A Present for Daisy

A Present for Daisy



“How much further, Jake?”

“Oh, not too far. Just up that dirt road a piece. Now, shush, will ya?” A shock of carrot hair fell on his forehead as he put his pointer finger against his lips and made his blue eyes real squinty.

“What we’re doin’ aint wrong . . . is it?”

“No. No. We ain’t doin’ nothin’ wrong, Teddy. It’s just I don’t want to run into nobody else." His voice got quiet. "This is just a private thing – between you and me. Shake on it?”

With the soft-spoken word “private”, I got a leery feelin', but we did our secret handshake anyways – wrist, palm, knuckles, and fist.

Along our route, the smatter of oak trees draped with bluish moss jabbed shadow fingers on the knee high, brown grass in front of us, pointin’ the way to our prize.

Jake was my older brother, near fifteen years to my twelve. Tomorrow we’d celebrate our sister Daisy’s eighth birthday, and presents was hard to come by. The Depression made sharecroppin' harder than normal, and it never came easy. Plus, Burham creek flooded this spring, so we couldn’t seed the bottom land till June.

Last year this time we almost lost Daisy to the scarlet fever. When I close my eyes, I can still see her layin’ in bed lookin’ so peaked. Burnin’ up, her temperature sky high, Ma, Jake, and me sat with her for hours puttin’ cool rags on her forehead. Took her a long time to get well. Sometimes it takes somethin’ bad to teach you how special someone is.

Thinkin' about her birthday, I’d been eyein’ the smooth, threadbare Model-A tire leanin’ against our shed for a couple weeks. Last night, at wits end to find a proper rope, I told Jake about my idea. He surprised me when his face lit up. “If we hurry, I know where we can scrounge a length of rope. Be darn near perfect for a tree swing.” A smug look crept across his face.

I asked for details, but he just built a silent wall and refused to tell me no more. “It’s best not to say too much.” He sighed and looked away.

What’s the big secret about a piece of rope? I thought. But I kept my mouth shut, not wantin’ to rile my brother with questions.

It rained two nights ago, just enough to settle the dust, wet the crops, and make mud in the low spots. I steered my bare feet down the middle of the little road where the grass still grew. The tire tracks collected muddy puddles of water, and I didn’t want to get my feet dirty. I was picky that way; I liked keepin’ clean – even wearin’ polished shoes to church.

“Okay, Teddy,” he murmured, “we’re real close now.”

I began noticin’ fresh tire marks in the road tracks and torn up turf amongst the trees. A collection of cars and trucks had driven out here since the rain.

“Hey, how come so much traffic way out here?” I wondered out loud at Jake.

“Can’t you keep your nosy mouth shut? You’ll find out soon enough.”

Ahead, a big chewed up area grabbed my attention. Looked like a bunch of vehicles had driven round and round. In the middle of the bulls-eye, a huge oak was castin’ shade like a parasol. Somethin' didn’t look right, and when I saw the reason, I stopped stiff in my tracks.

A body hung at the end of a rope from a sturdy limb. He was dressed in a blue work shirt with khaki pants . . . and he was black. Real slow-like, I sidled closer. His puffy-faced head, cocked to one side, looked unnatural, and the rope’s noose dangled him three feet off the ground.

I couldn’t pull away my stare as his sightless eyes bored clean through me. Left, right – whichever way I moved – the dead man’s eyes tracked me.

“Jake,” I whined, “how’d you know about this?”

“You promise not to tell Pa?” His gaze searched me, and I nodded. “Remember, if you tell, I’ll whoop you to an inch of your life.”

“Jake, I promise. I won’t tell Pa nothin’.”

“Well, two nights ago, I sneaked out the window while you was asleep and followed the line of cars out here. I couldn’t see their faces ‘cause folks was wearin’ them white, Kluxer robes, but Sheriff Emmett was one of ‘em. I could tell by the way his fat ass waddled, even under the robe. And ... I could pick Uncle Frank’s cacklin’ laugh outta any crowd. I hid behind those trees yonder.” He waved his hand at some scrub pines past the oak.

I stood there stunned. Pa always said his little brother was the black sheep of the family. But this?! I stared at the danglin' body.

“Couldn’t make out no one else though. They burned a big, wood cross and stuck the black man up on the back of a pickup. Then they slipped that noose over his head and drove off. Just left him danglin’. My God, they was drunk and hootin’ like it was a New Year’s Eve party.”

“But . . . why’d they do it?”

“Said he was makin’ trouble. He tried to get all the black folks to stop shoppin’ at Wheeler’s Store.”

“But ... but that just ain’t right. Wheeler’s a crook. Pa won’t even shop there.”

