Cottonwood Whispers (27 page)

Gemma and I visited the creekside two weeks after the tragedy. Daddy had come earlier to place a memorial cross under the cottonwood tree, but neither Gemma nor I could go with him. Our hearts had still been too raw. But this day we decided to go there, just the two of us, to pay our last respects, so to speak.

It was a warm and quiet day, but a breeze had begun to filter in as we walked, and by the time we got there, the creek was rippling in a steady wind. I found the spot beneath the cottonwood tree where I’d last seen Mr. Poe and settled on the ground, lifting my face to the heavens. Cool air rushed across my face, setting the leaves into a noisy flutter.

For the first time in days, I felt a sort of peace push its way into my angry heart. I thought of Miss Cleta and a smile crossed my face. “What’s that you say, Mr. Poe?” I asked aloud.

Gemma turned her face into the breeze, her hair fluttering across her lips. “What’d you say?”

“It wasn’t me. It was Mr. Poe.”

She sat up sternly and shot me a worried glance. “What’re you sayin’, Jessilyn Lassiter? Mr. Poe can’t talk no more, and you know it.”

“It’s not what he’s sayin’ now, Gemma. It’s what he already said. If you listen close to the breeze, it sounds like he’s whisperin’.”

“That’s foolish talk.”

“No it ain’t! Miss Cleta says she hears it sometimes. It’s just rememberin’, is all.”

Gemma sat and stared at her toes for a minute before finally giving in to my notion. “What’d he say, then?”

“You remember that day some years ago when he took us to see that honeycomb out in back of his house?”

Gemma frowned at the memory. “That’s the day I got my first bee sting.”

“But you remember what he said when I said you were actin’ like a baby over it?”

“No, but I remember you callin’ me a baby.” She put her arm up in front of my face. “I still got a scar from that bee sting right here, it got me so good. See?”

“Well, I ain’t talkin’ about that part,” I said, pushing her arm down. But I didn’t let go of her. “I’m talkin’ about what Mr. Poe did. He tended to your arm in the best kind of way, and then he looked at me and said, ‘Miss Jessie, ain’t a body that don’t need a good cry every now and again, ’specially
when they’re hurt. Besides, good friends look out for each other.’”

She smiled and looked at the creek that now ran so smoothly, no one would have believed its fury just weeks before.

“His words made me feel all sorts of guilty for days,” I said. “Miss Cleta says even though he weren’t book smart, he was smart in ways most men ain’t.”

“I reckon she’s right.”

“Well, I reckon he was right too. And he sure knew about friends.” I grabbed her hand and held it in both of mine. “You always look out for me.”

She let her head drop between heavy shoulders and sighed. “I tried to look out for Mr. Poe too, and now he’s dead.”

“You know better’n me you ain’t in control of everythin’, Gemma Teague.” I tipped her chin up to make her look at me. “Don’t you go takin’ things on your shoulders like that. All this evil came from the likes of Joel Hadley. It ain’t for you to be takin’ responsibility.”

I watched her tears trickle down and drop onto her lap. “Life’s too hard,” she managed to squeak out. “It hurts too much.”

She was right, and I figured there wasn’t much I could say to that. But the last thing I wanted to see was my Gemma weighted down by the problems of all the world. I squeezed her hand tight. “Then it’s a good thing we have each other, ain’t it?” The wind rustled the trees again, and I smiled upward. “There he goes again.”

Gemma swept a hand across her wet cheeks and rolled her eyes. “I think you’re goin’ crazy or somethin’, Jessilyn.”

I closed my eyes and lifted my nose to catch the scent of honeysuckle. Then I pulled Gemma close with one arm. “Nope,” I said with a defiant shake of my head. “For the first time in a while, I think I might just be fine.”

Luke wasn’t himself after Mr. Poe died, like the rest of us, and I could tell that seeing Mr. Poe slip away like that had stuck with him. There wasn’t a lot I could say to make him feel better, much like there wasn’t a lot I could say to make Gemma feel better. Besides, a few whispering winds couldn’t heal my heart all up; they were only that balm Miss Cleta had talked about.

