1968

Run!

She heard it again. But not knowing where the voice came from frightened her. She pulled the pillow over her head to silence it. She could still hear it. This wasn’t the first time the voice awakened her either. Always from a sleep so deep, she couldn’t remember where she was.

A streak of lightning flashed, lighting up the sky as it split into several filaments resembling God’s accusive fingers pointing earthward. The thunder followed, rattling the windows with its fierceness.

Run!

Fire!

With a cry on her lips, twelve-year-old Jackie Woods shot up in the bed. Her heart pounded in her chest. Her breath was ragged. The nightgown she put on before going to bed was drenched in sweat. Her hair clung to her face and her neck. She shivered uncontrollably even though the room was cool. The moaning had stopped.

Of course it had.

Now she understood. It happened every time, with each bright steak of lightning and deafening crack of thunder. Always at night, always in the dark. Ever since the fire.

Her eyes scanned the inky darkness of the bedroom. Another bolt of lightning flashed. She cringed, hugged her knees tighter to her chest, and buried her face between them. She slid down into the safety of her bed and pulled the blanket over her head. Tears escaped from beneath her eyelids and rolled down to her pillow. She moaned, pulling her knees up tighter to her chest and stuffed a corner of the pillow in her mouth to keep from screaming.

Not now, she cried silently, her fear of Ma’am greater than her fear of the lightning and thunder. Not with the storm right on top of her and Ma’am sleeping in the next room. Her fear paralyzed her. She knew deep in her heart she could never leave the safety of her bed and she would pay dearly come morning. Ma’am would rise early and come in to wake her for her breakfast and chores. Ma’am always rose early. Ma’am would know. She would know because the room reeked with the stench of urine, and Jackie would have to face the belt, or perhaps the switch, or, quite possibly, the stones.

***

She could still remember the stale air of the attic in the old house. Cobwebs hung thick from the rafters. The floor was made of wooden slats nailed together, running the house’s length. Very little light filtered in from the windows, grimy from years of bad weather and neglect.

In the semi-darkness, eight-year-old Jackie spied a trunk buried among an old dress mannequin, boxes of old sewing thread and needles, plus other aged relics that were throughout the attic for so many years.

She approached it slowly, circled it, ran her fingers lightly across its dusty surface. It was an old wooden trunk with a domed lid. She circled the trunk again, looking for the latch. Finding it, she dropped to her knees on the dirty floor and squinted at the gold lettering on the lid. The words jumped out at her: Jack Woods.

Jackie popped the clasp, threw back the lid, and stared in amazement. This trunk belonged to her father. It was the chest he used to store all his gear from his Air Force service.

She didn’t think she had anything left of him. She assumed the fire had destroyed everything.

Jackie reached a tentative hand into her father’s trunk. She felt almost sacrilegious, going through her father’s things, yet she couldn’t stop. He had been gone for nearly a year now, him and mother. She missed them terribly.

She chose the first item her fingers touched. It was an oblong box once covered with a soft, velvety material. The material had faded and, in some places, had holes in it.

She opened the lid. Inside was a gold medal. A small silver star was in the center. It dangled from a red, white, and blue ribbon. She pulled the medal from the box and turned it over. Her lips quietly formed the words engraved on the back. FOR GALLANTRY IN ACTION.

She put the medal carefully back into the box and placed it on the floor beside her. She pulled out another medal. This one was a bronze cross with a four-bladed propeller. It was attached to a blue and white ribbon. Again, Jackie turned the medal over and read the inscription: Lt. Col. Jack Woods, United States Air Force. For Heroism and Extraordinary Achievement.

Jackie added the box to the one on the floor. She had no idea what each medal was about, but sure they were important to her father. He kept them for so long. Jackie understood the importance of a medal. She got them in school a lot. But young Jackie had no idea what the word gallantry meant.

She dug deeper, past more of the small boxes, and found a bundle of letters bound with twine. She buried her face in them and breathed deeply. The mustiness of the paper filled her nose. She pulled the string, letting the letters fall into her lap.

She picked one up and broke through the gummy envelope that had re-sealed itself in the dampness of the old trunk. Jackie scanned the letter, then folded it carefully and stuffed it in her sock. She had no idea at the time why she did this, but the comfort of the letter helped her feel closer to her father.

She picked up another, but this time she read the letter. The return address was from Kelly Joseph, c/o Kelly’s Diner in Tucson, Arizona. In the letter, Kelly Joseph talked about their time in the service. He asked Jackie’s father about the family. He wrote about his dream of owning the diner and how it came to be. He wanted Jack and his family to visit Tucson, come to the diner, and see the sights. And he thanked Jack Woods again for saving his life.

She felt numb all over as she pushed the letters from her lap. Finding the trunk was the best thing to happen to her in a long time. Yet, a pain gripped her chest, and a weight settled on her heart. She felt a tear slide down her cheek.

Reaching into the trunk again, she came up with a handful of black and white photographs and newspaper clippings of her father. Immediately tears sprang to her eyes. She brushed them furiously away. She didn’t want to cry now. She wanted to be mad. The fire had taken her parents, and she was left alone.

She spread the photos out on the dusty floor, poured over them, and then glanced through the newspaper clippings. Her eyebrows rose as she scanned the articles. So much she didn’t know about her father jumped from the pages.

She wondered briefly about the other men in the picture. Mostly, she wondered about Kelly Joseph. Who was he? Did he still live in Arizona?

