Sunbeams pierced through gaps in the leaves. Green above me, in front of me, below me. The trees weren’t one on top of the other like they’d seemed to be from far off. There was space between them full of fallen trunks that crumbled in rot and leftover leaves from years before.
The trail the big boy’d told me about wasn’t so smooth and straight as I’d imagined it would be. It was more worn into a line that snaked between trees and around logs. Seemed to me it’d been there for years, maybe even before the white man came to claim the land from the Indians.
I imagined them, their moccasined feet barely touching the ground as they moved swiftly, bow and arrow in hand. Their only worry was stalking the deer or squirrel that would be their meal.
I pictured them coming upon me there in the woods and forcing me to go along with them to wherever their camp was. They didn’t understand me on account I couldn’t speak Indian and they didn’t know so much as a word of English.
I’d be scared, not knowing what they meant to do with me. But I wouldn’t struggle. Not too much, at least. There wouldn’t be any use in fighting them. One thing I knew for sure about Indians was that they were strong.
Once they got me to their camp, I’d realize they weren’t the scalping kind and they’d learn that I wasn’t there to take anything away from them. They’d untie my hands and show me their wigwams or mud huts or whatever it was Indians in Michigan called home.
I’d only have time to teach them one word before I needed to get back for supper. I’d teach them “friend.” They would smile like they understood and say the word over and over a hundred times before letting me loose to go back to Mama.
But they wouldn’t let me go without an armload of gifts like beads and feathers and a squaw dress just for me made out of the softest leather they could find.
I sure would’ve made that Hazel’s jaw drop then.
A cluster of flowers caught my eye. Right in the middle of a sunspot, they blazed up bright from the brown rotting wood around them. Purple and yellow and white and delicate, I stepped around a fallen-down branch, stooping low to smell them.
When I was smaller I’d have Meemaw tell me about when God created the heavens and the earth. He’d put sky and sea in place before He got busy putting in land and trees and grass and flowers. Then He made it all full up of birds and fish, animals, and people even.
He looked at all of it, every last bit, and called it good.
From where I stood, looking at those tall trees covered by moss and wrapped round with vines and hearing the chattering of the squirrels, I had to agree that He’d done a good work right there in Bliss.
It would have been a shame to pick those flowers. To take them from that quiet place might have been a sin even. Some things were best left where they’d been planted.
Standing, I meant to get back on the trail. But I couldn’t see it. It was like it had disappeared while my back was turned. Had I wandered off farther than I’d meant to? Turning and turning and turning I tried to see something, anything, that looked familiar. Nothing did. Just trees and branches and leaves and crumbled stumps.
It was like the woods had grown thicker. Like all the terror I’d read about in my books had come to life. I was sure I’d worked myself into some kind of trap with no way out.
I’d been tricked.
“Dang fool,” I whispered between quickening breaths. I cursed myself for being so stupid as to get myself into a mess like that.
Mama had told me many times my curiosity would only ever get me into trouble. Once again I’d gone and proved her right.
I kicked at a fallen tree trunk and screamed out a cuss. The only answer I got was a screeching of birds that flew off to some other place where there wasn’t a silly little girl saying filthy words.
Slumping, I sat on the fallen tree, feeling the rough bark on the back of my bare legs and thinking it would serve me right if I never found my way back to the house.
A girl should learn a thing or two about wandering off.
I let myself have the kind of cry that takes a whole lot of shaking and choking and coughing. I went on until I was all worn-out, until I’d let go of all kinds of hurt. I figured I’d cried more since coming to Bliss than ever before in my life. I was getting real sick of boo-hooing all the time.
Nobody was around to tell me not to, so I used the skirt of my dress to dry my face and blow my nose. Eyes sore and swollen, I squinted to see what was around me, hoping I might be able to find something that could lead me back.
All the trees looked the same.
All the trees but one, that was.
Standing, I made careful steps to the tallest tree I’d ever seen. It stood beyond a thicket and a low-lying puddle. Once I got to it, I felt of its trunk. Thick and rough, it scratched against my palms. I noticed that the grain of the bark moved like a spiral, like it’d grown out of the ground spinning like a ballerina.
Then, just beyond it, I saw the cabin. The boy had called it the “hiding cabin.” It looked as if somebody’d plucked it up right out of the sharecropper’s row back in Red River and set it to rest there in the woods of Bliss. The glass was busted out of the one window and the wood was a rotted gray color. It leaned to the right as if it wanted to collapse but was too tired to make the effort.
A chill teased up my spine and I stood still as I could, waiting to see if the ghost would come.
I heard no moaning or groaning and I felt no whooshing past my face. All I heard were birds calling out to each other and the rushing-water sound of the leaves in the wind.
Tipping my head back, I turned my face toward the sky. The tops of the trees swayed, their arms lifted high up, making me think of Mad Mabel waving that dingy old hanky over her head.
I wondered how those trees didn’t break in the wind.
If ever I had to hide I thought that would be a nice and peaceful place to do it.
Seeing as how I’d made it all the way to the cabin, it only made sense for me to take a look inside. I promised myself I wouldn’t step all the way in. All I wanted was a peek.
