The Secret Sense of Wildflower (7 page)

“Yes, ma’am,” I say, wondering why grownups always ask questions instead of talking to you like a normal person.

Even when she’s relaxed, Mary Jane’s mom stands rigid like she has a board strapped to her back and looks taller than most women. Mary Jane is so short you’d never think that they were even related. In my family, Meg and Amy look just like Mama and people say I look just like Daddy. Jo doesn’t look like anybody, except maybe a movie star. And as far as I can tell, Mary Jane doesn’t look like anybody, either, except maybe her grandmother.

“Louisa May, would you like to stay for dinner?” Mary Jane’s mother asks.

Mary Jane and I smile at each other like life is good and just got better. “Yes, ma’am,” I say. “But I’ll need to ask first.”

“That’s fine,” she says. She walks over and smoothes the creases of Mary Jane’s new dress with one of her hands. I see the family resemblance in her actions. “Maybe Louisa May would like some of your older dresses, dear,” she says to Mary Jane before she leaves, as if it has suddenly occurred to her to have pity on me.

Mary Jane’s eyes widen and she looks over at me like I might take a swing at her own mother. She knows I hate being pitied. But instead of reacting, I take a deep breath and sit on my hands. I’ve faced enough temptation for one day.

According to Preacher, Jesus wants us to turn the other cheek when someone insults us, so I say, “No thank you, ma’am,” and bite my lip to keep from smiting Mary Jane’s kin.

Given the sheer number of church potlucks we’ve all attended over the years, it is a well-known fact that Mary Jane’s mother can’t cook nearly as well as mine. But her family always eats off fancy dishes that have ivy leaves painted all around the edges and were made in China. I also like that Mary Jane has a father sitting at the table, which reminds me of how my family used to be.

Mary Jane and I walk down the road to tell Mama I won’t be home for dinner. We are good at moseying and set out to do just that. I already dread the thought of seeing Johnny Monroe on the road and wish we had a telephone so we could just call instead of walk the mile to my house.

Mary Jane’s parents own the only telephone in Katy’s Ridge. If anybody needs help they go there to call the ambulance in Rocky Bluff. Otherwise, they go to Doc Lester, who isn’t really a doctor, but went to veterinary school for a year and still has all the books. Doc Lester smells funny, a sickly combination of rubbing alcohol, hair tonic and cow manure.

It is hot for September and the dirt from the road sticks to our legs as we walk. Mary Jane and I take turns swatting horse flies that love to drink the salty sweat from the creases of our elbows and knees.

We come to the crossroad, about halfway between our two houses, and there stands Johnny Monroe, kicking up the dirt with his scuffed up boots.

“Well, look who’s here,” Johnny says. “Twiddle Dee and Twiddle Dum.” He gives the dirt an extra kick.

Though I am already staring at my shoes, this statement almost prompts me to look up. Not because I am insulted, but because it amazes me that Johnny has ever read a book, especially
Alice in Wonderland
. I decide he must have heard someone else say it.

“What do we do?” Mary Jane whispers to me. She matches my stance, lowering her head and hunching her shoulders since she actually has something to hide.

“Just keep walking and don’t say anything,” I whisper back.

Since Mary Jane doesn’t have to pass this way to go to school, she hasn’t had as many dealings with Johnny as I have.

“You girls want to go into the woods and have a little fun?” Johnny laughs.

Something in the way he laughs makes me look up just long enough to see a trickle of brown juice from Johnny’s tobacco chew running down his chin. My half-digested lunch quickly rises from my stomach and lodges in my throat. I taste parts of it before swallowing it. Then I grit my teeth and resist the urge to grab a stick and knock the holy crap out of him.

Mary Jane reaches over and grabs my hand. We squeeze courage into each other’s palms and walk straight ahead like God has parted the Red Sea and the Promised Land is around the next bend.

“Hey, you all want to see what’s in my pocket?” Johnny says.

I can practically hear the smirk he must have on his face. Mary Jane gasps. I keep staring at my shoes, like they are the most fascinating worn-out oxfords on earth. Out of the corner of my eye I see Johnny holding the front of his pants.

