by Chris Fabry
“Go back to school,” Jesse yelled, walking faster.
“Where are you going?”
“They forced me to get on that bus, but they can’t force me to stay.”
I caught up with her, out of breath, hands on my knees. “Is Daisy okay?”
“So far, but I ain’t waiting around for them to get a chance at her.”
“What are you going to do?”
“What I have to do.”
I heard the bell. “Jesse, wait.”
She kept walking and didn’t look back.
Rumors roiled the next couple days through the school and on the bus. Jesse was gone. Nobody knew where she was. Through one of her female cousins, I found out—by giving away another lunch—that Daisy Grace had been removed from the Branch home. She was gone before Jesse made it back from school.
“Who took her?” I said.
The girl shrugged. “They didn’t tell me. Just said it was for her own good.”
“That must have set Jesse off.”
“She evidently cussed at them and run off. I don’t know where she went.”
“She’s probably trying to find her sister.”
The girl nodded. “I don’t think she will, though.”
“Why not?”
“I heard my parents saying they had to protect that little thing from her. Jesse’s crazy.”
“What? Jesse loves Daisy. She promised her mother she’d take care of her.”
The girl scowled and took another bite of the corn dog that was previously my property. I tried to get more information but it was like trying to get blood from a turnip.
I couldn’t bring myself to watch more than a few innings of the World Series. Just seeing Oakland with those mustaches against any team but the Pirates brought a sense of loss. Every time I saw the Reds in their bright, white uniforms, I saw what had been taken from me. In a small way, it felt like what Jesse must have felt—something dear ripped from her arms.
I clicked my CB every night to no avail and I rode past Jesse’s house. I even went to the window to peek inside. Someone had taken Carl away and his chain lay tangled on the ground by the cinder block steps. I would have fed him scraps and filled his water bowl. Nobody had asked.
That Sunday my father began a series on the healings of Jesus. He had abandoned his verse-by-verse approach because of complaints that were no doubt encouraged by Basil Blackwood. We were in the tenth chapter of Mark where a blind man was begging at the side of the road when Jesus passed. The man cried out and people told him to be quiet, but Jesus said to bring him closer.
“This is one of the greatest questions in all of the Bible,” my father said. “Jesus, the Creator of everything, the one who formed this blind man in the womb of his mother, says, ‘What do you want me to do for you?’
“Now imagine that. God himself asks you what you want in life. And what does Bartimaeus say? He says, ‘Rabbi, I want to see.’”
My father closed his Bible, which always gave me a sense of relief. Every time he closed his Bible, unless he held his finger there, it was only a few more minutes before he was done. And after a full morning of Sunday school and worship, I was ready to be unleashed.
“I submit to you that the question and the answer are exactly what we need today. I believe Jesus stands before us and asks us the same thing. If we say, ‘Rabbi, I want a new house,’ or ‘I need a new spouse,’ or anything less than ‘I want to see,’ we’ll ultimately be disappointed.
“So what does it mean to see? For Bartimaeus it was physical. And when he opened his eyes and saw the world, the first thing he saw was his Lord. So that’s one part of this miracle, of course. But there’s also a deeper meaning to seeing. To really see means to look not just at the outside. To understand your life, you need God to illumine you and help you see.
“We sing, ‘Open my eyes, that I may see glimpses of truth Thou hast for me.’ But do we really mean it? Do we really want to see what God has for us? Do we really want to see the truth about ourselves, our motivations, or about others?
“I believe that to understand, you must enter like a blind man begging. And the past and present, when illumined by God, will help you move into the future.”
My mother played “Open My Eyes, That I May See” and my father had us read the words as she played. Then we stood and sang the three stanzas, ending with the words, “Open my heart—illumine me, Spirit divine!”
I heard Basil Blackwood mutter something about “pop psychology” on our way out, but my father’s words had brought more questions than answers. What was I not seeing about Jesse, about our family, my brother? What was I not seeing about my father?
After church that night, we drove home and I went to my room to change. I hung up my Sunday clothes and put on sweatpants and a T-shirt. From the closet I heard a strange noise. At first it sounded like an animal scratching, but when I moved toward my bed, I realized my CB was on and someone was clicking the mic.
“Wildflower, is that you?” I said, keying the mic.
A pause. Then her voice came over the channel in a whisper. “PB—whatever you do, don’t come to my house. You hear?”
Her words didn’t make sense. “Why not? What are you talking about?”
“I gotta go. Just stay away.”
I tried to engage her again, but she didn’t respond. I put on a jacket and headed outside.
“You want some hot apple pie and ice cream?” my mother said as I ran through the kitchen.
“Not right now,” I said.
“You’re not going out on your bike at this time of night, are you?” my grandmother said.
“I’ll be back soon.”
“You’ll be hit quick as lightning,” she said, shaking her head and digging into the pie. “People are driving lickety-split on that road.”
My father poured his coffee and didn’t look up.
I hit the screen door and jumped on the bike, speeding down the driveway. I took the corner too fast, my back tire slipping in the loose gravel, but regained my balance and stood on the pedals, pumping as fast as I could.
