The Promise of Jesse Woods

by Chris Fabry

  “I’ve done nothing wrong.”

  “That’s not what they’re going to think. About both of us.”

  “If you’re marrying someone who doesn’t trust you, what’s going to happen after you say, ‘I do’?”

  “My guess is, this isn’t Earl. You can’t judge a person by their family. You ought to know that better than anybody.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  She didn’t answer.

  The engine gunned and the vehicle moved past the tree line and over the limestone. The truck sat high and had huge tires and yellow running lights. The driver headed straight for the fire and Jesse pulled on my arm. “Matt, go. I’ll fix this.”

  The lights shone in our eyes and I held up a hand to shield it. “A scared dog runs with his tail between his legs.”

  “A smart dog knows when he’s licked.”

  “Maybe I’m not as smart as you think.”

  “It’s your funeral.”

  The truck stopped a few feet from us and both doors opened. Verle Turley got out from behind the wheel and scowled at Jesse.

  “Earl’s been calling you.” He slammed the door.

  “I’m not his property.”

  I looked at her in shock. I thought she would defuse the situation but her words threw gas on the fire. I didn’t recognize the other guy who crawled out of the passenger side, but he had that Turley look to him.

  “Look,” I said to Verle, my voice conciliatory, “I’m leaving in the morning, and I asked Jesse—”

  “Shut up,” Verle said. If I were his director in a play, I would have applauded his menace. He had the perfect inflection and venom. His voice gravelly, he told Jesse, “Go home and call Earl.”

  “I don’t take orders from you.”

  I put up both hands. “I can explain this. Why don’t you turn your truck off so we don’t have to scream?”

  Verle waved at the other guy. “Turn it off.”

  When the rumble died, I took a step forward, palms up, a puppy-dog look. It might have looked like fear.

  “Verle, I asked Jesse to come here and answer some questions.”

  “You been hanging around all week. You was warned.”

  “And I’m leaving. There’s an emergency in Chicago and I’m headed back.”

  “So tonight you were going to take what was Earl’s, is that it?”

  “He didn’t take nothing,” Jesse said.

  “Would you shut up and get back to your house?” Verle said.

  “Don’t you never talk to me that way.”

  “Somebody needs to,” the other man said. Something metal glinted when he shifted.

  “Tommy, put that gun away before you shoot yourself in the foot,” Jesse said. She glanced at me and frowned. “I told you to leave.”

  Now I had a good reason to raise my hands. “I told Jesse, if she wants to marry Earl, I won’t stand in the way.”

  “You couldn’t leave her alone, could you? I told Earl, I said, ‘Plumley is going to try something.’ And here you are with a fire and a bedroll.”

  “We was just talking,” Jesse said.

  “Yeah, right.”

  Tommy spoke to me. “Your daddy put you up to this?”

  “My father agrees with you. He wanted me to leave Jesse alone.”

  “Sure he did.”

  “A friend told me Jesse was getting married. He knew how I felt about her.”

  “Who?” she said.

  “Dickie.”

  Jesse stared into the night.

  “Get in the truck,” Verle said.

  “I told you not to talk to me that way,” Jesse said.

  “Not you,” Verle said. “Him.” He took the gun from Tommy and lifted it toward me.

  When I’d gone hunting growing up, there’d been one rule—you never pointed a gun at anything you didn’t intend to shoot. That flashed through my mind as I stared at Verle.

  Jesse stepped in front of me. “He just told you he’s leaving in the morning.”

  “I’ll leave tonight,” I said. “I’ll get in my car and get out of here now.”

  Verle lowered the gun and I relaxed but only a little. He looked at Tommy and nodded. Tommy lunged at Jesse, grabbing her arm, and jerked her to the ground. She yelped in pain or surprise, I couldn’t tell which, and I grabbed at his untucked shirt. I heard a rip and Tommy cursed.

  Something hit me in the back of the head and I saw stars. Disoriented, I put my hand back and someone grabbed me and dragged me toward the truck.

