Vengeful Thoughts
December 1934
The first time I thought about killin’ Paul, I was sittin’ out under the pawpaw trees, on Josy and Daddy’s graves. It was just a fleeting thought then, no real plan or nothin’. But thinkin’ about everything I’d gone through put the idea of revenge in my head.
I couldn’t get over losin’ my brother Josy. He was more than a brother – he was the person in the world I looked up to the most. I’ll never forget the day ol’ Charlie and Pate brung him home all beat up by railroad bulls and barely alive. Three days. He lasted three days after they brung him home. And our world just fell apart after that.
I tried everything to take care of Mama and Daddy, ’cause those were Josy’s last words, Take care of Mama and Daddy. I went huntin’, trappin’, and tradin’, but nothin’ was enough. We were too far behind on our mortgage, Mama was sick, Daddy couldn’t do much ’cause of losin’ his hand in that axe accident, and besides, both of them were plumb useless ’cause of grief. So I followed in Josy’s footsteps and hopped a train, hopin’ to find work. I did find work, but I also found Paul Burnett, the railroad bull who took me offa that train and took my heart too.
Paul was big and broad shouldered but soft and gentle as a teddy bear. He wrote poetry and snuck caramel cubes into my pockets on the clothesline and smoothed aloe on my sunburnt skin and watched sunsets with me and held my hands when we danced on Fourth of July and told me I sparkled like fireworks. He made me feel things I had never felt before. I believe he introduced me to love.
And then he introduced me to the most horrible feelings I could have ever imagined. Because I found out that Paul was one of the bulls that beat up Josy.
The second time I thought about killin’ Paul, I got more serious about it, started makin’ a plan. I had just gotten that apology note from him, and all those memories came back in a tidal wave.
I had to go talk to Josy, rollin’ our purple marble in my fingers, tryin’ to block the vision of Josy in that pine box and Daddy crumpling to the ground, me puttin’ our jar of marbles into the crook of Josy’s arm before they closed the casket, and keepin’ my favorite purple one so’s I could have somethin’ to remember Josy by, a token, a connection.
I was glad Paul brought my marble back – it had been a mistake to give it to him in the first place – but he’s the reason Josy’s in that pine box. Pate told me about it. It was Pate who witnessed the beating and Pate who recognized Paul when we went to the Burnett farm to work for the winter. So, naturally, it was Pate I thought about findin’ to help me hunt Paul down and do to him exactly what he did to Josy. Except I planned to use my pistol.
Paul left me the note and the purple marble, and it was the marble that I cared about. The note, I ripped that into a million pieces and watched them float away like paper ghosts in the wind. Then I ran out to Josy’s grave and cried and cried.
Josy was my hero. Boy, I idolized him – still do. He couldn’t do nothin’ wrong in my eyes, and that made his death all the more tragic. For me and for Mama and Daddy. And if it weren’t for his death, I believe Daddy’d still be here too.
Daddy’s death came so suddenly and unexpectedly. I tried to pretend it was an accident, like the one that took his hand, or that he plumb worked himself to death, or even that he got thrown from our mule, Molly, even though she couldn’t throw nobody if she tried. I made up these scenarios ’cause the truth was too hard to bear. But Daddy just couldn’t take Josy’s death. He blamed himself. ’Course I blame Paul. For all of it. The way I see it, Paul killed Josy and Daddy. There’s no gettin’ around that fact.
Now, as I watch Pastor Klein, Mr. Macafee, and Mr. Clay lower a third pine box into the ground under the pawpaw trees, next to Josy and Daddy, I’m thinkin’ about killin’ Paul again. And this time, I mean it.
