Jess
A letter for Mr. Crutcher came all the way from Kentucky. Imagine! A letter brought someone’s words from another state. I wish you could write me a letter, but I reckon writing from heaven is a whole heap harder than writing from Kentucky.
Virginia Lee Kent
Mama lets me miss morning lessons to tote Mr. Crutcher’s letter up the hill. On my way, I hear a crackle in the brush that doesn’t sound like a brush critter.
“I’m not scared of you,” I declare in a loud voice. “You can just as leave come out where I can see you.”
Jess Willoughby steps in my path holding a fistful of daisy stems that have been picked clean of their petals.
“Shucks, Ginnie Lee, I waren’t tryin’ ta scare ya none, jist makin’ sure your grandpap waren’t nowheres around. He don’t care a hoot in Hades fer us Willoughbys.”
“How are folks supposed to like you when you slink around like a common polecat?”
“These here daisies done said somebody likes me.” Jess grins and holds out the pitiful, naked stems. “I asked ‘em ‘loves me, loves me not,’ and they done said ya love me.”
“I never heard a daisy speak, but you found some that tell lies.” I try to edge past him, but he grabs my arm.
“Wait, Ginnie Lee. I got a message fer ya.”
I brush away his hand. “More lies from daisies?”
“No, a message from Grandpap. He says ya’s a-goin’ ta some battlefield with your grandpap. He says ya dasn’t go.” The brown of Jess’s eyes are like corks floating in white puddles.
“He already told me that.”
“Then ya ain’t goin’?”
“And let One-Thumb Willoughby’s foolish notion keep me from a grand trip?” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. Folks don’t usually call Thaddeus Willoughby by the name of One-Thumb to his face—or the face of his kin.
Jess’s cheeks pink up a speck, and I reckon mine do, too.
“Onliest thing I know is what Grandpap says. He recollects how things was after the war, how your grandpap come home with his heart et up like a wormy apple. Says it waren’t til he got hisself married that he got shed of his peculiar ways.”
“I don’t reckon One-Thumb Willoughby,” I say it intentional this time, “has leave to talk about other folks’ peculiar ways.” I jut out my chin and head up the path.
I don’t hear Jess slink back into the brush, but when I turn around, he’s gone. I try to put him out of my mind, but One-Thumb’s warning already cut a deep notch there.
