Big Lies in a Small Town - Diane Chamberlain Page 0,124

had the mob scene, the brutal lynching, already running through my mind when Jesse jumped to his feet, pulled out his pocketknife, and stabbed it into one edge of the mural. Then he sawed at it, cutting the fabric free from the stretcher.

I ran toward him in shock, trying to grab his hand where he clutched the knife, but he shook me off. “We gotta go!” he said. “But we ain’t leavin’ this behind.”

I couldn’t think. My mind turned to powder. Jesse had a plan. I didn’t. I would do whatever he said, but I wouldn’t make Peter a party to our crime. I told him to leave and not tell a soul that he’d spoken to us.

Peter hesitated only a second before taking off. I grabbed my own utility knife from the bucket and began cutting the left side of the mural free from the stretcher as Jesse cut the right side. We finished our work in a few silent, panicked minutes. Jesse crumpled the huge mass of canvas in his arms. All my work. I felt a moment of grief, looking at the splash of colors spilling from his hands and trailing on the floor.

“Let’s go!” he said.

I grabbed my purse and this journal and followed him outside, my heart drumming in my chest as I looked down the road. I expected to see Karl’s car heading toward us, but as far as I could see, the road was clear.

I helped Jesse cram the canvas into the backseat, then got behind the wheel. It took a few tries to get the car to start. I turned it around and headed back up the dirt road wondering where to go. Should we just head out of town? Which direction should we drive? How long before they caught up to us?

But Jesse said to head for his house. His family’s farm. I protested, but I had no better idea. Yet it seemed like a mistake. Wouldn’t they look for us at the Williams farm? I didn’t want to involve his family. His parents. I felt ashamed that I’d gotten their son into such a mess. But I followed his directions into the countryside and soon I was turning down the road that ran to his family’s house.

His father came out of the barn, and Aunt Jewel came out of the house, little Nellie by her side. Nellie ran toward Jesse, flinging her arms around his waist. Jesse spoke to his aunt rather than his father.

“We in trouble,” he said. “Anna and me.”

His father’s eyes widened with fear or anger, I couldn’t tell which, and Jesse quickly set him straight before I had a chance to.

“Ain’t what you thinkin’,” Jesse said quickly. He explained that the police thought we’d killed Martin. That he had to leave. That the Williams family had to let me stay with them. Hide me. Keep me safe.

I wanted to tell him not to run away, that somehow this would all work out, but I knew he had to go. In that moment, I felt as though I might be safe, but he was in great danger. I felt the protection of the two adults standing next to me. Deep down, though, I knew a colored family was no protection at all. They couldn’t even protect themselves from the danger I was bringing to them.

Jesse said he had to take my car, and I pressed the key into his hand. I wanted to say more—so much more—but he took off at a run toward my car. We watched him drive off in a cloud of dust, the bulky, crumpled mural blocking the side and rear windows. Where could he go that he would be safe?

Nowhere, I thought, and I started to cry.

Tears running down my cheeks, I looked from Mr. Williams’s startled face to Aunt Jewel’s. I sobbed, apologizing to them over and over again.

Mr. Williams was angry. He said something about Jesse spending too much time with me, too little time working on the farm where he belonged.

I wanted to say something about Jesse’s talent. How he shouldn’t be held back. But who was I to pass that sort of judgment when I’d thrown him into a mess that could hold him back for the rest of his life?

Aunt Jewel put an arm around my shoulders and told me to come with her into the house. She called me “Sugar,” and I felt like a child as she led me inside. The house seemed empty and