Fireflies in December (27 page)

“I ain’t capable of hatin’ like that,” I told him adamantly. “I could never hate a body like Mr. Otis hated Gemma and people like her.”

“Jessilyn, ain’t no man can’t get someplace he never thought he’d get to. You let enough bad thoughts into your head, you can end up doin’ all sorts of things you never thought possible. Otis let evil into his mind and it took over his heart. We best be on our guard and keep our minds on what’s right and true so we don’t become things we’ll regret.”

His words scared me. I wanted to always be able to trust people, to know that good people stayed good people, but I was realizing all too quickly that the human heart is fragile and needs constant attention. I’d seen enough bleakness in my own heart to know my daddy was speaking the truth.

“That’s why we all need to know Jesus in our hearts,” Daddy said. “Ain’t no one else who can keep watch over our hearts like He can. Ain’t no one else who can take the bad out and replace it with good. You best put thought to that, Jessilyn. Ain’t no more important decision you can make, you hear?”

I’d heard similar words from both my parents many times in my life, but this time they struck deeper. I nodded at him as I always did in response to such talk, but I knew this time I’d be putting thought to it in a way I hadn’t before. Life had become too real for me to dismiss the importance of Daddy’s words.

In the shadow of Mr. Tinker’s death, I took life more seriously.

Maybe that summer was the worst of my young life, but maybe it was also the most important. Time meandered on without Gemma’s momma and daddy, and it meandered on without Cy Fuller and Walt Blevins. And just the same it meandered on without Otis Tinker. But those of us left behind viewed life more dearly, felt it more keenly. I’d learned a bit more about God, and I’d seen His powerful hands at work. As I was growing, my heart was changing, and the way I figured it, there were lessons learned in those dark days that would help me for years to come. In fact, they were lessons that would help us all in years to come.

Jeb succeeded in finding the evidence he sought against the Klan, and the remaining members who had been discovered were sent to prison for mail fraud. It seemed the local Klan had an interest in making money, just not in legal ways. I didn’t understand all the particulars as Daddy tried to explain them to me, but I was grateful to see them gone, knowing full well that a local court would never have made an example of them as the federal courts did. Still, prejudice in Calloway existed in plain form. Klan activity was only a small part.

We were to see much more of those Mr. Tinker left behind in the bleak days that followed his death. Mrs. Tinker spent much of her time with my momma, and Gemma and I watched the boys while our mommas sewed and cooked together. And every time the boys’ wild ways would try my patience, I remembered they’d lost their daddy through no fault of their own, and I’d scold them with less sting in my tone.

Luke still took suppers with us almost every day, and as the brisk autumn evenings turned into cold winter ones, he’d sometimes stay the night on our couch to avoid a bitter walk home. I liked having him nearby. As I was learning to adjust to life as it had become for me, his presence made things feel more stable.

As for me and Gemma, we went on as before, but Gemma was a little less like a momma to me and more like a friend. I suppose that happens between two people when the younger one starts catching up to the older one. I’d been forced to see life from a place I’d never wanted to go, just as Gemma had in her own way when she’d lost her momma and daddy. We could relate better then. We got on well most days and fought a bit less than we had . . . but we still fought. I suppose that, too, is what life is like between people. Some good things, some bad things, a good bit of understanding . . .

And a lot of love.

As I sat on the porch blowing steam into the biting cold of a December night, I glanced over at Gemma, where she sat on the rocker, her knees bundled tightly under her chin. Her face was scrunched up against the cold, her teeth chattering. She hated being cold, but I knew she sat out on that porch because I wanted her to be with me, and her sweet spirit made me smile.

I leaned my head against the porch rail and sighed deeply. The way I figured it just then, my summers may have been full of bad luck, but my life wasn’t. And even though Momma told me time and again that there was no such thing as luck, only blessings, I figured as far as family went, I was one of the luckiest girls alive.

Momma opened the front door and looked through the screen at me as though she knew what I was thinking and was correcting my thoughts. “What’re you thinkin’ about, Jessilyn Lassiter?”

“Just thinkin’ about how . . .
blessed
I am,” I said, replacing my word with hers.

She smiled at me and tossed her dish-drying towel over one shoulder. “Sure enough,” she said brightly, staring out at the leaden sky. “Sure enough we all are.”

Momma went back to her dishes, and I turned to share a knowing smile with Gemma. Inside, Daddy’s guitar and Luke’s vibrant whistle made a sweet melody, and I could hear Momma’s hum joining in a bit offbeat. There was a crisp stillness in the air, teasing us with the thought of snow, and I tucked my blanket more tightly around my shoulders and smiled.

“Sure enough, Momma,” I murmured even though she couldn’t hear. “We all are blessed . . . beyond measure.”

About the Author

She has spent the past fifteen years working as a nanny and has dabbled in freelance, writing articles for various Christian women’s magazines. She still resides in her hometown of Richmond, Virginia.