  “Leave him alone!” Jesse yelled.

  “Let her go, Tommy,” Verle said. “Help me get him in.”

  They pulled me up and shoved me into the backseat. Jesse was at the running board as soon as Verle closed the door. Tommy started the engine and the rumble was just as deafening inside as out.

  She banged on the window. “Where are you taking him?”

  “Get off the truck and go home,” Verle yelled.

  “Matt, are you okay?”

  I put up a hand to the window. As soon as Jesse stepped off the running board, Tommy gunned the engine and drove through the fire, sparks flying. He raced down the hill and I had the same feeling I had on the roller coaster at Camden Park—a stomach-in-your-throat kind of tingly-leg weightlessness.

  “Might want to buckle up,” Tommy said, grinning.

  I looked out the back window and saw Jesse silhouetted against the firelight. I thought that was the last I would ever see her.

  The ride down the hill was as fast as the roller coaster and ten times as bumpy. My head hit the ceiling of the cab several times and instead of stars I saw galaxies. The earth beneath us smoothed out by the barn and soon we were in the driveway, rumbling to a stop.

  “Where’s the keys to your car?” Verle said.

  “In my pocket.”

  He held out his hand. When I didn’t respond, he said, “You want me to poke you in the head again?”

  I dug into my pocket and gave him the keys. He handed them to Tommy. “Follow me.”

  Like a fisherman dropping his net, Tommy got out of the truck. My headlights came on and the engine fired. Verle got behind the wheel and tapped the accelerator, spinning gravel into the yard.

  “Where are you taking me?”

  He pulled onto the road and gunned the engine. My headlights followed at a distance and then closed the gap.

  “I have to get back to Chicago,” I said.

  “Shut up and relax.” He turned on the radio to a country station. I didn’t know which hurt my head more, the bang to my skull or the jumpy fiddle.

  The winding road straightened and soon we were on the interstate. We drove an hour, then two, and finally crossed into Ohio and pulled into a gas station on a lonely stretch of road. Tommy pulled in behind us.

  “Give me your wallet,” Verle said.

  I handed it to him and he gave it to Tommy, who pulled my car up to a pump and went inside the station.

  Verle told me to get gas and I squinted at the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead, moths and bugs swarming. The pump came to life and the noise made me wince. Everything made me wince. I filled the tank, then replaced the nozzle and screwed on the cap. Tommy returned with my wallet and handed me a full bottle of Mountain Dew. He opened a packet of capsules he’d bought with my money.

  “Those will help the headache,” Verle said.

  I took them and threw away the package and drank some of the soda. They watched me as if they were EMTs trying to determine if I was capable of driving.

  “So you came back looking for answers. Is that your story, Plumley?”

  “That’s the truth.”

  “And are you satisfied?”

  “Not exactly the word I’d use, but it’ll do.”

  Verle laughed, then pointed toward the road. “Chicago is that way. As far as we’re concerned, it’s a one-way road. You understand?”

  I nodded.

  “We’re going to follow you. If you try to turn around,
you’ll get more than a headache.”

  I opened the car door and fell inside. Verle came to the door. “This is it, Plumley. Don’t come back before the wedding.”

  “Don’t worry,” I said.

  He slammed the door and when I turned on the ignition, the radio was all the way up and Eddie Rabbitt sang “You Can’t Run from Love.” I turned it off and drove with his voice echoing in my soul, Verle’s headlights blinding me in the rearview.

  After a few miles, I settled into a rhythm and held the bottle of Mountain Dew to the back of my head. The capsules released and the pain lessened. The truck headlights receded until they became specks. And then they were gone.

  I thought about Eddie Rabbitt’s words and an old TV show came to mind—Chuck Connors getting his sword broken. “Wherever you go for the rest of your life you must prove you’re a man.” That’s how I felt about Jesse. I would always care. But some things simply can’t be. And with that truth came a release, that I could let her go and move on. But alongside that thought came echoes of my father, the way he had lived and retreated from Blackwood. Was I free or imitating what I had seen?