“You’re disgusting!” I yell, before I can stop myself.

Johnny laughs again and Mary Jane and I start running and don’t stop until we get to the mailboxes in front of my house. We collapse on the side of the dirt road in a bed of clover gasping for air amidst the dust we rustled up.

“Did you see what he did?” Mary Jane asks, after she’s caught her breath. “He’s like some old horny dog.” She fans her face that is still flushed from running. When Mary Jane runs, her face turns as red as her hair and her freckles blend into the background. “Do you think we should tell somebody?” she adds.

“I don’t know,” I say. Even though I’m smart when it comes to school subjects, I feel dumb when it comes to Johnny Monroe.

“If I tell Mama and Daddy they may not let me out of the house again until I’m thirty,” Mary Jane says. “What about your mama?”

“She’ll think I caused it.”

“But you didn’t.”

“I know,” I say. “But Mama thinks I draw trouble the way flowers draw bees.”

Mary Jane huffs. “Johnny Monroe is as mean as a rattlesnake, and that has nothing to do with you.”

Horseflies catch up with us and we swat them again as I ponder what to do about Johnny Monroe. My life would be a lot simpler if he just dropped off the face of the earth. Next time I’m at the cemetery I think I’ll ask God to arrange it.

CHAPTER SIX

We rest at the mailboxes at the bottom of our hill.

“Johnny Monroe is like a boil on my backside,” I say to Mary Jane, which is about as true a statement as I’ve ever said. Though I’ve never had one.

Mary Jane laughs and I catch her laughing like a summer cold. Right there in the middle of the road we double over, tears in our eyes. Laughter is the perfect tonic after being so scared and I wonder if Aunt Sadie should try to bottle our giggles instead of her root concoctions that taste like something you shouldn’t put in your mouth.

Cecil Appleby, Meg’s ride to work, comes around the corner in his truck a little too fast for the curve. To avoid hitting us, he slams on his brakes, leaving tire tracks in the dirt and a shower of dust behind him. We cough from the dust and laugh more.

My sister, Meg, gets out of the truck and thanks Cecil for the ride. Before he drives away, Cecil gives us a quick lecture on the sheer stupidity of playing in the road. While he does, I can’t stop looking at the strawberry birthmark that covers one entire side of his face. Cecil is a deacon at the church and a friend of Preachers.

“Aren’t you too old to play in the road?” Meg asks. She sounds a little like Mama. I guess because she’s tired.

“We weren’t playing in the road,” I say. “We were resting and laughing. There’s a big difference.”

Meg asks Mary Jane about her summer in Arkansas and Mary Jane starts telling about all her J.C. Penney dresses. To avoid temptation, I pick at a scab on my knee until it bleeds. When they quit talking Meg rubs the top of my head, like she used to do when I was younger and I yell at her to stop. She smiles as if pleased that she’s irritated me and starts up the hill toward the house. A paperback book sticks out of the top of her purse and I yell that she’d better hide it. She stops long enough to push it deep into her bag and thanks me for looking out for her.

“Maybe we should tell Meg,” Mary Jane says. She moves to sit on a big rock next to our mailbox. “She’s probably the reason Johnny’s hanging around so much anyway.”

Tiny grains of grit from the road are in my mouth and I try to spit them out. “If we tell anyone it should be Daniel,” I say. “He’ll know what to do.”

“I like Daniel,” she says. “He reminds me of Clark Gable in
Gone with the Wind.
”

“Everybody likes Daniel,” I say. “And he doesn’t look anything like Clark Gable.”

Ever since Mary Jane saw the movie in Little Rock, she can’t quit talking about it.

We cross the street and climb the hill toward Jo and Daniel’s house. In Katy’s Ridge everything is on a hill. We find Daniel just home from work and watering his vegetable garden at the back of the house. Late tomatoes and green beans are coming in and a few summer squash. Pumpkins are growing, too. Yellow starburst blooms dot the vines.

“Hey, Wildflower. Hey, Mary Jane,” he says when he sees us.

