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Chapter 15: Embers from Ashes
From the first journal of Daisy Mae Duke, age 7 (1961): "Uncle Jesse says I cant hit Jake just cause hes stupid
and ugly and he said your dad and my uncle shud be in jail. But I put a snake in his lunch box and thats not hitting."
From the Journal of Daisy Mae Duke:
October 13, 1965: I wish you were my cousin instead of Luke! He is so mean and stupid. I HATE him! I hope Bo doesn't grow up to be as annoing as he is. I can't believe you got grounded for flunking your math test. We should have run away when we were in Tenessee and not come back and then I would never have to go to school again or listen to Luke be such a baby. He's just mad that he's to little to go bootlegging with Uncle Jesse.
Daisy shook her head over her younger self. Spats with Luke were common when she was little, and apparently things hadn't changed much in the time she had forgotten. Fortunately, he had mellowed into a man with a good heart and an unshakeable devotion to his family, and she had grown close to him over the winter. She suspected it had been hard to be the oldest of them, having to be responsible for her and Bo when Uncle Jesse wasn't around, especially with her being such a pain in the rear.
She wondered who the unidentified recipient of the journal entry was. It wasn't Bo or Luke, and yet it must have been a real person not an imaginary friend. She didn't remember ever going to Tennessee, but then there were a lot of things which fell into that category, and she would have only been eleven in the fall of 1965.
The next four pages were filled with drawings, none of which were very good and mostly of animals around the farm; pigs with gigantic snouts, cows with purple spots, chickens that looked more like 'chicken scratch', and Maudeen the mule with a jaunty Santa hat perched on her head. She flipped past them and found the next journal entry.
January 1, 1966: Its not fair! I got Uncle Jesse's name again for Christmas next year. Bo is easy to buy for I would get him a new band for his slingshot or some cards to put in his bike but I don't ever know what to get him. But Luke handed me my name instead of letting me pick it out and I think he probably didn't want Uncle Jesse's name either.
February 14, 1966 : You should have seen the kids in my class when they opened the valentines we wrote and snuck into thier boxes. Missy Prissy Linda Sutton cried like a baby when she got the one saying she looked like a booger. (A smiley face was drawn underneath this) Too bad you're not still in elementary or we could have made them for your class too.
Stuck in front of the Valentine's Day journal page was a piece of ratty notebook paper containing a variety of mean spirited and childish insults. She felt bad for laughing at them, but she couldn't help it, and she cringed to think of all the poor kids who might have received one. The nicest read, "You stink less than most people". Based on what Art Sills had told her about she and Enos being prone to mischief, she suspected he may have been her unidentified partner in crime.
The next page was over a month later. Apparently there had been a falling out between them that spring.
March 21, 1966: Whatever. You're an idiot too.
June 1, 1966: I don't know why you don't run away. I bet your dad would understand and then you can just live here. I can't wait until Friday. Uncle Jesse says we have to do our chores first but if your dad lets you stay Saturday then we can ask Cooter to take us to the race track.
Halloween 1966: Sally Mae broke out in hives from the green makeup she used to look like a witch for the Halloween party. I don't know why you didn't want to go. Amy wasn't even there and stupid Darcy kept following me around all night.
Outside, the first heavy drops of rain struck the glass like a scattering of bb's on the tin roof. Flipping the journal upside down on the bed, she jumped up to check that the window was shut in the kitchen.
The rain cascaded off the porch and the scent of wet earth brought the ghosts of a hundred memories and a sense of nostalgia as thick as molasses. It gave her a dazed, unearthly feeling of dreaming. Sometime in her past, on a dark night in a rainstorm long ago forgotten, she had stood here as she did now. It felt familiar.
The window over the sink had been left up and rain was splattering against the porcelain and countertop. A bolt of lightning struck in the distance as she pulled it down, casting the room into harsh color. All sounds but the rain ceased as the refrigerator compressor shut off, and the nightlight in the hallway went dark. A crack of thunder shook the foundation.
Tonight she had a mission to read the journal she had found, and she wasn't about to be thwarted by the power going out. Dragging a chair to a high cabinet by the door, she took down a heavy cardboard box filled with an assortment of old candles and carried it into her bedroom, grabbing the box of matches from the junk drawer along the way.