  It was a little past four and there was no light coming from the horizon. I pulled into a gas station off the interstate and found some loose change. If I kept driving, I would be home late morning and I could begin the search for Dantrelle. I didn’t have a good feeling about him.

  I found a pay phone and slipped the coins in and the phone rang once. Jesse picked up, her voice groggy.

  “I thought I’d better let you know I’m okay,” I said.

  “I was hoping you’d call. What happened?”

  “They made sure I was headed north.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Cincinnati.”

  “Is your head okay?”

  “I’m fine. Did you call Earl?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You two okay?”

  “I told him what happened and he said if it was him, he would have come back too.”

  “That’s understanding. Maybe you’re right, Jesse. Maybe he’s different.”

  “He is, Matt,” she said, her voice fading.

  “You have to work today?”

  “Yeah,” she said. “But I get all next week off.”

  “Where are you going on the honeymoon?”

  She didn’t answer, and I could only imagine the exotic place Earl had picked. “So I guess this is good-bye,” I said.

  There was a rustling on the other end of the line. A truck pulling in behind me blasted its air brakes. I plugged my other ear and listened to Jesse.

  “I did cut you out of my life, Matt. I know I hurt you. I think it was best for everybody, but I’m sorry.”

  I searched for something to say but nothing came.

  “That was sweet of you to come back. I appreciate it. And I wish you all the best.”

  I swallowed hard and closed my eyes. “I wish you all the happiness in the world, Jesse. And I’m sorry if I made things harder.”

  She didn’t speak for a moment and I thought maybe she’d fallen asleep. Then she said, “If it wasn’t for you, Matt . . .”

  “You wouldn’t have been able to afford that bicycle.”

  “I got a long list of questions for God. Why some things happened and some didn’t. I keep them on a sheet of paper in a keepsake box. Most people only keep the bad stuff you can’t figure. But there’s another I started. Things I’m grateful for. Good things I didn’t see for a long time. You’re at the top of the list. Thank you.”

  I said good-bye and meant it. When I hung up the phone, it was like putting a three-hundred-pound weight in a rack. And that’s what it was. A surrender. A laying down of arms.

  I walked to my car and sat near the air pump, letting the fatigue and pain coalesce. Fully awake now, I started the car and headed toward Indianapolis. About fifty miles from the city I stopped at a pancake restaurant and found a pay phone near the restrooms. I knew I should call my parents.

  “Hello?”

  “Didn’t wake you up, did I?”

  “No, we’re up early,” my father said. There was a flurry in the background. “Your mother has some news.”

  “Matt, I’m so glad you called. They found him! They found Dantrelle!”

  “What? Really?” I couldn’t contain my joy.

  “Kristin called a half hour ago.”

  “Where was he?”

  “His mother was arrested and Dantrelle was put in foster care. He’s fine, Matt.”

  My heart sank—I was glad Dantrelle was safe, but the news of his mother was another hurdle. I thought of Kristin finding him and how she must have felt. It made the rest of the drive back feel less stressful.

  “What time did you leave this morning?” my mother said.

  “Early,” I said, avoiding the details. “I’ll be in Chicago in a few hours.”

  My mother handed the phone back to my father.

  “I’m proud of you, for coming to terms with all of this. I’m relieved. I think it’s best for everybody.”

  I thanked him and hung up with an unsettled feeling. Was it something he had said? Jesse? Thinking it might be my empty stomach, I sat at the counter and ordered pancakes. I thought of calling Kristin to find out more about the situation, but I would be back in the city later.

  As I poured syrup and took a bite, the smell and taste sparked something. It’s funny how tastes can turn pages in the mind. I thought of Mr. Caldwell, retired from the sheriff’s department. The sweet smell of pancakes and syrup brought up something he had said.

  “When I pulled up, your daddy was talking to her.”