“Well, I guess Old Man Wheeler was afraid if the coloreds didn’t shop at his store, he’d go outta business." He shrugged. "Now, let’s get the rope.”

His words popped my mind out of its trance. Jake wanted to use the hangin’ rope for Daisy’s present. The inside of my mouth turned to cotton and I had a hard time swallowin’. Then my hands got real cold and clammy. “But, Jake, it ain’t right!” I bawled out the words like my soul depended on it.

He narrowed his eyes into tiny slits and threw me a dirty look, hands balled into fists at his sides. “What ain’t right, little brother? Just tell me.”

I managed to croak out an answer. “None of this – the hangin’ – usin’ the rope for Daisy’s present. After all, that rope was used to kill a man!”

He shook his head like shakin’ off a stupid thought. “Oh, bullshit! It’s just a rope – nothin’ more. You can use a gun to kill someone or put meat on the table. It depends how ya use it.”

I couldn’t bicker with him none. He did have a point.

“Now, Teddy, listen to me. I’m gonna climb the tree and cut down the rope. You take off the noose once the body’s on the ground.” I gave him a weak nod as he shinnied up the tree and mounted the huge limb like a horse. Workin’ his way out to where the rope was fastened, he reached into the pocket of his overalls and pulled out his jackknife. He sawed at the rope till the blade sliced off the last strand of hemp. Down plunged the body, makin’ a loud splat as it hit the muddy ground.

I froze. No way could I move toward that body, all crumpled on one side. It gave off a strange, ripe smell – like a hunk of meat that’s set on the counter too long in the summer heat.

Jake’s voice snapped me to attention. “Well, don’t just stand there gawkin’. Get busy and pull off the rope! You want Daisy to have a present don’tcha? And I ain’t gonna do all the work myself.”

I swear, if there was another way to get a rope in time for Daisy’s birthday present, I would’ve walked away right then and there.

My arms and legs felt as dead as sticks as I inched closer to the body. My near useless fingers fumbled at the hemp, holdin’ the noose with one hand while pushin’ the rope through the hole with the other. I sucked in air through my mouth to breathe. Liftin’ with the rope while pullin’ the noose free, the head hit the sloppy ground with a plop. A fly scuttled outta his ear and circled away with a zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

Feelin’ a sudden, powerful sickness, I crawled to the trunk of the oak, bent down, and puked my guts out. The rope just lay there like a snake in the grass.



* * * * *

That night in the shed after dark, I held the tire in the dim lantern light. First, Jake said he was gonna use the hangman’s noose to swing the tire from the tree. When I hollered and threatened to tell Pa, he changed his mind.

Then he barked, “If you don’t like it, you do it!”

I refused. No way was I gonna touch that piece of rope. I knew where it came from, and it was covered all over with taint.

Jake finally tied it to the tire with a double hitch knot. He climbed our old, wood ladder and knotted the rope to the stove-pipe-sized maple tree branch out behind the house. I clutched the donut-shaped piece of rubber, holdin’ it steady. Grabbin’ the rope never entered my mind.

Done with the knot, Jake climbed down, turned, and stared at me as the tire hung above the ground. “Now, Teddy, you test the swing.”

“I don’t want to, Jake.” By tryin’ it, I pictured myself swingin’ at the end of the rope like that man.

“C’mon, you know I can’t,” he answered. “I weigh too much. Might break the branch. We gotta see if it’s gonna work right for Daisy, don'tcha see?!”

He was right. I took a deep breath and curled my body through the tire hole and sat inside without graspin’ the rope. It swung just fine, glidin’ back and forth nice and smooth and spinnin’ in circles when my body twisted. My feelin's about that swing was as mixed as scrambled eggs, but I knew Daisy would love it.

The next morning found Pa already out checkin’ our three acres of corn. During breakfast, Mom smiled and flipped the hotcakes as Jake and me wished Daisy a “happy birthday” and sang to her rowdy and off-key. We made a race of breakfast, gobblin’ down our food. When we finished, her freckled face beamed with surprise when we wrapped a blue and white checked dishcloth around her head for a blindfold, her strawberry blond hair puffin’ out like a balloon on top.

I held her by the shoulders and guided her out to the backyard. Peelin’ the cloth away from her eyes, she saw the swing and whooped with joy. Then, runnin’ like a crazy girl, she threw herself into the tire, makin’ wide, flyin’ arcs under the maple tree.

“Wheee! Push me, Teddy, push me way high to the sky!” she squealed. Grippin’ only the tire, I shoved her higher and higher. I heard nothin’ but giggles of joy.

Maybe Jake was right. A rope was just a rope. It could be used for bad or good. Hearin' Daisy's laughter, my heart knew we was usin’ it for good ... at least I thought so. But I still vowed to save up my money to buy a new rope ... just because.



Word Count: 1862