Catching Moondrops

by Jennifer Erin Valent

  Luke dipped his hand into the water and held a small pool of it out to me. “Your moondrops.”

  I smiled at him, then dipped my fingers into the water and flicked it at him. He blinked away the drops and grinned at me, dropping the rest of the water into the boat before running one wet finger down the bridge of my nose. “Now whenever your daddy talks about moondrops, you can say you already caught yours.”

  “Right on my nose.”

  “Best place to catch ’em.”

  We sat so that our shoulders and knees touched, and I decided then that I could sit like this for the rest of my life and be happy. I figured Luke must have felt the same since anybody within a mile could see he’d hooked a fish, but he just sat still without even a thought of checking the line until that fish wriggled its way off the hook.

  Sure enough, we weren’t here for the fishing.

  True to our whole life together, we once again became as comfortable with each other in silence as we were in conversation, and we floated along across the lake, content just to be together. Every now and again a sleepy grunt would let us know Gemma was still out like a light. Poor Daddy would die from anxiety if he knew what kind of chaperone Gemma made.

  I closed my eyes and leaned my head back, breathing deeply of the warm night air. I caught a hint of burning wood on the breeze and figured old Bubba Watkins was out at his fire pit, roasting some animal he’d managed to kill for himself. Bubba had a house near the lake, but I never understood why he had any roof over his head at all, seeing as he pretty much lived outdoors.

  But Bubba Watkins could do whatever he dandy well pleased, as far as I was concerned. It had nothing to do with me and Luke floating down the lake to the tune of the wind, the frogs, and the cicadas.

  I opened my eyes sleepily to find Luke looking at me, watching me as I drank in the moment so I could write it in my memory for good. For a change, though, he didn’t look away when I caught him staring. This time he kept his eyes on my face, studying it hard, like he was making a memory of his own.

  Sometimes between people there’s a moment that spells out everything you’re thinking without having to say a word. I know something about moments like those. I’ve had a lot of them with Gemma over the years, and in some small way, to that point I’d had them with Luke. But at this very moment at this very place, the moment that passed between Luke and me said more than any other time ever had.

  We’d waited a long time for this, he and I. Through all my growing-up years, through all that time waiting for Daddy to come around, through all that time Luke saw me as little Jessilyn instead of the woman I was. We’d waited. And now, out in the middle of the water, with a sleeping Gemma and the night creatures as the only witnesses, Luke and I stepped over that imaginary line that had kept us apart all these years.

  In one swift movement, Luke laid his fishing pole on the bottom of the boat and reached to cup one side of my face in his hand, his thumb tracing a path from the corner of my eye to my chin and back again.

  There’s never a quiet moment in a Virginia summer, not from morning till night. No amount of heat or humidity ever takes the starch out of those noisemaking little critters that dot the outdoors, and if there ever was a moment when a winter stillness crept over a Southern summer day, a body would think the world was coming to an end.

  But for that moment, in that night, the noise stopped just for me. It was so quiet I could hear each breath Luke took—short, soft breaths that spoke of a man readying his courage. I could feel those breaths on my cheek as he leaned his head closer, and right before his lips were to meet mine, my eyelashes fluttered closed without me even telling them to, like the moment was too precious for human eyes to see.

  Just like we’d waited all those years, I waited for his lips to meet mine.

  But they never came.

  Luke’s breathing stopped altogether, and I knew without seeing a thing that something was wrong.

  My eyes shot open and found his face still inches from my own, only he wasn’t looking at me. He was looking off into the distance toward the bank of the lake, where all sorts of brush and reeds sheltered the noisy frogs.

  “What is it?”

  He gently covered my lips with two fingers, then leaned forward, squinting into the darkness.

  The water was still lit by the moonlight, shimmering like crystal, but for the first time I noticed more than the white light that came from it. This time I noticed the orange mixed in, the erratic flickering that could never come from the moon that hung so still above us.

  I knew that flicker. I’d seen it some six years ago, the night the Klan came and planted that burning cross on our front lawn.

