***
Eliza reads me the letter in that curious accent, without flinching. As though the story isn’t hers and the words have no meaning. As though it concerns people she doesn’t care about, fictional people she’s never met. Like it’s a dream she’s just woken from. The missing pages are in place. Eliza Wishart has cleaned this mess with one swipe, but there’s no joy in what’s left. Just the sadness of knowing.
It’s awful. It’s mystifying and it’s tragic, but it makes more sense to me than condemning Jack Lionel or some other shifty figure. It feels like truth. Laura really could make her own way here, she really could climb that tree. Her father put those marks on her face; he put the fear and the poison in her belly. Despair had her clad in nightclothes and no footwear. And everything else conspired to make her fall.
Her father started it, Laura ended it, and now Eliza is fielding the blame because she saw it happen. I feel so bad for her. I can’t imagine what it has been like, holding it in all this time.
Laura Wishart wasn’t kidnapped by Mad Jack Lionel. But it seems she was snatched away by something infinitely more sinister and terrifying. By the same thing that had us pursuing Lionel in the first place. The same thing that’s thieved my appetite and kept me awake and has me shying away from dragonflies. The thing that makes this town so quick to close in on itself and point its finger, that had it closing its doors and calling its children inside. She just couldn’t hold on anymore. She had no one to shield her from it.
I sit and look up at the bough where Laura sat. And a cold part of me is suddenly furious at Eliza for taking that letter. I think about how different everything would have been if it had found Jasper’s hands that night. I would have been free of all this. I would have stayed safe in my room. I might have read for a little longer. Then I would have slept like I used to. I would have woken as I normally would have. None the wiser. Much the lighter. I’d never have known Jasper Jones, I’d never have shared his story, I’d never have known this awful brick in my stomach. Misery and melancholy and terror would just be words I knew, like all those gemstones I collected in my suitcase that I never knew a thing about. I’d never have been haunted by Laura Wishart. I’d never have helped shackle her body to a stone, and I’d never have swallowed that rock’s weight in sadness. I’d never have had such a secret to guard. I’d never have been burdened with all this stupid guilt. Sorry sorry sorry. We wouldn’t have accused a lonely old man of murder. I’d never have read those horrible things that people do to each other. I’d never have caught my mother out, I’d never have known. And I’d be free to hold the hand of Eliza Wishart without fearing that it might be the last time.
Still, perhaps it was best the letter didn’t reach Jasper Jones. I don’t know what he would have done, but I doubt it would have been my window he visited. My guess is that he’d have marched straight to her old man. And there’s no telling what he might have done once he got there. Maybe that’s what Laura wanted. To her mind, they’d both betrayed her terribly.
It’s futile anyway, that kind of thinking. I can’t blame Eliza for picking up that packet of answers any more than I can rebuke Jasper Jones for arriving a few minutes too late. If Jasper had been there that night, Laura would still be here today. She’d still be alive.
But I am afraid of what Jasper’s response will be when he learns this. That he really could have stopped her. He’ll never forgive himself now. It makes me want to conceal the truth from him. To bury it, drown it; to let him believe some other history.
Eliza leans forward.
“Now it’s your turn. You have to tell me things, Charlie.”
“Like what?”
“Like how you know Jasper Jones. How come you were here with him.”
“How did you know I’ve been here?”
“Because I was leaving here one night and I heard someone coming just as I made it to the road. And it was the both of you. You were on your way here with Jasper.”
“You came back here?”
“Yeah.”
“How did you find it again, this place?”
“I just remembered somehow. I couldn’t forget it. And it’s straightforward enough, if you follow the path and don’t panic.”
I’m silent for a moment, then I look past her to the tree.
“It was you who carved that word,” I say.
She looks behind her, and nods.
“I used a church key from inside the hollow of the tree. I came back here to see Laura. After all the patrols and the searches had died down a bit, and after my mother stopped checking my room every half hour, I snuck out. I had to come see her again. I had to say some things to her. I don’t know what I was expecting, Charlie, but I didn’t think she’d be missing.”
I feel her looking at me. I can’t meet her eye.
“What did Jasper do with her?” she asks. “Do you know? Where is she?”
I look at my feet and bite my lip. The creeping curse. It’s tempting to absolve myself entirely. I could drop Jasper right in it and run away, make him the scapegoat again. I could erase myself from the whole story, free myself from involvement and wrongdoing. Wash my hands of the whole thing. She would never have to know; she’d have no reason to hate me.
But I can’t. I can’t do it. I can’t keep it in. And I know I’m breaking a promise by talking about it, but it’s swelled and welled in me for so long. It’s out. It’s out. I point at the dam.
“She’s in there. She’s at the bottom.”
“In there?”
“Yeah.”
“He threw her in the water?”
I almost bite my lip clean through.
“We both did. We both did it. I was here too. He brought me back here that same night. The night that Laura … I’m so sorry. I’m sorry.”
“You came here that night? Charlie, you knew? And you did that?” She points at the dam.
I nod. “Jasper came to my window after he left here. I’d never even spoken to him before. He said he needed my help. I didn’t know a thing, honest. I just followed him here. And then I saw her. I saw Laura. The same way you saw her.”
“You knew? You knew this whole time?”
I nod again. I feel like shit, but the sickness is shifting.
“I saw her up there, and it was horrible. It was the most horrible thing I’ve ever seen in my life. And Jasper didn’t know what to do. He wouldn’t believe for a moment that she might have done it herself. He was convinced it was someone else, because of Laura’s face and how her dress was torn and how she had scratches and no shoes. And he didn’t think that she could climb that high to get the rope, or even make her own way here. I don’t know. It seems so stupid now. But we really believed, you know, that someone had brought her here and done this to her. And Jasper was scared because this is his place, and if they found her here as she was, they’d say it was him. They’d lock him up for it without asking questions. And so he said we had to hide her. To give us enough time to work out what happened. And so he climbed up there and cut her down. And we tied her to a stone. And …”
I shake my head. Eliza doesn’t speak.