The first one gave barely enough light to see her bed, much less read by, so she lit another...and another, until the box was empty and her dresser and vanity were covered. In the cozy, welcoming glow of the firelight, she picked up the journal and continued to read.
February 9, 1967: Amy makes me want to puke the way she bats her stupid eyes at you and you just let her prattle on about whatever nonsense comes out of her head. I thought you didn't like her. You've griped about her ever since you were little I don't know what changed except that she has boobs now and that better not be what you're looking at. Are all boys idiots? I thought it was just my cousins.
March 25, 1967: That was the most boring game I've ever seen. Why does Pruitts Corners even have a baseball team? And I wasn't blushing at you, idiot. It was hot outside and don't think I won't get you back for sneaking up on me and scaring me. And I swear Enos, if you come over and I have to hear about that stupid race car all day I'm going to send a note to Amy saying you'll take her to the spring dance.
She wondered if this was the same race car in Art Sill's barn. It had to be. Now that the entries had shifted to an older point of view, she was finding it difficult to imagine herself as the author. How many memories must be hidden between these lines, written by a thirteen year old girl with no bigger problems than someone flirting with her best friend and watching boring baseball games.
The next page had been torn out, leaving bits of paper sticking up from between the bindings as a reminder of where it had been, and the next page began in the middle of an entry.
-know what to say to make it better. Uncle Jesse told me you have to work it out on your own, but he doesn't know you like I do. I don't think anyone except your dad did and I just keep thinking about how you couldn't remember where you were or what day it was when Uncle Jesse brought you back to the farm. He said you were in shock, but you were so confused it scared me and then when you weren't in the guest room last night and the window was open I thought you had drowned yourself in the pond. I thought you were DEAD Enos. D-E-A-D. Don't you EVER EVER EVER do that to me again! I still don't know what to say to make you better.
July 13, 1967: I hope your mother never comes back. I don't care if that sounds mean. You can live with us and be a Duke. Vance says that you don't know that I care about you but of course you know I do. You're my best friend. I shouldn't have to tell you that, you should already know it. I don't know why you're so mad at me just becuase I want to help you. Slamming the door in my face won't make me go away and it won't make your dad alive again. I just want everything to go back to the way it was.
September 8, 1967: I can't believe you're here at the farm and you don't have to leave ever again. At least not until you start at the Academy. I'm sorry about reading that letter to you but it was worth it to see the embarrassed look on your face. Of course if you ever find out I wrote it instead of Amy you'll KILL me. But how else was I supposed to get you to quit being nice to her?
She had read through to the fall of 1967 without stopping, feeling the pain that lay unspoken between her lines after his father's death. She knew Enos had come to live with them, but her own grief had not come across in Mr. Sill's telling of the story.
And what kind of a monster was his mother?! Even though Enos was a stranger to her now, her heart ached for him. To lose your father in such a tragic way only to be abandoned by your mother was unconscionable. What a bitch! For a brief moment, Daisy contemplated paying her a visit and giving her a piece of her mind, but then she remembered that it was not 1967 anymore but 1988. All this was water under a bridge long ruined by the hands of time.
November 1967:I was SO proud of you for winning the race, I even let you talk about your stupid race car without complaining.
April 20, 1968: What am I going to do when you go away to the Academy? You're going to forget all about me and someday you'll come home and bring some girl with you and I'll have lost you forever. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Daisy held the page up to one of the candles, trying to divine what had been scribbled out so heavily that it tore through the paper and stained the next page, but she had done a great job of getting rid of whatever she had said. Around her, the candles flickered and danced, burning low in the pools of liquid wax. Their light threw her shadow onto the wall - as if the Daisy who had written those words so long ago was here with her, watching to see what she would do with the bread crumbs she had left behind. All she could think of were the years between them, and of all the memories she didn't have.
What had happened between herself and Enos? Had they simply grown up and drifted apart over the years? According to her family, he had left Hazzard long ago, and she supposed they had said their good-byes. More than likely, he was married with a family of his own by now. He had probably forgotten all about her, yet here she was thinking of chewing out the poor man's mother.
She slipped the journal inside her box spring and climbed back into bed, letting the candles burn themselves out.