  My heart began to beat an unpredictable pattern, making me feel light-headed. Luke’s hand dropped from my mouth to my knees, lightly pushing me to the side so he could move in front of me. He kept himself low, creeping stealthily forward. I grabbed his arm from behind and leaned my chin on his shoulder, peering into the dark woods beside the lake.

  We could see them clearly now, their white robes dotting the open spaces between the trees, their torches held high. They were circled around a tall cross that burned in the clearing past the trees, surrounded by popping sparks like demons in the depths of hell. I gripped Luke’s arm tighter and took a hasty glance at Gemma. Still asleep.

  I was grateful for it.

  The boat moved quickly with the wind. Luke reached for the oars, but before we even knew it, we were floating precariously close to the woods where a narrow inlet would lead us to the other side of the lake and out of sight. Turning about would be noisy and useless, and I knew as well as he that our best chance of getting out of sight would be to move through the inlet into the other side of the lake, where thickening woods hid the water from the clearing.

  I’d grown quite fond of the wind since Miss Cleta had taught me the secrets of it. “It’s the breath of God, Jessilyn,” she’d say, lifting her face to greet it. “Just listen to it talkin’ to your soul.”

  I wasn’t so sure about it being the breath of God, but I knew I liked the feel of it all the same. When the wind came, it covered up all the rest of the world’s noises, pushing trouble away, whispering about sweet memories and voices from the past.

  But it betrayed me this night.

  As we headed toward the inlet, that wind died down so still, so quiet, we floated to a near halt, drifting like sitting ducks just outside the Klan meeting. For the first time, the voice of one of the men carried through the tranquil air, a ghostly holler that bounced off the water and surrounded us with words we couldn’t understand but could feel the meaning of.

  I glanced at Gemma to see if she’d wake at the sound, but she only stirred. It didn’t matter, though, because her stirring was enough to set the boat to rocking, dipping once so sharply that the water beneath us plopped against the skiff.

  The two men closest to our edge of the woods turned their heads swiftly so that the dark slits in their hoods pointed right at us. Luke and I caught our breath in unison, and I felt his hand come down and grasp my ankle hard to warn me against moving a muscle.

  They just stood there, frozen in place, staring right at us, the orange glow of the torches casting shadows around them. Then they leaned their heads together to confer and the closest one trudged toward us.

  Luke turned his head to me and hissed, “Get down. Low!”

  I nodded frantically and curled up between the two benches, my ear against the floorboard so that all I could hear from one side were the muffled sounds of water against wood. Luke crouched next to me and tossed his hat down. I gripped it tight with one hand like a security blanket and used my other hand to keep a fistful of his shirt.

  We floated ever so slowly toward the inlet, tracing a deadly path in the water, and with each inch my fear increased. Not being able to see made it all the more frightening. I could tell that Luke was straining his neck to peer over the side without giving himself away.

  I wanted more than anyt
hing to know what he saw, but I couldn’t dare to speak in even the lowest whisper. So I did the next best thing. I lifted my own head, peering up just till I could see a sliver of land.

  I was shocked to see how close we were now, right beneath the banks that rose about two feet above us, sheltered from the water by masses of vegetation. And I was just as shocked to see how close we were to the Klansman who’d come to scout us out. He strode from the tree line just as we reached the inlet, his torch in one hand, shotgun in the other.

  By luck, fate, or the hand of God, I didn’t know, but right when he reached the shoreline, the full moon that had promised me moondrops scurried off behind a cloud, shrouding us all in a sudden dimness. The Klansman raised his arm, throwing torchlight out around him. He was so close, I could hear his labored breathing, and I figured a big moonshine gut underneath that flowing white robe had made his trip from the clearing more difficult than it should have been.

  At the same time, I saw Luke’s hand shoot out of the boat and grab a prickly bush along the shoreline to keep us from moving. Our only chance was to hope the brush that separated us from the shore, along with the darkness, would keep us hidden from view.

