Little Sacrifices (5 page)

Their neighbor’s house was the biggest on the block, a pink stone giant sitting cold and distant despite soft light streaming from each window. But Mirabelle knew better than to go by appearances. The Thomases were famously warm hosts. Since her father’s affliction didn’t extend beyond the doorway, she was left to fend for herself. She scanned the guests’ faces. It was a gathering like the others she’d been to, with the same people drinking the same drinks and talking about the same things. The war was on everyone’s minds and lips, a subject that Mirabelle found exceptionally uninteresting. A milling knot of sycophants gave away the location of the newcomer and her father found himself a good spot from which to adulate. Mirabelle caught his eye and he called her over for introductions. 

Henry’s uncle was an important cotton man from Atlanta, the
raison d’être
for the party, and he’d dragged Henry along with him to Savannah. Henry wasn’t a cotton man himself but hadn’t found the courage yet to break the news to his uncle, who harbored the notion that his nephew might fit the bill. Henry imagined the rejection might kill his dear relative, who took over the family’s plantation after Henry’s father surrendered to lawyerly aspirations. Henry too was a lawyer, newly minted, but he often accompanied his uncle to his meetings. The night he met Mirabelle he decided that maybe it was a good idea to wait a while longer before letting the old man down. He was besotted with her. Not with her beauty, though she was certainly attractive, but by the smirk that played across her eyes. He had the impression that she didn’t see the world like he did. From her point of view nearly everything held at least some small detail to smile over.

In nineteen seventeen traveling across the state was no easy feat. Even so, Henry made a gallant effort to combine his business–for–now with his pleasure–for–always, and regularly presented himself at Mirabelle’s doorstep. Much as he wanted to, he could only come every so often for a few days at a time. His slippery footing on the bottom rung of the legal career ladder prevented any longer or more frequent absences from the firm. In between, they had to make do with pen and paper.

Chapter 6

It was my fault that Charlie sat next to me. Being unaccustomed to bus etiquette, I looked him square in the eye when he came down the aisle. I might as well have whistled for attention and patted the empty seat next to me. ‘Howareya?’ He said after asking if the seat was free. He struggled to push his army duffel bag into the crowded space overhead. For a soldier he looked remarkably bookish.

‘Fine. Thank you.’ Ma’d be horrified to know that a soldier sat inches from her young daughter, though to be honest his presence would likely take a back seat to the fact that I’d run away in the first place. In deference to Ma’s sensibilities I tried ignoring him, but he fidgeted like he had ants in his pants.

‘Are you okay?’

‘Tsch, I’m okay. Just c–c–can’t get settled is all. I’ve been traveling f–f–for a long time already... I’m a li–li–li–little tired.’

‘Then why don’t you go to sleep?’

‘Not th–that kind of tired. Tired, of traveling I g–g–guess.’

‘How far are you going?’

‘Hmm?’

‘Where are you going?’

‘Uh. Boston, maybe New Hampshire. Or V–V–Vermont.’

‘Don’t you know?’ I looked closely at him. He had the look of a wanderer, a kind of faraway weariness.

‘Not really. No.’

‘Well, I guess you’ve got a while to go before you have to figure it out.’ I turned back to the window. He made me uncomfortable. It wasn’t that he was overly familiar; he kept to himself, not even trying to get a share of the arm rest. It wasn’t that he was a man either, however barely, or that he was a stranger. I’d met my share of strangers growing up, since Ma and Duncan took it upon themselves to make sure that every stray they ran across got a taste of Ma’s meatloaf. No, I felt bad for this stammering man. I pitied him the way I did old men who tried feeding themselves, when neither their lips nor their limbs would cooperate. He had that same self–consciousness and it made me want to look away.

We maintained a polite silence through the Carolinas and Virginia, the bus offering sporadic diversions as it stopped in lots of little towns and a few big ones. They were more or less the same, grimy and hot with people bleached from the sun. Most were little more than collections of farm buildings, with the occasional roadside bar to remind passers–by of their narrow prospects. Dusty flat soulless places dotted along the Dixie Highway. It was slower going than I hoped and I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was rewinding my journey south, like a yoyo on its way back up the string. With little else to do, I slept a good bit. It was just past dawn when the bus stopped and everyone stirred.

‘W–w–we’re here,’ my neighbor said when I jerked awake.

‘We’re where? Williamstown?’

‘No, Richmond. You’ll have to transfer to c–c–continue.’