“Please don’t hate me,” I say quietly. I’m contorting my hands, like I’m trying to twist them off my wrists.
“Why didn’t you say anything to me? That really hurts, Charlie.”
I hold out my hands.
“I couldn’t. I wanted to, I really did. But I made a promise to Jasper. And I didn’t know what you knew. I didn’t know what you would do if I told you. If you’d have told me all this weeks ago …” I trail off.
The silence settles again. I pick at the grass, keep my head down. Eliza remains level and calm. I feel so tired.
“Why did Jasper stop seeing my sister? Did he not love her anymore?”
“No. No, it wasn’t that. He still loved her. Very much. Jasper was down south. Picking peaches. He was getting some money together for when they left, enough to get them started. That’s what he told me. He got back that ni
ght with all his savings. He went straight to your house, but Laura wasn’t in her room,” I tell her.
“And then he came here. Too late.”
I nod.
Shit luck and chance. It doesn’t seem fair. Laura Wishart did nothing wrong. She didn’t do a thing to deserve this. And the two people who loved her the most are hurting the worst and harboring the most blame, for something they could never have known. And the monster who put the flint and force to this tinder just reels in the pity of this whole town. It’s not right.
“Why did you scratch that word into the tree?” I ask Eliza.
“Because it’s my fault, Charlie.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“It is. I could have stopped her. I should have said something, I should have jumped out and told her to get down. But I didn’t do anything. I sat and just watched it happen because I was scared. I killed her, Charlie. It’s like if you just watch someone drown from the shore without swimming out to help them. That’s what I did. It’s my fault.”
“It wasn’t your fault.”
“It was. You weren’t here. I had all this time to say something, and I didn’t. I just sat here. And then it happened. And she was gone. Just like that. And I didn’t do anything.”
“But you didn’t know what would happen. You didn’t know anybody was drowning. You couldn’t have known.”
“Maybe. But I’m sorry. I just am. I feel terribly and I miss her and I want to talk to her and I feel miserable. I feel awful and rotten inside. I can’t even breathe properly anymore. And I’m just … sorry.” Eliza shakes her head, holds a hand to her chest.
“I’m sorry too,” I say. “For everything. For what we did. I don’t know. I know it was the wrong thing to do, but Jasper has this way of pulling you in. I didn’t want him to get into trouble. And he would have, too. He really would.”
“It’s all right, Charlie. I understand, I think. It doesn’t matter anyway. Laura’s gone. She died. And I don’t hate you. I’m upset you didn’t say anything, but I don’t hate you. In a funny way, though, it almost makes me feel a bit better knowing that you saw it. That you might know how I feel better than anyone.”
“I think I might,” I say.
“Do you care about me, Charlie?”
“I do,” I say eagerly. “Very much.”
She smiles flatly and her dimples bud briefly. I blush a little. She pats the grass next to her, an invitation for me to sit closer. I do. Our legs are touching. She leans forward. I lean back and look up.
“Why didn’t you say anything?” I blurt out suddenly. “Why didn’t you come forward? Through all the searches and the curfews and the newspaper reports, everything. You had Laura’s letter. You knew where she was, you knew what had happened. You could have stopped everything. You could have ended the whole thing in a day.”
“I was frightened,” she says quietly.
“Of what?” I say.
Eliza shrugs and leans further forward. Smooths her palms down her shins.
“Of your dad?” I ask.
She stays quiet. This seems to confirm it.
I wrestle with my next question. I sigh and tug at my ear.
“Has he? I mean, did he ever …?”
“No. No, he hasn’t,” she interrupts, firm. “And he won’t. Ever. What a bloody creep. What a …”
She suddenly shudders and shakes her head quickly, as if to shatter her thoughts back into brittle pieces.
Eliza stands up and shakes the grass from her dress. She turns and offers me her hand. I take it, and she hoists me up. We stand very close to each other. She seems to glaze over, like she’s turned into somebody else.
“Do you know how to waltz, Charlie?”
That curious accent has returned. She holds my shoulder and my hand, placing my palm on her hip.
“No,” I say, looking down at my feet. “I have no idea how to waltz. I dance like a penguin. I just sort of waddle from side to side.”
To my surprise, she rears her head back and laughs theatrically. I have to clutch the small of her back in case she falls. She keeps her smile, and I forget everything for a moment. Eliza takes her hand from my shoulder and playfully pinches my nose.
“You know what’s going to happen to you? I’m going to march you to the zoo and feed you to the yak!”
“The yak?”
“The yak.”
“I didn’t think yaks were that fierce,” I say as we sway on our feet.
“Oh, how wrong you are.”
I smirk to myself and rest my chin on the top of her head. I’m glad we’re dancing, strangely as it’s come about. It’s so nice being able to hold her, to smell her. To move to some absent rhythm.
I feel as though there is some kind of warm spotlight on us, and within this bright circle everything can be all right. I close my eyes and the spotlight stays with me, and it lances into my Manhattan ballroom scene. It settles on me and stays loyal. The presentations are over. The prize was for my father. Their praise was never for me. But here’s the rub: I’ve got the girl. I’ve got her like a skipping ball in a roulette wheel finds its fated number, held there still and safe while the world spins. And we move within this bright sphere like a single thing. People have stopped and they’re watching. They form a ring around us, admiring how perfectly we move, how graceful our steps are. And I don’t care for prizes or praise, because I’ve got the girl and that’s all that matters.
Jasper Jones Page 29