The wood of the steps whined and I reminded myself that there was no such thing as ghosts. The door screeched when I pushed it open. Not a ghost, I told myself.
I did step in. Just one step. The sun leaked through a gash in the roof, showing nothing but empty walls and cobweb-laced corners. Bits of dust hung in the air catching the light and sparkling as if they were made out of precious stuff.
Then I heard a shifting. Something dragged across the dirty floor and I turned to see what it was. There, in the corner and hidden in shadow, was a shape. Taller than me and a good deal wider. I made for the door, but the shape was quicker, blocking me from going out.
My first thought was that it wasn’t a runaway slave haunting that cabin. It was Eddie DuPre.
Before I could have a second thought, I swung back and put my fist into the face then pushed past, rushing fast as I could to get away.
A bumped-up root caught the toe of my shoe, sending me splayed out on the ground, right at the base of the twisted tree.
“You’re dead,” I screamed. “You can’t hurt me anymore.”
Then I heard a very human-sounding voice cry, “What’d you do that for?”
Turning and sitting on my backside, my heart drumming hard, I saw a boy stumble out the cabin door, holding his nose while his eyes watered.
“It was just a goof,” he said.
Panting to get my breath back, I pushed myself up off the ground. “I thought you were a ghost,” I said.
“You did?” he asked, dabbing at his nostrils with his fingertips to check for blood. There wasn’t any. I hadn’t hit him near hard enough. “Really?”
“Sure I did.” I put my hands on my hips trying real hard to hide how riled I still felt inside. “You scared me a little.”
“Just a little?”
I nodded.
“You punch good for a girl,” he said.
“Thanks.” I shook out my hand the way I’d seen Ray do when he’d gotten in fights back in Red River. “I’m Pearl.”
“I’m Caleb Carter,” he said, putting out the hand he’d been using to wipe at his nose.
“Good to know you.” Just to prove I wasn’t squeamish, I took his hand.
I let Caleb lead the way back to the picnic. He was a big boy, just not as big as Bob. I figured he’d agreed to do the scaring to impress the bigger boy. That was the way of men.
As we neared the pines that stood guard at the tree line, I could hear all the folks still enjoying themselves at the picnic. Voices talking about this or that and a boy hollering, “I got it.” Someone laughed, sounding for all the world like a rooting pig, and someone else let out a beefy burp.
I imagined Hazel and Big Bob and all the other kids standing at the edge of the woods, waiting for me to step out from between those trees. They’d be in awe, thinking I was the bravest girl in all of Lenawee County. And once they saw how swelled Caleb’s nose already was, not a one of them would dare try and trick me again.
But it wasn’t a kid at the end of the trail.
Mama stood with her arms crossed and wearing the angriest, most pinched-up face I’d ever seen on her. She’d never been one to give out a whupping, but she seemed to be fixing to change her ways just then.
“Mama, I—” I started.
“Not one word,” she snapped.
Caleb slipped past us and rushed away. I thought he was more scared of Mama than any spirit that could’ve haunted the woods. He was right to be.
“The other kids—”
“I don’t want to hear a single word out of your mouth.” Mama whispered, but I knew if there’d been nobody around it would have been a powerful scream. “What in the world were you thinking?”
I kept my trap shut because I knew what was good for me.
“That girl Hazel came to me crying her eyes out over how you ran off into the woods.” She shook her head. “She was scared for you.”
“She wasn’t, Mama—”
“Don’t talk.” She put her hand up to stop me. “Don’t.”
I shut my mouth, biting at the insides of my lips so I’d remember not to say another word. From how red Mama’s face was, I could tell she wasn’t in the mood for any kind of back talk.
“Good Lord, Pearl. How are you ever gonna make friends if you up and run away from them?” She blinked fast like she did when she was trying hard not to cry. “And did you ever think about what kind of maniac you could’ve met in those woods?”
“It’s real pretty in there,” I whispered.
“No. Don’t you say anything.” She pointed at the house. “You just go up to your room. I’ll deal with you later.”
She grabbed my arm and tugged me toward the back porch with her fingers digging into my skin so sharp I knew I’d have round bruises. Nobody seemed to pay us any mind and I didn’t know if that was because they didn’t notice or because they were too polite to stare.
Nobody, that was, except Hazel who stood next to the house, sipping a glass of lemonade and smiling like a mean old cat.
Back in Red River we had names for girls like her. Not a one of them was nice to say in mixed company, though, so I just thought them in my head and hoped for the day I might say them to her face without Mama there to hear.
Hazel wiggled her fingers in the air in a wave that made fun of me somehow and she made her smirk even bigger.
She looked uglier when she smiled than when she scowled, and I felt sorry for whatever fool would make the mistake of marrying her one day.
“I’m just so embarrassed,” Mama told me once we were in the kitchen and she’d let go of my arm. “Here Mrs. Seegert put on the nicest picnic for us and you go and ruin it.”
“But, Mama …”
“What?” She made her eyes meet mine and behind the green-brown of hers was fire that would burn through me if I looked too long.