There was a light on in Jesse’s house and I coasted past, trying to see. I turned around at Blackwood’s gate and made the return trip, listening and looking. Why would Jesse tell me to avoid her house? Maybe she had found Daisy and didn’t want to be bothered.
I leaned the bike against the mailbox, my curiosity high. Coming here after being warned not to was something Jesse would have done and that thought made me smile. I crept toward the house, hunched over and watching my footsteps, then peeked over the windowsill.
A man sat on the couch, staring at the television. NBC was airing their mystery movie, and McMillan & Wife was on. I thought Susan Saint James looked a little like Jesse.
The man got up at a commercial and wove his way into the kitchen and out of sight. There was something strange about the sleeve of his shirt—it hung to the side and flopped when he walked.
I looked for the CB in the living room, but it was gone. At the side of the house I saw the antenna’s coax leading toward Jesse’s bedroom window. Why had she moved the CB?
Moving back to the front window, I stood taller, trying to see into the kitchen. There was no one there, so I changed my angle a little but still didn’t see anyone. Then I heard quick footsteps in the wet grass and someone grabbed my arm. His grip was viselike and bruising. He jerked me toward the house and I resisted, telling him to let me go with all the bravado I could muster. He pushed me toward the front door and said, “Get inside.”
I opened it and fell on the linoleum. The man came in and slammed the door behind him. He twisted his head as if he wasn’t able to focus. His eyes were a little too close together and he had a small mouth with two front teeth that jutted forward. There was stubble on his face and he appeared not to have bathed for a while.
“What are you doing here, boy?” the man said, leaning down. His breath smelled like tobacco and what I figured was stale alcohol of some kind.
“Looking for Jesse,” I said, gritting my teeth. “Where is she?”
He pulled back and flipped his hand. “That’s what I was about to ask you.”
I stared at the empty sleeve, remembering Jesse’s description of her father. “Are you her dad?”
“That’s what some people say.”
“Why didn’t you come back when they needed you? Jesse’s mom was sick.”
The man kicked at me and pointed to the couch. I climbed backward onto it and he straddled a chair.
“I don’t like your tone, boy.”
“This house is not yours. It’s Jesse’s.”
“Is that a fact? And she told you that?”
I didn’t respond. He wasn’t holding me down, but I felt glued to the couch. I looked down and saw a bloodstain and inched away from it.
He stared at me with a slack jaw. “Tell you what. You tell me where Jesse is and I’ll let you go on your way.”
He didn’t know where Jesse was. That was good. I should have obeyed her warning, but concern sometimes trumps wisdom.
“I don’t know where she is. But if you’d have come back and helped, you might know. She and her sister were all alone.”
“What are you talking about?” he said, pulling a flask from his pocket. He placed it under one armpit and unscrewed it with his hand and took a long swig.
“Your wife’s dead. Jesse was caring for Daisy Grace by herself.”
The man took another pull of whatever he was drinking and drained the flask. “When did she die?”
“Back in July.”
“What happened? Her lungs give out?”
“I don’t know. But Jesse shouldn’t have had to go through that alone.”
He ran his tongue over his cracked lower lip, then snapped his fingers. “You just gave me a good idea, son.”
Jesse’s father dragged the chair across the linoleum into a bedroom. He grunted and strained and the metal chair creaked when he stepped up on it. I could have run but I was curious. Something moved in the ceiling and I heard a clanging. He brought a metal strongbox out that had a key in it, which he put on the chair and opened. He shuffled through some papers and held up a document.
“There she is.” He laughed.
“What’s that?”
“Life insurance policy. Paid it off back when she got sick the first time. Easy money.”
“Jesse and Daisy deserve that.”
“They didn’t pay for this and they never put up with her jawin’ like I did. Look right there. That’s my name.” He pointed to the page, drool spooling from one corner of his mouth. “Who are you? A Blackwood?”
I didn’t answer.
He laughed and the sound was smoky and wet and crusty, like emphysema. He got down in my face and wiped at his mouth. “No, you ain’t no Blackwood. You go to school with her?”
“She’s the best friend I’ve ever had.”
“Is that right? So after their mama died, where’d they go?”
“To their cousins.”
“What cousins?”
“Go to the sheriff if you want to know.”
The look on his face told me he didn’t like the idea. “You don’t know any more than I do. Get up and get out of here, tubby.”
When I stood, Jesse’s father grabbed my shirt. His hand had liver spots. “You say a word about me being here, and I’ll hunt you down and kill you. Your whole family too. Understand?”
I nodded.
He let go of me and pulled a knife from his pocket and it opened with a click. “Maybe you need convincing. I could shave a little off those ears of yours, Dumbo.”
I hit the door running but the man didn’t follow. He was still laughing when I grabbed my bike, jumped on it, and rode home.
I grabbed a flashlight from the garage and turned it on as I walked past the barn. The batteries were low but I had enough juice to get past the tree line. Once I was to the meadow, I saw the faint glow of a small fire and ran to the top of the hill.
Jesse sat there, shivering. “How’d you know I was here?”
“I went to your house.”
