The River Widow(69)
“You think too much, Adah. I’m going to get it for you. But for now, can you let your burdens go? Let yourself enjoy a moment here and there. Let me worry for you for just a short spell.”
Adah allowed herself to be fed, and with each successive bite Jack’s hand rested a moment longer, until the peach was nearly gone, and he put his finger on her bottom lip, then gently traced it.
She threw herself into a standing position and took a few steps away then, hands clenching her skirt, but finally ready to face something new—she loved him back. She had to have married the wrong man to know the right one when he came along. Maybe only after unhappiness and loss could a man like Jack Darby make sense. A man through whom she might find hope and redemption. Forgiveness, even.
A new concern had now been added to her life. Jack.
One foot before the other. She could do it; she had to walk away. Then she began running, adrenaline surging through her every cell. She was way too scared and shaky to even turn around and wave goodbye. She ran with a kind of madness. A wild dash.
And still it made no difference. She loved him back.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The next day, she went in search of the Branch still. Plunging through the woods and looking for clearings, she focused on land near the creek. It was as hot as blue blazes that day, and the creek was running high from some recent rain. She swatted at gnats that gathered about her head and picked her way among fallen branches, stones, and leaves. The air away from the house tasted of freedom, and Adah drew it deeply into her lungs.
Adah searched quickly, and the still wasn’t difficult to find, located on the high side of the creek bed, up away from the water, and partially dug in. There she came upon a cleared spot of packed dirt shaded by a circle of trees and a tarp, under which there was a large barrel made of copper set on planks of wood, the ash remaining from doused fires, some wooden boxes, buckets, pipes, and other equipment she hadn’t seen before. She’d never seen a still, but she had no doubt. This was where Jesse and Buck made their moonshine.
Not wanting to linger and hoping her absence hadn’t been noticed, she backed away. The still was far enough away to pose little threat to any person, but it was close enough that she ought to be able to run back to the house in only a short time.
She could only imagine the expressions on both Buck’s and Jesse’s faces when they heard the explosion and knew where it had come from. She smiled despite hearing Jack’s words in her head: You’re playing with fire.
As she traipsed back through the woods, she kept spinning her web. The next step would be to clean up the old house, making it appear as if she were hoping to live there again someday.
Thoughts raced and whirled. She closed her eyes and envisioned Daisy and her leaving, like two threads pulled straight out from a tightly woven trap, finding escape from the matting and floating away free. But she also knew that imagining things did not make them come true. She had to be diligent about secrecy, leaving no trails, and she had to be thorough in her planning. Concentrating so hard during the day left her exhausted and sleeping soundly, as if transported to another place, and although she vaguely remembered having complex, swirling dreams, she awakened with a blank mind.
But as arid days dragged on, something of those harried dreams returned. Adah touched her neck; her pulse was rapid. Could she do this?
On top of all her worries, it was the beginning of the driest season of the year. The grass outside seemed to spark like striking a match and the creaking porch steps sounded like brittle bones breaking. She didn’t know when she could count on a hard rain to come, and Jack was planning to buy dynamite in another town, just to be sure that it couldn’t be traced back to him or to Adah. But he hadn’t had time to make the journey yet. She had to wait.
August arrived so quickly, more wasted days falling away from the calendar. Time was marching on while Adah’s plans stagnated. She needed dynamite and wet weather. In the meantime, the life of the farm rolled on. The tobacco plants had to be suckered, and Adah was able to help once again, taking Daisy with her and teaching the girl how to locate and remove secondary stems that had grown from the base or leaves of each tobacco plant. It was one of the most tedious and time-consuming steps in tobacco cultivation, and although Buck had been keeping the colored men on at eighty-five cents a day and pushing them to their limits, Adah made time to be of assistance. As she worked she knew Jesse was always keeping an eye on her, while trying to pretend he wasn’t.
Daisy tired of the task after working on just a few plants, and Adah released her to play nearby among the rows. There she ran up and down, waving her arms as if she wished she could fly. Daisy had been having nightmares, suddenly waking with a scream so pitiful and weak that only Adah heard it. It often took a half hour of consolation and gentle touching to calm her enough to send the ghosts of her dreams away and get her back to sleep.
Often Adah stayed awake, finally giving in to sleep again as the stars came out, distant mad explosions showering her into slumber. She imagined Daisy as a beautiful little bird rising out of the ashes of her wounded past, soaring far and away, away from this farm, away from this family, away from this life. It wasn’t too late; Adah knew it.
The night before, Adah had gazed down on Daisy and stroked her hair. A sleeping child struck her as the most innocent of beings, a willow in the wind, at its mercy. Daisy’s hair was even softer than her skin. Her eyes fluttered under her lids, and Adah could feel life thrumming inside that small body. Was this what people saw when they talked of the miracle of life?