  I stared at my food. Another memory, ever so slight—a moment when Jesse had said something revealing. When I had brought up her promise, she had muttered something.

  “Some promises cancel others.”

  Was she talking about her promise to marry Earl? Or was there some other promise she had made?

  Then, Jesse’s words—“I think it was best for everybody.”

  My father had said the same exact words to me.

  “Is something wrong?” the waitress said.

  I looked up, holding my fork halfway between the plate and my mouth. It was as if time had stopped. I could feel every heartbeat. Suddenly all the blurry things came into focus.

  “Are you all right?” the woman said.

  “Yeah, I think I am.”

  “Something wrong with the pancakes?”

  “Not at all. I like them crisp on the edges. Like my grandmother used to make them.”

  “I’m glad to hear it,” she said, wiping down the counter.

  I looked at the clock and calculated how long it would take me to get back to Dogwood. And after I left a tip, I got change to make more phone calls.

  OCTOBER 1972

  The day after I met Jesse’s father, I found Dickie at school again. He saw me coming and walked the other way down the long hallway that smelled like WWII chewing gum. I caught up to him near the library.

  “What do you want now?”

  “I’m looking for a breakthrough,” I said.

  I hoped he would smile but he didn’t. When he walked away, I grabbed his arm. “This is not about you and me or my brother or your dad. This is about Jesse. She needs our help.”

  “I’m done with you, Plumley.”

  “They took Daisy. We have to help Jesse find her.”

  “No. I don’t have to help. But you need to let go of my arm.”

  I forged ahead. “If you could talk with her cousins, maybe they know something they’re not telling me.”

  “I don’t go near those people,” Dickie said.

  “You don’t care what happens to Daisy?”

  “Don’t try the guilt trip. Let go.” When I didn’t, he clenched his teeth. “You want me to pretend everything is fine between us. It’s not.”

  “I know that. I can’t help what my brother did. I’m sorry about your dad. If I could do something about it, I would.
”

  “You lied to me.”

  “I never lied.”

  “Every day you didn’t tell me your brother ran to Canada, you lied.”

  “Dickie, he didn’t want to get killed. What does that make him?”

  “A coward.”

  “Okay, he’s a coward. He should have gone to war. I wish he wasn’t scared. But he’s my brother. And I miss him, just like you miss your dad.”

  Kids passed us in the hall but unlike during a schoolyard brawl, no one congregated.

  “You lied every day you didn’t tell me about Jesse’s mom.”

  “I promised her. Please, we need—”

  Dickie pushed me to the wall. “Stop talking to me. I’m done.”

  It was like the end of some sad movie. Like shooting Old Yeller and moving on. Watching Dickie walk away made me want to cry, but I knew I couldn’t.

  All through classes I tried to figure out a way to find Daisy. I could pretend to be somebody else and make a phone call. At lunch I tracked down every cousin of Jesse’s I could find, but there was nothing new. On the bus ride home I looked in the windows of every house we passed, hoping Daisy would peek out by chance and I could tell Jesse where she was.

  As the bus rumbled, more questions surfaced. What would Jesse do if she found Daisy? And what about her father? Jesse never wanted to see her dad, Dickie longed to have his father return, and I was ashamed of my father.

  I looked at the hill behind my grandmother’s house. That we were still living in that house felt crazy—we were supposed to be in the parsonage, but Blackwood was stringing us along, keeping my father under his thumb. I didn’t see any smoke on the hilltop. Where was Jesse? Was her father still at their house?

  I rode my bike to Jesse’s but the house looked empty. A little further up the road I saw two figures standing by the gate at Blackwood’s farm. I hid my bike in a grove of autumn olives by the road and crept through the woods until I got close enough to hear them.

  “I got the deed back at the house,” Jesse’s father said with a crusty cough. “I just have to get it altered and we’re good to go.”

  Blackwood looked at him like he was a stain. “What kind of change you talking about?”

  “A technicality. It won’t take long.”

  “What kind of technicality?” Blackwood said, spitting in the road.