“What? Matt, what’s the point of warning you if you don’t listen?”
I told her what had happened, jumping to the life insurance policy her dad found.
She shook her head. “I looked all over for that strongbox. Mama had the deed to the house in there and some savings bonds. Where was it?”
She cursed when I told her. “I never looked in the crawl space. He’ll take that deed to the land and sell it. I know he will.”
“Not if it has your name on it.”
“He’ll find a way. The only reason he ever came back was when he needed something. Money or . . .” She looked away. “You asked me about those scars on my stomach once. He’s the one who give them to me. Cigarette burns. I’m glad you got away from there.”
“Maybe that would be the best thing that could happen. If he sells the place, he’ll leave.”
“I promised Mama I’d care for Daisy and take care of the farm. And I aim to do that. I’m not going to let that old drunk steal our future.”
I wasn’t sure what kind of future Jesse was trying to hang on to. The land seemed worthless and the house was so ramshackle a strong wind could topple it. But people get attached to the familiar and I wasn’t about to argue.
“Did he ask about me?”
I nodded. “And Daisy, too.”
She sat up straighter. “What did he say?”
“He wanted to know where she was. I told him he ought to go to the sheriff if he really wanted to find you two.”
She raised her eyebrows. “You said that to him?”
“Yeah.”
“I never in a million years thought he’d come back.” Her eyes darted like she was considering all her options.
“What are you going to do?”
“He wants whatever valuables he can find. So I got to wait him out. But I can’t let him take that deed.”
“Come to our place. You can sleep on the couch and in the morning—”
“No, your mama and daddy will go straight to the law. That’s what got Daisy took from me in the first place.”
I hung my head. “I didn’t tell them anything about—”
“I ain’t mad at you. I’m just . . . It was working, Matt. I could see it working out. I had it figured. I was keeping my promise to Mama. Daisy wasn’t no trouble. And now she’s gone. I keep hearing her crying in my head. Just squallin’ and yellin’. She’s got to be scared out of her mind.”
“Any idea where she is?”
“I’m glad she’s not with the Branches anymore, but she might be in some foster family. That could be worse.”
“I talked with Elden’s sister and she didn’t know where she was.”
She tapped her forehead. “I got to think. I got to get her back before something happens.”
“It’s going to get cold tonight.”
“I got the fire. I’ll be fine.”
“Then I’m staying here with you.”
“No, you go home. You’re in enough trouble.”
She was right. And if I stayed out, my dad would find us.
“I’m going to pray,” I said, not knowing what else to say.
“Yeah, you do that. Pray hard, PB.”
I felt guilty walking away. The light from the fire faded and I turned one more time when she called after me.
“Don’t tell nobody you saw my daddy.”
“I won’t.”
When I hit the path leading into the woods, I flicked the light on. There was a little juice in the batteries, but not much. I turned it on and off, making sure I didn’t trip over a rock. When it rained, the trail turned to mud and the only way to navigate it was to step from boulder to boulder. The path had been cut into the hillside by a grader and one side led up while the other fell.
Something skittered in the brush near the path and I flicked on the light. I told myself it was just an opossum or a
raccoon. Then I heard a whoop-whoop of wings and the creaking of a limb above. I stopped, my heart thumping.
“Hello?” I whispered.
I wanted to run but there was no light, no moon in the sky and my flashlight was useless. If only I had brought a burning stick from the fire.
Another thought encroached. What if Jesse’s father had followed me? What if I had led him to his daughter? I couldn’t shake the stale smell of his breath.
I took a few steps and flicked on the flashlight again. Nothing. I banged it against my hand. Still nothing. The wind whispered through the limbs and leaves. It was either that or someone above was talking, and I shivered.
I unscrewed the bottom of the flashlight, the C batteries loosened, and I screwed the bottom on again tightly. I could use it as a weapon if I had to.
A flapping above me, like a giant flag unfurled. I pointed the flashlight toward the sound and stared at the inky blackness. It was like looking into Satan’s basement. I flicked the button and a quick burst of light shone into the trees. I’ll never forget that image—a wingspread wider than the light could view and claws that grasped the limb like human hands. I raised the fading beam to see two red eyes. It stared, its head cocked to one side.
I dropped the light and ran.
Flapping again, above the treetops. I stumbled and tripped on a tree root, scrambling with hands and feet to find flat ground.
When I made it to the barn, the flapping stopped and I rushed down the hill and into the yard, running for the light in the house. I looked back once. The light from the lamp at the end of the walk showed enough of the barn for me to see the figure perched on top, looking into my soul.
I ran inside, kicked off my muddy shoes, and jumped in bed with my clothes on, covering my head with a pillow.
I knew this had been a warning. I knew something bad was going to happen. Someone was going to die. When I fell into bed, I didn’t pray. It was up to me to do something. And I decided I wouldn’t rest until Jesse and Daisy Grace were safe.
THURSDAY, OCTOBER 11, 1984
Lights bounced up the hill and I wondered how any vehicle could make it up the narrow, rocky path. Jesse moved toward me and put a hand on my shoulder. “I mean it, you need to run. Get to the woods back that way.”