“Nothing, ma’am.”
Mama got right up close to my face. “If you ever do a thing like that again …”
She didn’t finish and I half feared she’d say she would send me off. All of me feared she’d decide she didn’t love me anymore. And I tried not to let myself think that maybe she saw too much of the DuPres in me. I wished I could get their blood out of my veins. If only there was a way.
“I’m sorry …” My voice crackled, threatening sobs.
“Not another word,” she said, quiet like she’d been defeated. “Go upstairs.”
I didn’t move right away. If I could see into her face, maybe there would still be a little love there. If it was gone, all was lost for me. I had nowhere else to go.
“Go on.” She turned from me to go back outside.
Much as I wanted to stomp my feet hard against the stairs as I went up to the room, I didn’t. I trod lightly, wishing I could just disappear.
I watched the rest of the picnic from out the bedroom window. After a bit, folks took their serving dishes and headed on home. Once they were all gone, Aunt Carrie and Mama started the work of cleaning up the plates and glasses and Uncle Gus folded up the tables and Ray got all the chairs.
Daddy stood off to one side of the yard with the man we’d met at the diner not a handful of days before. Winston, the mayor of Bliss. From what I could tell, those two men were talking business and I wished real hard I could hear what they were saying. I tried reading their lips, but both men had mustaches that made it next to impossible.
Daddy glanced up and, seeing me watching him, nodded his head once at me. I didn’t smile at him or wave even. I didn’t mind him seeing just how miserable I was right then.
I remembered reading about all the princesses in fairy tales that’d gotten locked up in towers by wicked stepmothers or witches or ogres. Difference between me and them, though, was they’d never done anything to deserve that punishment.
Winston left after a couple minutes, getting into an old jalopy that was so rusted it almost looked red. Daddy went about helping everybody finish picking up the yard.
I rolled over on my back and shut my eyes, not falling asleep but wishing I could. I stayed that way until I heard knuckles on the door. It was Daddy, I just knew it.
“Can I come in?” he asked.
I told him he could if he wanted to.
He stood in front of me, his hands on his hips and looking like the most handsome thing God ever did see fit to create. When God had knit Daddy in Meemaw’s womb, He’d put extra time in to give him the kindest eyes and the warmest smile.
“How’re you doing, Pearl?” He reached into his shirt pocket for a cigarette but, finding none, came to sit beside me on my bed.
“All right, I guess,” I answered.
“Your mama was upset …” He didn’t finish and I was glad because I was afraid of what he might say. “She got scared about you wandering off like that. It made her think of …”
Of Beanie, I thought. The way Daddy’s eyebrows pushed together for just a second made me think that was exactly what he’d meant.
“Your mama was …” He paused and breathed in deep. “I guess we were just wanting you to make a few friends. Seems your mama was upset you didn’t make nice with those girls.”
What I didn’t say was that I didn’t need any friends besides Ray and that I never was one for playing dress up or house with the other girls. Never would be.
What I did say was that I wondered if Mama was still mad at me.
“Nah,” he answered. “It’s just, since Beanie … Since she died, your mama is scared to lose you, too.”
“She is?”
“Course.” He nodded. “We don’t know what we’d do if anything happened to you. And when you were sick we were real afraid.”
We stayed quiet a minute or two and I gnawed at the inside of my cheek, trying my very best not to start boo-hooing.
“I thought she was fixing to whup me,” I said, shrugging.
“Well, maybe she was. But only because you mean a lot to her.” He rubbed at his chin. “I’m not going to punish you. I think missing out on the picnic was enough.”
I didn’t tell him that I hadn’t minded too much.
“What I wanna know, though, is why you did it.” He turned and looked me full in the face. “Why’d you run off into the woods like that?”
“I wanted to show those kids how brave I was.”
He mm-hmmed.
I nodded. “One of the girls asked if I was a hillbilly.”
Daddy tossed his head back and gave a full laugh. When he’d finished he tsked his tongue. “Nah. We aren’t hillbillies. Just Okies.”
“Yes, sir,” I said.
“Now,” he said, squinting his eyes at me. “You wanted those kids to think you were brave, huh?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Pearl, I don’t know that I’ve ever known a girl as brave as you. Heck, you’re even braver than some full-grown men I’ve met.”
“I am?” I asked.
“Sure you are.” He nodded. “But being brave isn’t taking a foolish risk. Folks who are brave don’t have to prove their courage to anybody.”
He put his arm around me and pulled me closer to him.
“You wanna know who you remind me of?” Daddy asked.
“Who?”
“Meemaw. She never could pass on a dare.” He smiled at a memory. “I heard one time she jumped on the back of a horse that wasn’t broke yet just because someone called her chicken.”
“Is that true?”
“Don’t know.” He put his hand on the back of my head. “Part of me hopes it is true. Even if it isn’t, you get your grit from her, I do believe.”
The whole rest of that Saturday evening I tried to picture Meemaw holding on for dear life to a wild horse just to prove she wasn’t scared.
I got my grit from her. I did like the sound of that.