  Above those reeds and whatnot, I could see the man in white only from the waist up, those black slit eyes scanning the horizon first with sharp, birdlike movements and then more slowly, methodically. Just in time to make life even more difficult, the breeze picked up a bit, and I could see Luke’s arm shaking, his hand turning white against the prickly bush, as he strained to keep us still. I wanted more than anything to help, but there was no reaching outside the boat for me. So I closed my eyes to say one of Momma’s prayers, the only way I knew to try and help.

  The ground beneath the Klansman crackled as he made a move to turn about, seemingly giving up on his search, and I felt Luke’s muscles relax a bit at the thought of it. But the man only made it halfway before pausing, standing still to listen hard. Then he turned toward us again, lifted his torch high, and flung it sideways, first to the right, then to the left. The flame whooshed, showering sparks around us like fireworks. We ducked our heads and waited, listening to that torch travel through the air, and it was all I could do not to jump with each move it made.

  I tilted my head back again to see Gemma and caught sight of two bright flashes of ash drifting through the air above her, hovering over her bare leg. My heart leaped up into my throat, and I moved my arm as quickly as I dared toward her mouth, reaching it just as her eyes shot open with the sting of the ash.

  The pressure of my hand kept her from uttering a sound, but she threw her hand up to mine in panic, giving the boat another soft rock. Her eyes met mine, and I squinted at her, warning her off. I felt awful for her not knowing, waking up to something so frightening as this, but she held her own, nodding at me in unspoken agreement despite being ignorant of our predicament.

  The whoosh of the torch bit into the air again. Gemma followed the sound with her eyes, and I winced to see the terror in them once she caught sight of the man who stood so close to us.

  We all lay there in that boat, motionless and wordless, expecting discovery at any moment, until we heard the ground crackle beneath him again, this time sounding his retreat. Luke and I watched until he was out of our line of sight and then lifted up carefully to watch his withdrawal.

  He sauntered loudly through the woods, had one more conference with the other Klansman, and then both rejoined the group.

  Luke let go of the prickly bush and let out a breath so long I would have sworn he’d been holding it in the whole time he’d held us there.

  I leaned up on one arm and watched the flames of that cross lick the night sky until we drifted out of view.

  Luke reached back to touch my arm. “You okay?” he whispered.

  I ran my hand over his and lifted it to my face. Blood covered my fingers.

  “Jessilyn?” He whispered my name sternly. “I said, you okay?”

  I leaned close to his ear. “Yes, but you ain’t.” I reached up to Gemma’s pocket, where I knew she always kept a fresh hankie, and pulled the folded cloth out. As soon as our boat floated into the open, the clouds parted for the moon like theater curtains, and I sat up and grabbed Luke’s hand for a better look. “Dang Klan ain’t got nothin’ better to do than go around makin’ fools of themselves! I swear, I don’t know why God don’t just strike them all dead.”

  “The hand’s okay, Jessie. Don’t let it rile you.” He pulled away from me and grabbed an oar, feeling around for the other one. “We need to get out of here.”

  He could tell me all day not to get riled up, but it wouldn’t do any good. I was sick and tired of bad people pushing good people around, and Luke’s bloodied hand only made me angrier. “You can’t row like that. Your hand’s all ripped up.”

  “Long as I got a hand, I can row, Jessilyn.”

  “We’re out of sight, Luke. Let me at least wrap your hand first. Please.”

  He took a deep breath, looked around us, and then held his hand out to me. “All right. Just be quick.”

  The sight of his hand, scraped up beyond recognition, made my stomach turn somersaults, but I used my blouse to wipe some of the blood off, staining it from hem to bottom button. Then I wrapped Gemma’s handkerchief around it, knowing full well it wouldn’t do much good. But it made me feel better to do it.

  As soon as I’d tied the knot, he grabbed the second oar and made his way to the bench, dipping the oars in and out with quick, smooth movements, disturbing the water as little as possible.

