didn’t listen. “I see stars in your eyes and a sweet night blooming between your thighs. Your honey ripe breasts and luxurious hips have called to my blood.”

  “You talking poetry to me?” Redwood gagged as he tried to kiss her. “Stop!”

  He bit her tongue. Blood oozed in her mouth.

  “You do Crazy Coop, gal, so don’t pretend you’re all that particular.”

  This shocked her still. Jerome had caught her in forbidden thoughts. Seizing this lull in her tight-thighed struggle, he thrust his hard member into her body, ripping and tearing delicate flesh. She shrieked: the sound startled the old oak trees all down the lane. They twisted and turned, lifting ancient boughs. Thick mats of roots strained under the fields. Yet they could not come to her aid. Redwood’s cry echoed against the rocks. A bear with a star-shaped scar on his cheek, curled in his den for a winter’s sleep, awoke in panic. He was far from Oak Lane and could only snort and bellow in Redwood’s defense. Jerome stuffed Redwood’s mouth with her head rag. As he pumped toward a climax, she was silent, still, her eyes as hard as flint.

  A piercing yelp almost knocked Aidan over. The ground shuddered. He felt sighing branches and aching roots. He heard a bear hollering from his cave. He turned and squinted through fog. He could just make out a naked white behind flexing between a tattered skirt and flailing dark legs and the fog closed in again. He froze, praying for a moment that he was caught in a lurid nightmare. Terror gripped him as Jerome’s stallion galloped by. Redwood screamed again. Shaking hisself, Aidan dropped the toy birds and ran through the thick mist. Banjo strings twanged against his back as he clambered down the road. He would’ve thrown the instrument into the bushes, but he didn’t want to take the time. He strained and gasped, running so fast he flew through the air, scrambling now and again for solid ground. Still it took forever…

  “That’s not so bad, is it?” Jerome pumped against Redwood’s rag doll body.

  Flying over the last bit of ground, Aidan heard something crack, a dry wood sound and then Jerome’s scream, breaking up before it really started. Aidan grabbed the man’s shoulders and hauled him off Redwood. His fist was raised to slug him. Jerome’s head lolled back and forth, a rag doll too. Blood poured from his throat and out his lips. Terror had frozen in his eyes.

  “He’s dead. He’s gone.” Redwood lay stone still, one arm still twisted underneath her back.

  “What?!?” Aidan dropped Jerome and backed away. “You break his neck with one hand?” Her hoodoo storm hand.

  Redwood struggled up, grasping at her ripped blouse and skirt. Fumbling, Aidan unwrapped the banjo and offered her the blanket. She smacked it away with bruised fingers and hugged the tatters of clothing to her body. Aidan didn’t see many bruises or any wounds. But her sweet features were twisted into a ghoul mask. He had never wanted to spy such horror on her face.

  “He was on me so fast, I didn’t know what…”

  Aidan had seen this coming. He knew how Jerome was. Everybody did. The man didn’t hide his appetites. He was ruthless at any business and undefeated in love, what he called love anyway. Aidan was such a stand-around-and-do-nothing coward. He should have taken his shotgun and —

  “You sure he’s dead?”

  Aidan got down on the ground an
d inspected Jerome’s broken neck, whistled, and shook his head. He closed Jerome’s eyes and sprinkled dirt on the lids. Watching this, Redwood spit blood on the ground. Her tongue was bleeding. She flailed at fog licking her cheeks. She rubbed her skin hard, as if to clean something nasty off.

  “I came too late, huh?” he murmured.

  “He’s dead. Ain’t no later than that.”

  “But you alive, gal.”

  “Felt like he just wanted to burn me up.”

  “Light a man’s passion the way you do, he ’llowed to burn everything in sight.”

  “Never did anything to the man but smile,” she yelled. “Ain’t my fault what he be doing with my smile, you hear me? His fault.”

  Nothing coming out Aidan’s mouth was right so he didn’t say any more.

  They stood over the body a long while, just breathing at one another. Sun slid down under the horizon, leaving a purple glow. A trickle of blood ran down her leg and a trickle of white. Jerome’s future was cluttering up her insides. Aidan didn’t know how to comfort her.