But I started a new habit. Every time I started feeling sad about the events of the summer or about life in general, I thought up a new memory of Callie or Mae or Mr. Poe. I likely drove my family crazy talking about them so often, but it was my way of coping, and they knew it. Luke listened most of all, especially when I talked about Mr. Poe, and whenever I’d finish my story, he’d say, “He was an uncommon man, sure enough.”

It was this uncommonness that was taunting Luke, I could tell. One day I found him flipping through Daddy’s Bible, fingering the pages without reading a thing.

“You know anythin’ about this Bible outside of church learnin’?” he asked.

I wasn’t all the way over my unhappiness with God, even after Miss Cleta’s strong talk, so I shrugged. “All’s I know is the stories.”

He didn’t say anything. He just nodded slow.

Momma opened the noisy screen door with her hip and came onto the porch, balancing two large glass bowls. Luke jumped up to take them from her, causing the Bible to slip to the floor.

Momma glanced at it but looked away quickly as though she’d break some sort of spell if she let on she saw it. It was just like when she would come upon Gemma and me having a nice sisterly moment, and she’d stand real still to keep from making any noise to distract us.

Luke put the bowls onto the wooden table in the corner of the porch and then snatched the Bible up, embarrassed.

“Well, I got me here some corn to shuck and beans to snap,” Momma said, pretending she didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary. “You two can decide who does what.”

On her way inside, she stopped in the doorway and peered back at us, a mist in her eyes. Luke had already grabbed the bowl of corn and let his head drop down to pay more attention to the contents than he needed to.

When the door slammed shut, I sat in silence, mindlessly snapping the beans. Luke sat as quietly as I did. And when Gemma came outside with an extra bowl of snaps, I scooted over to make room for her, and she sat as silently as the two of us.

But I didn’t need talk just then, anyway. I decided not to think about life’s scary parts and tried to think about the good parts. Sitting there between my best friend and the man I was determined to marry someday, I figured life wasn’t always as tough as I thought.

In spite of all the hate and unhappiness and ignorance in the world, some things were just good no matter how you looked at it. For now, I had Gemma humming a hymn beside me, Luke tapping his toe in time . . .

And memories of loved ones whispering on the breeze.

1. Jessilyn and Gemma are sometimes at odds throughout the book. What factors do you think contribute to this? Have you experienced a similar situation in your own life?
   
2. What brings about Luke’s change in attitude toward Jessilyn at the beginning of the story? Can you relate to Harley’s reaction to Luke’s birthday gift for her?
   
3. In Jessilyn’s past she’s faced violence, but finding Callie battered by the roadside impacts her very strongly. What fears do you think Jessie was forced to confront as she waited alone with her?
   
4. Gemma withdraws when she finds out about Callie. How does her reaction vary from Jessilyn’s? How do the differing reactions exemplify their personalities and situations?
   
5. Gemma’s normally logical outlook is challenged by Joel Hadley’s flattery. Have you ever experienced a time when emotions blinded you to sensibility?
   
6. Gemma and Jessie can’t clear Mr. Poe’s name because Joel has threatened to foreclose on the family’s farm and also because they are afraid they won’t be believed. Would you have handled the situation any differently? How?
   
7. Harley’s faith wanes during the drought. What do you think made his faith particularly shaky now? Do we tend to be more heavily impacted by repetitive hardships?
   
8. Mr. Poe’s arrest leads the people of Calloway to condemn him without trial. Have you seen similar examples in our world today? in historic events?
   
9. Even though Jessilyn nearly died four years earlier, Mae’s death seems to be her first true realization of her mortality. How can age and maturity color our experiences?
   
10. Mr. Poe’s sacrifice has widespread impact. Who is affected and how? Do you agree with Jessilyn that some of the townspeople were hypocrites?
    
11. Miss Cleta encourages Jessilyn to hear the “whispers” of memories she has of Mr. Poe. Have you ever been touched by your own “whispers”?
    
12. Jessilyn’s anger at God eases with time, but she still hasn’t been able to find solid faith in Him. What do you think is holding her back?