  Gemma had her knees tucked up under her chin, still shaken by her rude awakening. I watched Luke row until we reached the shoreline well across from the Klan. He jumped into the water, dragged the boat up, and helped each of us out.

  Gemma was silent and paced the wooded shoreline, rubbing her arms against a chill that didn’t exist in the air. But I couldn’t walk on legs that felt rubbery like mine, so I eagerly sat on a fallen tree.

  Luke looked around us, now on guard against any possibility, before finally settling down next to me. “You sure you’re all right?”

  “Guess so.” I nodded toward Gemma, who was watching the woods like a hawk. “But she ain’t.”

  “She’s got more reason to be afraid than we do.”

  I kept my eyes on Gemma as I said, “I ain’t afraid so much as angry.”

  He didn’t say much, only stared out at the water. Then he took his hat off and ran his good hand through his hair. “We won’t be able to go home the regular way, you know. Can’t risk goin’ through there again. We’ll have to walk from here.” He sighed loud and long. “We’re gonna be late gettin’ home. First time out with you, and your daddy’s goin’ to kill me.”

  “He ain’t goin’ to kill you, Luke Talley. He’ll understand. You’re doin’ what you have to do to watch out for me and Gemma, after all.” I looked at the boat Luke had made with his own two hands. “What about the boat?”

  “I’ll come back for it tomorrow.” He pushed an arm into my side. “Reckon we should’ve just gone to a movie.”

  I shook my head vehemently. “This is just what I wanted to do. Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  “No other way?”

  “Well, maybe no Klan.”

  He smiled, then stood up, grabbed my hands, and pulled me to my feet. “Well, next time I’ll leave the Klan off the schedule.” His left hand stayed in my right, and we wandered off to fetch Gemma and start the long walk home.

  She shook her head at us when we came up behind her. “Don’t go sneakin’ up on me. I ain’t got my nerves settled yet.”

  “We weren’t sneakin’ up.”

  “You could’ve at least called after me.”

  “And call the Klan, too?” I slipped my left arm through hers and bumped her hip with my own. “You just need a little Jessilyn; that’s what you need. I’ll talk to you all the way home and you’ll forget all your troubles.”

  I didn’t look at her face, but I knew by
the way she sighed, she’d be rolling her eyes. “It’s Jessilyn talk that usually gets my nerves in a bundle in the first place.”

  “Bundled-up nerves ain’t no problem so long as they’re bundled in the right way. Seems to me the Klan’s way ain’t no picnic in the park.”

  “Well, neither is yours!”

  “A picnic in the park!” Luke piped up. “That would’ve been a better idea than night fishin’. What in blazes was I thinkin’?”

  “You were thinkin’ of Jessie; that’s what,” Gemma said. “You know she likes night fishin’. Don’t go worryin’ about how things ended up when the startin’ out was good.”

  I pulled them both close and took a long, deep inhale of clean night air. There are moments in life when you stop and realize how blessed you really are, and this moment was one of those for me.

  And no Klan in white demon robes could ever take that away.

  Luke walked us through the woods, picking out the best path he could. I was content just to be hand in hand with him, but poor Gemma seemed as skittish as a new calf. Every noise startled her; every crack in the brush or stray animal crossing our path made her yelp.

  So when we heard the voices, she nearly dropped dead at my feet.

  Luke’s hand jumped up to his waistband, where I knew his gun would be tucked away. He dropped my arm and held his own out to block us from moving forward. I put my arm around Gemma, and the two of us crouched beside a tree, waiting. Luke crept forward between the trees and stuck his head through an evergreen, peering for a few seconds before he sighed loud enough for me to hear. Without turning toward us, he waved us over to his side and then walked on through the brush.

  Gemma and I came up behind him to find a group of young colored men sitting beside a fire, carrying on like children. Empty liquor bottles lay here and there, and the group of them sat on old wooden cartons playing cards. We caught the tail end of a dirty joke, and Gemma uttered a noise of disgust. At the sound of her voice, all six of their heads turned toward us in surprise.

  Including Malachi Jarvis’s.