  Redwood clutched the tattered blouse over her tiddies. This left her private parts exposed. Aidan just stared at her, mumbling stupid talk, tears in his eyes as if Jerome Williams had rammed into him and torn up his insides. Redwood suddenly couldn’t stand still. Her feet itched, her mouth was sore, and her skin was crawling ’cross itself. Inside, bits of Jerome swam into tomorrow. But Jerome was gone from this world. With her storm hand, she’d broken his neck and dispatched him onto his next journey.

  The wind picked up. The fog on her bare skin was driving her mad. She couldn’t see straight and tripped into Jerome’s cold butt. She gagged and almost fell over. Aidan broke her fall, and for no good reason she could think of, she beat his chest and face with her fists, hollering like a flock of crows. Finally, he took hold of her wrists, and she was just crying and crying and didn’t know if she could stop. She wanted him to hold her in his arms, protect her from what happened, but she didn’t want him to touch her.

  When the heaving and weeping had drained all the madness and her arms were too tired to carry her fists, Aidan let her hands go and threw a blanket at her shoulders so she could cover herself. She clutched it tight. At least she wasn’t naked on the road, her shame on parade. She hugged the rough cloth tight against her raw skin. That was better than slimy fog.

  “George was right,” she said, walking just to be walking.

  “’Bout what?” Aidan followed her.

  “Me, everything.” She quivered. “I ain’t got the sense I was born with, trusting a —”

  “George might’ve figured out the likes of Jerome Williams, but that don’t make you wrong.”

  Any other time she would’ve smiled at Aidan standing up for her. But there weren’t no smiles left in her. Every step she took hurt like hell-fire and damnation, every jagged gasp of breath tore at her soul.

  “This ain’t no place to be a woman,” she said.

  Aidan gaped at her, shamed-face.

  “Am I lying?” she asked. “Jerome say he’d take me away, ’fore they ruined me.”

  “We have to think.” He licked a bloody lip. His right eye was swelling up. He was goin’ have quite a few bruises — from her hands, hands that killed a man too.

  “My soul, what ’bout my soul?” she asked.

  “You should go.”

  “A hoodoo woman can’t always control the spell, don’t always know what she be conjuring.” She balled a fist. “I didn’t mean to kill him. But it, it felt good when I did.”

  “Get you away from here. They’ll hang you over this.”

  She tripped over nothing. He reached for her, but missed and hugged thick fog instead. She stayed out of reach.

  “George is gone already,” she said. “I got a baby sister counting on me.”

  “Iris can’t count on you dead.”

  “What am I goin’ do?” She stopped.

  “Keep walking,” he said.

  Redwood lurched down the road toward his house. Aidan kept pace beside her, his arm barely touching her back, catching her every once and awhile, so she wouldn’t fall. She wished he’d go away, but then she’d be alone. Her head was light. She couldn’t find the back of her breath. Nasty little gasps weren’t doing much for her.

  “Come on now, take a good breath,” he said, as if she were a baby.

  “I can’t. I just can’t.” But she did.

  “You have to be long gone ’fore they set a posse on you.”

  “Miz Subie say, demon posse can hunt you beyond the grave.”

  “The demons I’m worried ’bout are men. You gotta run.”

  “Where? Nightriders will hunt me down, same as Mama. Burn colored Peach Grove while they at it.”

  Aidan looked at something she couldn’t see. He listened to sounds that didn’t touch her ears, then turned to her, the blood gone from his face. “Foot won’t take you far as a mule, but it’s safer. Easier to track a mule.”

  Redwood halted and sank down to the ground, dragging Aidan with her. She jammed her fists in loose gravel. “Jerome deserve to die for what he did. I just don’t deserve his blood on my hands.”

  Aidan pulled her fingers from the dirt, tried to lift her up. She flung his arms back at him. “Come on and get up now,” he said.

  “What good is power if it can’t save you?”

  “Don’t let Jerome Williams break your heart, scatter your spirit.”

  “Spirits be too late to undo what I did.”