I like that he calls me by my chosen name.

“We need to talk to you,” I say, real serious.

He turns over the empty bucket and sits on it like a chair. “I’m ready,” he says, a hand on each knee.

Mary Jane passes me a look that says she’s just appointed me spokesperson. Words stick in my throat like a primed pump that hasn’t pulled water yet. Unlike Mama, who would already be off doing something else, Daniel seems content to wait.

Mary Jane nudges me in the ribs and the words rush out fast. “Johnny Monroe said some things to us he shouldn’t have said.”

“Like what?” Daniel asks.

My stomach feels jittery, like a hive of bees is buzzing around inside. I can’t shake the feeling that God might send lightning or a hailstorm to Katy’s Ridge if I tell what Johnny said, and that even though we didn’t do anything wrong, I’ll end up getting punished for it. I remind myself about what Daddy said about fear being a friend and then wonder if this friend and the secret sense are somehow in cahoots.

“He asked us to go into the woods with him,” I say finally, “and he wanted to show us what was in his pocket.” The words don’t sound as bad as Johnny’s actions.

“He unbuttoned his overalls and touched himself!” Mary Jane blurts, like this is the part she’s been dying to say.

Daniel’s eyes widen, like the whole picture has come as crystal clear as Syler's Pond. He says something under his breath and then rises from his bucket. “I’ll take care of it,” he says, tucking his shirt-tail into his pants.

“Don’t tell Mama,” I beg Daniel.

“She’s your mama, Wildflower, she has a right to know,” he says.

“She’ll just ask a bunch of her questions and then blame me for it,” I say. “And please don’t tell Jo, either.”

Daniel chews on a piece of straw like he’s thinking hard.

“After Daddy died, you said I could come to you and talk about anything,” I remind him. “You said I could trust you.” I figure this is just what he needs to be able to keep the secret.

Daniel pauses, like he’s giving it some thought. “I guess you don’t want your folks to know about it, either,” he says to Mary Jane.

“No, sir,” she says. “They’ll send me to live in Little Rock with my Granny.”

Daniel agrees to keep our secret but on the condition that if anything like this happens again, he’s telling everybody. Mary Jane and I agree. We even shake on it.

“I’m eating dinner at Mary Jane’s,” I say, “and we have to walk by Johnny to get back to her house.”

“I’ll go with you,” Daniel offers.

“I have to go tell Mama first, about dinner,” I say.

“Come by here when you’re ready to go back,” Daniel says. “Johnny Monroe won’t do anything while I’m around.”

For the first time in ages it feels like the boil on my backside might have been lanced. At the house, Mama is busy canning and doesn’t catch on that anything has happened. When I tell her I’m eating at Mary Jane’s, she looks downright relieved. Before we leave Mama makes us each a big glass of lemonade and asks Mary Jane about her summer in Little Rock, while stirring a big pot of boiling tomatoes. I can’t remember the last time Mama showed this much interest in me. I try not to get jealous because I am sure somewhere in the Bible it says,
Thou shalt not be jealous of thy best friend getting attention,
or some such thing. The Bible has a saying for everything, especially for the things you should not do.

After we drain the last little bit of sugar out of the bottom of our glasses, Mary Jane and I walk to Daniel’s house again. We enter the kitchen where Jo is frying okra on the stove and fanning herself with a folded up copy of the Rocky Bluff newspaper.

“I’m going to take a walk with the girls,” Daniel says to Jo.

“That’s fine,” she says, looking radiant even while sweating.

Daniel put his arms around Jo, pats her stomach, and then kisses her on the cheek. Mary Jane smiles as though Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers have just started dancing in the kitchen. I roll my eyes and hope Mary Jane doesn’t come down with the swoons like Meg. Then I’ll be the only one left with any sense.

We leave the house with Daniel and when we get to the crossroads, Johnny is nowhere to be seen. For a few seconds I’m disappointed that I won’t get to witness a showdown between Daniel and Johnny. It’s not like Johnny to have the good sense to leave after saying the things he did.

“Let’s pay a visit to his house,” Daniel says.