Right, I thought, as I struggled to wake. Transfers in Richmond, New York, Albany and Pittsfield. I stumbled into the depot with the rest of the passengers, still groggy with no idea what to do next. ‘Um.’ I tugged on the young man’s sleeve. ‘Excuse me. Do you know which bus goes on to New York?’

He jerked his thumb vaguely. ‘I’ll show you. I’m taking th–th–that bus too.’

Traveling makes fast friends of people. Pinched between my present and my future, or past, depending on your perspective, I was eager to make some connection with another human being. I recognized many of the passengers as we settled in to the new bus, almost all of us in the same seats we’d occupied on the first leg. I stuck out my hand. ‘My name’s May.’

‘Charlie. P–p–pleased to meet you. Where are you, you, you ...’

‘From?’

‘Going?’

Where was I going? Home, I said. Well, back home anyway. ‘It’s just until I turn sixteen.’

‘Then what?’

‘Then I’ll be able to live wherever I want.’

‘I see.’ He started fiddling with a mole on his chin, a gesture that made him look like an interested professor. ‘And where do you w–w–w–want to live?’

‘Well, in Williamstown, of course.’

‘Why of c–course?’

‘Because that’s where I came from. Where else would I want to live?’

‘Anywhere, anywhere in the w–w–world.’

‘What’s wrong with Williamstown?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Have you ever been there?’

‘No.’

‘Then you don’t know, so you can’t judge.’

‘I’m not ju–judging.’

‘Who said you were?’

‘You did, j–just now. Gosh, I’m sorry, I didn’t m–m–mean to m–make you upset. J–j–just f–forget it. It’s none of m–m–my business.’

Considering that we had a day left to sit next to each other, I felt I should remain hospitable. Besides, I went to school with a stutterer. When he got nervous it took him forever to spit out his words. And that wasn’t going to make the trip easier for either of us. His judgment, or non–judgment, didn’t bother me. I knew it was a brilliant plan, one that I outlined in detail to Charlie so that he’d understand. Once I got to Williamstown, I told him, I’d make my way to Lottie’s house, though naturally I wouldn’t present myself at her front door. My home–away–from–home would be the old horse barn set back in their woods. Its locale made sure the adults didn’t even recognize its existence. Inside were a couple of stalls that hadn’t seen horses in generations but still retained the aroma of their equine tenants. The roof was sound but it’d be cold, so Lottie swiped a couple of her dad’s old woolly sweaters and lots of extra blankets. She fixed up a bed for me and stocked the place with books to pass the time. She even managed to get extra copies of her schoolbooks, which I recognize didn’t sound like much fun, but I didn’t plan to fall behind and risk not getting into college. There was no need to cut off my future to spite my parents. After my birthday I’d join her class like I’d been there all along. We arranged a signal so she’d know I’d arrived, a big stone set atop their garden wall.

‘And how long do you p–p–plan to live in the barn?’ Charlie inquired.

‘Just till I’m sixteen. Then I’m an adult and my parents can’t tell me what to do.’

Charlie laughed. ‘They’ll tell you what to do f–f–for the rest of your l–l–life.’

‘Do yours?’

‘Ab–Ab–Ab, yes.’ He looked past me out the window.

‘Did they tell you to desert?’

That got his attention. ‘What?’

‘You’re a soldier right? You don’t know where you’re going, so I’m guessing that you’re not traveling with the Army’s say–so. Am I right?’

‘I, yeah. You w–w–won’t tell anyone w–w–w–will you?’

‘No, I won’t tell anyone. My father tried for years to get boys to desert during the war.’

‘During the w–war? Really? I m–m–missed that, I was too young. I tried to s–s–sign up when my brother Jack did, but they w–w–w–wouldn’t let me g–go. I was only f–f–f–fourteen.’

‘But your brother fought?’

‘Uh huh.’

‘Is he still in the Army?’

‘No. He’s dead.’

‘I’m sorry.’ And I was. Even though I was firmly against the armed services, I didn’t blame the boys who went off to fight. Most of them didn’t know any better. ‘Is he the reason you joined up?’

‘Kind of. I promised m–m–myself I’d join up as s–s–soon as I could. I m–missed the war but g–got over there f–f–f–for the peace.’

‘Do you mind if I ask why you did it?’ Deserted, I meant.