  Aidan sighed. Maybe he was goin’ give up on her, abandon her, like a man waking from a nightmare can get up and go on ’bout his business. A twister of fog swirled toward them, gathering force. The old oak trees bent and swayed. Twigs and debris mixed with swirling gravel and vines. One enormous branch was ominously close to snapping. Thick Spanish moss lashed Aidan’s face and back. He clawed it from his eyes.

  “Listen to me,” he shouted over howling wind. “Jerome Williams, he try to bust into you and it’s like to drive you mad, but —”

  “Why he want to do that?” Jerome’s baby soft hands were all over her body still; his sour sweet breath filled her nostrils; his manhood swelled against bruised thighs, breaking a hole in the future. “And why you didn’t come sooner?” Aidan took hold of her face and looked into her eyes. She wanted to smack his calloused fingers away. She didn’t want any man to lay a hand on her ever again or else. “What?”

  “I’m not too late to say it was me who broke Mr. Williams’ neck,” Aidan said. The old oaks rocking above them were suddenly still. The wind dropped to a murmur. “It’s a clean break. Who’d believe a skinny snap like you got that kinda power?”

  “But you can’t.” Redwood stood up. “Then I’ll have you all over my soul too.”

  “I gotta do something right,” he said.

  “Ain’t nothing right to do.”

  “You got to quit being stubborn here.”

  “I don’t know.”

  He put his arm ’round her waist. She flinched, but he got her to walking again. “What’s to know?” he whispered. “Crackers will tear up colored Peach Grove if they think you killed Jerome Williams.”

  She gazed ’cross a field and beyond a stand of Georgia pine to Aunt and Uncle’s place. Chimney smoke snaked over the trees. “Aunt Elisa’s making supper, laying out a place for me, Iris, my cousins, even a place for you. Uncle Ladd’s telling those big fat freedom lies the little ones love, that everybody love, ’cept George.”

  “Don’t worry. Your sister got people to look after her.”

  “You goin’ take care of Iris?” She raised her fist at him. “Like you took care of me?”

  Tears welled in his eyes. “Better. I swear to you.”

  She dropped her fist. “I can’t think,” she said. “My mind’s gone.” They trudged on.

  Aidan was glad his house was in sight, even though it looked to have been hit by a storm since Josie left. Tools, clothes, bottles, firewood, empty sacks, broken harnesses
were scattered in the yard. A window dangled from its casement. Jagged broken glass he hadn’t noticed before was looking deadly to him now. The front door hung on its hinges like a loose tooth. The jug of hooch sat in the middle of the steps calling to his parched throat. Aidan wound through the debris, supporting Redwood. She leaned her full weight into him finally. Princess snorted at them from the shed.

  “Don’t know where to go. Peach Grove is the only home I got,” she said.

  “Make your home on the road, make your life up as you go,” Aidan said. “Fix your soul somewhere far away from Georgia.”

  “How am I goin’ do all that?”

  Aidan let go of her and waited a breath to see if she would stand on her own. She was shaky but did not fall. He pulled a billfold from his pocket and thrust the contents at her. If he couldn’t turn time ’round, if he couldn’t go back and do what was right, he could offer her a decent chance.

  “What’s that? More cash money than I ever seen. You rob the bank?”

  “My life savings.” He stuffed bills and a tiny sack of gold coins in her hand.

  “You just carry it ’round with you like that?”

  “Had a feeling this morning.”

  “I can’t take all your money.”

  “I’ve been waiting for a special moment.”

  Going up the steps was a challenge for her balance. He caught her twice. The bottle tree tinkled in the breeze. She hesitated at the door, almost breaking into tears.

  “Why you do all this for me?” she said, as if she didn’t know he ached to do much more, as if his heart wasn’t breaking.

  “You think I want to see you swinging from a rope? A colored woman ain’t ’llowed to defend herself and live to tell the tale.”

  “Who you telling?”

  Aidan’s eyes brimmed with tears again.

  “I don’t want your cheap talk, your tears, or your money.” Her words were a whip lashing his face. She shoved the bills and gold pieces at him. He took hold of her arm before she could get down the stairs. She glared at him, but he wouldn’t let her go.