Feeling fresh tears, she wiped her face with her hands, leaving streaks of dust and smudges of dirt, then wiped the grime on her freshly ironed dress. She shifted her gaze to the ceiling, seeing nothing outside of what her mind was trying to recall.

When Jackie first met her Aunt May, she tried everything to be nice to the old woman. She wanted Aunt May to like her and hoped that she would tell her more about her parents. She yearned for the closeness she had with her mother and missed her father's jokes and laughter.

Jackie’s lifted her eyes. “I want to go home,” she whispered to the ceiling.

“What have you done?” The shrill voice echoed against the high rafters.

Alarmed, Jackie fell from her haunches onto her backside and landed on her elbows. The pain shot up her arms to her shoulders, and she grimaced. Her head whirled to face the strangled voice.

Fury flashed in the old woman’s eyes. “Look at you! And look at the mess you’ve made!” She gestured at the opened trunk and the scattered papers on the attic floor. “Who gave you permission to come up here?”

Trying to understand the reason for her aunt’s anger, Jackie remained silent, afraid to give the wrong answer.

“Well?” Other than a slight tremble of the brittle gray head, her aunt remained motionless. The only sound was the tapping of the freshly trimmed willow branch against her leg.

Her eyes grew wide as she stared at the willow branch.

“Who gave you permission to be up here?” her aunt repeated through her teeth.

“N...no one,” she was barely able to breathe. “I just came up by myself.”

“You just came up by yourself,” she repeated, “without asking, without receiving permission from me? I have to discipline you now, don’t I?”

“I don’t know,” Jackie’s voice shook as she tried to find the right answer to her aunt’s question.

“You don’t know. Well, I do!” In one swift movement, her aunt seized Jackie’s long strands of hair and dragged her to her feet. Jackie fought to shake her hair loose from the tight fists.

The willow branch swung savagely against Jackie’s bare legs.

“Please, Auntie Mae!” Jackie cried out as the branch caught her at the backs of her knees. “I’ll do whatever you say from now on! I promise I will!”

The switch came down again and stung the side of Jackie’s face. The red welts rose quickly on her pale, tender skin. Her hand flew to her face, and the tears stung her eyes at the sudden and shocking pain.

Her aunt held tight to Jackie’s hair as she dragged her down the attic stairs. When she accidentally loosened her grip, Jackie pulled away from her.  Her aunt reached out and grabbed her painfully by the arm. She escorted her down the main staircase and out the back door.

The house had grown dark while Jackie had been in the attic. The sun was not shining. A storm was brewing; from the sound of the wind outside, it was going to be a bad one.

Jackie winced at the flash of lightning that streaked across the sky.

Her cry died in the howling wind, and she froze with fear to the spot on the wooden slats of the porch. She struggled violently to pull her arm from her aunt’s grasp. The wind whipped at her hair and blinded her. She stumbled and fell from the porch steps onto the grass.

Once again, her aunt grabbed her and hauled her to her feet. She kept a tight rein on Jackie’s arm as she struggled against the wind to open the old wooden door to the garage. With one hand, she shoved Jackie inside.

Jackie lost her footing and spilled onto the dirt and stones that made up the garage floor. Her terror had now turned to hiccups; she felt she might vomit at any moment.

Her aunt followed her into the dank and musty-smelling garage. She turned from Jackie, studied the tools hanging on the wall, and then pulled the rake from its hanging place. She raked a small pile of sharp stones at Jackie’s feet.

Jackie remained where she was, warily watching, her arms wrapped around herself to keep her fear under control.

“Kneel,” the old woman ordered, pointing to the pile of stones.

Jackie was afraid to move, afraid to feel the sting of the tree branch again. Her mind whirled with confusion. “I'm sorry, Auntie Mae," she whispered. "I promise not to be bad again."

"I said kneel," her aunt repeated, holding the switch high in the air.

Jackie knelt, the stones biting into her skin. She shivered violently and tried not to cry out, afraid it would make things worse. The pain in her knees was more bearable than the pain of the tree branch.

Outside, the thunder continued to rumble, and she could see the bright flashes of light through the one tiny window. She almost didn't comprehend the next words her aunt spoke.

"From this day forward, you will respectfully refer to me as 'Ma'am.’ I am neither your mother nor father. I did not choose this arrangement. My foolish brother did when he unfortunately died and took his wife with him without having the foresight to make proper arrangements for you." Her voice remained low and controlled. "But since you are my burden to bear, bear it I will. Just remember to mind me, and we will have no further issues."

She turned on her black-soled shoes and walked toward the garage doors. When she reached them, she spun around. "You will remain as you are until I come for you. If I find that you have not done so..." She slapped the willow branch against her leg, leaving a red welt that started to rise immediately on her calf. Then she opened the door and slipped out into the storm.

***

Now, the sound of footsteps in the hall made her suck in her breath and listen intently to the shuffle of her aunt's slippers moving closer. They stopped right outside. The silence grew ominous. She could almost hear Ma'am sniffing the air outside the bedroom door.

Jackie exhaled slowly, her breath quivering as it left her throat. She felt her heart would beat out of her chest. She waited.

The minutes ticked slowly by.

Quietly, the footsteps moved away.

Jackie sagged to the floor and buried her face in her hands.

Her body trembled.

She started to cry.

It was clear what her punishment would be.

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