He sighed as his face slid into gloom. He wasn’t an attractive boy even when he smiled. Frowning made him look like a mean old woman. ‘Naw I don’t m–m–mind. I g–g–g–guess I’ll be answering that question f–f–for the rest of m–m–my life anyway. I c–c–couldn’t do it anymore, s–eeing the way things were. The... devastation. I g–g–got shipped to France to clean up, build roads, that sort of thing. You c–c–can’t imagine the people, the poverty, even n–n–now, after the war. The kids were the worst. They were s–s–skinny, s–s–starving, and so little. In one village wh–wh–where we were rebuilding s–s–s–some houses there were a bunch of kids who g–g–gave us c–c–c–coffee every morning. I don’t s–s–speak French so I didn’t und–und–und ... couldn’t tell what th–they were saying, but they were s–s–so sad, you could tell. They had eyes like old people. I didn’t w–w–want to be part of wh–what made them like that, even if we w–w–were cleaning up, doing g–g–g–good. I just c–ouldn’t do it.’

Listening to him was agonizing. I wanted to reach in and pull the words out of him. ‘How’d you get away, all the way from France?’

‘They only m–m–m–make you do a year at a time. Then th–th–they let you c–c–come home and rest. When I g–g–got back to the base I just l–l–l–left. Hitchhiked to Raleigh and c–c–caught the bus.’

‘I guess we’re in the same boat then.’

‘How do you m–m–mean?’

‘We’re both running away from something we don’t believe in.’

He narrowed his eyes, impersonating an old woman again. ‘Tsch, what d–d–don’t you believe in? Having a c–c–curfew? Eating all your Brussels s–s–s–sprouts?’

‘There’s no call to be mean, Charlie. All I meant is that I found myself in a rotten situation too, in a city where, for
example
,’ I paused for dramatic effect. ‘Negroes are second–class citizens.’

His countenance didn’t shift one iota. ‘And your parents brought you th–th–th–there because they thought that was a g–––ood place to raise you?’

‘Nooo. They brought me there because they have this cockeyed notion to change things.’

‘And you don’t w–want to.’

‘It’s not, tsch, it isn’t that I don’t want things to change. It’s just that I don’t see why I have to be yanked out of my life to do it.’

‘I g–g–guess your parents m–must think it’ll be hard to change things from a th–thousand miles away.’

My powers of persuasion weren’t as potent as I’d believed. ‘Anyway, I’m only hiding out until I’m sixteen. Then I can do whatever I want to, legally I mean.’

‘Where’d you g–g–get that idea?’

‘The age of consent in Massachusetts is sixteen.’

‘The age of consent?’

‘Yep.’

‘Do you know what th–th–that means?’ He talked to me like I was a child. Which I wasn’t.

‘Of
course
. It means that I can do anything I want to, legally, and my parents can’t do anything about it.’

‘Wrong, it means you c–c–can have intercourse, legally. That the boy w–won’t be done for rape.’

‘What?’

Chapter 7

He’s right, I thought as I mouthed the words under my finger, my scalp starting to prickle with sweat. The age at which one is legally competent to give consent especially to marriage or to sexual intercourse. It didn’t say anything about not having to do what your parents say.

By the time we reached the New Jersey border, Charlie convinced me that I’d better get my facts straight before going any farther. I had several hours to kill between buses anyway and, Charlie promised, the 42
Street library wasn’t a far walk from the terminal. But when the bus stopped I had grave reservations about getting out. We’d just driven through slums for miles – ghettos where the mostly Chinese and Eastern European immigrants got along as best they could in cramped tenements. The streets surrounding the depot were only slightly less dire than those we’d recently passed. Charlie noticed my trepidation and offered to walk with me because, he promised, 42
Street was daunting even in broad daylight. He was right. Shifty–eyed men made my heart lurch as I walked past. Some were clearly drunk, or worse. About every third doorway was a bar, each seamier than the last. Whole blocks were boarded up. ‘What were those?’

‘Strip clubs and whorehouses. Come on. S–s–stay close or a childcatcher’ll s–s–snatch you for his trade.’ He didn’t seem to be joking. For the first time, I recognized the value of a man in uniform. They did make one feel safe, Duncan be damned.

At the corner of 42
and 5
the library perched like a wedding cake on a dirty tablecloth. In it I found out that my plan wasn’t going to work.

‘See? I told you.’ Charlie’s tone wasn’t unkind as we left the library. ‘Now wh–wh–what are you g–going to do?’