A Present for Daisy (Short Version)

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 squinted his blue eyes.

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

“No. No. We ain’t doin’ nothin’ wrong, Teddy. I just don’t want to run into nobody else.” His voice got quiet. “It’s 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 grass turnin’ brown 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.

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

Her birthday comin’ up, 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 some rope. Be darn near perfect for a tree swing.” A smug look creeped across his face.

I asked where, but he just built a silent wall and didn’t tell me no more. “It’s best not to say 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.

It rained two nights ago, just enough to settle the dust and make mud in 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.

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

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

“Hey, how come all the traffic?” I wondered out loud at Jake.

“Just keep your nosy mouth shut. You’ll find out soon enough.”

Ahead, a 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 an umbrella. Somethin’ didn’t look right. When I saw it, I stopped stiff in my tracks.

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

I couldn’t pull away my stare, his sightless eyes borin’ 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?” I nodded. “If you do, I’ll whoop you to an inch of your life.”

“Jake, I promise.”

“Well, two nights ago, I sneaked out while you was sleepin’ and followed the line of cars. Couldn’t see faces ‘cause folks was wearin’ them Kluxer robes, but Sheriff Emmett was one of ‘em – I could see his fat ass waddlin’, even under the robe. And – I’m pretty sure I heard Uncle Frank’s cacklin’ laugh too. I hid behind those trees yonder.” He waved at some scrub pines.

I was stunned. Pa always said his little brother was a black sheep. But this?

“Couldn’t make out no one else. They burned a wood cross and stuck the black man in the pickup’s bed. Slipped that noose over his head and drove off. Just left him danglin’. My God, they was drunk and hootin’ like a New Year’s Eve party.”

“But . . . why’d they do it?”

“Don’t know. Now, let’s get the rope.”

His words popped my mind outta its trance. Jake wanted to use the hangin’ rope for Daisy’s present. The inside of my mouth turned to cotton. “But, Jake, it ain’t right!” I bawled.

He slitted his eyes and leveled a dirty look. “What ain’t right, little brother?”

I managed to croak out, “None of this – the hangin’ – usin’ the rope for Daisy’s present. They killed a man with it!”

He shook his head. “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 on how ya use somethin’.”

I couldn’t bicker with him.

“Now, Teddy, 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 a weak nod as he shinnied up the tree and mounted the huge limb like a horse. Workin’ his way out to the rope, he pulled out his jackknife and sawed at it till the last strand of hemp broke. Down plunged the body, makin’ a loud splat against the muddy ground.

I froze. No way could I move toward that body, all crumpled. It gave off a 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 gawkin’ – pull off the rope! You want Daisy to have a present, don’tcha?”

I swear, if there was another way to get a rope for a swing, I woulda walked away.

My arms and legs felt numb as sticks inchin’ closer to the body. My fingers fumbled with 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 powerful sickness, I crawled to the oak’s trunk, 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 threatened to tell Pa, he changed his mind.

Then he barked, “You do it!” I refused. No way was I gonna touch the rope. To me, it was covered all over with taint.

Jake finally double-hitched it to the tire. Climbin’ the wood ladder, he knotted the rope to the stove-pipe-sized maple branch behind the house. Below, I clutched the round piece of rubber.

Done with tyin’, Jake climbed down and stared as the tire hung above the ground. “Okay, Teddy, you try 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 pleaded. “I weigh too much. Branch might break. We gotta see if it’s gonna work for Daisy.”

That made sense. I took a deep breath and curled my body through the tire hole without graspin’ the rope. It swung just fine, glidin’ back and forth nice and smooth. My feelings about that swing was mixed as scrambled eggs, but I knew Daisy would love it.

The next mornin’, bright and early, we rousted Daisy outta bed. Jake and me wished Daisy a “happy birthday”, singin’ rowdy and off-key. Her freckled face beamed when we wrapped a dishcloth around her head as a blindfold, her strawberry blond hair puffin’ out on top like a balloon.

I guided her outside by the shoulders. Peelin’ the cloth away from her eyes, she whooped with joy. Then, runnin’ crazy-like, she threw herself into the tire and made wide, flyin’ arcs under the maple.

“Push me, Teddy, way up high to the sky!” she begged. Grippin’ only the tire, I shoved her higher and higher. I heard nothin’ but giggles.

Maybe Jake was right. A rope was just a rope. It could be used for bad or good. Hearin’ Daisy’s laughter, my heart said we was usin’ it for good – but I decided to save money to buy a new rope . . . just because.